Rosie stared at the scrap of paper in her hand.
Just looking at it made her head feel like it was being torn in two, as easily as paper.
The reason for that feeling was the words written on the paper.
『Miss Rosie, you are confirmed to be pregnant.』
Of course, pregnancy was a blessed event, but in her case, it was different.
For one, this was a battlefield, and above all else… this child’s father did not love her.
***
Rosie Prettilia.
Rosie was the ugly duckling of House Prettilia.
She was the illegitimate result of the Count’s indiscretion with a maid, born while the Countess was carrying a child.
That was precisely who she was.
Who would ever welcome a b*stard, especially one born at such an inopportune time?
The answer was obvious. Everyone hated her.
Yet, for some reason, she wasn’t cast out. It was later revealed they saw ‘potential’ in her.
House Prettilia was an ancient magic lineage, renowned for producing distinguished mages generation after generation.
An unwritten rule existed within the family: at least one exceptional talent was born in each generation.
This was why a family, lacking any particular distinction in wealth or status, could still wield influence in the Empire’s central social circles.
Unfortunately, this generation lacked such a talent. The Count’s three greedy, brash sons learned magic at an utterly average pace, displaying only middling skill, nothing resembling genius.
So, to increase the odds, Rosie was raised in the Count’s household, receiving magical education alongside the others from a young age.
She too carried the Count’s blood, so there was a chance her talent might blossom.
Yet, no matter how modest one’s talent, reaching the 1st Circle by the age of thirteen was more than achievable. Rosie’s talent, however, was hopeless.
Approaching fifteen, she couldn’t even handle basic mana manipulation, let alone achieve the 1st Circle.
The family was busy ostracizing her, calling her a freeloader, a dirty stain. Even the commoner-born magic tutor looked down on her.
“Honestly, I’ve never seen an idiot quite like you, Miss. How can you fail at basic mana control even after having formulas spoon-fed and memorized? I guess even sharing the same bloodline depends on which… opening you come from!”
Mocking her origins openly was standard; sometimes he’d even poke her ribs unpleasantly with a training wand.
The servants’ attitudes were no different.
Their murmurs would abruptly cease when she passed, and they would carry out her orders without ever responding.
Sometimes they’d deliberately bring her cold food or dresses with stains. If she made a fuss, they’d mock her for being oversensitive. If she did nothing, the snickers and jeers behind her back only grew louder.
Naturally, no one intervened.
In this environment, Rosie grew increasingly withdrawn.
‘Would it be better if I just died? Is that what everyone wants?’
She thought about death almost daily. But she lacked the courage to follow through.
More than that, her life was already worse than death.
And there was one more thing.
Soon, she would be of marriageable age.
‘If this continues, I’ll be deemed useless and sold off in the marriage market.’
The Countess would never look kindly on a b*stard. Rumors were rampant that she was seeking matches for Rosie with elderly widowers or as a concubine for old, high-ranking nobles.
‘Right. Dying isn’t the solution. I don’t have the guts for it anyway. First, I need to escape this place.’
She just wanted to escape this hellish home.
Then, an opportunity arose.
A colossal war, one that would shake the Empire’s history, had broken out.
A desperate stalemate with a neighboring country meant not only knights but mercenaries were in short supply—so much so that they were even recruiting female soldiers.
One day, reading about this in the newspaper, Rosie’s eyes sparkled.
‘This is it!’
She had never held a sword in her life, but that didn’t matter.
She thought if she became a soldier, she could sever ties with this suffocating family and stand on her own.
Snatching a rapier from the family’s training grounds, she headed straight for the warfront and took the enlistment test.
At first, her abysmal skills relegated her to a medic role, but after felling several enemy soldiers with swordplay learned by watching knights from behind, she was allowed to join the main force.
Luckily, she had more of an aptitude for the sword than she’d thought.
Even after formally joining the main force as a soldier, she consistently did her part. Then, eventually, that incident happened.
“A wench like you… ugh… an Aura…?!”
It was during a desperate life-or-death struggle with an enemy soldier.
Her entire body was soaked in cold sweat from the prolonged combat, the smell of blood thick in her nostrils, and her overexerted body swayed badly.
Just as she was struggling to maintain consciousness, a stream of light gathered at the tip of her sword.
Everyone watched the scene, dumbfounded.
“That, that is…!”
“…!”
It was Aura.
The very Aura that only Sword Experts—those on the cusp of becoming Sword Masters—could manifest!
The enemy fell. After the grueling battle ended, the name of this lowly foot soldier, part of the vanguard often called ‘cannon fodder,’ instantly became famous within the unit.
Her fame spread beyond her unit to the entire army, even reaching the ears of the Commander-in-Chief.
Commander-in-Chief, Arthur Karthago.
He who bore the surname of the Karthago Imperial family was the Second Prince. Known as the ‘Unfortunate Prince,’ he was pushed out of the line of succession due to weak maternal backing and was effectively exiled to the battlefield.
Meeting him privately, she was extremely nervous. After all, he was royalty. She, a mere b*stard, had never even imagined meeting someone so high-ranking.
Their first meeting, in a large command tent, felt strangely austere compared to her nervous entry.
Items were neatly arranged, but compared to the vast space, the furnishings were sparse, and the simple cot was no different from those of ordinary soldiers—frugal to the point of being shabby.
One might expect at least a fur coat, but Arthur wore a standard-issue cloak. Only the brooch on his shoulder, denoting his rank, indicated his status.
Yet, despite the shabby trappings, an inexplicable aura radiated from him.
Eyes of a mysterious sapphire blue, distinctly different from any ordinary soldier’s. Skin tanned and weathered from endless war, yet still fine-featured.
Above all, his sharply chiseled, flawless features were handsome, but at the same time, they projected an undeniable air of intimidation.
“…This lowly one is honored to be in the presence of Your Excellency, the Commander-in-Chief.”
“Just as I expected.”
“Pardon?”
“You are undoubtedly of noble birth.”
The first words from the man she faced with such tension were a deduction of her true identity. Startled, Rosie quickly bowed her head.
“From which family, my lady?”
He seemed certain. Her etiquette and accent must have betrayed her noble upbringing. She’d tried to hide it, but before this man, it was impossible to deny.
“My apologies. It is not a particularly distinguished house… I am ashamed to mention it.”
“News of your Aura use would be an honor to your family. Is there a reason you wish to hide it?”
“Is using Aura such a significant thing?”
“Yes. Aura is a clear domain of talent; many go to their graves unable to manifest it. The title of Knight might even be insufficient for you. You have become one of barely twenty Aura users in the entire Empire.”
A knighthood—exactly what she had longed for.
Achieved so accidentally, so abruptly, left Rosie utterly dumbfounded.
But the privileges didn’t stop there.
Seeing Rosie’s awkward expression at the mention of her family, he added.
“I asked because your family would need to know. But if you don’t want that…”
“……”
“And from now on, you’ll be moving your barracks to my side.”
“Pardon? Why is that?”
Rosie stared at the man with wide eyes. But he replied composedly.
“Because I will be teaching you personally from now on.”
That was their first meeting.
After that, Rosie moved her quarters next to Arthur’s. An Aura-wielding magic swordsman was a valuable resource; he likely wanted to train her quickly and put her to practical use.
And so, they trained together daily, for months on end.
“You think too much with the sword.”
“What does ‘thinking too much’ mean?”
“You’re not focusing. Concentrate only on the combat situation. Don’t mind anything else. Cut away your stray thoughts, gouge out your emotions—that’s the only way to survive this battlefield.”
Her swordplay, once clouded with distraction, gradually grew calmer, her skill honed sharper with each passing day.
Three months, half a year, a year passed like this.
Rosie and Arthur gradually grew closer. Close enough to confide their troubles.
“Why are you crying?”
“A comrade I served with… died.”
“I understand feeling sad for a fallen comrade… but still, don’t cry. If you let your heart fall once, you might have to offer your life next.”
“How can a person be like that? I… I can’t breathe.”
Especially in a place like this, where death was frequent and stories were thick, being ‘close’ meant there was something more than simple camaraderie.
“…Stay strong, Rosie.”
Perhaps because of that.
His brusque, offhand words of comfort—
“What is this?”
“Jerky from the rewards. They only gave it to officers, but I thought you’d like it.”
“You thought… I’d like it?”
—and the small, considerate gestures
felt incredibly, tearfully grateful, and became a source of reliance.
One by one, they accumulated until affection had taken root.
It was merely that kind of feeling.
Even as their relationship raced toward something ambiguous—more than student and teacher, more than comrades—Rosie didn’t know the true nature of that emotion.
Or perhaps she pretended not to know.
Maybe it was because of the heaven-and-earth difference in their status. She feared that if she dared to acknowledge her feelings, she’d realize they were one-sided, get hurt, and be left alone again.
So she hid it.
Until that day.
It was an unusually fine afternoon for a battlefield.
“Do you really have to hold me from behind like this to teach me how to grip the sword?”
“…Well, that’s.”
His cheek, flushed red from her single, blunt question, and the cool breeze that happened to blow just then.
Everything felt unbearably awkward in that moment.
And then, very suddenly, and abruptly, the relationship shifted dramatically.
“Rosie.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know how disconcerting it is for me every time you look at me with those eyes?”
“Disconcerting…”
“I don’t know if it’s intentional or not.”
“…Y-your Excellency?”
Rosie swallowed. His lips were slowly moving toward hers. His icy blue eyes stared at her obsessively, as if to devour her, and then their lips met.
“Mmph…”
That was when Rosie realized her own heart. I like this person.
The fire lit between them after that brief, sweet kiss swept forward at a furious pace.
And eventually, as the obvious story goes, it escalated to that kind of relationship.
Their days were intense, and their nights were fiercer battles than the days. Neither demanded or expected anything from the relationship, but whenever their eyes met, it just happened.
Another year passed like that.
“…What do you think of me?”
The nature of their relationship remained unclear. Traces were left on their bodies, but the nameless, intangible nature of the relationship left deeper scars on their emotions. Especially on Rosie’s.
She couldn’t even begin to guess how this man, who had everything, viewed his relationship with her.
At her question, the first in a year, Arthur seemed flustered at first, then gave his answer.
He hesitated considerably before speaking.
“You are…”
“……”
“A knight I cherish and trust.”
At his stiff reply, she was at a loss for words.
A knight I cherish and trust.
With that one phrase, everything became clear.
She was a capable knight, perhaps, but she was a woman insufficient to claim the place beside him.
He did not want to go beyond or fall short of being partners with her.
Her comrades advised her, too.
“No one takes a woman of lowly birth seriously. You’re just his plaything, Rosie.”
Their words stung precisely because they were true. But knowing that ending the relationship would bring even greater pain, she always postponed the decision.
Until today’s situation unfolded.
***
『Miss Rosie, you are confirmed to be pregnant.』
Rosie stared at the scrap of paper clenched in her hand for a long time, then finally squeezed it with all her strength.
The piece of paper crumpled pitifully, making a faint sound.
She then sank down to the floor.
Her legs had given out; she could no longer stand.
A partnership that was nothing, that would end if he just let her go.
Above all, he was a cold, rational man.
‘If he finds out I’m pregnant, he’ll surely…’
His decision was obvious.
He would tell her to get rid of the child.
But even in her despairing collapse, Rosie clung to a single thread of hope.
But still, but still, maybe.
Maybe he would make a different choice—that utterly ridiculous hope.
Knowing full well it made no sense, she made a decision.
Just one last time.
She would go to him.
She would go to Arthur Karthago.
Translator
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Ravingcrow1118
I like how the author summarized Rosie’s life and relationship with Arthur in a single chapter instead of dragging it on with several chapters. Makes me less impatient with the story.