C59 The Eternal March

She continued getting dressed, buttoning up her jacket, ensuring everything was in place. Her boots clicked against the floor as she walked toward her vanity.

With practiced ease, she pulled her damp hair into a high bun, securing it tightly. A glance in the mirror.

The woman staring back at her was a far cry from the one she used to be. Gone was the frail, uncertain girl from the slums.

In her place stood Lucilia Belmont, Imperial Secretary of the Imperator himself. Satisfied, she turned on her heel and walked out.

...

A few minutes later.

The two death squad troopers stationed at the study's entrance barely glanced at her as they stepped aside to let her through.

She nodded In acknowledgment before pushing open the heavy doors. The scent of tobacco smoke and coffee immediately hit her.

The Imperator sat behind his massive desk, a cigarette between his lips, his crimson eyes with golden yellow pupils scanning through a mountain of documents.

Stacks of intelligence reports, military reorganization plans, industrial expansion projections. Lucilia cleared her throat, closing the door behind her.

"Imperator."

He didn't look up.

"You're late."

Her brow twitched.

"It's six in the morning."

The Imperator asked taking a long drag of his cigar before exhaling through his nose.

"And?"

Lucilia resisted the urge to sigh.

"You're supposed to be sleeping."

He said as matter of fact without changing his expression or even glanicng her way, which for some reason made her facial muscles twitch and gave her the urge to castrate him.

"And you're supposed to be minding your own damn business."

Lucilia rolled her eyes, stepping forward and placing a stack of newly prepared reports onto his already cluttered desk.

"These are the finalized restructuring plans. The integration of Teutonica forces is proceeding smoothly. No signs of rebellion, yet."

The Imperator exhaled sharply, picking up one of the reports.

"Hmph. The fact that they're falling in line so quickly just shows how weak their resolve was to begin with."

Lucilia crossed her arms.

"Or maybe they've realized that fighting for you is better than dying for a lost cause."

He chuckled darkly, flipping through the pages.

"Survival is a powerful motivator."

Lucilia's gaze lingered on him for a moment. Then, without thinking, she spoke.

"You're avoiding me."

The air shifted. The Imperator's hand, which had been flipping through the report, stilled. For the first time since she entered, he looked up at her.

Lucilia held her ground, keeping her posture straight, professional. But inside, her heart pounded. He leaned back in his chair, tapping ash from his cigar into a tray.

"Am I?"

Lucilia clenched her jaw.

"You know you are."

A smirk tugged at his lips.

"Maybe I just have more important things to deal with than a clingy woman."

Lucilia felt a flicker of something dangerous, anger.

"F*ck you."

The Imperator only chuckled.

"You already did."

Her fists clenched.

"You're a bastard."

"Mm. And yet, you're still here."

Lucilia hated how he always did this. Always twisting things, always maintaining control. She inhaled sharply, then let out a slow breath.

"You gave me that serum. You told me I would remember. But you haven't said a word since."

Silence. The Imperator didn't answer immediately. Instead, he crushed his cigar into the ashtray, his eyes locking onto hers.

"Regarding that, any voices In youre head, memories that dont belong to you, dreams of another life, any mood swings or the sudden urge to castrate me or physical changes such as scar tissue forming out of nowhere?"

He asked asked quietly, the moment he did all of a sudden she snapped.

"As a matter of fact, yes,"

She barked, her emerald eyes flaring with rage.

"Particularly the part about cutting off your balls, you g*ddamn narcissistic sadist asshole!"

The words hung in the air. A tense silence followed.

She froze, her face draining of color as realization struck.

Her hands twitched slightly, as if she wanted to clap them over her mouth but was too stubborn to do so.

She expected retaliation, rage, punishment, maybe even a cold dismissal. Instead, the Imperator simply smirked, resting his elbow on his desk and leaning his cheek against his knuckles.

"You're excused,"

The Insufariable bastard said smoothly, waving his hand.

"Come back when you've calmed down a bit."

Lucilia stomped her foot, her lips pressing into a tight line. She spun on her heel and stormed out.

...

MC POV

Yep, that's definitely Catherine Belmont in the flesh.

Only she would threaten the MC with his family jewels.

I smirked slightly, watching Lucilia's back as she stormed out, slamming the heavy wooden doors behind her.

The sound echoed through the chamber before fading into silence.

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a slow breath of smoke as I tapped the edge of my light again cigar against the ashtray.

So far, so good.

The serum was working. The memories, the instincts, they were beginning to resurface. The mood swings were expected, and the scar tissue development only confirmed that her past self or more correct to say future self or whatever was forcing its way back.

The real question was how long it would take before full recollection.

As for why I was avoiding her… well, that was another matter entirely.

She was definetly attractive and she checked all of the boxes I liked In women since I based her off my own tastes but just like the MC I had trouble getting attached, I didnt know why but I was also defective In that way.

The only people I ever got attached to, the only ones I ever considered family apart from my own biological one, were my blood unrelated brothers for life.

Aka the MCs battle brothers who I had based off my real life friends that were more of brothers to me than blood ones.

So thats why I was avoiding her, at least until the next time I get dead drunk and feel like f*cking.

Exactly like the MC did which Is rather a comically coincidence.

I sighed, rolling my shoulders before my attention drifted back to the stack of reports in front of me.

One, in particular, stood out. A freshly summed up intelligence brief stamped with the sigil of Cerberus Intelligence.

ALADIN EMPIRE, REMILITARIZATION OF THE ALADINISH STRAITS.

I exhaled through my nose, picking up the report and scanning through it. My golden-yellow HUD flickered, processing the details as I read.

Hmmm… So far, so good. The plot was proceeding exactly as I had written it.

The Aladin Empire, one of the sleeping giants of this world was beginning to stir. Their naval production had doubled over the past six months, and spies and Informants had confirmed a rapid expansion of their coastal fortifications.

More concerning, however, was the presence of several new divisions being deployed to their western front.

They were preparing for something. And considering that I set every nation and empire onto a path of total and utter war it wasn't hard to guess what that 'something' was.

A total and all out war for global dominion. I clicked my tongue, tossing the report onto the table.

"So, it begins."

...

March 14.

Village of Kirschtal, Greater Spartanum Ducatum.

The village was eerily quiet, save for the murmuring of the gathered crowd and the heavy boots of the newly integrated Greater Spartanum Ducatum police officers patrolling the perimeter.

The morning fog still clung to the dirt roads, curling around the wooden homes like silent specters.

A murder. A brutal one.

The victim, a young woman, no older than twenty, lay sprawled across the threshold of her home.

Her nightdress was torn, dirt and blood smeared across her limbs, her neck bruised with deep red imprints. Her husbands corpse was next to her.

Standing above them, the police unit commander of the Greater Spartanum Ducatum Police, Reinhard Oster a middle aged man, adjusted his Cerberus issued gray cap, exhaling sharply.

"Damn shame,"

Muttered one of his men, crouching near the body.

"They were so young."

Reinhard didn't respond immediately. He stepped closer, his polished boots stopping just inches from the woman's outstretched hand.

The morning light glinted off something metallic near her fingers. He knelt down, picking it up.

A spent brass casing.

His brow furrowed. Turning it between his gloved fingers, he noticed the markings, no insignia, no stamp from any known Spartanum or Teutonica manufacturer.

"Corporal"

He called. The man beside him, Corporal Goffman, straightened immediately.

"Sir?"

"Check the bullet impacts. Find out what kind of firearm was used."

Goffman nodded, stepping toward the nearest wooden wall peppered with bullet holes. He ran a hand across one of them, then dug out a flattened projectile embedded deep in the wood.

He turned it over, his expression hardening.

"...Not a bolt action rifle,"

Goffman murmured.

"Not a submachine gun either. The bullet's too large, too heavy."

Reinhard's jaw clenched. That confirmed his suspicions.

His eyes swept over the scene again. The ground was soft from last night's rain, and clear footprints trailed away from the house toward the forest.