A trembling voice reached Mia's ears, as if startled by something.
Mia didn't respond.
In truth, she was nearly incapable of responding.
......If she hadn’t misheard, that is.
The man’s voice seemed to carry a faint dampness.
“I… I thought something had happened to you, Your Excellency.”
“......”
“......I feared my carelessness might have caused you harm.”
The stammering voice held an inexplicable urgency.
After a moment’s hesitation, Mia raised her arm and pulled him into her embrace.
His forehead brushed her shoulder, radiating an odd warmth.
Etienne traced her face with trembling hands, as though confirming she was unharmed.
His gaze pleaded for her to speak.
But Mia didn’t deserve his concern.
The one who had killed him—now returned through time to protect him—had no right to stand beneath his earnest gaze.
Perhaps Etienne had even shed tears.
Mia suspected she’d never live to learn the truth of that guess.
They conducted another scouting mission that night.
Though calm after the day’s events would have been preferable, leisure was a battlefield luxury none could afford.
When the legion commander volunteered to scout, the operations officer followed.
Truthfully, Mia simply needed private time with Etienne.
Scouting missions always made convenient excuses for such needs.
Step. Step.
The ruined dirt path felt foreign beneath their feet.
After prolonged silence filled only by insect hums, Mia finally spoke.
“Etienne.”
“Yes, Your Excellency?”
“Were you worried about me?”
No immediate reply came.
Not that she’d expected one.
“It’s a waste of time.”
Mia continued without waiting.
Etienne appeared ready to protest but closed his mouth, resolve hardening.
“......I don’t mean kindness to subordinates is wrong. You’ve always...”
Been someone who cared deeply, even if unnoticed.
But such words felt absurd from someone who’d known him less than a month—unless referencing his past life.
Mia swallowed her sentence, resuming only after a lengthy pause.
“That quality makes an exceptional leader.
Battlefields wear people down—they need someone like you.”
Despite his cold-blooded reputation, Etienne Rochefort remained a respected commander.
Even in his past life, he’d secretly aided struggling subordinates.
This terrified Mia.
She refused to watch this man—who’d once destroyed himself through hidden sacrifices—burn out again from excessive kindness.
He must’ve shown vulnerability to recruit me, she reasoned.
No other explanation sufficed.
Thus, he needn’t feign kindness toward her.
“But you needn’t extend it to me.”
“Your Excellency—”
“Haven’t I pledged allegiance?
There’s no need to curry favor.”
Mia’s faint smile unsettled him.
“......Your Excellency.”
Etienne rubbed his nape nervously before stammering:
“......A misunderstanding. I didn’t seek your favor—”
He never finished.
In one motion, he yanked Mia behind him and drew his sword.
“......?”
Peering over his shoulder, Mia spotted four shadows emerging from darkness.
Without Rochefort, they’d have been doomed.
Protected again by the one I swore to shield?
How can I achieve anything this weak?
Self-disgust curdled in her throat.
“Identify yourselves.”
Etienne’s blade glimmered with holy power—a sharper warning than words.
Steel shrieked through air before Mia could react.
The festive noise died instantly, leaving only the visceral shick of parting flesh.
An overwhelming battle unfolded.
Mia and the panicked assassins alike could only track Etienne via fading holy light trails.
Were these assassins incompetent?
Hardly—no one targeting a hero famed across empires would hire amateurs.
Mia knew assassination attempts intimately.
Fighting palace elders over power made them as routine as tea invitations—no, more routine, for assassins returned stronger each time.
Though unmatched against Rochefort’s skill, Mia had survived noble-hired killers since before the war—mediocre threats requiring only basic combat prowess.
But these opponents differed.
Their flawless movements offered no openings.
Yet Etienne pierced non-existent gaps with dancer’s grace—stabbing, slashing, carving through them.
Blood petals bloomed darkly in moonlight.
A spectacle unseen in chaotic battlefields where survival depended on wild sword swings.
Huff.
Etienne wiped sweat from his brow, glaring at four corpses.
His striking features twisted with uncharacteristic severity.
At full strength, four opponents posed little challenge.
But now, someone stood behind him—someone to protect at all costs.
In the Holy Legion, where each soldier surpassed normal limits, guarding others was rare.
Even when necessary, the task never fell to him.
Vanguards required explosive holy power—a role he’d proudly claimed.
Only now did he bitterly regret never practicing rear-guard combat.
Though victory was certain, coordination with a partner would’ve simplified matters.
Future battlefields would demand he protect many others beyond Mia Blanchard.
Yet today’s struggle stemmed from arrogance—his training prioritizing flashy preemptive strikes over practicality.
Twitch.
A body stirred in his peripheral vision.
Naturally—he’d knocked them unconscious, not killed.
Regained consciousness faster than expected.
“Etienne.”
“Yes?”
He didn’t turn, foot pinning the twitching assassin’s neck.
“Just kill them.”
“No interrogation?”
“They’re skilled.”
Silence.
Clear disagreement, yet Mia continued:
“They won’t talk easily.
My experience says so.”
“That may be, but—”
“Beridian doesn’t know we’ve crossed borders.
Small numbers favor surprise attacks—dragging prisoners risks suspicion.”
Etienne pressed his blade to the assassin’s throat, straining to focus until—
“Mia!”
—her voice fractured.
