Mia never imagined that Etienne could react so intensely. Even though Mia was someone who calculated everything, how could she have predicted this?
If the enemy had simply packed up and disappeared from their usual location, panic would have been understandable. But since they hadn’t moved secretly, interrogating a passing subordinate or two would’ve sufficed. Mia couldn’t comprehend why he was overreacting like a man who’d bolted from training to find her. He definitely hadn’t been like this in his past life.
Noticing Mia’s bewildered expression, Etienne began lecturing her. "There’s no point glaring at me like that. You’re still recovering from your injuries, and leaving your sickbed is reckless. I distinctly recall telling you not to cause any incidents."
"Are you calling my visit to my own barracks an ‘incident’? You’re being absurd right now," Mia shot back.
"Until you’re fully healed, I must monitor your condition. No exceptions," Etienne insisted.
"I already told you I’m healed! Stop fussing and leave. By tomorrow, even the scars will vanish completely," Mia retorted.
Etienne couldn’t possibly be ignorant of this. Hadn’t he been the one to flood her with excessive divine energy? Yet Rochefort behaved as though he’d resolved never to trust her assessments of her own health.
"How fortunate you appear well. Then remaining in my barracks one more day to confirm your recovery should pose no difficulty," Etienne pressed.
"What nonsense are you spouting now?" Mia snapped.
A soldier’s shout interrupted from outside: "Commander! Have you concluded your business?"
Mia’s expression turned satisfied. When subordinates openly interrupted superiors mid-task, it typically signaled one of two things: an unavoidable visitor had arrived, or a discontented underling was challenging their superior’s judgment. If it were the former, they’d have notified him immediately without checking his availability. This clearly fell into the latter category.
I’ve apparently earned someone’s ire again.
Though displeased at being disliked, Mia felt grudging gratitude toward the nameless subordinate who’d extricated her from this situation. For reasons unknown, this lifetime’s Rochefort seemed determined to coddle his subordinates—he couldn’t ignore their summons even if they shouted.
"Shouldn’t you go? You seem occupied," Mia murmured.
Etienne wordlessly strode outside. Mia naturally assumed he’d left, but Rochefort returned moments later, his entire demeanor radiating irritation. When the soldier called again, Etienne barked, "I’m not going today! Handle it yourselves—it’s not urgent!"
Irritable. Hot-tempered. Sentimental yet stoic—this was the Rochefort she recognized. Her recent worries about his uncharacteristic behavior... Well, perhaps he hadn’t changed so drastically after all.
Still, she couldn’t fathom why he insisted on lingering in a subordinate’s shabby barracks without justification. "If they’re seeking you this late, shouldn’t you investigate?" Mia prodded, her tone a masterclass in polite dismissal.
Etienne fixed her with an unblinking stare. For reasons unclear, he now looked utterly crestfallen, as though on the verge of tears.
Thud.
Though feeling nothing for Rochefort, Mia’s breath caught. Her heart plummeted like a dropped stone.
That day, Mia learned the devastating power of a handsome face wearing such a pitiful expression. Etienne knew precisely how to command her attention. His lips twitched faintly, as if stifling either a smile or a grimace. His subdued voice brushed against her ear like a binding spell.
"Your Excellency, must you keep pushing me away?"
He genuinely seemed wounded. How could a man of his stature resemble a drenched puppy?
Good grief. I feel like a trash emperor who just kicked his favorite concubine.
Retreating a step, Mia failed to realize until too late—the moment she showed vulnerability to Rochefort was the moment she’d fallen for his charms.
Midnight, behind Etienne’s barracks
The moon hung unnaturally bright as crickets chirped in nearby thickets. Wind rustled leaves through trees, stirring the night air. Stars glittered pitilessly in the ink-black sky—a scene of perfect romance.
Yet within this romantic setting, Mia Elize Blanchard discovered firsthand that beyond assassination attempts, overwork, grave injuries, and slander... the world offered countless other torments.
She’d never assumed strength came easily, but must it demand such mindless brutality?
"...Two hundred twenty-one... twenty-two... ugh—"
"Don’t quit yet! 800 remain!"
"It’s not—huff—quitting! You said—wheeze—a thousand earlier!"
"900 left."
"Goddess... help me."
Mia gritted her teeth. Her resolve to never falter in battle wasn’t empty—even as Etienne circled her like a vulture, adding 100 repetitions for every tenth flawed sword swing.
Her stamina, already drained after 200 basic slashes, proved her determination. But this crossed into absurdity.
A specialist in achieving the impossible through sheer grit, Mia would’ve normally berated anyone suggesting surrender. Yet she couldn’t shake the impression that Rochefort’s "training" masked petty vengeance.
The real problem? She couldn’t grasp what exactly it was for.
