The Knight Decided to Return to the Empire

༺ 𓆩  Prologue  𓆪 ༻

「Translator — Creator」

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The Intelligence Bureau, Ministry of Military Affairs of Military State.

Director of Division 5, Domestic Affairs.

“Say that again.”

Colonel Retton Atomic asked, his voice flat, toneless.

At first glance, he seemed utterly dumbfounded.

With one hand, he signed a document marked as Top Secret in a concise, practiced script. Only once he had set down the fountain pen did he speak again.

“I’m getting tired of playing shadow, sir.”

“You call that a real answer...?”

This time, emotion was unmistakable in Retton’s voice.

A tangled skein of disbelief, confusion, annoyance, and the weariness of resignation.

Chiik—!!! Ssup—!!!

But instead of a reasonable answer, the only reply he received was a pathetic hiss, the sound of a cigarette being lit.

“Sigh.”

Retton Atomic took a sip from a coffee gone cold, then frowned.

“A few years more, and you'd be up for a promotion. You were all smiles about it not long ago. So what the hell is this now?”

“Well, people change their minds. Like how your mood shifts depending on whether your pants are up or down.”

“As always, your sense of humor is godawful.”

Hearing the idiot ramble on in that lazy drawl, Retton could already feel the headache blooming behind his eyes.

And yet, what had this bastard eaten this morning?

With his ill-omened black hair and dark eyes, a combination many called ominous, the man puffed on his cigarette and continued his nonsense with a signature smirk that Retton found increasingly intolerable.

“You're the only one who doesn’t like my jokes. Everyone else loves me. Sella from Support actually cried when I told her I was thinking of leaving the Bureau.”

Had someone else said those words, Retton might have nodded reflexively.

After all, the man did have a strikingly handsome face.

But Retton Atomic knew him too well.

He responded only with a look of sheer exasperation.

“I don’t usually speak in absolutes, but I’d bet my pension those were tears of joy, you son of a bitch.”

Considering how thoroughly Support had been ground down during the bastard’s seven-year tenure there, it was a miracle no one had ever attempted a fragging, intentional friendly fire, against him.

Retton downed the rest of the coffee in one go.

That damn guy, lounging on the guest sofa like he had all the time in the world, it was clear he wouldn’t be leaving until Retton heard him out. This was his version of a sit-in protest.

‘Am I meeting with a junior or serving some pampered noble?’

Any other subordinate would have seen how busy Retton was and taken the hint, leaving on their own.

But every time it was this man, it always gave Retton a headache.

‘Ain Krieg.’

Black hair and black eyes.

A frame that seemed just a bit too lean at first glance.

Unnecessarily tall, with long legs that stretched out effortlessly in that arrogant sprawl.

Legs crossed and cigarette held between his lips, Ain Krieg had the exact kind of face that made you want to punch it. Not a shred of respect or shame anywhere in sight.

“I’ve always said it, people don’t hate you because of your family. They hate you because you’re you. I wish you’d finally get that through your thick skull.”

“I think the real issue here is the rampant factionalism in the military state that can’t stand a genius like me. That’s what needs addressing.”

“...Goddamn it. Give me a light.”

Retton Atomic couldn’t hold out any longer. He needed a cigarette lit just to deal with this conversation.

Ain Krieg was insane.

...And if asked why he'd gotten tangled up with such a bastard, he'd only feel miserable, so he'd better stop thinking about it.

He pushed up his rimless glasses slightly and exhaled cigarette smoke, then narrowed his brow as he questioned.

“Enough with the pointless jokes. Get to the point.”

“Well, I don’t know if there’s much of a point to get to.”

He spoke with the same infuriatingly calm cadence as always, taking another puff of that cigarette that carried a faintly sweet and refined scent, his signature choice.

The right wrist that held the cigarette between his fingers revealed a glimpse of something just beneath the cuff of his black shirt.

A snake tattoo, mouth open and biting its own tail, subtly inked along his skin.

It caught the eye; it always did.

“I’m going back to where I belong. That’s all. Especially now, with the Sentinel family acting more unhinged by the day. For the sake of my beloved comrades in the Bureau, I figured I’d sacrifice this body of mine. Noble, isn’t it?”

“I swear, if you weren’t such a smooth-talking bastard…”

The way he said it, so flippantly, like it was nothing.

And yet, Retton Atomic could feel the weight hidden beneath that mask of levity. It forced a pause. A long silence stretched between them, heavy and unmoving.

Eventually, it wasn’t Ain who broke it.

It was Retton.

“Denied.”

As much of a pain in the ass as the man was, Retton wasn’t about to let him walk off to die with a smile on his face.

Especially not under the excuse of ‘pressure from the Sentinel family,’ the very ones Ain hadn’t cared about for the past seven years.

The Bureau and the Sentinels were diametrically opposed.

Even the Director, who thought of Ain like a rabid dog, would scoff at such an excuse.

“I figured you’d say that. So I came up with a Plan B.”

“What now?”

"I put a gun to your temple right here and stage a nice hostage situation demanding Intelligence let me leave. Wouldn't the Director kick me out himself after a fireworks show like that?"

“..............”

Anyone else would’ve laughed it off as a joke.

But this was Ain Krieg.

And if he said something, there was a real chance he’d actually do it.

Retton Atomic sighed and finally relented.

“So. You’ve decided you want to die?”

“On the contrary. I want to live. That’s why I’m leaving.”

“What? The hell does that even mean—”

“It means what it means. Anyway, I’ve said my goodbyes. Time for me to go.”

He rose from the sofa where he'd been lounging.

Then, with a lazy flick of his fingers, he grasped the doorknob, and turned back just enough to flash that trademark sly grin over his shoulder.

“Let’s meet again, if we’re still alive.”

Creaaak—!!! Click—!!!

And the door shut behind him.

Left alone, Retton Atomic narrowed his brows, a half-smoked cigarette still hanging from his lips.

“Phew…”

A sigh escaped him, laced with smoke and fatigue.

With work piling up and pressure mounting, the last thing he needed was that damned junior showing up just to stir the waters and tangle his thoughts.

“Krieg.”

He muttered the name under his breath, almost without realizing it.

A name steeped in ill omen, arguably the most accursed name in the entire military state since the founding of the regime.

Ever since the fall of the Millennium Empire, once the continent's ruler, over two hundred years ago, when the Military State was formed from the scraps of what remained, no name had drawn more unease.

And there was only one person still bearing that name.

Where he would be sent was already written in stone.

"...It's going to get noisy soon."

Retton Atomic stood and returned to his desk, that name still circling his thoughts like a buzzard.

He sat down, picked up his pen again, and forced himself back into the rhythm of paperwork, faster now, as if to outrun something.

All the while, a bitter thought rang loud in his mind.

'Damn it. I shouldn't have gotten involved in the first place. That damned bastard.'

And it truly was unfortunate, because the fortress and the unit Ain Krieg would be joining still fell under Divison 5’s jurisdiction. The Northern Command’s problem was now his.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before word of Ain Krieg’s transfer spread throughout the Bureau. Under direct orders from the Director himself, Retton was forced to dig back into a file that had been collecting dust.

「13th Special Independent Brigade」

Once, it had been a premier elite brigade, holding the line at the Military State’s bleeding edge.

And now—

“A penal unit in all but name.”

Retton rolled the bitter words around in his mouth as he took another drag from his cigarette, muttering softly.

“Good luck out there.”

There was nothing more he could say.

END σϝ CHAPTER