Evel knew that the Grand Duke occasionally indulged in these pointless jokes. With an expression that said she couldn't be bothered, she shook her head.
“I ran away to avoid conscription.”
Every word that left Evel's mouth was carefully calculated.
She mixed truth and lies in equal measure, taking care not to expose her real identity.
According to the stories she had heard, Victor Bayern was a master of psychological warfare—and torture. During the reign of the previous king, he had served as the head of the National Intelligence Bureau, and supposedly received extensive training in both.
Whether those rumors were true or not, Evel had decided from the start that there was little point in telling flimsy lies that would never fool a man like him. Better to mix in enough truth to make the deception believable.
“So I came in my brother's place. As a military physician, I was probably more useful.”
“I see.”
Victor Bayern offered no comment on her family circumstances.
Evel considered his restraint one of his better qualities and tilted her head back to look at the night sky.
Even in spring, temperatures varied from region to region.
This desolate land turned bitterly cold once the sun went down. Even her heavy jacket, weighed down with rows of medals, felt precious against the chill.
“What family did you say you belonged to?”
“I’m a commoner.”
Evel answered immediately.
Most physicians came from the gentry or lower-ranking noble families. Having a family name was the norm.
But she stubbornly concealed hers.
That wretched family was better left unmentioned.
Of course, if the Grand Duke wanted to know, it wouldn't take him long to discover that her surname, Claren, belonged to a fallen noble house.
He would learn that the family had one son and one daughter.
And that there was no second son.
But Evel doubted he was interested enough in her to investigate.
Besides...
She had to survive first.
Only then would any of it matter.
“When you return, do you intend to marry?”
The unexpected question twisted her face into a strange expression.
Across from her, the Grand Duke's own expression was oddly unreadable.
He still appeared calm and indifferent, yet his jaw had tightened ever so slightly.
Caught off guard, Evel answered more sharply than intended.
“Marriage? In this world? It's hard enough taking care of myself.”
“I see.”
“Unless you're planning to give me a generous wedding gift?”
“I'll consider it.”
At her half-joking remark, Victor's lips curved into an elegant smile.
It was the sort of smile that belonged in a ballroom rather than on a battlefield.
“Then survive, Abel.”
“I hope Your Grace returns safely as well.”
From the very beginning, Evel had used the name Abel.
It belonged to her twin brother.
Abel and Evel.
The names had required so little thought.
Every time she repeated her own name, she was reminded of just how little attention her parents had paid her.
Though I suppose that's why they didn't realize I'd run away for an entire week.
The moment she had saved enough money, Evel cut her hair short and headed for the Royal Saint Elburn College of Medicine and Pharmacy.
Had she failed the entrance exam, her life would have gone straight into the gutter.
Instead, she passed.
Not only that—she graduated at the top of her class.
Her family only realized she had run away after she moved into the dormitory.
They sent people after her, but they couldn't drag her back.
The Royal Saint Elburn College, already fiercely competitive, had no intention of giving up the only student in its history to achieve a perfect entrance score.
When her family complained that she had stolen her brother's identity, the college dismissed the accusation as nonsense.
I was grateful to that greedy dean back then.
Though it ultimately brought me to this battlefield...
Would she survive?
The thought drifted through her mind, and she let out a faint laugh.
Knowing she was destined to die was one thing.
Actually facing death was another.
It was frightening.
“Your Grace,” she asked suddenly, “if by some miracle you survive, what will you do?”
“Who knows? I might learn woodworking.”
His answer was so unexpected that she blinked.
“When I was young, I once asked my mother why I couldn't become a carpenter.”
The image of the Grand Duke of Bayern carrying logs on his shoulder and working as a carpenter was so absurd that Evel couldn't help laughing.
“Getting married and becoming a good husband wouldn't be bad either,” he continued. “Looking after a family. Living like everyone else.”
“And then?”
“My nieces and nephews come to mind.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“I left them in my aunt's care and never did much for them.”
The smile vanished.
His expression transformed instantly into something sharp and dangerous.
Above them, a flash of light gleamed across the sky.
“Get down!”
BOOOOM!
A deafening explosion tore through the battlefield.
Then shells began to rain from the heavens.
“Are you alive?”
The large man shielding her with his body spoke quietly.
Evel answered by coughing up a mouthful of blood.
Riiiiing—
A piercing whine filled her ears.
The ringing rattled her brain.
Even breathing hurt.
Blood continued pouring from her mouth.
“Easy. It's alright.”
Nothing was alright.
And yet somehow, hearing his low, steady voice made her want to believe him.
As if everything truly would be fine.
“Your Grace...!”
“You still have the strength to shout. That's good.”
Struggling back to awareness, Evel grabbed at her burning throat and looked up.
She remembered the moment the bombardment began.
Without the slightest hesitation, Victor had pulled her into his arms and shielded her.
If she was this badly injured despite that...
What condition was he in?
Panting, she forced her gaze upward.
What she saw was a broad back drenched in blood.
The immaculate uniform he always wore had been torn apart.
Chunks of flesh were missing.
A jagged crimson fragment had pierced straight through his chest—
and into hers.
“If you'd been alone...”
Her voice trembled.
“You could have dodged it.”
“Didn't I tell you?”
His dark eyes met hers calmly, concealing unimaginable pain.
“It would be troublesome if the only doctor died.”
“You need... we need to stop the bleeding...”
Blood suddenly spilled from his own mouth.
It splashed across her face.
Ignoring it, Evel forced her arm upward.
“Save your strength,” he said softly.
“It's already too late.”
That damned king.
That ridiculous war of pride.
The war had begun because the King of Franche insulted the King of Richter.
That was all.
A reason so petty that it deserved every curse she could think of.
Even if those curses earned her a charge of treason.
Evel pressed both hands against Victor's chest.
As though doing so could delay Death itself.
The truth was...
She had been relying on him.
In this place where everyone was losing themselves to madness, Victor Bayern alone seemed untouched.
His sharp jawline.
His steadfast eyes.
The quiet authority in his voice.
Any of those things could command respect.
But those weren't what truly set him apart.
Victor Bayern never wavered.
He was disciplined.
Meticulous.
Controlled.
No matter the circumstances, he never spoke carelessly.
Never revealed his emotions lightly.
While countless others drowned in blood and hatred, Victor Bayern retained his humanity.
He remembered the names of even the lowest-ranking soldiers.
He never complained, even when rain leaked through the tents.
Watching him, Evel had often thought he seemed unreal.
And because of that—
she had never imagined he would die like this.
If anyone was meant to survive, it was him.
“You have to live...”
Her voice cracked.
“You need to survive... and make sure... this never happens again...”
Another thunderous explosion shook the world.
And then—
everything seemed to end.
...When he opened his eyes, the ceiling was familiar.
Not the mold-infested military tent that reeked of blood and decay.
Not the battlefield.
It was the Bayern estate.
The mansion where he had spent his childhood.
His gaze settled on the painting that adorned the ceiling of the study—a depiction of the Great Saintess surrounded by angels.
“That can't be.”
Victor Bayern murmured quietly.
How many people had he killed during the war?
Enough to build mountains from their corpses.
If he had died, heaven was certainly not where he belonged.
Yet the sounds drifting through the open window were strangely convincing.
The old gardener arguing with a servant.
The faint scent of peaches carried on the breeze.
Everything felt so real that he almost wanted to believe it.
What happened to Abel?
What about the other officers?
Confusion clouded his mind.
Raising a thick arm to his forehead, he suddenly realized he wasn't wearing a military uniform.
Instead, he wore a thin muslin shirt—the sort he favored during summer.
If this is a hallucination or some final vision before death...
It's far too vivid.
And it's lasting far too long.
