Previously
Henrietta returns to her quarters only to find her locker empty of the snacks she believed were 'welcome food.' She reports the 'theft' to Billy, who brings the matter to the Duke.
Every direction was blinding white.
‘The Eternal Land?’
Only a moment ago, she had felt on the verge of death—no, she was certain she had died. Yet opening her eyes, her body was at ease, and everything before her was pure white.
Her breath no longer threatened to give out, her heart did not ache as if tearing apart, and her legs no longer felt broken.
She had never imagined that simply breathing quietly could bring such bliss. Even in death, she would be content.
“You’re awake. Still disoriented, aren’t you?”
“!”
Startled by the unfamiliar woman’s voice, Henrietta bolted upright. Or rather, she tried to.
“Ah!”
A rush of pain tore through her as if every bone had been snapped to pieces. With her body feeling as stiff and heavy as a log, this clearly wasn’t the Eternal Land.
“Take it easy getting up. You’ll throw out your back.”
Though delivered in a businesslike tone, there was genuine concern in the woman's voice.
Turning her head, Henrietta saw a woman in a doctor’s coat, her dark hair tied tightly back. Her hollow cheeks gave her a somewhat cold impression, but she was quite handsome.
“This is the infirmary.”
“The infirmary? How did I get here?”
Perhaps influenced by the doctor’s decidedly un-military tone, Henrietta slipped unconsciously back into her old way of speaking as she repeated the question. The doctor looked at her as if she had never heard such a foolish inquiry before.
“You were brought in on a stretcher, of course.”
“Pardon?”
“You should have known when to stop. I heard you collapsed the second you finished all twenty laps.”
“Ah! Yes! That’s right!”
On the nineteenth lap, Henrietta had watched the sky and the parade ground blur into the exact same color. Even so, she had refused to give up. Far more arduous and unjust trials lay ahead; giving up here would only prove the Duke right.
Just one lap.
If she completed just one more lap, she could stand as an equal among the soldiers. So, gritting her teeth, she had run as if her life depended on it.
“Thanks to you, I finally had the pleasure of treating a genuine patient for once.”
“A genuine patient?”
“Yes. Usually, they come in faking illnesses. No one runs twenty laps until they're on death’s door before coming here. Even when they claim they're dying, they always walk in on their own two feet.”
That sounded rather odd.
“With soldiers fighting dangerous monsters, do you mean to say no one gets hurt?”
“Of course they do. But in those cases, they arrive as corpses, not wounded, so there are no patients to treat.”
The doctor uttered such ghastly words with utter nonchalance.
“I… see. Well, in any case, thank you for treating me, er…”
Henrietta quickly read the nametag pinned to the doctor’s coat.
“Doctor A. Schäfer?”
“Amelia. You can call me Doctor Schäfer. Whichever comes to mind first.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but what is your rank?”
“I’m not a military doctor. I ran a private practice until it went completely under, so I took a salaried position here with the army.”
No wonder she spoke like a civilian.
“Then, if you’ll excuse me, I should be on my way.”
Henrietta slowly propped herself up, but the moment her back straightened, her head spun violently.
“Ah…”
“Dizzy, aren't you? It's to be expected. You’re suffering from malnutrition. You'll have to stay here for at least two days.”
Malnutrition. A noble, malnourished! A fresh surge of rage toward her petty ex-husband flared within her.
If he was going to freeze someone's accounts, shouldn't he at least have provided a subsistence allowance? Knowing full well she had no money and nowhere to turn.
Vile, despicable wretch. Did he think doing that would drive her crawling back to him?
“You could have told me that a bit sooner…”
Just as she was about to lie back down, regretting having gotten up, a savory aroma drifted over from somewhere.
“…Oh!”
Seeing the food arranged on the meal tray, Henrietta let out an audible gasp. A soup brimming with hearty meat and bread stuffed with a meat patty looked utterly radiant.
“I wouldn’t mind collapsing ten more times…”
Chewing greedily on the meat, the patient’s voice overflowed with pure bliss.
Doctor Schäfer clicked her tongue.
That special meal had been ordered by the Division Commander himself, his pride stung by the discovery of a malnourished patient in his own ranks. Naturally, collapsing ten times wouldn’t earn her ten special meals.
Still, she saw no reason to dampen the patient’s spirits by pointing that out. The fledgling trainee seemed to have a long, grueling road ahead of her regardless.
“Enjoy it while you can. Once you leave here, things are going to be considerably harder.”
“…”
With her mouth stuffed full of meat, Henrietta simply nodded.
At the time, she assumed it merely meant her training would become more demanding.
***
According to the medic’s report, Trainee Matyas had thoroughly cleared her lunch tray and would be able to return to training once she regained some stamina.
Having dismissed the medic, Kalinin set down his pen and walked over to the office window.
From his window, the parade ground lay in full view.
The memory of Trainee Matyas stubbornly completing all twenty laps rose in his mind.
Trailing ten laps behind the others—at a pace so painfully slow toward the end that walking would have been faster—she had nonetheless finished the entire course. It was a momentous milestone, proving she had successfully taken her very first step as a soldier.
Yet the image that lingered incessantly in Kalinin’s mind was Trainee Matyas’s face as she collapsed like a fluttering paper doll.
The smile that had spread across a face coated in sweat and dirt.
Every time that smile crossed his thoughts, his fists tightened.
“Malnutrition—”
Could there be a more infuriating diagnosis?
He had never considered the Krakow army uniquely brilliant or woefully deficient compared to the forces of other nobles. His army was average. It was merely led by an exceptional division commander who ran it exceptionally well.
That was precisely why the welfare standards for Krakow’s enlisted men were higher than those in other domains. Discipline alone could not sustain an army’s morale.
Just as a horse owner provided hay and carrots to racehorses, the Krakow Division Commander supplied his soldiers with plentiful meals and Ruljo Candies. While flavor was never guaranteed, taste hardly mattered to enlisted men worn out by relentless drills.
And yet.
And yet!
Malnutrition!
Of course, the army bore no responsibility for a trainee who had enlisted less than a week ago being malnourished. Nevertheless, the mere combination of those offensive syllables trampled the pride of the Krakow Division Commander.
Kalinin genuinely wanted to interrogate Henrietta.
Just how many days had she starved? How much had she eaten in a day? What would it take to fatten her up?
He felt he wouldn't be satisfied until he grabbed her by the collar and shook the answers out of her, but as the Division Commander, visiting a bedridden trainee in person was unbecoming.
Was there no suitable pretext?
And right before the commander seeking an excuse—
“Division Commander.”
Billy appeared, pretext in hand.
“What is it?”
“Have you seen this?”
Paying no heed to his commander’s deep scowl, Billy held out a capital magazine he subscribed to, only to snatch it back before Kalinin could even get a proper look.
“Since you don't read this sort of thing, sir, I’ll read it for you. ‘A Shocking True Story! The Notorious Villainess Vanishes from the Capital. Missing Without a Trace?’ Aha! Nobody drafts headlines quite like ‘Lonton Family's Soup Bowl.’ The ‘Weekly News’ is, how should I put it, a bit too refined? Lacks punch, really.”
There were about a dozen magazines published in the capital. Analyzing the merits and flaws of each, Billy sounded like a seasoned journalist—though the fact that his taste was third-rate and confined entirely to gossip remained a glaring issue.
Suddenly, the Duke found himself wondering about something he had never cared to question before.
Just how many magazine subscriptions did this fellow have?
At any rate, the summary Billy provided went roughly as follows.
Countess Salt, imprisoned for her unprecedented outrage—referred to in the magazine as the greatest villainess of all time or the bastard child of pure violence—had vanished without a trace upon her release. According to the publication's investigation, a witness claimed to have seen the Countess boarding a gold-plated carriage outside the prison that very day. A carriage bearing the imperial seal, no less.
“The imperial seal?”
“A total fabrication, obviously. They’re not the type of journalists to pound the pavement and break their backs digging up actual facts. Take it with a grain of salt, sir.”
There were plenty of other testimonies regarding the whereabouts of the former Countess Salt: an account from an employee at James National Mental Hospital claiming she had been admitted there; an 8th District officer claiming an unidentified suicide victim resembled her; a street thug swearing he had seen her in a brothel…
To the Duke, who knew her exact location, every single word was worthy of nothing but derision.