For ten years, I have fought in the frozen fields of the North.
The youth of my prime—entire decades—wasted.
A child turning into a young adult, their formative years stolen by war.
Lives shattered, and the very essence of one’s identity lost in the relentless battle.
Over a third of my existence sacrificed for this cause, struggling to survive, clinging to life and duty with every breath.
The young soldier who once served was transformed into a battle-worn veteran, bearing scars that spoke of countless battles.
The eager officer who once longed for peace became a hardened warrior, now only seeking survival.
Fighting not only for family, comrades, and friends, but for every bond and sense of duty forged in the fires of war.
Each day spent enduring, every battle fought, was an act of defiance against the overwhelming tide of despair.
Even when morale waned and hope faded, I urged them forward—spurred by desperation and duty alike.
That’s how I spent 10 years.
“Unbelievable.”
Having spent a lifetime in this conflict, I could scarcely fathom the absurdity of it all.
When Queen Consort demanded we withdraw from the front for her indulgence, the very thought ignited a fury within me.
It felt as though every sacrifice, every drop of blood spilled, was meaningless—trampled underfoot by politics and power plays.
To resist becoming a pawn in someone else’s game, I seized power, demanding recognition for our contributions, our survival amidst adversity.
My actions were driven by a desperate need for survival and a desire for acknowledgment—a simple yet compelling desire to endure and prevail.
“Impossible.”
Yet now, you dare to claim our struggle has been futile? That even the years spent fighting against your Empire’s oppression count for nothing? That raising arms in defense was a mistake?
“Lies! Lies!! Stop spreading lies!!”
In a blind rage, I charged at De Leclerc, seizing him by the collar and shouting with all my might. Tradition, decorum—none mattered in that moment.
I needed the truth to be heard, to break through the lies consuming us.
But restrained by my subordinates, who pulled me away, De Leclerc gasped for breath, attempting to reason.
“It’s not a fabrication. It is truth. Everyone in our united Empire knows it—how your Kingdom humiliated and provoked this war.”
De Leclerc’s words struck deep, as his gaze met mine without flinching.
“If you wish to hear the truth, listen closely. Once, before the war began, relations between the Empire and the Kingdom were stable. Peace existed once, before betrayal and contempt took its place.”
“…I’ve heard of that.”
The exchanges of goodwill, the shared visions of mutual progress—yes, I had heard of that from my mother.
Although I never directly experienced it as a child, my mind struggled to comprehend the unfolding story as De Leclerc continued.
“Our two nations once stood side by side against threats, cooperating when needed, and fighting together at times. Thirty-two years ago, when Daiching Empire invaded, we united and repelled them.”
“Ah, the Five-Year War.”
“Indeed, a glorious victory. I, too, fought as a lieutenant during those times.”
The Daiching Empire, during its peak of conquest, launched relentless campaigns, and both our nations, together, stood firm through countless battles to secure victory.
The conflict spanned five years—from the initial outbreak to the signing of the peace treaty.
“Our relationship was strong enough for such alliances. It wasn’t entirely irrational to seek deeper ties through national marriage. However, in the end, it was a foolish move.”
De leclerc clicked his tongue and spat onto the ground.
“The Emperor proposed a match between the Crown Prince of our Empire and your kingdom’s Second Princess. It was intended to strengthen political ties through blood relations.”
“But the current Crown Prince is married to the daughter of Duke Liebert. I’ve never heard of any attempt to marry into your family.”
That puzzled me. After all, Duke Liebert’s daughter was indeed the one who secured her position within the royal family, despite her father’s lack of substantial military achievement.
Wasn’t it his ties to the royal family that earned him the position of Commander of the Western Front? And yet, marriage negotiations?
“Exactly. The Crown Prince’s attempt to move forward with this alliance was abruptly rejected.”
“…Could you elaborate further?”
“The Emperor invited the Crown Prince to meet with our Second Princess in hopes of fostering mutual acquaintance and goodwill. However, from the very first meeting, things went terribly wrong.”
De Leclerc clenched his fists, his expression tightening as though recalling the event enraged him even more.
“The Crown Prince committed unspeakable acts against our Second Princess. I don’t know the exact details, but it was so grave that even the Emperor’s anger reached a boiling point. Something far beyond social faux pas—an offense that would lead to disgrace if revealed.”
“What?”
In other words, during a formal meeting arranged by a prospective father-in-law, the Crown Prince crossed every conceivable boundary and was immediately exiled? Was this some kind of absurd tale?
“Because of that, the Crown Prince, along with his entourage, was expelled and the marriage alliance was nullified. The rest, as you know, followed swiftly.”
“The war, you mean.”
“Exactly. How could we stand idle while our beloved Second Princess was humiliated and the dignity of our royal family was shattered? Revenge was inevitable—no matter the time or cost.”
De Leclerc’s argument was compelling, seemingly well-founded.
However, the depth of the story left me struggling to believe it entirely.
Nobility values honor and decorum above all else.
They gossip and criticize each other over the most trivial of mistakes, let alone actions that could tarnish their nation’s reputation.
Yet, to imagine such a high-stakes issue being handled so recklessly—destroying years of diplomatic goodwill with an important ally—seemed beyond reason.
To deliver a decisive blow to my wavering doubts, De Leclerc added one final statement.
“If you’re having trouble accepting this, consider the opposite. Has a monarch’s heir ever married a common noble in our history? It’s common sense to marry someone from a foreign royal family, even a small one, not someone from a regular noble house.”
“…!!”
Now that I thought about it, he was right.
This fantasy world seemed to echo the atmosphere of medieval Europe.
Marriages between ruling classes of different nations were not just common, but expected, with alliances and political unity being established through such unions.
It was nothing like the rigid societal structure of Joseon, where arranged marriages within the same class were the norm, with no concept of royal intermarriages across borders.
A noble house must have significant power or influence to even be considered as a marriage partner for royalty.
“Duke Liebert’s family… was ordinary. Their influence was modest, and there were no ties to any independent fiefdom.”
Yet, if that family married into the royal line, despite their lack of substantial power, there had to be a serious reason.
If that reason led to the severing of ties with the Empire and the destruction of diplomatic relations—everything would fall into place neatly.
“Thank you for the detailed explanation.”
I bit my tongue and barely managed to respond. Keeping my composure was a challenge in itself.
“But I find it hard to trust what you’re saying right now. After all, we’re enemies. You could be fabricating a lie to deceive me at this moment.”
“I understand. Accepting one side’s story alone can be difficult.”
Unlike my turmoil, De Leclerc seemed calm and composed, nodding understandingly.
“Go back and investigate it thoroughly. With your authority, you can have the kingdom’s intelligence department look into it, can’t you? I’m sure you’ll find my words to be the truth.”
“… I’ll do that.”
In the end, the agreement was limited to immediate issues—transferring a portion of our flags and remaining supplies as a symbol of defeat, while ensuring safe withdrawal of the Imperial forces.
The fate of prisoners was to be discussed later through prisoner exchanges or ransom negotiations.
For the ceasefire, I was instructed to consult with the council and arrange a final negotiation between high-ranking officials.
“We’ll be departing now. Let’s meet again, but not on the battlefield.”
“I agree. The sooner the war ends, the better.”
Even as we journeyed back to Rahator, my mind was consumed by a single thought:
Was all our sacrifice truly worth it? And if not, how would this emptiness be compensated?
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