Editing Tytania:Volume 4 Chapter 2 (section)

=== II ===
“So, how much military force do you intend to mobilise?” asked Jouslain.

It was a natural question for someone tasked with supporting Ariabert’s operations from the rear.

“Twenty thousand ships.”

Jouslain momentarily doubted his own ears at Ariabert’s instant reply. Twenty thousand ships represented their entire available force.

“You intend to mobilise all twenty thousand at once?”

“That is correct.”

“Is there no need to keep any reserve forces?”

Ariabert’s brow twitched slightly. Jouslain’s question seemed to have caught him by surprise.

“I do not wish to disperse my forces. Besides, that is quite uncharacteristic of you, Lord Jouslain.”

His tone remained calm, yet his gaze seemed to sharpen slightly.

“We have no reserves. Once we are defeated, those who are currently holding their breath and watching the situation will move all at once to join the side of Uraniborg. We may be left with nothing more than the choice of whether to be evaporated amidst the flash of light under the banner of ‘Suppressing the Rebels’, or to blow our own brains out with our rifles.”

“So, we have no reserves, then?”

“Do you not agree, Lord Jouslain?”

“I suppose I do…”

Jouslain was overwhelmed. Within his mind, he had written and erased, drawn and torn up countless plans, but he had never imagined committing his entire available force to the very first engagement. Both sides had even considered seeking a political resolution through a stalemate, but that thought had vanished before Ariabert’s decision as a warrior.

“It is my duty to begin the battle; it is yours, Lord Jouslain, to end it. I am sorry, but it cannot be the other way around.”

Ruminating on Ariabert’s words, Jouslain returned to his private chambers. From behind a large vase, Francia rose to her feet. It looked as though a modest, cream-coloured rose had straightened its stem.

“Lord Jouslain, would you like some tea?”

Jouslain nodded, then, quite suddenly, asked:

“Francia, what do you think of Lord Idris?”

“I dislike Lord Idris.”

“Why?”

“Because, Lord Jouslain, he is your enemy.”

Francia answered without a moment’s hesitation, gazing directly into the face of the master she served. Jouslain met her gaze head-on. There was no need to flinch, and indeed he did not, yet Jouslain was seized by a strange sensation. The word “daunting” was perhaps the only way to describe the feeling.

Francia was a modest girl, and she had no enemies. At least, none that were visible. If, by some chance, Francia did have an enemy, would Jouslain be able to hate such a person? Should he even hate them?

“Lord Jouslain, how much cream would you like?”

“Plenty.”

“As you wish.”

“Ah, wait a moment.”

As Francia, who had begun to depart, paused and turned back, Jouslain gave a light cough. He himself could not fathom his own intention.

“Francia, how many years has it been since we first met?”

“It has been fifteen years, my lord.”

Jouslain was somewhat surprised. If it had been fifteen years, he must have been twelve at the time, yet even then, he had already begun to feel a sense of weariness toward court ceremonies and various parties. For a member of the Tytania nobility, particularly the heir to a ducal house, socialising was an essential duty. Even so, it was only two or three years ago that he had chosen Francia as his lady-in-waiting. If it truly had been fifteen years, wouldn’t Francia have been just a small child?

“Now, now, Francia, surely you must be mistaken.”

“No, with all due respect, I have not forgotten. It was fifteen years ago that we first met.”

In truth, Jouslain did not clearly remember the first time he met Francia. He only recalled that, from among the several young girls provided to serve as his attendant, he had simply picked the one who appeared to be the quietest. She had been a beautiful girl, but she had not been significantly more outstanding than the other candidates. Even so, she had been carefully selected during the candidacy stage.

''“I suppose I was arrogant,”'' thought Jouslain to himself. He had held absolute power over not only Francia but her family as well. Or rather, he had held them at his very fingertips. If Francia’s presence had ever become burdensome, he could have simply sent her back to her family home. Yet, Francia had never given him cause for dissatisfaction.

“Was there something specific that makes you remember?”

“It was quite an unseemly incident, Lord Jouslain, and I am truly ashamed about it. I was quite clumsy; I had wandered deep into the garden during a party where our families had gathered and was lost and crying when you found me and kindly escorted me back to my parents.”

Unless a major catastrophe occurred, there was no reason to remember the trivial happenings of a party. His life was far too busy for such things.

Yet, for Francia, it must have felt like a monumental event. Looking at Francia’s cheeks, which were now flushed a cherry-blossom pink—having apparently perceived that clumsy childhood mishap as something destined—Jouslain was on the verge of a wry smile, though that smile did not last long. It certainly was not impossible to call it fate. Had Jouslain not chosen Francia as his lady-in-waiting, she would not be here now.

What would become of Francia if Jouslain perished alongside Ariabert? What would happen to her?

The relationship between himself and Francia was not one of equals. Jouslain reflected upon this fact even now. Though he had hardly given it a thought before. It was partly because Jouslain possessed little interest in his own private life, but perhaps it had been allowed because of Francia’s selfless devotion.

Jouslain felt unsettled. It was enough to disconcert him that such sentiments had invaded his thoughts just as the conflict with Idris’ faction was on the verge of breaking into open warfare. As Francia brought the hot tea and cream and set them quietly upon the tea table, Jouslain spoke:

“Francia.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have no need of you for a while. Go and rest in your room.”

“… As you wish. Please call for me should you require anything.”

With a bow, Francia withdrew. Her modest, obedient manner instilled in Jouslain a sense of ''déjà vu''. After a moment of thought, he felt a sudden gloom. It was the back of his mother, just as he had seen it when he was very small.