I'm Pregnant
Three days later, on the tall and majestic city walls of Fran City, a biting wind howled, causing the military flags to flutter loudly.
Earl Rochefort's tall and imposing figure paced slowly between the cold battlements of the city walls. He wore a heavy fur-trimmed cloak, yet his steps seemed unusually heavy, each one bearing the weight of the Northern Territory, revealing the anxiety and helplessness he could not shake off.
He would stop every now and then, his gaze sweeping over the crenellations and repeatedly across the dark, endless Sauron Army below the city.
The Black Eagle banner of the Sparrow Corps still fluttered arrogantly in the cold wind. Smoke curled from the camp, and men and horses were active. The siege showed no signs of weakening; on the contrary, it seemed to have taken root, exuding a stubborn determination to achieve its goal.
This stalemate left the Count with mixed feelings; he didn't know whether it was good news or bad news.
On the bright side, the fact that the main force of the Sparrow Corps is still besieging the city like an iron barrel shows that they have not given up their offensive on Fran City. This, in turn, proves that the fighting on the Carnford side is likely still ongoing, and that fortified city is still putting up a resistance!
Otherwise, if Carnford had already fallen, the Sparrow Corps would have had no reason to remain entangled under the Fran City; they should have already broken camp and marched north to join Harald's main force and return home.
This means that Karl, that kid, and his tenacious soldiers are still fighting!
Thinking of the miracle that young man might create in such dire circumstances, the Count felt a complex mix of relief and admiration.
But behind this good news lies suffocatingly bad news.
Because the enemy's main force had not moved and was still watching with predatory eyes, he was firmly pinned down in this Fran City. He could not send out a single soldier and could only watch helplessly as Carnford was experiencing a fierce attack and defense.
Knowing that his comrades were fighting a bloody battle in the north, and that someone could fall every second, while he, as the governor of the Northern Territory, commanding a large army, could only hold out in a lonely city, feeling utterly powerless, gnawed at his heart day and night, causing him immense torment.
He braced his hands heavily against the cold, icy stone crenellations. What could he do? How could he break this stalemate? How could he rescue Karl and ease the siege of Carnford?
Thoughts raced through his mind, only to be ruthlessly shattered by reality.
Force him to fight in the open field? The Sparrow Corps is waiting in ambush, hoping he will do so. The open areas outside the city are the domain of the Sauron Cavalry; it would be tantamount to suicide.
Sending a small elite force to infiltrate? Surrounded by tens of thousands of troops, the chances of success are extremely slim, almost tantamount to suicide.
He admired Karl very much, genuinely.
I admire that young man's almost reckless courage, his composure in the face of danger, and the indomitable tenacity contained within his seemingly frail body.
Such young people are the future hope of the kingdom and should not perish here so easily.
Moreover... there's Charlotte.
Thinking of his daughter, the Count felt as if his heart was being gripped tightly by an invisible hand.
He could almost clearly imagine how his daughter would spend the rest of her life if Karl were to die in Carnford.
Those bright blue eyes will forever be shrouded in the sorrow of losing a beloved.
He absolutely did not want his only beloved daughter to spend the rest of her life in pain and memories.
However, as the governor of the Northern Territory and the kingdom's chief administrator, he bore the weight of the entire Fran City and the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians within its walls.
He could not, and absolutely dared not, risk all of this, to embark on a gamble with a slim chance of success.
Sending troops rashly would not only completely ruin his political career and family reputation, but also be extremely irresponsible to the soldiers and civilians who trusted him and entrusted their lives to him.
This intense conflict between his sense of duty and his urgent desire to save his comrades caused him immense suffering.
"Alas..." The Count let out a heavy sigh, which quickly dissipated in the cold wind of Fran City.
Just then, a familiar, yet more steady and even somewhat hesitant sound of footsteps came from behind him on the stone steps leading down to the city wall.
The footsteps interrupted the Count's chaotic thoughts. He turned around in surprise and saw his daughter Charlotte slowly walking up the city wall.
She was wearing a thick, dark dress with a cloak over it, and there were still traces of travel on the hem of her dress and her boots.
Her face was pale and bloodless, as if she hadn't rested well, but in her deep blue eyes burned an unusually firm and even resolute flame that he had never seen before. This flame was so intense that it almost dispelled the fatigue on her face.
"Charlotte?" The Count's brows furrowed immediately, his tone filled with concern and reproach. "How did you get up here? It's dangerous! Arrows have no eyes, and the wind is strong on the city walls. Go home!"
However, Charlotte did not obediently follow orders and turn away as usual this time.
She walked straight to her father's side and stood beside him, her gaze also fixed on the oppressive Sauron Army below the city.
She didn't speak immediately, but stood silently, the cold wind blowing through her hair and the hem of her cloak.
She remained silent for a moment, as if gathering all her courage, or perhaps carefully considering the weight of each word she was about to utter.
After a long while, long enough that even the Count sensed something unusual, Charlotte turned her head and met her father's worried and questioning eyes.
Her voice was clear and calm, unlike her usual girlish softness. Instead, it possessed a composure born of effortful restraint, yet beneath this calm lay a heavy weight. "Father, I have something I must tell you."
The Count was slightly startled. His daughter's expression was unusually serious, even carrying a kind of determination he had never seen before. This was no ordinary matter.
He said no more, and silently led his daughter through the deep and solemn corridors of the Governor's Office.
The echo of boots on the cold stone slabs was particularly clear in the empty corridor, and soon the two arrived at his somewhat oppressive office.
The flames in the fireplace flickered restlessly, trying to dispel the winter chill. The orange-red light danced in the room, but it seemed unable to dispel the heavy and subtle atmosphere that permeated the father and daughter.
The Count walked to the large oak desk and sat down. He habitually picked up the old pipe that had been used for many years, and slowly and carefully plucked a small pinch of tobacco from the silver tobacco tin and put it into the pipe.
He tried to calm his unease caused by his daughter's unusually serious expression with this set of familiar movements.
He struck a long-handled match, and the orange flame leaped in the dimly lit room, illuminating his angular face, which now betrayed his weariness and worry.
"Speak, Charlotte, there are no outsiders here, what is it that you are so serious about?" The Count brought the match close to his pipe, took a puff, and let the thick smoke rise slowly, forming a bluish-gray curtain.
His gaze pierced through the thin layer of smoke and landed on his daughter, his tone as calm as possible, as if he were having a normal father-daughter conversation.
Charlotte did not sit down; she remained standing in front of the desk, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
She lowered her head, her thick eyelashes drooping down, obscuring the emotions in her eyes, as if she were gathering immense courage.
The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fireplace and the Count's soft hissing as he smoked.
Finally, she raised her head, looked directly into her father's eyes, and spoke softly, yet with extraordinary clarity, each word striking the Count's heart like a hammer blow:
"Father... I... I'm pregnant."