Charlot Mecklenburg merely learned of the news from the newspaper and was already deeply shocked. For the imperial officials, great nobles, and even His Majesty the Emperor who received the news through the war report, their astonishment was at least tenfold greater.
The losses of the Fars Imperial Navy caused heartbreak across all levels of society. These assets, accumulated over a century, were by no means the work of a day or even a year.
At the same time, the empire acted with unprecedented speed. In less than four hours after receiving the battle report, a document was dispatched from Strasbourg to the Imperial Rose Fleet. Menielman Soumet, previously a seventeenth-class Imperial Captain, was promoted several ranks to become a thirteenth-class Imperial Colonel. Additionally, he was assigned no less than twenty-two administrative titles—so many that, if written into a novel, readers would scoff at the excess.
The imperial favor bestowed upon Menielman Soumet skyrocketed overnight.
Charlot, though he had achieved countless feats, had primarily fought in remote theaters of war. South Seraph was not a major focus for imperial troops. Furthermore, the two Breton offensives were nominally commanded by others. He could not rival Menielman's contributions and, more significantly, felt the cold indifference of serving a monarch firsthand...
As Charlot ate breakfast, Sophia Gallanord came to visit.
Frederica did not come. Instead, she had entrusted Sophia with a message, stating she needed to visit Machubi Fortress to arrange for the first wave of Leopardmen.
Charlot invited the Rose of Strasbourg to join him for breakfast. Sophia accepted but ate sparingly—a half slice of bread and a single cup of coffee.
During breakfast, Charlot casually mentioned the naval battle. Sophia Gallanord's expression turned solemn as she softly remarked, “I came today to tell you something, Mr. Mecklenburg.”
“I am also a subject of Fars. In this moment of national crisis, I cannot indulge in personal…”
She murmured almost inaudibly, “...emotions.”
Then, raising her voice slightly, she continued, “I have applied for a leave of absence and will soon join the army.”
“I can no longer stay by your side.”
Sophia Gallanord's heart twisted painfully.
She did not believe that, in a fair competition, she could lose to Annie Bretagne.
However, as the daughter of the Gallanord family, she could not hide in the rear during the empire’s time of need. No matter how much it hurt, she resolved to abandon this relationship and dedicate herself to her country.
Sophia did not know whether she would survive. Her heart was torn with mixed feelings, and she developed an inexplicable resentment toward Annie. Looking at Charlot, she only hoped to catch one last glance, uncertain if she would return from the battlefield alive.
Fate is cruel, and the battlefield colder than iron!
Even the noblest lineage, the most illustrious surname, or even the exalted Saint rank could not guarantee survival.
Sophia had never expected that her first affection for a man would end in such a bitter retreat, without even a full effort to fight for it.
Though Sophia had countless ways to remain in Strasbourg, she refused to disgrace the Gallanord name. She even thought that staying in the imperial capital for romance rather than fighting for her country would make her despise herself.
Charlot had no words to say. He murmured, “May you find triumph in battle.”
“Sophia, which front will you be heading to?”
“I will join the navy,” Sophia Gallanord replied.
In that moment, Charlot even considered whether to gift Sophia the Whale Slayer and Sea Strider. These two knightly lances offered significant advantages in naval combat.
But then he thought of how Annie joyfully hung the two lances on the wall of Baker Street No. 221B, right beside his magical oil painting. He realized that this would be a colossal affront to the Serpent of Fate.
After much hesitation, he sighed and chose a less daring gesture. He retrieved a golden ring, handing it to Sophia Gallanord. “I have a friend with an exceptional warship, but she likely won’t be going to the front.”
“Send someone with this ring to No. 699 Southbank Seventais Avenue. Yes, have someone else deliver it; do not go yourself. Ask if she might lend the ship.”
“As your friend, I am deeply regretful—truly regretful—that I cannot provide more aid as you head into battle. Please, do not refuse this.”
Sophia Gallanord accepted the golden ring. She had no idea what Charlot had borrowed on her behalf.
After all, Earl Bretagne was currently preoccupied on the Ferranden front and did not have the leisure to investigate Charlot as thoroughly as he might have.
Thus, what Annie knew, Sophia did not.
Seeing Charlot’s sincerity, she softly said, “I will take care of this gift.”
Charlot Mecklenburg found the breakfast utterly tasteless. Though he had been to war himself, it was precisely because of that experience that he knew its dangers.
He held no special feelings for Sophia Gallanord, yet even as an “ordinary” friend, he wished to avoid tragedy. As he had done for Dolores Soumet, placing her in the safety of Machubi Fortress—his stronghold and the safest of all his controlled territories—he sought to protect his friends and subordinates. Charlot would never throw lives into the grinder of war. He often preferred defeat to risking his troops’ safety.
Charlot was never a qualified commander.
And he likely never would be.
After saying farewell to Charlot, Sophia Gallanord finally felt a weight lifted from her chest. She was renowned across the empire, and among young people under twenty, there was no one—male or female—who could rival her in Fars.
Sophia Gallanord’s dream had never been romance but to become a “hero” capable of turning the tide of war and commanding thousands.
She rose to bid Charlot goodbye. Just before leaving No. 58 Elysée Avenue, Sophia unsheathed her sword, severed a lock of her hair, and handed it to Charlot. “Mr. Charlot Mecklenburg, will you keep this for me?”
Charlot sighed, placing the lock of hair into his ever-present diary. He murmured, “I would gladly pay ten shares of Fate’s Joy if it ensures your safe return.”
Sophia Gallanord smiled faintly. This time, she left without looking back.
The Rose of Strasbourg was about to bloom!