He stood before me in full military uniform, a mask concealing his face, a rifle with a fixed bayonet slung across his shoulder. Every line of his posture exuded authority — yet beneath that commanding presence, I could feel a deadly chill of killing intent.
I forced myself to stay calm and stepped forward to speak, but before I could utter a word, he drew his bayonet and lunged straight for my throat.
"Ray! Do you even know what you're doing?!" he roared. "She's a monster — a demon in human form!"
"You've been investigating me?" I asked coldly.
"The Commander of the French Field Division has ordered me to bring her back for interrogation! Ray, you've fallen in love with her!"
I knew full well what crime I had committed. Yet, even so — I had fallen deeply in love with her.
I am Ray, Captain of Company C, French Field Division. My mission was to eliminate Monica, the mercenary assassin who had slaughtered countless soldiers and civilians alike.
But Monica had already left that life behind — she despised the version of herself who once served the high command of the Northern Empire. And it was that very broken, remorseful woman whom I fell in love with.
To protect her, I stepped forward, shielding her behind me, and said firmly:
"I will not hand her over to you. Even if she is a demon — from this day on, she is my wife."
"Ray! You've lost your mind!" he shouted again.
At that moment, he spun his bayonet in his hand, clearly intending to slit my throat. As the blade flashed toward me, I dodged backward, then kicked the weapon from his grip. Before he could recover, I threw a punch that landed squarely on his jaw.
He fought for duty.
I fought for love.
We clashed from the hilltop to the flower fields below, and from the sea of blossoms to the grassy plain beyond — every strike heavy with desperation.
"Please… stop fighting! Please, just stop!"
At her trembling voice, both of us froze instinctively and released each other. We turned toward the sound — there she stood atop the hill, tears streaming down her face, staining her dress. The sight pierced my heart like a blade, the pain flowing through me like blood.
The soldier rose to his feet, turned his back on us, and began to walk away. But before disappearing into the mist, he turned his head and said coldly:
"If you don't want me to take her, fine… But you must come with me. Otherwise, I cannot face the Commander."
I understood his meaning, and my chest tightened. If I refused, she would be hunted and punished. But if I went, I might never see her again.
Love and duty stood like two blades crossed at my throat.
I walked slowly toward her and gently took her trembling hand, motioning for her to open it. From my pocket, I drew out the harmonica — Monica, the instrument she had once cherished — and placed it in her palm.
"This harmonica… is the thing I love most," I said, forcing back my tears.
"If fate allows us to meet again, Monica will be the token by which we recognize each other."
Her tears did not cease. My heart ached as if it were being torn apart.
Though we had only spent a few short days together, the bond we formed had already etched itself into eternity.
I kissed her forehead softly, my gaze locked with hers. Her tears had stopped falling, yet sorrow still shimmered in her eyes.
Slowly, my own tears fell — not the tears of weakness, but the silent tears of a man lost between love and duty.
"Ray… it's all right now," the soldier murmured, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. Then he turned, mounted his horse, and waited.
I hesitated, unwilling to part — but there was nothing more I could do.
Like a man without a soul, I walked to the horse that she had once given me. Climbing into the saddle, I turned toward her one last time and shouted across the distance:
"Louisiana!"
Then, with the fading rhythm of hooves — da, da, da… — we rode off into the horizon, our figures growing smaller and smaller until both love and sorrow dissolved into the wind.