Chapter #71: The Eye That Weighs All
Führer King Bradley moved slowly along the perfectly aligned ranks of soldiers at the Briggs Base. His steps were steady, measured, almost ceremonial. There was no haste in his stride, yet every second spent under his gaze felt like an eternity to those standing at attention. His single visible eye moved with surgical precision, lingering on faces, postures, even the rhythm of breathing. He was not merely searching for someone out of place—he was looking for doubt, for cracks, for fear.
Olivier Mira Armstrong stood at his side, rigid as a statue carved from steel. Her expression was calm, even faintly disdainful, as though the inspection were nothing more than routine. Inside, however, her mind remained sharp and alert. Briggs was no ordinary base, and she was no ordinary general. Every gesture from the Führer carried hidden meaning.
Bradley suddenly stopped.
"General Armstrong," he said in a neutral tone, "when was your last official inspection?"
"Six months ago, my Lord," she replied without hesitation. "You came personally. You delivered the allocated funds and special materials for the development of new weapons and for improvements to the barracks and heating systems."
Bradley nodded slightly, as if confirming something he already knew.
"Hm…" he murmured, thoughtful.
Silence settled once more. Olivier remained composed. In that precise moment, there was no immediate alarm in her thoughts. She had forgotten something important: Miles.
Not because he was insignificant, but because life at Briggs was filled with constant risks, decisions, and threats. The Führer's presence eclipsed every other concern—and that, unknowingly, was what made the situation even more dangerous.
Bradley raised his hand and, without raising his voice, issued a clear order.
"I want my men to search the entire base. Quarters, storage rooms, tunnels, warehouses. Look for any unregistered individuals."
Several of the Führer's soldiers broke away and moved with speed and efficiency. Olivier did not object. To refuse would have been a direct provocation.
Bradley turned back to her.
"General," he said, "have you recently seen any refugees from the Ishvalan war… or any unconventional beings? I believe you know what I mean."
Olivier met his gaze without blinking.
"No, my Lord. If I had seen anything of the sort, I would have reported it immediately. I consider the internal peace of Amestris to be of vital importance, even here in the North."
Bradley studied her for several long seconds. His single eye showed no emotion, yet his presence was oppressive, like a sword suspended in midair.
At last, he smiled.
"I am pleased to have soldiers like you, General Armstrong. Steadfast. Loyal. Efficient."
She inclined her head slightly, accepting the remark without pride or false humility.
One by one, Bradley's men returned, reporting quietly. They had found nothing unusual. No refugees. No anomalies. No misplaced shadows.
"Very well," the Führer said. "We depart at once."
The snow vehicles roared to life, their engines tearing through the frozen silence as the convoy slowly left the base. Olivier watched until the lights vanished into the blizzard.
Only then did she release the breath she had been holding.
"What are you plotting, Bradley…?" she murmured to herself.
There was no answer. Only the Northern wind.
Behind her, cautious footsteps echoed.
"General," said a familiar voice. "I've brought you the recruit."
Olivier turned. Buccaneer stood there, as serious as ever, with Miles at his side. The young man held a firm posture, though his eyes revealed that he had spent the last several minutes barely breathing.
"It's been some time," the General said, studying him carefully. "But it's time you leave the post of mere sentry behind."
Miles blinked, startled.
"Ma'am?"
"Effective today," she continued, "I am appointing you Major. Major Miles. You will be my right hand."
The world seemed to stop for a second.
"What…?" Buccaneer could not hide his shock. "General, with all due respect… he's only been here a short time. Why him?"
Olivier did not answer immediately. Instead, she took a pair of gray-lensed glasses and handed them to Miles.
"Put them on," she ordered. "They'll be useful."
Miles obeyed without question.
"If anyone asks," she added, "they're for the snow."
Miles smiled faintly.
"Yes, ma'am."
He saluted crisply and left, walking with controlled steps, though inside his mind was a storm. He reached his quarters, closed the door behind him, sat on the bunk, and let his head fall into his hands.
He thought of his people.
Of Ishval.
Of those who had died, those who still resisted, and those who would call him a traitor if they saw him now—a Major in the Amestrian army, allied with the very system that had destroyed his home.
"Allied with the enemy…" he whispered.
But the truth was more complicated.
Miles was not entirely Ishvalan, nor entirely Amestrian. His grandfather had been Amestrian. From him, Miles had inherited certain traits, certain privileges, certain doors that had never opened for others. That duality had followed him his entire life, leaving him belonging nowhere completely.
"What am I doing…?" he asked himself.
Meanwhile, in another room, Buccaneer could not hide his frustration.
"General," he said, "why didn't you give the position to me? I've known him since day one. I've fought here for years."
Olivier crossed her arms.
"Precisely because of that," she replied.
Buccaneer frowned.
"I don't understand."
She walked to the wall and pointed in the direction of Miles's quarters.
"To know what your enemies will do," she said, "it's best to keep them close."
Buccaneer's eyes widened.
"Are you saying that…?"
"I'm saying I want to test him," she interrupted. "Nothing more. If he's who I believe he is, Briggs will gain an invaluable soldier. If not…" She let the sentence hang. "The North does not forgive."
Buccaneer fell silent. He was not entirely convinced, but he knew the General well enough to understand that her decisions were never impulsive.
Outside, the snow continued to fall.
And somewhere in the North, the invisible threads of fate were beginning to tighten once more.
(end of chapter)