Chapter 133 - How the Hell are gonna we Survive

[Rolph Dragonair’s Tent]

The main command tent of Sir Rolph Dragonair was quieter than the training grounds outside, but it carried its own kind of weight — the air thick with the mingled scents of parchment, oiled steel, and faint smoke from the brazier in the corner. Flickering candlelight spilled over the vast map spread across the war table, shadows dancing along the canvas walls. Outside, the distant clamor of drills and shouted orders bled faintly through the thick fabric, a reminder of the war machine that churned just beyond.

Mr. Banner pushed past the heavy flap, his boots sinking slightly into the thick rug beneath. He stopped a few paces from the table and bowed, his posture sharp with military precision.

"I have placed them where you said, Sir," he reported, his voice low and respectful.

Rolph looked up from the map, his golden eyes calm yet alert, as if measuring the weight of every word. He gave a slow, approving nod.

"Good job."

But Mr. Banner didn’t leave. His hands flexed slightly at his sides, a subtle fidget for a man so disciplined. His gaze lingered on the tent floor, then flicked up to Rolph before falling again — the clear hesitation of someone caught between duty and doubt.

Rolph’s brow lifted a fraction, his tone steady but edged with curiosity.

"Do you have something to say?"

Mr. Banner’s jaw tightened. His lips parted, then closed again, as though weighing the risk of the question. Finally, his shoulders straightened, and his voice came out firm.

"Pardon me, Sir... but why did you assign them a separate tent? Is there something I don’t know?"

Rolph’s mouth curved into a faint, easy smile — one that looked warm enough to melt away suspicion, though his eyes remained unreadable.

"There’s not much of a reason," he said, voice even. "It’s just that she is pregnant. I thought it best to give them privacy. Nothing more."

Mr. Banner’s shoulders eased, his expression softening with understanding.

"I see. I understand, Sir. I’ll take my leave now."

He gave a short bow, turned sharply on his heel, and stepped out into the daylight.

The smile on Rolph’s face lingered for only a breath before fading entirely. The soft flicker in his eyes shifted into something keener, more guarded.

"There is no way she is pregnant," he murmured under his breath, the words barely stirring the air. He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming once against the table’s edge. "And that boy... I can feel a different kind of power from him."

His gaze drifted toward the tent’s entrance, as though he could still see the pair standing there. "But they don’t seem to have any bad intentions," he continued quietly. "So I’ll let them be... for now. No need to tell anyone else."

He turned back to the map, his eyes scanning the battle lines — but his mind was far from the ink and parchment. His fingers stilled, and slowly, almost against his will, his gaze lifted toward the tent wall where a faint breeze made the canvas ripple.

"But that woman..." he thought, his golden eyes narrowing just slightly. "Why does she seem... familiar?"

The wind outside caught the edge of the tent flap, sending a brief gust inside, and Rolph found himself staring at nothing, lost for a heartbeat before returning to his work — though the question refused to leave him.

****

[IN LUCA’S TENT]

The tent was small, but Luca was making it feel even smaller by careening around like a panicked rabbit, hands up as if warding off invisible blows. His breathing came fast, almost comically loud, while his eyes darted between the walls of canvas and the tall figure at the center.

Celestia didn’t need to move to dominate the space. She stood with her back straight, chin lifted, one gloved hand resting on her hip and the other dangling loosely at her side — but the tension in her fingers suggested she was deciding whether or not to grab him by the collar.

"No, no, Your Majesty! You can’t hit me!" Luca pleaded, voice cracking, feet scrambling over the rugs as he narrowly avoided tripping over a pile of folded blankets.

Her gaze tracked him like a predator watching prey circle itself into exhaustion. "Why?" Her voice was icy, but slow, deliberate. "Because we’re

married

now, huh?"

Luca skidded sideways, hands splayed in surrender. "I—I didn’t have any other excuse at the time! And you didn’t seem to have one either!"

Celestia’s eyes narrowed to slits, head tilting just slightly — a queen measuring her subject. "And why," she asked, stepping forward just enough to make him retreat again, "did you

need

an excuse? It’s just

chores

."

"How can I allow the supreme empress," Luca burst out, throwing both arms wide in exasperation, "to do menial tasks such as—washing soldiers’ clothes! Cleaning the dishes! Scrubbing tents!"

With each task he named, Celestia’s rigid posture eased almost imperceptibly. The storm in her eyes dulled from lightning to dark clouds, and her arms slowly folded across her chest again — a sign she was at least listening. Luca, noticing this, thought grimly,

You’ve definitely messed it up, and it might cause trouble later...

He jabbed a finger at her nonetheless. "But we wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for you!"

Her lips pressed into a thin, dangerous smile. "Because of

me

?"

"Yes!" he shot back, stepping closer now that her temper seemed to have ebbed. "Why hide your strength? If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t even be here right now!"

For the first time, she broke eye contact. A tiny shift of her shoulders, a fraction lower than usual, and her gaze slid to the side. "...I didn’t hide my strength."

Luca frowned. "That’s right, you didn’t—" Then his expression froze, his voice rising as the thought slammed into him. "You...

didn’t

. Did Sir Rolph lie then? But why would he—"

"I don’t..." She exhaled slowly, the sound almost like steel cooling after battle. "I don’t really have any strength now."

Luca blinked once, twice. "...You’re joking, right?"

Her eyes came back to him, calm but heavy. "Do you think forcibly traveling with you through a space-time tunnel doesn’t have repercussions?

You

are the one with the affinity for space and time, not me."

It was as if the words took a second to reach him. Then—"Ohhh... SHIT." His shoulders hunched as if the air itself weighed him down.

Celestia’s lips tightened, but there was something else there — guilt. "Yeah. I know. And now... it puts both of us in danger."

But he didn’t hear the last part. He was already moving — dropping to one knee by his pack, shoving aside rations, cloth, and a whetstone with quick, jerky motions. His brows were drawn together, eyes locked on the task. When his hand finally closed around a small glass vial, his entire posture shifted.

The panic drained from his face, replaced with a sharp, decisive focus. He rose in one fluid motion, holding the vial like it was the most important thing in the world. His gaze locked on her — not with fear this time, but with the determination of someone who had made up his mind.

"Sit. Sit, sit, sit," he ordered, pointing firmly at the crate in the corner. "You don’t have any powers now, which means the injuries you got before we came here must be killing you. Take this — apply it on your wounds."

Celestia blinked, thrown by the sudden shift in him. The weight of his tone, the surety in his eyes — it caught her off guard. A faint pink colored her cheeks, and for a heartbeat, she simply stared. "...Aren’t you worried about being killed by devil cultists? Or... soldiers?"

Luca froze mid-step. The determination on his face cracked like thin ice.

"...Holy—SHIT!" he yelled, clutching his head, pacing in tight circles. The reality closed in on him like the tent canvas was shrinking: an unfamiliar war camp, enemies everywhere, Celestia stripped of her power... survival had just gone from difficult to nearly impossible.

And for the first time since they’d arrived, Luca wasn’t panicking because of her wrath — he was panicking because the danger outside the tent had just become

very, very real

.