Tristan wanted to shout in every direction.
If possible, he’d seat the coachman and the servant from the front of the carriage right across from him and yell at the top of his lungs.
Everyone, I have a fiancée with a graceful beauty, like a Diamond Jubilee Rose on the verge of blooming!
That fiancée of mine, despite the countless disturbances and work that ca in between, did not forget the promise she made to send a letter! Not only that, but she even sent a gift, wishing for my safe return!
An embroidered handkerchief? How cliché, Arthur!
What I received might seem, at first glance, like sothing useless—sothing one might ask, ‘Why would you even receive that?’—but this holds a mory that only the two of us share!
"Your Highness, what did you receive?"
"…Ahem. Oh, nothing important."
Tristan barely held himself back, forcibly dragging down the corners of his lips that were itching to shout.
Just recently, Doris had strictly warned him.
"Don’t say anything sentintal or boastful about your fiancée in front of others."
"Even if you hadn’t asked, I wouldn’t do anything so embarrassing."
Damn it. If he started talking, he might not be able to stop. Just imagining it had already filled his head with an endless string of sentences.
But soon, Arthur's question struck an unavoidable nerve.
"That thing in your trouser pocket… could it be—?"
"…Ah, is it that noticeable?"
Arthur gave him a look as if asking, Are you seriously asking if I have eyes? before nodding.
"Yes, quite. At first, I thought it was a dagger ornant."
"It's not a dagger. It’s a gift from my fiancée."
Doris Redfield. It wasn’t that he wanted to brag, but how could he help it? Arthur looked so curious!
With a hesitant yet oddly pleased contradiction, Tristan pulled the item out of his pocket.
"This."
What erged was a hairpin, about ten centiters long. At the tip, a peridot stone glowed like a budding sprout.
It was the exact sa hairpin he had forced Doris to give him after she forgot to bring a gift on the day of the hunting tournant.
That day, this hairpin had been a symbol of his petty mischief. "I will rember that there is soone wishing for my safe return through this," he had said—but those words were just sothing he made up on the spot to fill the emptiness.
But now, the hairpin he had taken from her as a joke had been reborn as an official gift.
And the fact that Doris had sent it ant, "I rember the conversation we had during the hunting tournant. Please return safely, just like back then."
What could be a more perfect gift than this?
When he first opened her letter and saw this item, he had felt like he could swallow the hairpin whole and die without a single regret.
The only issue was that a hairpin wasn’t exactly sothing a man could use in his daily life, so he had to carry it separately...
A famous designer once said:
"A man’s formal suit pocket should never even hold a mustard seed."
Even the smallest object would ruin the silhouette of the outfit.
Tristan usually followed that rule—except for when it ca to his sword, which his servants carried for him—but this was an exception.
anwhile, Arthur, looking at the hairpin, nodded knowingly.
"Lady Doris has given you sothing she once held. Truly a romantic gift."
"I never asked for a gift, yet she went out of her way to prepare one. A lady who only ever thought about books and etiquette is showing this kind of side to her fiancé... And thanks to that, I’m now stuck carrying around sothing utterly impractical."
"Excuse ?"
Arthur tilted his head at the last remark.
"If it's inconvenient, you could just put it in your travel bag."
"…No, that’s—"
"Oh, did you receive it after packing was already done? That would indeed be inconvenient."
"……."
"I have an extra bag. Would you like to hold onto it until we arrive?"
"No."
Tristan imdiately shoved the hairpin back into his pocket.
Arthur, anwhile, turned to look out the window.
"It seems we've entered the territory. As expected, Blue Atrium maintains the perfect temperature even in the sumr. Compared to Frost Hill, the weather here is wonderful."
"…Indeed."
"A fine land."
Tristan also gazed out the window.
His parents had told him: The land is fertile, the climate is mild, and the farrs are simple folk—perfect for you to govern, Tristan.
And now, it was land he had to compete with Arthur for.
Arthur…
There was no greed in Arthur’s eyes as he looked at the scenery. He seed to be simply enjoying the fresh air of a land that reminded him of ho.
If only there had been even a flicker of greed in his eyes, Tristan would have felt more at ease.
Tristan clenched the hairpin inside his pocket. The peridot decoration dug into his fingers.
This pin had only recently been in Doris’s hair. If only he could trace it backward—from the peridot, up the body of the pin, and back to her strands of hair…
Before he could reach the end of that pointless fantasy, Tristan stopped himself.
Damn it. What the hell was he thinking?
After what felt like two agonizing hours—though it had only been one—the carriage arrived at the first assembly point.
Soldiers, already dispatched from the capital, were waiting for them.
As he looked at the backs of the bowing soldiers, a mischievous thought crossed Tristan’s mind.
Which of us do they consider their real commander?
By rank alone, a prince naturally held the higher position.
But considering that the purpose of this mission was monster subjugation, they might judge the actual leader to be the one with military experience—the commander.
He wouldn’t have minded if it were the latter.
Yet, as if to answer his question, the soldiers all bowed clearly in front of him.
"Your Highness, Young Duke! You’ve co a long way! We’ve prepared refreshnts in the main tent—"
Tristan cut him off.
"You’ll be delivering the local situation report alongside those refreshnts, I assu?"
"Sir? Oh, the soldier responsible for delivering the report was supposed to co after you had so rest—"
"The one who needs to rest is the horse that ran itself to exhaustion. I have no ti to waste. You will provide the report while I drink the tea."
"Y-yes, understood!"
As the soldiers scrambled to relay his orders, Arthur comnted in admiration.
"Your orders are swift. Have you commanded troops before?"
"I have no experience leading troops. I’m simply used to managing people."
So might call that arrogance.
He didn’t care.
That mindset had ruled his life, and as long as it served him in his work, that was enough.
As they sipped tea, a soldier approached with a report.
"The three squads dispatched from the capital—thirty-eight soldiers in total—have eliminated four monsters so far. As of the official start of the subjugation, nine local soldiers have been injured, and twelve from our division have sustained wounds—"
There were no casualties among the capital soldiers. Few had suffered serious injuries. It was as Tristan had predicted. The number of reported monsters wasn’t high, yet they had sent a force the size of a small company—it was only natural.
"Our achievents end there. Over the past two weeks, there have been three separate reports from farrs in mountainous areas about creatures suspected to be monsters appearing sporadically."
"Three reports? That’s fewer than expected. How did you handle them?"
The soldier hesitated.
"…We didn't."
"What?"
"W-we did our best!"
The soldier scrambled to explain.
They had been sent to eliminate officially reported monsters. They couldn’t act solely based on civilian testimonies. Besides, these creatures moved in a guerrilla-like manner, making them hard to detect—
None of those excuses, however, erased the furious frown on Tristan’s face.
With a growl, he spat,
"Have you ever heard of 'doing your best at doing nothing'?"
"N-no, sir…"
"You have five minutes. Bring anything—geographic data, witness testimonies, I don’t care!"
"Y-yes, sir!"
As the soldiers scurried away, Tristan reached a bitter conclusion.
Did they choose as the leader not because of my status, but because they thought I’d be easy to manipulate?
Too bad for them.
Tristan was far more used to shattering expectations than fulfilling them.
Looking at the panting scout who had just returned, he ordered,
"After the briefing, gather every available unit. Everyone will report what they’ve seen, heard, and experienced. No exceptions."
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