After a fitting round of mutual commercial flattery, the atmosphere was harmonious. Count Boles secretly nodded in approval at Karl's composure and humility, while Karl held deep respect for the old general's achievements and bearing.
The pleasantries and familial warmth did not last long. Everyone soon returned to the main matter and gathered around the map. Earl Rochefort once more donned the stern mantle of commander-in-chief and began laying out the precise marching order, the duties of each army, methods of communication, and contingency plans for encountering the enemy.
Yet amid this grave, taut military atmosphere, two gazes seemed to possess lives of their own. Unbidden and exceedingly briefly, they passed through the barriers of maps, candlelight, and the figures of the others, silently meeting.
Karl and Charlotte looked at each other just like that.
No words. No movement.
In that single glance, time seemed to stretch infinitely, then freeze.
They said nothing, yet it felt as though they had said everything.
A silent current crackled between them. An intense emotional field, one only they could understand—so strong it could not be dissolved—quietly spread through the air thick with military terms and strategic arrangements.
"Karl." Earl Rochefort's voice rang out as he pointed to a spot on the map.
Karl did not react at all. His mind seemed still immersed in that fleeting exchange of glances, as though part of his soul remained in Charlotte's azure eyes.
"Karl?" Earl Rochefort raised his voice slightly, looking with mild surprise at the young Lord who was clearly lost in thought.
"Ah?... Yes! My Lord Earl!" Karl jolted awake, his heart skipping a beat. He swiftly tore his gaze from Charlotte's face and turned to Earl Rochefort. A rare, barely perceptible trace of embarrassment flashed across his face. "What... what are your orders?"