TMBE 07

CHAPTER 07

Chloe and the heavily armed personnel of the base were walking together with the Pitzmark soldiers. The Pitzmark soldiers were pulling carts, and inside them were corpses.

By principle, those from Pitzmark were not allowed to leave the base. However, the base administrators could not completely ignore the humane request that they be allowed to bury their comrades themselves.

At this point, anyone could sense that something about the situation was strange. If there were still Pitzmark soldiers who hadn’t realized it, their intelligence had to be seriously questioned.

Edelin soldiers were coming in and out of the base as usual. After treatment, they returned to their units, and those with permanent disabilities were sent back to their home country.

But it was different for Pitzmark soldiers. They were treated so they wouldn’t die, but releasing them would only result in them pointing bayonets at Edelin soldiers again. The only ways a Pitzmark soldier could leave this base were the end of the war—or death.

Chloe was becoming increasingly certain. The survivors would one day be used as valuable bargaining chips in prisoner negotiations.

The group arrived at a wide open field used for burials. Soldiers unloaded the bodies from the carts, while the base personnel stood watch with bayonets on their shoulders.

At that moment, someone approached Chloe, who was standing there absentmindedly.

“What are you doing following us all the way here? What are you hoping to see?”

Chloe glanced up at Matthew. He was the person at the base she was most comfortable with. A former career soldier, now working as a mercenary after his retirement.

His rugged life showed in his muscular build and somewhat fierce face. His thick, unkempt beard added to that impression.

Interestingly, despite his appearance, he was shy around women. Chloe, who had seen soldiers with boyish faces spouting vulgar jokes nonstop, found that contrast amusing.

“It’s not like this is the first or second time I’ve seen something like this. If I can’t handle this much, I might as well go home.”

Matthew, slightly amused, reached down and patted the top of Chloe’s head. Whatever her circumstances, it seemed pitiful that she was working so hard even near the front lines.

That was when Chloe caught a somewhat unpleasant sight. While soldiers dug the ground with shovels, crows gathered to peck at the corpses. Chloe frowned, and Matthew clicked his tongue.

“I told you not to come.”

But it wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to Chloe anymore. She had learned only after coming to the battlefield that crows existed in such numbers. When she went to retrieve supplies from the front, she would see hundreds of them tearing at bodies. Watching the ground covered in black birds was enough to make someone develop ornithophobia.

What was worse, the crows weren’t afraid of people. They seemed to understand that wherever humans gathered, there would inevitably be abundant food.

Sometimes Chloe thought: if I were to lie still on the ground with my eyes closed, those crows would probably tear me apart too.

With a displeased expression, she continued staring before finally stepping forward. She took a shovel from a Pitzmark soldier who was focused on digging.

She swung the shovel in a semicircle above the crows’ heads. When they showed no intention of fleeing, she began nudging them away.

“Go away. Seriously.”

The base personnel and Pitzmark soldiers watched the small girl wielding a shovel with pale expressions. The scene was absurd, almost grotesque. Chloe continued shooing the crows away, muttering to herself:

“I know you’re just trying to survive too, but even humans have a minimum dignity in front of death. I can’t just ignore that.”

Alvin was watching her as well. Seeing a scene that showed no trace of sentimentality, he turned to his adjutant.

“Ducraine, is that woman really—”

“Maybe someone else wrote it for her.”

Ducraine, sharing a similar impression, cautiously suggested another possibility. Alvin asked, puzzled:

“Isn’t that a crime?”

Still tilting his head in doubt, Alvin walked toward Chloe. By then, she had driven off the crows and was helping Pitzmark soldiers dig.

He took the shovel from her.

“Why again?”

Chloe looked up at him from below.

The hem of the pants she had recently given him was neatly maintained. She grabbed the shovel handle again.

“You don’t need to help.”

“Let’s just say it’s prison labor.”

“……”

“Give it. You said you hate dealing with corpses.”

Unable to refuse further, Chloe let go. As he dug a large scoop of earth, she crouched beside him with her chin in her hand. Alvin glanced at her and let out a faint laugh. Matthew and Ducraine exchanged doubtful looks—because the two of them seemed oddly close. It was the result of several private exchanges and deals.

Feeling their gazes, Chloe looked around and then fixed her eyes on Ducraine. When he quickly averted his gaze in panic, she turned to Alvin.

“You said something about me behind my back, didn’t you?”

“I did?”

“You were whispering about me last time.”

“…You saw that?”

“Yeah, by accident. What did you even say that you can’t look me in the eye?”

Chloe had once asked Alvin to “take care of him a bit.” It hadn’t meant to badmouth her. But she assumed it had gone that way anyway.

Normally, people who were distant needed a common enemy to grow closer. It was a slightly underhanded method, but effective enough to become a classic tactic.

And Chloe didn’t particularly mind. She worked in a profession where she received daily doses of criticism that most people would never experience in a lifetime. She was so used to refined and elegant verbal dismantling from critics that another few words wouldn’t make a difference. One more stain on a ragged cloth didn’t matter.

Alvin realized she had misunderstood something.

He planted the shovel in the ground and looked at her.

“Do I really look like that much of a low-life to you?”

“Not really.”

When Chloe answered indifferently, Alvin decided to clarify.

“Ducraine said he knows you.”

“Me? How?”

“He said you came to Pitzmark for a performance.”

“……”

For a moment, Chloe’s usually calm expression turned awkward. It quickly returned to neutrality, but Alvin had already noticed.

“…You have unusual taste.”

The play she had staged in Pitzmark had been a children’s production—her youngest target audience ever. Writing dialogue suited for children and shaping rhythm to match their perspective had been a real challenge.

Had something happened in her life at that time that made her rely on innocence like that? She glanced at Ducraine again, and Alvin shook his head.

“He’s got a daughter. He’s a father.”

“Oh, so his daughter has refined taste.”

Chloe spoke casually, but Alvin sensed she was uncomfortable with the topic. As expected, she lightly kicked the dirt and said:

“Don’t spread that around.”

She was prepared to be dissected and redefined by strangers every day—but she didn’t want people who knew her as a person to turn her into gossip. Imagining the soldiers laughing and teasing her already gave her a headache.

I just want to hide behind my work sometimes.

That was why she had consistently kept her identity and her connection to the Marquess of Weltington secret within the base.

“Is that a request?”

“Yeah.”

“What do I get in return?”

“I’ll bring you what you need, within reason.”

At her immediate willingness to negotiate, Alvin smiled. She really disliked rumors. Still, he wasn’t the kind of person who went out of his way to make others uncomfortable.

“Do I look like someone who spreads gossip?”

Chloe shook her head slightly. Alvin remained more or less alone in the base. At first, she thought he lacked social skills, but it didn’t take long to realize that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t being excluded—he was the one excluding everyone else. A rather unusual talent.

Chloe buried her mouth in her knee and smiled with her eyes. Watching her for a while, Alvin asked:

“Chloe, what about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have a daughter who looks like you?”

She looked up silently.

He corrected himself with a faint laugh.

“Are you married?”

“Why? Do I look like I would be?”

“Not really. It’s just hard to guess your age.”

The reason soldiers teased her was partly because of her lack of reaction—but also because she looked young. Still, Alvin sensed something beyond that: a kind of weathered, hardened presence.

And Chloe understood his intent quite clearly. He was subtly asking about her age.

She smiled as if she hadn’t noticed, trying to deflect it. There was no need for this kind of conversation.

But Alvin didn’t stop there.

“So… do you have a lover?”