For nine hours, Aexl slept. It was a deep, dreamless void, a true rest he hadn't known since arriving in this world. He was adrift in a calm, quiet sea, soothed by a phantom presence, a gentle hand stroking his hair—a sensation so ancient and comforting it could only be the memory of his mother.
Then the dream shifted. The gentle hand was gone, replaced by the deafening roar of an artillery strike.
BOOM!
The sound was so visceral it shook him to the core. His eyes snapped open, his body coiled, every combat instinct screaming as he launched himself into a sitting position.
But it wasn't an explosion. It was the door to his quarters, or what was left of it, hanging splintered from a single hinge. Framed in the doorway was a chaotic tableau. Lyssa, her face flushed a deep crimson from the drink, swayed on her feet. Behind her, a handful of wide-eyed villagers watched, while Armenia, a look of weary exasperation on her face, had a hand on Lyssa's shoulder, trying in vain to pull her back.
"There you are, Great General!" Lyssa's voice was a slurred shout that echoed in the small room. "hick… So instead of celebrating with us, you are enjoying… enjoying a fine companion!" She lurched forward, stumbling near the bed.
Companion? What is she talking about?
"Companion? Huh? Who?" Aexl's mind was still catching up, the fog of sleep battling the sudden rush of adrenaline.
Lyssa squeezed her eyes shut, swaying precariously. "Pervert! Don't play dumb with me!"
It was then that Armenia spoke, her voice a calm, steady counterpoint to Lyssa's drunken tirade. "Hi there, Vauban."
Vauban? Aexl muttered the name. His back was pressed against something—something firm but yielding, far too soft to be the rough-hewn headboard of the bed. A subtle warmth radiated from it. A strange, pleasant scent of oiled leather and old parchment tickled his nose. As he shifted, he felt two soft points press into his back. Oh, right. His mind finally caught up. The summon timer must have finished. Vauban. My engineer.
He stood up, a motion born of instinct, turning to present his new asset. "Ahh, this," he began, gesturing behind him, "is Sébastien Le Prestre de Vauban, our new siege engineer specialist."
"Sebas-tie… priest… Cuban?" Lyssa spat the butchered name. "She's just another one of your damn women! Spill it!" She pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at him.
Woman? Aexl's brain screeched to a halt. His eyes, now fully adjusted to the morning light, followed Lyssa's finger. He hadn't been leaning against a man's broad chest. He'd been leaning against a glittering, magnificent cleavage, the pale skin of two full breasts threatening to spill from the rigid confines of a steel-boned corset. His gaze traveled upward. There was no grizzled old man with a powdered wig.
Instead, a woman of impossible elegance stood where the legendary engineer should be. She carried herself with the innate poise of nobility, tall and refined. Long, golden-blonde hair, the color of spun sunlight, was bound by a simple black ribbon, cascading over her shoulders. Her corset hugged a figure that was all slender waist and toned muscle, flowing down to a split skirt that revealed gleaming stockings and thighs that spoke of years spent walking fortress ramparts. Gloved hands held a brass compass and a rolled parchment, but it was the smile that arrested him—a polite, warm curve of the lips that held the unshakeable confidence of an architect of war.
Aexl blinked. A low mutter escaped his breath. "...Who in the hell are you?"
The woman stepped gracefully to his side and performed a perfect, formal bow, her eyes never leaving his.
"Célestine Le Prestre de Vauban," she said, her voice smooth as velvet, with a faint, melodic French lilt that was both captivating and precise. "Bastion of Versailles. What is your command, mon Général?" She smiled then—a polite, warm smile edged with the cool, unyielding steel of someone who had never, not once, lost a fortress.
Aexl could only stare. A woman. Again. Does this damned system think I'm trying to build a harem instead of an army? First the Berserker Queen, then, now this… this noblewoman architect. I asked for a master of siegecraft, the man who made France a fortress. I needed a grizzled old sapper smelling of gunpowder and dirt. And what do I get? A goddess of geometry in a corset. This world is going to be the death of me.
Aexl's internal rant was cut short by a derisive snort from Lyssa.
"Célestine?" she sneered, the name dripping with drunken sarcasm. "What kind of soldier is named Célestine? Another pretty face for your collection, General?" She took another unsteady step forward, her anger reignited. "We are fighting for our lives, and you're… you're building a brothel!"
"That's enough, Lyssa!" Aexl's voice was sharp, cutting through her tirade. "She is a specialist! An engineer! I summoned her through the—" He stopped short. The words died in his throat as he looked at their faces. Lyssa's was a mask of jealous rage, the villagers' a mixture of awe and confusion, and even Armenia's held a flicker of curiosity. How could he possibly explain it? I tapped a button on my magic rectangle, and it sent me a historical figure from my world, except she's a woman now? They would think he was insane.
Just as the silence became unbearable, Armenia stepped smoothly between them. Her presence was a physical shield, her voice calm but carrying an authority that could not be denied. "She is one of our men," Armenia stated, her gaze fixed on Lyssa. "Her arrival was delayed, that is all. She and her engineers are here now."
The villagers murmured amongst themselves. Engineers?
Aexl seized the lifeline Armenia had thrown him. "Yes, exactly! She's… late," he said, a little too quickly. "More men will be coming to aid us. Lots of them." He paused, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind before he quickly added, "No more women, I think."
The certainty in Armenia's voice, followed by Aexl's reassurance, seemed to finally break through Lyssa's drunken haze. The fiery anger in her eyes sputtered out, replaced by a wave of crushing exhaustion. Her shoulders slumped. Her face crumpled, and a raw, ragged sob escaped her lips. "I… I'm sorry," she whispered, tears carving paths through the grime on her cheeks. "We won, but I think this is not the end… and I… I'm so tired."
Just then, the splintered doorway darkened. Roderick stood there, his face etched with a father's worry. He moved past the villagers, his presence immediately calming the tense atmosphere. He gently took Lyssa like a father to a daughter's arm, his expression softening as he looked at her broken state.
"Forgive her, General," Roderick said, his voice a low rumble of apology. He looked to Lyssa then to Aexl. "She is just… this is how she is when drunk. The weight of this village… it is a heavy burden for one so young."
Aexl looked at Lyssa, no longer seeing a drunken, jealous woman, but a young leader buckling under the impossible pressure of keeping her people alive. He gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"I understand," he said, and the words were true. "At any age, a leader's burden is heavy."