#142. Do You Intend to Stay by My Side, Always and Forever?
“Could it be that he’s the reincarnation of the God of War?”
Normally, Sharquell would have quickly rebutted such a remark—something that could easily be dismissed as Blanche’s slander. But this time, he hesitated.
“Reincarnation of the God of War? That’s quite a shameless compliment.”
The answer came from behind.
Startled, both Mesra and Sharquell turned their heads at once. There, like a doll come to life, stood a girl.
It was Blanche.
“P–Princess!”
From how much had she overheard? Mesra frantically retraced his memory.
Had he said anything that could be misunderstood? No—he had followed it up with explanations. But if she chose to fixate on that single remark…
His anxious thoughts were interrupted by Blanche’s voice.
“Are you on patrol?”
“Yes.”
Sharquell’s reply was as curt as Blanche’s question. Shouldn’t he, as commander, offer some excuse as to why they themselves were patrolling?
“I see. Do you still have areas left to check?”
“No, not particularly.”
“Then return.”
“And Your Highness?”
“I have something to do.”
To their surprise, Blanche smiled faintly, lifting the hand she had been letting hang loosely. In it was a pack of cigars.
The commanders had assumed her smoking was merely a way of covering for her youth—but was that really the case?
The way she handled the cigar was so natural, as though it had been part of her since birth—just like the tone of her speech. Mesra briefly wondered if this wasn’t just an affectation, but truly her own preference.
“I’ll have a smoke before going in. You may leave.”
Mesra, still uncertain how he should deal with Blanche, was relieved to take this dismissal as a blessing. But Sharquell was not so quick to leave.
“I will remain, to stand guard.”
Blanche narrowed her eyes slightly, scrutinizing him, before breaking into a faint smile.
“Very well. I allow it. Sir Mesra, you may return.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Mesra quickly withdrew. Once he was far enough away, Blanche drew a cigar from the pack and set it between her lips.
Sharquell struck a match—he had drawn it out so smoothly she hadn’t even noticed—and lit it for her. At the natural gesture, Blanche tipped the pack slightly in offering.
“Would you like one as well?”
When others were present, Blanche often spoke informally, but when it was just the two of them, she reverted to the polite form she had used when they first met.
“No, thank you.”
Suppressing the smile tugging at his lips, Sharquell answered with dignity. Since she treated him as someone special, it was only proper that he carry himself accordingly.
Without pressing him, Blanche tucked the pack away and smoked in silence for a while.
“The course of this war is turning out rather different from what we expected. How are the Nikahl warriors reacting?”
“Their spirits are high. In fact, they’ve become even more eager to fight.”
Indeed, the war had unfolded quite differently from what the Nikahl tribe had imagined. They had expected battles along the border with Kartian forces.
But the border clash—save for the firestorm—had been far too brief. It hardly felt like a battle at all.
The overwhelming victory had greatly boosted the common warriors’ morale.
Thus, when Blanche suggested advancing on the capital, not one of them raised an objection.
Had she suggested they retreat, they might have instead insisted on pressing forward.
At that, Blanche let out a low laugh.
“That’s fortunate. Without you, I wouldn’t have the confidence to carry out the coming battles.”
“You overpraise me.”
It was true the Nikahl warriors were better trained than the kingdom’s soldiers, but scattered as they were across the mountains, their total numbers did not even reach ten thousand.
For someone who had incinerated half a million with a single fire attack, the idea that he couldn’t fight on without a few thousand Nikahl seemed absurd.
“Is that what you think?”
Holding the nearly finished cigar between her fingers, Blanche asked softly.
Was this a true question, or merely a filler remark?
While Sharquell fumbled for an answer, Blanche turned to face him fully.
“I genuinely believe you’re an extraordinary talent.”
“Ah…”
Only then did Sharquell realize—Blanche wasn’t talking about the Nikahl tribe at all. She was speaking about him alone.
Unable to avert his gaze, he stood frozen, flustered, as Blanche continued calmly.
“Since the opportunity has arisen, I’ll ask—when Kartia is conquered, will you remain by my side?”
“Your Highness means…?”
Blanche glanced around, then beckoned with her free hand.
As he leaned down, she whispered into his ear:
“I don’t plan to stop at Kartia. My ultimate goal is to unite half the continent. …And I want you at my side for that.”
The sun had already set. Sharquell, taller by a head, cast a shadow across Blanche’s face. Her dark eyes, deep as ink, were unreadable.
What exactly did she mean? Blanche’s manner toward him was always so different from how she treated anyone else—it was impossible to match her temperature.
So he had always kept things strictly formal. But now…
“There’s no need to answer right away.”
As she stepped back, the space between them widened.
Blanche drew one last puff, dropped the cigar to the ground, and ground it out beneath her heel.
“Whatever compensation you ask, I can match it. Perhaps even surpass it. Think carefully until we take the capital. Whether you mean to stay by my side—always, continually.”
With the bold stride of a warrior, Blanche brushed past him.
Instinctively, he turned to follow, pressing down the turmoil in his thoughts for now.
The capture of a great capital would not come quickly. That meant he would have time—plenty of time—to consider her words.
Later, then. Once this storm in his chest calmed, he would think it through.
A week of rest, followed by three days of preparation, and the Lamore army marched once again.
Despite Blanche’s declared aim of striking for the capital, their pace was surprisingly slow.
Her strategies always defied expectations.
“By the time we reach the capital, this army must be honed into a single spear. Keep that in mind, and cooperate to move in harmony.”
Thus, while they marched, Blanche drilled the Nikahl warriors and the kingdom’s troops together, forging unity.
If they had fought only border skirmishes, such coordination would hardly have mattered. Each could have been given separate commands.
But for a campaign across enemy territory, the army had to move as one.
So Blanche deliberately slowed their advance to teach them how to march in perfect step.
Some argued that speed, morale, and striking first were more important—that they should move swiftly and attack before the enemy could prepare.
But no one dared voice such objections to her face anymore.
Too many had once offered their opinions rashly, only to be severely rebuked.
Surely the supreme commander had her reasons. With factional rivalries lurking beneath the surface, the generals devoted themselves entirely to the integration she demanded.
Perhaps because their achievements were already great, the soldiers seemed remarkably generous with one another, showing little concern for petty rivalries.
So the army crept forward.
At the first fortress they encountered, the enemy chose to hold fast, closing the gates.
Blanche’s comment was brief:
“We’ll pass them by.”
“…What?”
Even cowed as they were, every commander’s ears must have deceived them. To simply bypass the fortress? In foreign territory?
“Pass them by,” she repeated calmly. “They may be planning to feign defense and strike our rear. We’ll advance slowly, keeping watch on our back.”
“Wait, please reconsider!”
General Delion spoke up—but he was voicing what all of them thought. Leave enemies behind them?
“To leave them at our rear would invite disaster! Fortunately, their numbers are few—we can surely defeat them. And if you fear the burden of later battles, then let us make an example of this fortress. Strike them down, spread the word, and others will surely surrender to save their lives.”
Blanche fixed her indifferent gaze on him.
“You’re not wrong.”
To Delion’s astonishment, instead of anger, her response was mild.
“But I have already accounted for everything. Do not concern yourselves—simply hold your defenses firm. The enemy will never isolate us.”
Her tone to Delion was gentle, but her stance remained immovable.
Just as when she had chosen to face Kartia’s massive host, while every other commander—save Sharquell—had vehemently opposed her.
