CHAPTER 29: VELIRA’S DETERMINATION AND THE INTERRUPTED ALAYNE

"I can’t let you do that," Velira said, locking eyes with Bavrik as she slid his hand off her shoulder.

Bavrik—first astonished by her defiance—steadied himself, jaw tightening."Flameguard Company Commander Velira," he said, voice low but laced with fury, "you’re crossing the line. Do not forget—your whole company might face the consequences of your actions."

His gaze, sharp and unyielding, bored into her. Velira, though two fighting levels below him, did not flinch.

Her refusal only stoked his anger further. Mira, standing off to the side, felt her pulse quicken. She feared for both, first for Eren, but now—more so, for Velira—knowing all too well that Bavrik’s towering presence masked a power far greater than his humble demeanor suggested.

"Velira, please—" she tried, but the words caught in her throat.

The air had grown heavy—thick with Bavrik’s intent—pressing down on her voice. As the head of one of the count’s foremost army divisions, he was no man to provoke. Mira’s eyes silently begged Velira to step back.

But Velira didn’t move.

She watched the scene unfold, heart pounding, as Bavrik’s patience finally snapped.

"Your whole company shall be executed after this," he declared, raising his hand.

It shot forward, fast and unrelenting, aimed squarely for Velira. She drew in a sharp breath—knowing that to dodge or counter would be fatal—and simply stood her ground.

Her eyes closed, bracing for the inevitable.

The air felt thick enough to choke. Bavrik’s knuckles came ever closer, the heat of his strike almost brushing her skin—when, cutting through the tension like a midnight bell, a voice rang out from within the room:

"That’s enough, Battalion Leader Bavrik."

The sound stilled the air. The door’s knob clicked, and from behind Velira—before Bavrik—behind Velira—stepped Alayne, the fiancée of the marquise’s son.

Her hair hung in damp, disheveled strands, skin glistening with sweat and... something else. Her coat hanging loosely from her shoulders, clasp missing as she clutched her coat at the middle, pulling it to conceal her chest’s curve.

Alayne—a sort of figure which was not to be sent to the borderlands to battle monsters—were it not for the kingdom-wide shortage of soldiers, chirurgeons to heal them, and spirit arts users to aid in the fight. Chirurgeons, being rare, were highly sought after, and her deployment had been strongly recommended.

But due to her status as the fiancée of the marquise’s son—and the strings he had pulled—Bavrik had been assigned here as well. Officially, his orders were to help repel the monster wave. Unofficially, everyone knew—including Alayne herself—that he had been sent to safeguard her.

Now, Bavrik regarded her dampened figure, skin glistening with sweat and moisture, a faint frown tugging at his brow.

"Ms. Alayne," he said at last, his tone measured, "we came here because of the noise we heard."

Alayne looked at him—her excuse already prepared. One hand held the coat closed at the middle where the clasp should have been, her chest subtly thrust forward as she gave her orders. She tugged on the coat just enough to hide the swell of her breasts, making certain no one could glimpse the bulge beneath.

"Battalion Commander," she began, pausing for weight. "If I had wanted you, I would have called for you already. Don’t you think so?"

Her voice dripped with both anger and authority. Before Bavrik could answer, she pressed harder, voice rising. "Do I not? Answer me."

Bavrik, taken aback—having never seen Ms. Alayne’s temper flare like this—hesitated before lowering his tone. "Yes, Chirurgeon Alayne," he said, stepping back.

"Then why this fuss?" she shot back, her voice still edged with heat.

From the futon, Eren watched the exchange. The rush of events had left Alayne relying only on the dim, silvery light of the night sky filtering in through the window. She had left him as he was—his length still bared to the air—her hand nowhere near him now. Beneath his fingers, he made only the faintest attempt to hide himself, the darkness of the room doing the rest.

Alayne had forgotten to pull the tight strip of cloth back against her haunches to keep her silhouette symmetric, but she trusted completely in the darkness of the night. More than that—she had opened the door at a precise angle, set so that the faint trickle of light from the hall could not spill into the room. The wood blocked it perfectly, her positioning deliberate enough that nothing below her waist was visible to anyone standing outside.

"I thought you were in trouble, M’lady," Bavrik said evenly.

Alayne’s reply came sharp and high-pitched. "Do I look like I’m in any trouble?"

Bavrik glanced at her gasping, messy state, his mind searching for an argument, but only one answer escaped his lips. "No, M’lady."

"Then?" she pressed.

Bavrik stayed silent. The other commanders kept their eyes down and to the side, as if trying to erase themselves from the moment.

"Go back. We’ll talk about this later." She pushed the door again. Just before closing it, her voice cut through one last time—cold and sharp. "I’ll make sure anyone who tries this again will be executed."

The gate shut with a solid click.

The room fell into silence. The commanders exchanged brief glances before withdrawing.

And, as Bavrik turned back—his gaze found Mira.

Pursing inside his pouch attached to the side "Here’s the cost for the food, lady," Bavrik said, placing a coin in Mira’s palm.

She gasped—a full gold coin. In all her years as a tavern owner, she had never held one; silver coins were the most she saw, and even those rarely came all at once.

Bavrik’s gaze shifted to the leftover meat piled in pots. A thought lingered, and he asked, "Will you be able to clean it out before it spoils?"

Mira hesitated, unsure what to do with so much meat. Bavrik continued, "We’ll pay for it." He reached into his pouch and produced three more gold coins. "This is the most the battalion can spare for... luxury."

His voice had lost its earlier edge, drained since the moment Alayne’s anger had struck him.

"Even two would do," Mira said warmly. Then, with a small chuckle, she added, "In a rural place like this, we can’t even use a whole gold coin in a year—let alone three."

Bavrik said nothing, simply pressing all three into her hand, making it four in total.

"You shouldn’t be unnecessarily kind," he said, motioning for the other commanders to bring the pots out from the kitchen. Without another word, he turned and left the tavern.

Behind him, the commanders followed. The platoon leaders carried out the remaining twenty cuts of hornbeast meat dish, their steps quick but their noses lingering over the rich, mouthwatering aroma.

They were gone in moments, the sound of boots fading into the night.

Mira set the gold coins carefully to the side, her thoughts elsewhere, as she hurried toward Velira—worry etched across her face.