The Crimson General Desires no Prince! (GL)
Chapter 46 - 42: Congratulations to the General (I).

Chapter 46: Chapter 42: Congratulations to the General (I).

Chapter 42: Congratulations to the General (I).

The people of Rosewood were its beating heart, known far and wide for their warmth and unyielding kindness.

Before the crimson general’s residence, things were different.

"Ngh! Whew... I’m glad the tomatoes are in season. We should give some to General Bonheur once she gets back right?" A farmer wipes off his sweat.

Farmers toiled in the fertile fields, their faces weathered but their spirits bright.

"Aye, they’ve become my favourite lately." His companion picks a tomato, the red color was certainly iconic. "They remind me of the great general’s hair."

...

Inside one of the village’s buildings, an artist stood before his masterpiece- a towering bronze statue of the Crimson General, Rowan. His hands, streaked with clay and metal dust, moved with practiced precision, refining the intricate details of her battle-worn armor.

"Hey you’ve been making that statue for weeks now, mind taking a break?" A concerned woman asks the artist, who continues on making the statue.

"No... I’m not done and that’s why I can’t take a break. You know the crimson general is bound to return back for the whole village’s surprise. They’re all counting on me to finish this piece. I’m close." He takes a deep breath in admiring his work.

Rowan’s likeness was fierce yet noble- her piercing gaze sculpted to reflect the unwavering determination that had led her to victory countless times. The artist had captured the way her crimson cape, forever remembered as a symbol of hope, billowed behind her. In her right hand, she clutched a greatsword, its blade slightly raised as if she were still standing against the darkness.

This was more than just a statue.

It was a tribute to the hero who had slain the Demon Lord, ending an age of terror. The very woman who had led armies across blood-soaked battlefields, saved villages from the brink of destruction, and turned the tide of wars that seemed unwinnable.

The people admired her not just for her strength, but for her heart- how she always put the innocent before herself, how she never sought glory despite the legends that grew around her name.

The artist took a step back, wiping sweat from his brow. Soon, this statue would stand in the village square, a permanent reminder of Rowan’s deeds.

The hammering of the forge outside continued as artisans prepared to cast the final layers of bronze, ensuring her image would endure for generations. With a deep breath, the artist smiled. "A hero like her deserves to be remembered."

At its center stood the Crimson Bastion, a testament to the village’s unlikely transformation.

When the renowned Crimson General took a liking to Rosewood, she fortified it into one of the most protected outposts in the kingdom. Stone walls, thick and unyielding, encircled the village, their tops patrolled by vigilant guards clad in crimson-tinged armor. Strategically placed watchtowers loomed above, their occupants ever watchful for threats that dared approach.

"We’ve gotten almost five hundred coffins delivered last week for the deceased soldiers." Two men bought drinks over by the bar feeling solemn, their non ending work seems to take a toll on their mental health seeing so many orders pouring in.

"It’s not only the soldiers... many innocent civilians got caught in this war... you didn’t ask the young general to pay right?" He asks the man who unexpectedly takes a swig of beer over his mouth, drinking it like there’s no tomorrow.

"Hah... my son is one of these young warriors that did their best and fought in the war. As a father, I know the despair you feel to place your children’s body into a coffin- I imagine all the other parents who can’t afford it." He lowers his head, ordering another cup of beer. "I told that woman that she didn’t need to pay me- she’s given me more tools, food and manpower in exchange for my service that’s enough."

His friend sighs, massaging his back before taking a cup of beer and toasts in honour of the lives that has been lost.

...

Despite the imposing defenses, the villagers remained as they had always been kind-hearted and welcoming. They carried their pride quietly, grateful for the Crimson General’s protection but never boastful. For them, the walls were not just a shield against danger but a symbol of their unity and the strength they drew from one another.

"For our great general- my offering for our surprise is making her a new formal suit." A woman holding a sketchbook holds out her initial design, showing it to her friend. She owns a clothing store and is in good spirits now that the war is over.

"Goodness, that’s lovely! I’m sure she’ll love it." The fabric store owner smiles warmly.

"Our trade route to the north has been good, after the crimson general’s victory everyone has been visiting here to try and get to have an audience with her."

"Girl if you’re not buying any fabric then leave, nobody has time for gossip."

"But you’re right, she has done a lot of good things ever since this land has been under her care." The village square was the heart of community life, where markets bustled with traders offering fresh produce, handwoven fabrics, and trinkets from far-off lands.

Rosewood Village was more than just a fortified settlement- it was a haven of kindness and courage, a place where the simplicity of life met the strength of purpose. Those who visited often left with their hearts lighter, while those who stayed knew they belonged to something greater than themselves: a community fortified not just by walls, but by unwavering bonds of trust and love.

Travelers approaching the village often paused to take in the sight: sturdy stone walls rising against the horizon, their surfaces dappled with moss and ivy, and the crimson banners of the Crimson General fluttering proudly in the breeze.

The gates, carved with intricate designs of roses entwined with swords, stood open during the day, guarded by soldiers who carried themselves with quiet confidence. These men and women, though disciplined and formidable, often greeted visitors with a nod or a friendly word, embodying the village’s unique blend of strength and warmth.

Inside, Rosewood unfolded like a patchwork quilt, its cobblestone streets lined with cottages of timber and stone. The homes were modest but well-kept, each adorned with flower boxes bursting with vibrant colors. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, carrying the scent of fresh bread, roasted herbs, and the occasional hint of honeyed mead. The villagers took pride in their homes, often gathering in the evenings to repair thatched roofs or repaint shutters, always helping one another without hesitation.

The people of Rosewood were a tapestry of personalities.

"Oh! Are you doing your patrol today? Come and take one of my freshly baked cinnamon rolls, as always thank you for your hard work."There was Old Marta, the baker whose cinnamon rolls were said to bring tears of joy to even the most hardened soldier. Her laugh, deep and throaty, echoed through the square as she handed out treats to the village children.

"Hmph." Then there was Jorin, the blacksmith, whose burly arms and soot-streaked face belied a gentle soul. His forge was always busy, crafting not only weapons for the village guard but also delicate trinkets and tools for his neighbors.

At the heart of the village stood the Crimson Bastion, a small but formidable fortress that served as both a command post and a sanctuary. Built under the watchful eye of the Crimson General, its architecture was a blend of practicality and elegance, with arrow slits and reinforced gates softened by carved reliefs of roses and vines.

"Hah! Don’t go on being soft just because the general isn’t here! We promised to defend the border! Even if the war is over, don’t get too relaxed!"

"Sir yes sir!"

Within its walls, soldiers trained tirelessly, their drills echoing like a heartbeat through the village.

Yet, the Bastion was not an intimidating presence; it was a reassuring one, a reminder that Rosewood’s safety was guarded by those who cared deeply for its people.

Beyond the village, the Rosewood Forest loomed like a verdant sea, its canopy alive with the chatter of birds and the rustle of unseen creatures. The forest was both a friend and a mystery to the villagers. Its edges were dotted with clearings where children played and herbs were gathered, but deeper within, the trees grew dense and ancient, their gnarled roots hiding secrets older than the kingdom itself.

Some said the Crimson General had chosen Rosewood not just for its strategic location but for the forest’s rumored magic, though such whispers were spoken only in hushed tones. Life in Rosewood was not without its challenges. Bandits and beasts occasionally tested the village’s defenses, only to be met with swift and decisive action from the Crimson Guard. Yet, these moments of danger only strengthened the bond between the villagers and their protectors.

It was not uncommon to see soldiers sharing a meal with the townsfolk or helping to rebuild after a storm.

The line between protector and protected blurred in Rosewood, creating a sense of unity rarely found elsewhere.

"Mateo won’t your dad get mad at us if we go outside?"

A little boy named Mateo smirks, holding a stick on his hand waving it around imagining it as a sword. "Nah, my old man can’t get mad at me for that long. My mom said that it’s safe to play now that the demons have been driven away!"

"Besides-! Everyone’s been super busy because they think General Rowan will be back soon!" He cheered, admiring the great general that saved them from the big bad demons. "Hngh!"

He thrusts the wooden stick into a bush, playing around. "One day I’m going to get tall and super strong! Strong enough that they’ll see me as a hero like General Rowan!"

"You better think of a pretty cool name just like hers then! The crimson general sounds so cool~!" His friend swoons over the cool adult Rowan is. Everyone certainly wants to be like her, dashing, charming and brave.

"Scree!"

The screeching sound of a bird could be heard, the two boys looked up and saw a messenger bird flying around in circles. "Wait what’s that? That bird is acting so weird!"

Mateo lights up immediately knowing what kind of bird that was. It was no ordinary bird, right by its feet it was seen carrying something, "That’s a messenger bird!"