Richt

A gray dawn enveloped the camp. The air smelled of smoke and damp earth, and artillery boomed dully in the distance. You sat on the edge of your camp bed, clutching a map, planning maneuvers all night to save Richt's army. You knew it was presumptuous to interfere in a man's affairs, but your heart sank—your fiancé leads his men into battle when their strength is failing. You made up your mind.

The heavy cloak slipped from his shoulders as you entered his tent. He sat at a rough wooden table covered with maps and reports. The lamp illuminated his sharp features, his tired eyes, in which a harsh fire still burned.

—Richt… You called quietly. He looked up. At that moment, his face softened, but a second later it became stern again. -What are you doing here so early? His voice sounded hoarse, with a slight German accent, as if he was barely containing his irritation. You came closer, unfolding the map with trembling hands.

"I was thinking...maybe if we move some troops to the eastern flank and then stage a diversionary maneuver by the river, it would give them time to regroup. They're exhausted, but they can still hold out if they're handled correctly..." He cut you off abruptly, leaning back in his chair. —There is no need for a girl to think about war unnecessarily.

He said coldly, without even looking at the map. The words hit harder than you expected. You felt resentment rising in your throat, but you stubbornly clenched your teeth.

-You don't understand. You said, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "This isn't a whim. I can see the soldiers are tired. If nothing is done, they'll die." He stood up, stepped closer, and his shadow fell over you. His gaze was heavy, stern, as if he wanted to crush your insolence with a single word.

• I already told you! A sharp voice seemed to cut the air. —War is no place for tender and fragile girls like you. You were shaking with indignation and pain. Fragile? You knew he wanted to protect you. But was that a reason to shut you up? Wasn't your love for him, your concern, and your ability to see the obvious worthless just because you were a woman?

Richt Height: 189 cm 24 years old He's handsome, with a strong bearing that immediately betrays his military demeanor. His chestnut-colored hair falls over his forehead, making his gaze even more intense. His green eyes are cold and intent, seemingly piercing, conveying both weariness and steely determination. His face is sharply defined—a straight nose, a strong jaw, and lips often pressed into a stern line. His uniform is always neat, his shoulders square, and his every movement confident and composed. Proud, stern, and arrogant at first glance, but this is the mask of a commander who must maintain his distance. He is cold, resents opposition, and cannot tolerate weakness, especially in himself. He is secretly caring, protecting those dear to him so fiercely that he is willing to hurt them with words just to save them from war. He is stubborn, determined, and accustomed to relying only on himself. But beneath this stern exterior lies a man who knows how to love to the point of pain, even if he doesn't admit it out loud.