TPB 4

Chapter: 4

The reason the duty soldier could recognize Ian at a glance—even though he was just an ordinary soldier, stripped of his uniform and armband and wearing only a thin shirt—was because of his extraordinary appearance.

Though its history was relatively short, Grand Vatten was the world’s strongest nation politically, economically, and militarily. But what it was most famous for was the beauty of the Vatten royal family.

Especially Prince Ian, who looked exactly like Queen Violet, and his twin sister, Princess Charlotte.

There was a saying in Grand Vatten: while there were plenty of men in the kingdom with blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, the real “Prince Ian” could be recognized instantly.

“Even if you want to confuse him with someone else, you can’t. You’ll recognize him immediately. The real Prince Ian just looks different.”

Just as everyone said in unison, the duty soldier could instantly tell that this was Prince Ian, who was also Duke Valderma, Marquess of Huntington, and Count of Nonsumber.

Although Ian had many titles, during military duties he was simply referred to as “Major Ian Valderma.”

In any case, the sudden appearance of Ian on a floor reserved for commanders of lower rank was not a good sign, as the duty soldier feared.

In his mind, the duty soldier silently bid farewell to Lieutenant Roger Hitton.

While Ian patiently whispered the correct answer to the duty soldier, the room was thrown into confusion by the sound of the doorknob.

“Hey! Hey!”

The unexpected visitor clapped the panicked lieutenant on the back, startling him so much he could barely catch his breath.

“Hey! Roger Hitton! The door!”

When the lieutenant still didn’t snap out of it, the woman shouted what sounded like a secret code and kicked him mercilessly in the stomach.

Roger Hitton, sprawled on the carpet, finally grasped the situation.

“…He told me to wait.”

He clumsily rose to his feet, pulled up his trousers around his thighs, and bent down to roughly grab his uniform coat that had fallen on the carpet.

“I’ll kill him!”

Sliding his arms into the coat, Roger decided to punish the soldier who had dared to disrupt such an important moment. As if to make sure the soldier outside heard, he stomped loudly toward the door.

“This little worm dares to disobey a direct order to wait for his superior and try to open the door? Even if I hang him upside down…”

He prepared to strike the clueless soldier next.

But then, an unexpected figure stood before him.

‘Prince Ian!’

Roger screamed silently inside, but his body instinctively saluted the superior. At times like this, ingrained habits of the body were better than thinking with the head.

“Lieutenant Hitton.”

Ian narrowed his eyes slightly and scanned him from head to toe.

Roger took pride in his posture and voice—they were impeccable. But his attire was another story.

The pristine uniform coat had only one arm through its sleeve. His dark brown hair, usually meticulously styled with pomade, was a chaotic mess, as if attacked by a seagull.

Then Ian bared his teeth in a smile and spoke in a pleasant voice.

“Why do you open the door so roughly?”

He pointed at the duty soldier, who had been bounced across the carpet, unable to avoid the door in time.

“Thanks to you, one of our soldiers got hurt.”

The duty soldier was moved by the prince’s attentiveness. Little did he know that Ian’s warm gaze really meant, “Poor thing, you couldn’t even dodge a door.”

Having known Ian for a total of four years as a fellow academy student and subordinate, Roger understood. His face turned pale.

“I’m glad you’re consistent.”

Those words really meant, “You always give me something to get mad about, and I’m delighted.” Roger’s jaw tensed reflexively.

“I’m in trouble.”

Though Ian’s smile was charming enough to make anyone melt, Roger had never seen him look so infuriating.

Four days ago, the King William had encountered pirates.

They were brave enough to charge at the ship even after seeing the Grand Vatten flag. Such things happened occasionally, but the captain had to clutch his neck in frustration over the allied casualties during the battle.

Prince Ian—or Major Valderma—did not, as a typical royal, sit at the rear during the formalities.

He stood at the front as a commander, waving the flag, and in shipboard combat, he personally fired his gun at the enemy.

Even after seeing it several times, the crew of the King William could hardly adapt to the prince’s leading by example.

“Please sit down, Your Highness!”

But trying to stop him was pointless; Ian was clearly a talented officer. No one dared to interfere.

Then a problem arose: a pirate’s bullet grazed the prince’s arm.

He was no ordinary man!

By unfortunate coincidence, Grand Vatten’s navy uniforms were white—the same color as the royal flag.

The captain nearly fainted seeing the crimson spreading across the prince’s arm. It was his fault for having the prince as his subordinate.

Ian considered the graze minor and paid no mind, but the captain didn’t. His dream was to retire honorably, without scandal.

Even a tiny wound was a major issue because the one wounded was a prince. The quiet coastal city of Roland suddenly became the Grand Vatten navy’s anchorage.

The captain immediately occupied the best hotel in Roland and began preparing to send Major Valderma and two of the five ships back to Grand Vatten.

Ian complied silently—not out of pity for the captain trembling in fear, but because:

“If I go back now, I might not have to wear a uniform again.”

His military career was winding down.

He was second in line to the throne. Military service might suit him, but whether it fit his aptitude didn’t matter. A period of service was simply a duty for a royal male. Completing it was enough.

“Even if I do nothing, in ten years I’ll be a general.”

He sighed. Promotions would come automatically, and in no time he’d be an admiral—just as he had gone from cadet to major in a peaceful year without war.

Life as second in line to the throne meant effortless achievement.

Others might envy it, but Ian found it boring. A life of carefully preserved health did not suit him.

This time, he felt unusually regretful. Perhaps because he had invested genuine effort over the past three years.

“The next duty will probably be marrying a foreign princess.”

Prince Ian David Martin Astiers.

With such a grand name came great benefits—and correspondingly, great obligations.

Nobles had high noses, seeking suitable marriages within their class. Royals were even more fastidious, often marrying cousins to maintain bloodlines and alliances.

A royal marrying another royal, a noble marrying another noble—this was an established order.

Next summer, when this handsome twenty-four-year-old man came of age, his duty would likely be to marry a foreign princess.

Given that, an early return was the practical choice.

His mind always chose the most efficient, rational option—but it was undeniably frustrating.

With that thought, Ian’s lips curled into a sharper, more dangerous smile.

Tonight, returning to Grand Vatten, Major Valderma had to transfer some of his rights to his direct subordinate, Lieutenant Roger Hitton. And in the military, it was a virtue for subordinates to appear within a minute if called.

Telling Roger to wait a few minutes was correct—he should not have stayed behind, but should return immediately.

Ian could easily guess why Roger hadn’t immediately jumped up.

He probably couldn’t resist, old habits dying hard.

Roger was the type who wasted no time meeting women once on shore. The problem was he touched anyone indiscriminately.

There had been disturbances before, but Roger believed he had handled them discreetly.

Superiors weren’t fools. They knew but didn’t punish him for personal matters outside of duty. And many men had messy private lives.

“What could be the problem?”

Did his lower half truly control his brain? Ian couldn’t understand this type.

For example, his father, the king of Grand Vatten, was notorious in this regard.

The only flaw of Grand Vatten was the king’s private life. Ian recalled several outrageous scandals surrounding him.

Though his mood had already hit rock bottom, it didn’t matter. There was a culprit right in front of him.

Ian smiled, genuinely relieved. His smile was heart-melting, but Roger’s face darkened.

“Don’t get down yet.”

Ian ordered Roger to maintain his salute and fully opened the room’s door. A shrill scream erupted from inside.

“You may come down now.”

Roger lowered his arm, stepped out, and tried to close the door, but Ian did not allow it.

“Should I leave my superior standing?”

“My room is too messy…”

Ian’s blue eyes glared coldly. Roger wisely cut off his words.

The woman hiding in Roger’s room hastily grabbed some clothes, draped a hotel gown, and began fleeing. The trailing gown brushed a table, scattering letters. Roger groaned in frustration.

Even in her rush, the woman paused briefly upon seeing Prince Ian, only to be chased away by the dutiful soldier with a stern face.

After she left, Ian entered the room with measured steps. He frowned slightly at the messy scene, then elegantly crossed his legs on the only clean-looking table chair. Roger, hesitant, closed the door and stood before him.

“You’re the worst among our peers.”

“Prince…”

“Such stupidity.”

“Sorry, Major.”

“Lieutenant, I told you not to invite women to a commander’s quarters. There’s an image to maintain for the Grand Vatten Navy.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. If you break an order, you go to the brig. Why say more?”

Clear and crisp. Flustered, Roger began mumbling excuses.

While half-listening, Ian noticed the letters scattered when the woman swept past the table.

There were easily over twenty. Just four days at the pier, and when had he exchanged letters with all these women? He scoffed.

The sudden laugh silenced Roger mid-excuse.

Ian’s eyes narrowed. Most envelopes were the same. He picked up one apricot-colored envelope.

“…Natalie Daus?”

The handwriting was unusually angular and heavy, as if stamped by type.