Arland wasn’t quite sure when he’d first realized that he lacked emotions.
“Lacked” was perhaps an exaggeration, but at the very least, he was very unfeeling. He had only two emotional states: normal and uncomfortable.
Born on his father’s estate and raised there, Arnald had been an expressionless child of few words. Perhaps he had a vague awareness of it even back then.
He’d felt it more keenly once he’d begun to care for his sick mother while his father was still away at war. He didn’t seem to experience many emotional highs or lows. It was obvious because, even though both his mother and the servants worried for him, he didn’t seem capable of returning the same feelings.
His sick mother especially had spent her days in tears, agonizing over the future of the son she would leave behind. Somehow, she’d seemed to sense that her end was drawing near. Seeing her in such a state had made the young boy realize something needed to change, so he’d begun to study the expressions of those around him and the way they spoke to one another to actively incorporate their behavior into his interactions with his mother.
One of the things he’d done for her was pick flowers from the flower bed she had so diligently tended. That had at least evoked sympathy from servants like Bardu and the gardener, which he’d been grateful for.
Still, keeping up the facade had been surprisingly taxing. Once his mother had passed away and he’d dropped the act, the servants who looked after him in her stead seemed to mistake his continual state of quiet apathy as a symptom of his grief for her loss. All that had happened after that was the passing of monotonous day after monotonous day, just like always. He’d felt neither high nor low.
The days had simply continued to roll on by.
When Arnald’s father returned from the battlefield after the death of his wife, he’d sought solace only in drink. His lung condition had forced him to retire early from the military, so from that point on, he’d remained at his residence in the capital. He’d visited his estate only once before returning to the city. Arnald would have eventually been called to the capital, too, but seeing his father’s fall into drunkenness had made him uncomfortable with the thought. Eventually, he’d enrolled at an imperial school at his father’s behest, but the dormitories on the grounds had eliminated the need for Arnald to return home and watch his father drink himself to death.
He’d only become a military man at the suggestion of his current superior, Movris Dreslan.
Movris had saved Arnald from being ravished by a lady he’d never even met at the first soiree he’d ever attended. Arnald had no interest in anyone, so he hadn’t known who Movris was at first—just that he was a bit eccentric.
“I can’t believe I’m rescuing a man. Whatever has gotten into me…?” Movris had muttered, exasperated.
He was wandering around a back garden under the moonlight. There was no sign of the consternation he’d displayed when he’d barged into the room where the lady had been assaulting Arnald and torn him away from her.
Still fixing his clothes, Arnald stared at the brown-haired man.
“You could have just let things play out.”
“And let you end her there and then? You must not have heard about Countess Rydewall. Even a wicked woman like her has her uses—not that you have a care for anyone, including yourself, as far as I can tell.”
No matter how uninterested in the woman he was, once things had crossed into physical harm, that had been enough to make Arnald feel something.
He’d never been particularly interested in the opposite sex, and now, after being assaulted and robbed of his virginity, all he could feel was disgust. That his body had betrayed him by reacting of its own accord only made him angrier.
Above all, that day had made him start to hate women. He’d never been able to get over the fact that he’d found something akin to a weakness within himself.
“That does not mean I cannot feel disturbed. But what’s done is done, and today has taught me a valuable lesson. I’ll be sure to push back next time.”
Turning toward the expressionless and indifferent Arnald, Movris’s crimson eyes had lit up.
“Now that you mention it, your father, Count Swangan, is of the same social status as Count Rydewall, is he not? It seems his heir has quite a unique way of thinking. Swangan is an ex-military man, if I’m correct? Yet he’s not necessarily a part of the military faction.”
Two major forces were at odds in the Gaihandar Empire.
They were the imperial noble faction, comprised of the nobility from the old empire, and the military faction, which was formed of military men of both commoner and noble status. The nobles in the latter, however, were of a comparatively shorter lineage than the former.
Now that the country had been at war for so long, the military faction held greater sway. It was a fact that was abhorred by the other side.
Judging by his lineage, most would expect Count Swangan to be a member of the imperial faction. His family was old, and he owned a large estate. When he was invited to soirees, he would attend without considering any higher agenda, but perhaps the noble faction did covet his loyalty.
Frankly, Arnald didn’t care about any of that.
“I’m not interested.”
His drunken father was probably of the same opinion.
Arnald didn’t know why his father had joined the military, but he was sure it wasn’t because of factional strife.
“That woman probably came on to you to recruit you. But since you rejected her, perhaps you’ll let me take a stab at persuading you instead?”
“Persuading me?”
“To be a part of the military faction.”
“You’re one of them, yet you’re unapologetically attending a function backed by the nobles?”
“They know who I am. I’m not trying to hide anything. I know coming to these events irritates them.”
“Do you?”
Arnald thought it a bit odd, but he accepted that different people experienced fun in different ways. It wasn’t something for him to criticize.
Movris nodded.
“You’re more doll than human, aren’t you? Life must be an unending bore for you.”
“You certainly appear to be having a lot more fun.”
“Heh-heh, that’s the first time anyone’s ever said that to me so dispassionately. Usually, they’re envious, amused, or disgusted. You’re a curious one. You ever consider becoming a soldier? You’d be good at it.”
The function had eventually run its course, but the next day, admission papers from the Officer’s Academy turned up at Arnald’s dorm. He hadn’t even taken the exam to get in, so he wasn’t sure how he could’ve been accepted.
Not that there was anything else he was particularly interested in doing. He hadn’t seen any reason not to enroll, so he had. And soon after graduation, he’d met the strange man again. He turned out to be the superior officer of Arnald’s assigned unit.
“Well, well, don’t you look bored as ever?” Movris had greeted Arnald on his first day with an amicable smile.
But Arnald already knew that the man in front of him was a demon with a friendly face.
Movris loved nothing more than drinking, women, and gambling. Even while waging war, he still made sure to enjoy life to the fullest. He was more morally bankrupt than Arnald had ever been.
“Life is about enjoying yourself. Now, how about we have a bit of fun?” Movris asked.
It appeared his idea of fun was a battle in the middle of a marsh.
Back then, the Gaihandar Empire had been allowed to intervene in a conflict that began between a few small tribes. Arnald had no idea what the higher-ups were thinking, but he knew it wasn’t a significant enough problem to require Gaihandar to butt in. Yet Movris had gotten stuck in it like it was all just a game.
“Our enemy only has farming tools, so they might as well be lunging at us unarmed. It’s our job to drive them away with our superior military strength.”
They’d had plenty of swords, guns, and other supplies—they’d even had leave to use explosives, if they needed to—meaning that the other side was hopelessly outmanned. They hadn’t truly been there to fight—they’d been there to suppress.
Arnald hadn’t been sure exactly what was so fun about a fight like that, but Movris had worn a smile on his face right up until the end. After that, he’d spent a few years fighting side by side with Movris on the battlefield. It was only then that Arnald finally tried confronting Movris about some of the things he’d heard.
“Sir, did you know they call you ‘the Brunet Demon’?”
It was a name that had already been widely known through the empire by the time Arnald had been assigned to Movris’s unit. To his surprise, however, Movris was considered so demonic that the name had begun to stick in other countries as well.
Yet, somehow, the man in question showed no sign of devilishness as he smiled.
“Yep. And you’re the ‘Silver Fox of the Battlefield.’ Perhaps an imaginary creature sounds better than a living one, though. What do you think?”
“I don’t really care. Although I suppose it’s nicer to be thought of as a living, breathing creature.”
His superiors treated Arnald like a puppet. At least his enemies saw him as a living thing.
“You’re also rumored to be coolheaded and ruthless. Do you care about that? In any case, I just find it curious that even though people think foxes resemble cats, they’re actually related to dogs. They’re cautious and alert, but extremely curious as well.”
“And?”
“They’re just like you. You’re the type of person to devote yourself to something wholeheartedly if it catches your interest.”
No one had ever said anything like that to Arnald before.