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CHAPTER 01
. Civilian of an Enemy Nation, Wounded Soldier of an Enemy Nation
Rear of Edelrin Army Second Front. Weltington Medical Base.
Even on a battlefield, morning eventually comes. The medical base was quite far from the front lines, but the distant sound of artillery could always be heard faintly.
As always, Chloe read letters with that sound as her background music. Once every ten days, correspondence arrived along with relief supplies, and today’s sender was Andrea.
Chloe. You’re doing well, right? It’s already been more than half a year since you left.
At this rate, I’m starting to wonder if the year’s going to change before you come back.
As usual, there was nothing particularly special in the contents. All correspondence passing through the base was subject to censorship. Sensitive questions and answers were always blacked out.
Andrea’s letter, which had begun with warm greetings, soon turned into complaints and disappointment.
So if you got dumped, you could’ve just gotten a normal haircut or gone drinking with us,
why did you suddenly go and join the military? Huh? How can a person do that?
……
Seriously, when are you coming back? Benjamin doesn’t say much, but even he looks worried about you.
We’re all waiting for you, so please just come back, Chloe.
— Your soulmate, Andrea.
Chloe folded the letter and muttered,
“I didn’t join the military… I volunteered for a relief organization. I clearly said that.”
She hadn’t come to a military unit, nor had she come here because she was heartbroken. Yet despite her repeated corrections, among her “triplets,” she had become a woman who enlisted after a breakup.
They likely kept repeating such nonsense because it was their way of expressing concern. Seeing no point in further explanation, she decided to reply later.
She placed the letter into a drawer and instead opened a notebook. Dipping her pen into ink, she wrote down the date, enjoying the scratch of the pen on paper—her only luxury in this place, and personally her most important routine.
Edelrin Army, 8 returned to unit; 13 repatriated due to inability to continue combat; 9 deaths in medical facility.
…Pitzmark Army, 4 newly admitted; 0 repatriated; 2 deaths.
— Recorded by Chloe Libertà at the Second Front.
Placing a bookmark inside, Chloe closed the cover and left the room.
Walking down the corridor, she entered a large ward packed with beds. The doctors and medics had already made their rounds, and most of the wounded soldiers were awake.
She went to the window and pulled the suffocating curtains open.
“Chloe, good morning.”
“Yeah. Your bandages are off.”
“Still, my leg keeps aching.”
“That’s not exactly something that heals overnight. Be grateful it ended at this level.”
“Yes, yes, Sister.”
“I’m actually not religious.”
The familiar soldiers chatted casually with her. They were likely just itching for conversation. She responded lightly, letting some of it pass as she walked between the beds.
The Third Pitzmark War.
What had been expected to end quickly had instead become a drawn-out stalemate. The front line repeatedly advanced and retreated, leaving casualties on both sides. Because of this, Chloe Libertà had remained at the relief facility far longer than she had planned.
She could now judge a patient’s condition just by glancing at their wounds. Still, she hardly seemed like someone suited for this place. After all, this was not somewhere anyone could simply volunteer to join.
Civilians with medical knowledge, retired soldiers with combat experience, religious personnel, active soldiers assigned to protect the base—at the very least, those with exceptional physical endurance.
The reason Chloe, who belonged to none of these categories, could remain here was simple. The one in charge of the medical base was the Marquis of Weltington. He was a fervent philanthropist—and the person who had once supported Chloe when she had nothing.
As always, it seemed that without blazing talent, one needed connections to get anywhere in life. Or perhaps even with blazing talent, one could do nothing without connections.
While Chloe was thinking such realistic thoughts and cleaning up scattered bandages and cotton on the floor—
“Hey, Chloe.”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“I think I’m not feeling well.”
“…Where exactly? I’ll call a doctor.”
She paused and immediately moved to act, but the soldier grabbed her thin wrist with a mischievous grin.
“That’s not what I mean. I think this part is broken.”
“……”
“I think it’s been unused for too long.”
“……”
“What should I do?”
He gestured toward the lower part of his body. It was obvious what he was implying.
He seemed to want to start the morning with vulgar jokes, wearing a greasy smile.
And unfortunately for him, Chloe wasn’t particularly affected.
The young-looking soldier didn’t frighten or disgust her much. In fact, most soldiers here were younger than her. Of course, she knew that even boys who still looked immature could turn into shameless beasts on the battlefield or at night.
Still, she sighed internally and looked at him for a long moment.
“Hmm, you…”
If only your mind had been focused entirely on fighting, this war might have ended a little faster. Or maybe not. But at the very least, you wouldn’t have been injured so much.
Chloe sighed.
“I’ve only been here a short while, so maybe I don’t understand well, but I’m not kind enough to entertain that kind of talk.”
Not exactly something to be proud of. But regardless of whether she was immune to such remarks, that was simply how she was.
“And there’s no one here who has the right to hear that kind of thing from you. So could you take it elsewhere?”
“Elsewhere where?”
Chloe answered flatly.
“Your right hand.”
But then she noticed the bandage on his left hand. She looked at it with a complicated expression before continuing.
“Were you left-handed?”
“…Huh?”
“If you’re ambidextrous… honestly, I’d prefer you didn’t for a while.”
As the saying goes, God told us that the right hand should not know what the left hand is doing. But why did people who straddled both sides never have the sense not to get caught? Immoral and foolish was a truly hopeless combination.
Of course, she knew that such a noble phrase was not meant for this kind of situation.
At that moment, a faint sound like air escaping reached her ears. It was subtle, but Chloe’s sharp hearing caught it immediately, and she turned around.
There stood a blond man with striking blue eyes, looking in her direction. He was the wounded enemy soldier she had brought to the base days ago.
Bandages were wrapped around his body, and small cuts marked his face.
Yet he looked far more presentable than before. That was only natural—they had both arrived here looking like beggars after being dragged through mud.
Chloe looked at him suspiciously.
‘Did he just laugh? At him? Or at me? …Yeah, I suppose I can’t blame him. Even I find our army’s level embarrassing in many ways.’
The trace of amusement on the man’s face was faint. Still, Chloe stepped slightly in front of the enemy soldier, sensing several sharp gazes turning toward him.
Separating Edelrin soldiers from the few Pitzmark soldiers was a rule of the facility. But due to lack of space, that principle was often broken. Whenever that happened, a subtle tension filled the relief station.
It was no surprise that even minor conflicts could escalate into serious fights. Especially when the “enemy” was someone who had pointed a gun at your friends just days ago.
My friend’s friend is my friend. My friend’s enemy is my enemy.
That was one of the fundamental principles of war. Chloe understood that well.
She scanned the surroundings with slightly tense eyes.
And what ultimately broke that tense atmosphere was, surprisingly… simple violence.
A senior Edelrin officer suddenly stood up from his bed, grabbed a crutch beside him—
CRACK.
A terrifying sound of something breaking froze everyone.
Even Chloe paused.
The man had struck one of his own soldiers—the one who had been making trouble near Chloe earlier.
“Don’t cause trouble in here.”
The soldiers’ attention scattered faster than retreating troops. It wasn’t because they lost interest—but because the beating, expected to stop after a few strikes, had already passed five… then ten blows.
Crack, thud, smack, crunch. The sound of pain continued endlessly.
Hierarchy mattered in the military, and those who angered an officer rarely ended well.
“And you—why the hell do you talk like some creepy old man when you’re still a kid? It’s disgusting to listen to.”
“…Uh, well.”
Chloe let out a quiet breath.
She didn’t have high expectations for people in general. Even less for romantic ideals. But saying it like that made it feel like all innocent middle-aged men in the world were being unfairly slandered.
One of those middle-aged men—the officer—folded his hands and signaled toward Chloe. He seemed to be asking her to let it go.
Not wanting to cause trouble so early in the morning, she nodded.
As she turned to leave, she glanced back over her shoulder as if pretending not to.
The enemy soldier was no longer being watched. He was simply looking out the window again, wearing that unreadable expression.
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