Misfortune 116

Chapter 116

***

“Well, what can I do. If that's truly the Colonel's wish, I understand for now."

Though various unsatisfactory explanations were tacked on, the Princess nevertheless withdrew without further protest. She seemed to have realized that trying to persuade her further would be futile.

"I trust you won't reveal what happened here."

"Of course."

It was the moment Roan, who had finally given her the answer she wanted, saluted before departing.

"If you ever change your mind, come find me anytime."

"That won't happen."

"Don't be so sure. The more you stand tall, the harder you'll fall."

The princess added this advice—or perhaps warning—lightly, then waved her hand as if signaling he could leave now.

Roan turned his back on her without the slightest hesitation.

***

The winds of change, sparked by the appointment of a new commander-in-chief, swept through the headquarters.

The most significant change was the transfer order to Orbon issued to Admiral Lasser.

While a commander heading to the front might seem like no big deal, the real issue was that the Commander-in-Chief himself decided to remain behind in Blois. It meant he wouldn't even make the minimal effort to maintain appearances by being present on the battlefield, even if he didn't actually participate.

And it didn't end there. Instead of Roan Barthez, who reported directly to Admiral Lasser, being transferred to Orbon alongside him, he was ordered to stay in Blois.

While his official position hadn't changed, everyone could guess that Captain Barthez would now become the Commander-in-Chief's direct subordinate. That was surely the Commander-in-Chief's ambition: to co-opt Roan as his own man.

Opinions were divided on whether this was merely to curry favor with the First Prince, or a reaction to the inferiority complex he'd long felt toward Admiral Lasser.

Either way, it was no exaggeration to say the Naval Command was in constant turmoil. With external enemies demanding focus, internal chaos only added to the strain.

Unlike the Navy, ordinary people in Blois carried on with their daily lives as usual.

Of course, rampant rumors often caused unease, but since war hadn't broken out, daily routines remained largely unaffected.

The same was true for the Barthez residence, where the owner was rarely seen.

Moreover, given the nature of naval service, it was common for the residence to be empty for extended periods even under normal circumstances. Consequently, no one in the household found his absence strange.

Rather, they were surprised to see him return suddenly in broad daylight like this.

"What brings you here at this hour, Colonel?"

Leaving Leticia to ask why he had come to his own home, Roan offered a brief reply.

"My work finished early."

Truthfully, he'd been practically forced out by subordinates who feared he'd die from overwork before the war even started, but there was no need to share such details.

He admitted it was pushing himself too hard. Even in this relentless tension, he couldn't deny he'd gone too far.

He knew the root cause. While work was part of it, the main culprit was his habit of overworking whenever useless thoughts threatened to surface.

Like any gathering place, the command headquarters training ground had its share of silly ghost stories circulating about nightly sightings. His constant occupation of the training ground even late into the night had spawned jokes about the poor ghosts being driven from their resting place.

So the real problem wasn't some ghost that probably didn't even exist, but rather that this approach wasn't actually yielding any tangible results.

'It was a pretty decent method, even if it was crude.'

Was it because he'd overused it until it lost its effect? Or was it because he happened to be thinking about that woman?

"Well then, I'll head upstairs now."

Just as another useless thought threatened to surface, he forced himself to speak, ending the conversation.

"Oh, go ahead. You look terrible. I should get you something nourishing."

Leticia, who seemed to be heading out to run errands, added worriedly before hurrying back through the door he'd just entered. Roan, on the other hand, went straight to his room.

The first thing to greet him was none other than his bed. The neatly made bedding felt almost like it was tempting him.

Roan rubbed his dry, sore eyes. The accumulated fatigue from days of barely sleeping urged him to lie down immediately.

But he only stared blankly at the bed with his bloodshot eyes, his legs refusing to move.

The man standing motionless in the middle of the room slowly turned his gaze halfway around. His eyes settled on the passageway leading to another space.

“…..”

Was it because he was excessively tired?

He couldn't clearly recall why he hadn't tried to find her these past few days.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he roughly swept back his falling bangs.

'I really need to stop overworking this poor body.'

After all, it was causing side effects like this.

Yet, even as he thought this, his gaze refused to leave the hallway.

He knew she was doing well—through Milan’s reports, Leticia’s chatter, or occasionally glimpsing her room still lit late into the night.

Perhaps that was why he could endure without seeing her directly.

"………………Not time for my meds."

He glanced at the window and muttered to himself, sounding somewhat defeated.

Even at a glance, the sunlight streaming in was bright and clear. It was precious weather for midwinter, but it didn't feel particularly welcome.

Having failed to find a proper excuse, he should have surrendered and laid down on the bed by now. But overcoming his stubbornness proved difficult.

It was clear his depleted stamina had scraped away at his patience until it was completely exhausted.

Concluding that overworking himself was never the solution, he nevertheless moved toward the hallway as if finally surrendering.

'Maybe this way is better after all.'

In the end, he even dragged the fundamental problem that had tormented his mind and body all along into his excuses.

But the more he thought about it, the more certain he seemed to become.

Because it couldn't be like that.

Because this could never be something like love.

Right. Seeing her face would confirm it. That's why he was going to meet her.

Now, it felt as if he absolutely had to see her immediately. Something was clearly wrong with his head, but he couldn't acknowledge it himself.

Roan, striding forward as if ready to storm in at any moment, finally stopped before the door he'd reached. He knocked carefully.

“….”

No sound came from inside.

But perhaps she was deliberately not responding. After all, she was the only one who used this passageway.

Feeling miserable again at the relief he felt over that pitiful fact, he grasped the doorknob. Then he cautiously opened the door.

Even as he stepped inside, no sound came from the room.

The moment an eerie familiarity washed over him in that excessively still space, a chill ran down his spine.

No.

Frozen in place as if rooted to the spot, he twisted his face and sprinted across the room.

"Delnia!"

No answer came when he called her name. It wasn't that she was deliberately ignoring him.

There was no one in the room.

The woman who had always been here, even when he didn't look for her.

His heart dropped. It might have even fallen out of his body. He couldn't even feel if he was breathing normally.

He bit his tongue, trying to hold back his mind from plunging into negative thoughts. The metallic taste of blood spread, but he didn't even feel that.

Roan's steps led straight to the hallway with the bathroom. His hand snatched the bathroom doorknob in an instant, moving like a predator pouncing on its prey.

But the fierce momentum he'd possessed just moments ago vanished completely.

His hand, veins bulging blue, trembled pitifully on the doorknob he dared not turn.

Simultaneously, memories as vivid as yesterday overwhelmed him.

If she were behind this door.

If it happened again, just like then…………….

He shook his head forcefully, trying to shake off the deep crimson afterimage blurring his vision. Then, forcing strength into his knees that kept buckling, he flung the door open.

Fortunately, the bathroom was empty. But the misfortune of her absence still consumed him.

After confirming the bathtub was dry, not a single drop of water, he returned to the room with quick strides.

This time, he checked the window. His trembling body kept slamming his forehead against the glass, yet he felt no pain.

His eyes wide, he scanned the flowerbed directly below the window. Not a single strand of her hair could be found. It was both his relief and his misfortune.

Finally, finding no trace of her anywhere, Roan burst out of the room.

The thunderous noise drew the servants' attention instantly.

"C-Colonel?"

But there was no time for questions. He was running madly down the corridors, flinging open every door in a frenzied rampage.

The servants couldn't hide their horror at the scene, as if a ferocious brown bear was rampaging through the mansion.

"Colonel!"