Being Erwin Smith's adjutant was a peculiar blend of duty and privilege. Not without its challenges, but certainly not all bad.

The paperwork was undeniably exhausting. Then there were the incessant encounters with the pedants in the military police, who seemed to revel in scrutinizing every expenditure. Justifying the Corps' budget to both the royal government and the citizens within the walls became a Sisyphean task, particularly when public faith in their military expeditions against man-eating giants waned.

Losses came with grim regularity. Yet, in the midst of this chaos, there was a reprieve, your unwavering presence by his side. A man utterly devoted to his cause, his fervor was so intense that it often straddled the line of madness. Amidst all of it, the hours he spent with you eclipsed those spent alone.

You never thought you'd witness the commander in such a state of carefree mirth. It was a rare treat; perhaps a concoction of the wine he had savored, the exhaustion from the restless days that had passed, and the tantalizing thrill of an impending expedition. These elements merged into an uncharacteristic lightness that danced in his eyes.

His jacket lay discarded, the top buttons of his shirt unfastened, and a delightful flush adorned his cheeks. No chill from the open window could erase it. In that quiet, candlelit office, amidst the chaos of urgent paperwork, he laughed unabashedly as if tomorrow were a distant concern.

“Oh, Lord, you should have seen him, my dear,” he exclaimed, his usually stern voice sparkling with delight. “I’ve never witnessed such timing! Picture this, a military police officer, prattling on about the alleged extravagance of our equine budget, only to be thrown off his own steed moments later. Who could have scripted such irony?” He startled you as his laughter rang through the room, warm and unexpectedly robust.