In her past life, Mia had taken it for granted that she knew nothing about the military system and its circumstances. Burdened by resentment from being ignored and unable to showcase her youthful vigor and abilities, she refused to learn about unfamiliar matters. Though she strove to prove her worth, her distorted worldview led to constant misunderstandings and errors. When Rochefort's absence forced her into the Commander-in-Chief position, she saw even less reason to understand anything more.
"Mia, you needn't concern yourself with subordinates' affairs. Focus only on their utility. Never forget the power of the Blanchard name in this nation." The teachings of her father, Duke Blanchard, flashed through her mind.
But this time had to be different. She couldn't cling to the complacent delusion that her abilities would naturally shine while using ineffective strategies. To enact change, Mia needed to fully understand the military's inner workings and leverage them in operations. Only this could protect Rochefort.
"The military ranks seem different from what I recall," Mia casually inquired.
"Is that so?"
"Yes. Would you explain them?"
"Your Excellency, such matters might be unnecessary—"
"Why unnecessary? Because I'm not a real soldier?" Mia fired back.
"..."
"The Holy Legion's structure is unique, and my position remains ambiguous. As an honorary role, my actual authority falls far below nominal status. I don't even know my jurisdictional limits."
"That... does make sense."
"You must recognize wartime's amplification of nominal authority. To prevent chaos during emergencies, we must clearly define my position, operational scope, and command hierarchy now."
The logic was irrefutable. No one had expected Blanchard—who'd never held a sword—to take such initiative, hence the delayed explanation.
"Your Excellency lacks divine power but joined the Holy Legion through the goddess's will."
This meant Mia's Holy Legion membership stood firm, regardless of hostile opinions.
"But you still treat me as a bureaucrat..."
"Your Excellency seemed to prefer it that way."
"Fine. Let's proceed to discuss my authority."
"Regarding that... as an honorary position without strategic interest—"
"I said stop that! Did you think they'd grant me real power? I'm asking about my authority as 1st Holy Legion Operations Staff Officer—not some honorary puppet."
Her voice dripped with self-mockery. Etienne felt its weight and instinctively reached toward her.
"Operations Staff Officers serve as direct subordinates to Legion Commanders. While duties differ, the rank equals Deputy Commander. You need bow to none but me within the unit."
"Doesn't look that way from here."
Mia slapped his hand away. Etienne's expression darkened.
"I'll ensure you receive proper treatment..."
This military failing was undeniable.
Etienne knew Mia's mixed reputation and worked to shield her from criticism, but reality rarely complies.
He still saw Mia trembling—curled like a wounded animal. His intervention had prevented physical harm, but mental scars remained.
Etienne burned with anger. His handling of Renard might not have been ideal, but violence had been imminent. Some force became unavoidable.
He recognized his overreaction.
Yet he refused to let Mia endure such treatment. Mia Blanchard surpassed her "fake hero" label, and Etienne knew it.
He wanted to protect her from injustice. War couldn't be pleasant, but he'd ensure she wouldn't recall bitterness from allies.
...This duty intertwined professional responsibility with personal sentiment.
Etienne shook his head. As Mia's superior on a battlefield where lives vanished like broken toys, he had no luxury for distractions.
"..."
Mia stayed silent. Today, she seemed strangely diminished.
"Your Excellency..."
"Yes?"
"I must further discuss Renard's punishment. Please return to quarters."
Mia nodded slightly.
"Understood."
Securing appropriate—preferably excessive—punishment for Renard became Etienne's current priority.
Mia seized this chance to return to her quarters. With treatments completed, she had no reason to babysit a drama-queen commander.
Her first act was thoroughly inspecting her barracks' layout.
Despite changes elsewhere, her original quarters remained comfortingly familiar—one constant from her past life.
Her room appeared modest compared to Rochefort's, though battlefield luxuries never interested her. Yet it surpassed standard soldier barracks—spacious with single-occupancy furnishings.
The Holy Legion typically mandated group living. This private accommodation showed exceptional consideration.
A desk in one corner signaled her nominal Operations Staff Officer status. While inferior to Rochefort's, its quality seemed extravagant for wartime—clear special treatment. The bed matched this privilege.
Supplies officers had boasted about these items' rarity...
The plush bedding resurrected memories from her first battle. Young Mia had dismissed such comments, ignorant of wartime hardships.
Only during desperate retreats did she understand—when sleeping on dirt floors under thin blankets became a blessing.
As nostalgia gripped her, the barracks door burst open.
"What are YOU doing here?!"
A flushed man stood panting in the doorway, scanning the room with tense eyes. His worry-contorted face possessed absurd beauty—utterly mismatched with an Imperial Legion Commander's image.
Mia coldly assessed Rochefort before speaking with deliberate impertinence:
"Do I need YOUR permission to enter MY barracks?"
"We searched everywhere! When Your Excellency vanished amid danger—"
Mia watched dispassionately as the normally composed man stammered. Seeing Rochefort—who'd calmly watched her writhe in pain—now flustered brought dark satisfaction.
