Final Chapter: Marching South

A week later—

On August 20th, in the year 851 on the Belgarian imperial calendar, Généralissime Marie Quatre Argentina departed from Verseilles with her army. Her forces stretched far and wide down the road, moving in strict lines. They numbered eight thousand men—five hundred cavalry and four thousand infantry she had brought from Fort Volks, alongside fifteen hundred troops of the standing army that hailed from the south and two thousand hired mercenaries.

“It’s been a while...” Regis observed from where he was sitting inside his white carriage.

“It really has,” Clarisse replied. She was sitting across from him and was the only other person in the carriage; Altina rode her trusty steed Caracarla at the front of the officers, Eddie and Eric took up her flanks, and Abidal-Evra took command of the knights that made up the very front of their formation.

Renard Pendu were marching at the rear, although they had yet to sign a contract of any kind. They were merely taking the same route, trusting Regis’s claim that Gilbert would appear in the south. The week that had passed since Regis sent correspondence to Fort Volks was not enough time for him to receive a response, so he knew not what the Mercenary King intended to do.

Jessica, the mercenaries’ proxy leader, was bringing along her ten-year-old sister Martina. Franziska was taking a rather long time to recover from her wounds, perhaps owing to a lack of nutrition, so she remained in the capital. Bastian had said that he would look after her.

Farther back in their formation, Elize was riding in a separate carriage. During times of war, it was customary for guests to stay closer to the rear, while military carriages remained at the center—at least, that was the official reason Regis had given. In truth, he had a rather good idea who she really was and was sectioning her off so that nobody else would notice—and so that he would not end up divulging any unnecessary information.

“She seemed quite reluctant to part,” Clarisse remarked with a glance toward the capital.

“Hmm? Oh, you mean Ms. Fanrine. Well, we have been through a lot together...” Regis replied. She had endured so much just for being in close proximity to him. She had nearly been assassinated, she had gotten swords pointed at her, and she had needed to walk several days through untamed mountains. Regis thought the greater mystery was how she was not yet sick and tired of him.

“I see. A lot, huh?” Clarisse asked, her eyes narrowed.

“I won’t deny it.”

“Like your time spent parading around in women’s clothing, perhaps?”

“Urk... I would really appreciate it if you could forget about that.”

“Memories are only overwritten by even stronger ones, Mr. Regis.”

Regis paused. “What exactly do you intend to do to me, Ms. Clarisse?”

“What are your thoughts on a maid outfit?”

“Cross-dressing is far from a hobby of mine.”

“I’m only joking.”

“I won’t wear a dress either.”

Clarisse must have been expecting that response, as her eyes nonchalantly shifted to the window. “A shame... All of my preparations have gone to waste, then.”

“You went and bought something?!” Regis exclaimed. He had suspected that something was awry; the space on the carriage roof was meant for Altina’s personal belongings, but they were carrying a concerning amount of unnecessary luggage as well. “I-In any case, I’m glad Ms. Fanrine was able to join the généralissime’s council; she’s good at her job, plus she has such a broad social network.”

The clerical workers of the council were going to have their work cut out for them for quite some time—people, goods, and information tended to orbit around the capital, after all. Regis had worried that they would find themselves without a base of operations, since their rooms in the palace were now going to the officers of the First Army, but Gauchen had managed to pin down the abandoned estate of a fallen noble for them to use. The council were now going to handle the Fourth Army’s office work that had fallen completely by the wayside in Regis’s absence, and to this end, they had hired around five hundred former officials from the now-defunct Ministry of Military Affairs. Most were commoners, or nobles who were not succeeding their houses, and they were all rather young.

Considering that the council was taking on the work of an organization that had once been four times its size, it was operating at quite the deficit. Gauchen had insisted that they had enough people, however, so Regis intended to leave things to them for the time being. As the only active first-grade without any direct subordinates, he recognized that he needed to learn how to delegate.

“Incidentally...” Clarisse looked back at Regis. “Have you sent a letter home?”

“I haven’t, no. Has Enzo returned yet?”

“No, he’s still at Fort Volks. At least, he was when we left.”

“Is that all right? He’s been away for quite a while...”

“Are you all right, Mr. Regis?”

There was something about Clarisse’s line of questioning that caught Regis’s attention. He tried giving the situation some thought, wondering what might have happened since his separation from Altina that would concern his sister.

“Ah!” he suddenly cried out. “She doesn’t still think I’m dead, does she?!”

Clarisse nodded in response.

“Oh no...” Regis put his head in his hands. His body—no, not his body, but the body of a complete stranger—had no doubt been sent to his sister along with his belongings. “I hadn’t even considered the procedures that followed my apparent death. Ah, but they would at least inform her of the mistake, wouldn’t they?”

“‘They’? Who are you referring to, exactly?”

“Well, the ones who issued the notice, of course... Wait, the Ministry’s gone now!” Logistics, wages, and promotions were now the responsibility of the First Army and the généralissime’s council, but what about the other branches? Specifically, who was going to rescind his death? Regis broke into a cold sweat. “Sh-She’s going to kill me! There isn’t much we can do about the misinformation, but I’ve had over a week to contact her! Paper... I need paper...”

“Please calm down, Mr. Regis.”

“Y-Yes. Calm.”

“There are times when it is simply too late.”

“You’re not being very reassuring!” Regis snapped. He could already picture the fury that would doubtless blaze in his sister’s eyes the next time they met, and the thought alone sent him into a panicked frenzy. He scribbled away on some paper, trying to keep his hand steady as the carriage rattled along the road.

Clarisse watched over the flustered tactician, looking contrastingly serene.

“Y-Yes?” Regis asked.

“I’m just glad that you’re finally back, Mr. Regis.”

“I guess you won’t be bored now that you have someone to tease again.”

“Oh my... I do have genuine emotions, you know. My dear one is back safe and sound.”

“There you go again...” Regis sighed. He waited for the punch line, suspecting that this was another trap of some kind, but Clarisse simply stared into his eyes.

“Oho ho... What’s the matter, Mr. Regis? Are you hoping for something sweeter? I do have some sugar candy.”

“Ah, no... Wait, where was the punch line?”

“There wasn’t one. You’re dear to me, and it really is nice to have you back.”

“Huh...”

“Would it be too much to ask for you to be a little happier about our reunion?”

“Ah, right. I’m very glad to be back too.”

“How delightful.”

Regis waited a little while longer, but still, Clarisse did not tease him. Instead, she continued to stare, her cheeks a faint shade of red. Regis could feel his face heating up as well, and the palpable awkwardness forced him to return to his half-finished letter. His hand was uneasy, and not just because of the shaking of the carriage.

“Err... Ms. Clarisse... You’re making me a little uncomfortable.”

“You’ll need to put up with it, I’m afraid. How much do you think I worried about you, Mr. Regis? I treasure you dearly.”

“Oh, umm...”

In the end, Regis found himself unable to write another word. As he sat in the white carriage across from the blushing maid, he felt as though his mind were slowly deteriorating.

✧ ✧ ✧

Three days since the march began—

It was afternoon when the reconnaissance report came in. A merchant from a northbound caravan was apparently requesting an audience.

Regis folded his arms. “Hmm... We really don’t have time for a business discussion, but if they’ve come from the south, we might get some information about the war. All right, we’ll meet them. Could you ask the princess for a thirty-minute break?”

“Understood!” the messenger replied with a salute.

Regis had also instructed for the merchant to be brought to the main camp so that he could speak to the man alone. He saw no reason to involve the princess, since she was tired from the journey and normally left business discussions to him anyway.

A short while passed before a woman appeared between the ranks of soldiers. Her hair was long and dark like flowing ink, and she wore a jet-black dress. The messenger had mentioned the request coming from a merchant, so Regis had naturally assumed that he was meeting with a man. On the contrary, his visitor was quite the charming woman. Accompanying her was a girl wearing a white dress and carrying a lace parasol, which she used to shield the lady from the sun. She wasn’t dressed as a maid, but she was quite young for an attendant.

A more pressing concern, however, was that the woman claiming to be a merchant was walking around completely empty-handed. She looked more like a noble on a stroll than anything else, so why had the scout reported that she was a merchant?

The woman lifted the dark veil from over her face and gazed at Regis with obsidian eyes. “Looks like you really did make it out alive,” she said. Her voice was bewitching, but somewhat masculine.

Regis’s breath caught in his throat. “Mrs. Elenore?!”

She was Elenore Ailred Winn de Tiraso Laverde, daughter of a ducal house and the famous Vixen of the South. Regis had wondered about her absence during the ceremony and the banquet the week before, but never had he expected to come across her here.

“Regis,” Elenore said, her voice quavering. “It pains me to make a request like this when we haven’t seen each other in so long...”

“What’s wrong?”

“Please, help us.”

A fierce gust of wind swept through just as Elenore made her appeal, sweeping the young girl’s parasol into the sky.