Saxon Empire, capital Dresden.
The Central Post Office in Dresden was already bustling with activity just as the morning sun illuminated the ancient city. Uniformed postmen navigated between mountains of letters and packages, collecting the mail for their respective delivery zones. An unwritten rule existed within the post office: to ensure security, letters from frontline officers were typically assigned to the oldest and most reliable postmen for delivery. Letters from common soldiers were handled by the younger postmen.
Old Fischer, a postman, was one of these veterans. His hair was gray, and his face was lined with the marks of time, but his eyes were still bright and sharp. He had been running this mail route for over thirty years and knew every street in Dresden like the back of his hand. However, when he received his assigned mailbag from the sorter today, he acutely noticed that the number of letters was significantly fewer than usual. He quickly sorted the letters by address proximity, preparing to map out his delivery route for the day.
Just then, he noticed three particularly distinct letters. The envelopes were made of quality material, meticulously sealed with wax, and bore an exquisite family crest. In addition, these three letters had a special seal, which appeared to be from the Imperial Army's Second Army Group Command Post. What surprised Old Fischer most was the recipient address—a manor on the outskirts of Dresden. Logically, mail destined for the suburbs should be handled by the next-tier local post office, not a senior postman at the Central Post Office.
"Boss, are these letters mixed up?" Old Fischer held the three letters and approached his supervisor, another veteran who had worked at the post office for many years.
The supervisor took the letters, lowered his voice, and said mysteriously to Old Fischer: "They aren't mixed up, Fischer. This job needs a reliable man like you." He pointed to the address on the envelope and continued: "This location is highly sensitive. We were instructed that mail for this house must be delivered directly by a dedicated courier from the Central Post Office and must not pass through any unreliable hands below us. Since I trust you the most, I've given you the job. To ensure you can focus, I've also significantly reduced your other tasks for today."
Hearing this, Old Fischer immediately understood. For the post office high command to be so solemn about the matter, the recipient's identity had to be wealthy and influential. He carefully looked at the three letters, noticing the sender's signature was the same name: Friedrich Morin. The recipients, however, were three different women.
"The recipients are different, but the address is the same place… Did this officer on the front line get confused and write the address wrong?" Old Fischer wondered internally. Bearing this confusion and curiosity, Old Fischer carefully placed the three letters in the innermost layer of his mailbag. He decided that the suburban manor would be his first stop today.
Around ten o'clock in the morning, Old Fischer, driving the Radiant Crystal-Powered Vehicle assigned by the post office, bounced along the country road for a long while before finally arriving at the address on the envelopes. Looking from a distance, a massive manor sat quietly between rolling hills. High walls and dense woods completely isolated it from the outside world.
At the castle-like gate of the manor, Old Fischer was stopped by two tall, serious-looking guards. After meticulously verifying his identity and confirming his purpose via wired phone with someone inside the manor, he was allowed to enter. Once inside the gate, he was not permitted to continue driving his small car but was transferred to a luxurious four-wheeled carriage belonging to the manor. The carriage moved smoothly along the flat gravel driveway. Old Fischer realized the manor was much larger than he had imagined; the carriage journey from the outer gate to the main building took almost ten minutes. The scenery along the way, from the meticulously manicured gardens to a shimmering small lake, all spoke of the owner's wealth and power.
When the carriage stopped in front of the main building, a well-dressed, elegant middle-aged lady was already waiting at the entrance. She was Luna, Cecilia's Head Maid.
"Hello, are you Mr. Fischer from the Central Post Office?" Luna's smile was gentle and polite.
"Yes, Madam." Old Fischer hurried down from the carriage, respectfully retrieved the three letters from his mailbag, and presented them. Luna's eyes showed a flicker of knowing recognition upon seeing the Central Post Office crest on Old Fischer's bag. She took the letters and said with a smile: "Thank you for your trouble, running all this way from the city."
With that, she signaled a young maid beside her. The maid quickly approached with a basket filled with food: freshly baked bread, several pieces of fragrant sausage, and salted meat. "This is a small token of our appreciation for your trouble. Please accept it." Luna offered the basket to Old Fischer.
Old Fischer was pleasantly surprised; he hadn't expected such a bonus for delivering mail. Since the war began, domestic prices had inevitably soared, and the food allocated to the civilian market had decreased to prioritize military supplies. The price of meat had nearly doubled. And this was only the first month of the war. For his ordinary family, the food in this basket was a feast.
"Oh, I don't know what to say." Old Fischer thanked her repeatedly, his face beaming.
"You earned it." Luna maintained her elegant smile. Old Fischer left, carrying the heavy basket, his heart content. Although he never found out who the owner of this enormous manor was, it no longer mattered. He only knew that tonight, he and his family could enjoy a long-awaited good meal.
Head Maid Luna took the three letters and walked into the lavish main hall of the building. As she entered, she saw Cecilia, the mistress of the manor, walking down the spiral staircase from the second floor in a silk dressing gown, her eyes still heavy with sleep.
"Madam, you are awake." Luna curtsied slightly. "A postman from the Central Post Office just delivered letters. They are from Master Morin at the front line."
"Friedrich's letters?" Hearing the name, the somewhat groggy Cecilia instantly woke up. A flash of unconcealed joy and urgency appeared in her eyes. Her steps involuntarily quickened as she rushed down the stairs.
"Oh, Madam, slow down!" Luna exclaimed, rushing forward cautiously to support her, afraid the recently awakened noblewoman might miss a step and fall.
When the war broke out, the Instruction Assault Battalion was one of the first units to deploy to the front and left in an extreme rush. Morin hadn't even had time to say goodbye to Cecilia face-to-face; she hadn't even gotten a chance to tell him, "Be careful on the battlefield." These past few days, she had maintained a calm facade while managing the vast family industrial empire, but deep down, she worried constantly for the young man fighting in a foreign land. Now, his news had finally arrived.
Cecilia took the letters from Luna, a great weight lifting from her heart. However, as her gaze fell upon the three letters in her hand, the joy on her face subtly shifted.
Wait, why three letters? Cecilia glanced at the recipients' names. Besides the letter addressed to herself, the other two were addressed to Helga Schmeisser, who was also staying at the manor, and the genius young woman from the Seeckt family—Patricia.
"That Friedrich fellow…" Cecilia's brow barely furrowed. A complex emotion, a mixture of joy and a tiny hint of bitterness, surged into her heart.
However, she quickly suppressed the feeling, tightly gripping the letter addressed to her, and asked Luna: "Where is Helga? Is she awake?"
"Miss Schmeisser is awake, she was up early, as usual," Luna replied with a smile. "I saw her go into the workshop just now. She must be working on those complex blueprints again. Should I call her out?"
"Yes, please do. Tell her Friedrich wrote to her." Cecilia nodded, then turned and walked toward the sofa in the hall. She was eager to read what that Friedrich fellow had written to her.
She sat down gracefully and used a delicate letter opener to carefully slice open the edge of the envelope. Taking out and unfolding the letter, she felt a familiar scent waft from the paper, mixed with a faint aroma of gunpowder smoke.
The letter began with the most flowery language Morin could muster, dedicating an entire paragraph to expressing his deep longing for Cecilia. Seeing the affectionate sentences, Cecilia's lips curved upwards, and a brilliant, sunny smile lit up her face. The smile instantly brightened the entire hall. Several young maids who happened to pass by were captivated, thinking the oil painting on the wall even looked more vibrant when their mistress smiled.
She continued reading. The letter briefly described Morin's experiences on the battlefield. Although he carefully omitted all the bloody and brutal details, writing only about foreign sights and battlefield anecdotes—like how he 'persuaded' the two Army Group Generals to secure Roasted Pig Knuckle welfare for his troops—Cecilia was an intelligent woman. She could read the deliberate concealment of hardship and danger behind the lighthearted text. Her heart tightened, but she also felt a sense of relief. The boy she had watched grow up had truly matured… He knew to report only the good news and spare those back home unnecessary fear.
After reading the daily accounts, the letter finally reached the main subject. When Cecilia saw Morin analyze the flaws of the current Military Trucks and propose improvements to the suspension system, the development of new medium-sized Military Trucks, and the even bolder idea of developing a tracked or half-tracked vehicle inspired by agricultural tractors, the smile on her face gradually faded, replaced by a serious expression mixed with surprise and appreciation.
As a designer herself and the head of a massive industrial empire, Cecilia knew the value of Morin's proposals better than anyone. These ideas were not merely the random thoughts of a frontline officer; they were based on a deep insight into the future nature of warfare.
"The idea for tracked vehicles is indeed audacious and very forward-thinking." Cecilia calculated internally. Given the technological reserves of Falkenstein-Eisenstein United Industries and the performance of the Radiant Crystal Internal Combustion Engine, achieving this was not impossible. Her mind immediately began working at lightning speed, already filtering through the top vehicle manufacturing and mechanical engineering companies in her conglomerate, such as Daimler, Borgward, and Mercedes-Benz. She decided she would summon the relevant managers and engineers later and immediately establish a dedicated research and development team. Friedrich needed these things on the front line, and she had to prepare them as quickly as possible.
The letter concluded with another paragraph of fervent and sincere affection.
"…Your care is like a lighthouse in the dark night, guiding me not to lose my way on the foreign battlefield. Please be sure to take care of yourself. Upon my triumphant return, I will definitely present you with the most beautiful roses of Gaul."
Reading this, a touching blush involuntarily rose on Cecilia's cheeks. She pressed the letter to her chest, feeling both sweet affection and shy embarrassment. "That Friedrich fellow… Since when did he become so good at saying such affectionate things?" She murmured to herself, her normally cool voice carrying a hint of tenderness she didn't even notice.
Her rare display of maidenly affection was witnessed by Luna and Helga, who had just arrived.
"Sister Cecilia, why is your face so red?" Helga asked with wide, innocent eyes.
"Ah?" Cecilia was caught off guard by the sudden question. She quickly composed herself, reverting to her usual cool and noble demeanor, and casually adjusted the collar of her dressing gown. "It's nothing. Perhaps… perhaps the weather is a bit warm."
She set the letters aside and gave Helga a gentle smile: "Helga, Friedrich also wrote a letter for you." Simultaneously, she instructed Luna beside her: "Luna, please contact Miss Patricia and inform her that Friedrich's letter for her has also arrived at the manor. Ask if she would like us to send someone to deliver it to her."
"Yes, Madam."
"Eh! The Boss wrote to me?" Helga's face showed surprised delight. She hadn't expected that her Boss, who was busy fighting on the front lines, would take the time to write specifically to her. Curious and excited, the young woman took the letter addressed to her from Luna and sat down on the sofa opposite Cecilia. She took the letter opener Cecilia offered, carefully slit open the envelope, and then instinctively read the first line aloud:
"Dearest Miss Schmeisser, meeting you through the words…"
The moment the words left her mouth, Cecilia's eyebrow across the room subtly twitched. There's that "Dearest" again? How many "dearests" does this fellow have?
(End of Chapter)
The novel has already been fully translated up to the last updated chapter. You can access it on my Patreon at patreon.com/caleredhair