Published at 4th of February 2026 7:17 am

Chapter 853: He Who Lives By the Sword...

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Bruno stood in front of a mirror located within the master bedroom of his grand estate. He was fidgeting with his collar, and the medals beneath it.

In his life he had been awarded just about every honor a soldier and general could receive from the Kaiser himself. And more than once he had actually declined awards, stating that any more than he already possessed would be nothing short of ridiculous.

He was a man in possession of the Grand Cross of the Royal Hungarian Order of St. Stephen with Chain; the 1914 Grand Cross of the Iron Cross with Breast Star, bearing the 1938 Clasp; and the Grand Cross of the Pour le Merite with Oak Leaves and Swords.

Beneath those sat the Knight’s Cross of the Royal House Order of Hohenzollern with Swords, followed by the 1914 Iron Cross First Class with 1938 Clasp, and the 1914 Iron Cross Second Class with 1938 Clasp.

He also bore the Russian Cross, First and Second Class, known earlier in his life as the Cross of the Iron Division, alongside various campaign medals dating back to the earliest days of his career.

His Austro-Hungarian decorations not of dynastic origin were deliberately absent; set aside alongside his Russian awards, honored in memory, but not displayed.

Perhaps age had finally caught up with him, but for the life of him, he could not get the 1938 clasp to align perfectly with his Grand Cross of the Iron Cross.

It was not until a graceful pair of fingers reached from behind his neck, and pinned the medal properly in place, beneath the enameled and gilded brooch that signified his second time earning this medal in a second war, that Bruno could finally relax.

He took hold of the hands that had saved him from himself, kissed them gently, then turned and pulled their owner into an embrace.

"It would have been awfully embarrassing wouldn’t it have been?"

Heidi’s brow arched as she heard Bruno’s strange statement.

"What could you possibly be talking about?"

Bruno chuckled and shook his head, already knowing the comment he was about to make would no doubt anger his wife.

And yet he chose to step on that landmine anyway.

"If I had survived seven wars only to die by these fragile and feeble old hands."

If Heidi had possessed a newspaper at that moment she would have absolutely smacked her husband for making such a horrifically grim joke at his own expense.

Instead, she just stood there, pouting, stomping her foot, and averting her gaze deliberately.

As if to dare the man to comfort her, lest she should stay perpetually mad until he did. And Bruno knew it too; he had played this same game with this same woman for fifty years of his life, perhaps even more.

After all, he had grown up with her since they were both small children. All he could do was embrace his wife once more and hold her tightly until her fury passed.

"I will forgive you this one last time.... But after today, you are no longer a soldier, and therefore I forbid you from ever joking like one ever again!"

Bruno chuckled, not saying a word, because both he and Heidi both knew neither of them were going to be able to keep that promise or enforce its boundaries if it were made between them.

Thus, he simply changed the subject now that his regalia was complete.

"So...how do I look?"

Heidi didn’t even need a second to consider it; her answer was as swift as it was honest.

"Like my Prince Charming..."

Bruno had to forcefully suppress the urge to laugh. The woman may be serious, because she loved him so deeply, and they had been together for so long. But he had a few quips to make about such an old man being her ideal prince.

Nevertheless, he chose to bite his tongue, as he had already provoked his wife’s ire once this morning. Instead, he took a last glance in the mirror.

The uniforms had changed many times since he first put on then old Prussian blue during the last years of the previous century.

But they had also remained in many ways the same. Blue had been forsaken in place of feldgrau. Red and gold embellishments remained where they had always been.

And for the sake of an ultra-formal ceremonial regalia, like the one Bruno currently wore for today’s events, the epaulettes had made a stark comeback.

As he turned to face the door, he found Heidi waiting there for him, with a particular device that Bruno had wholly forgotten about until now.

There was a sword in the woman’s hand that until today had largely been collecting dust.

It had a golden hilt. Its sword knot was black and orange, and the Cross of Saint George lay embedded on its pommel. While the cross of Saint Anna lay embedded in its scabbard’s mouth.

It was one of the many awards that Tsar Nicholas II had given him for his service during the Russian Civil War.

Like many of his other international medals, orders, and ceremonial uniforms, the sword usually sat in his office, alongside weapons, memoirs, photographs, and any other items he may have to remind him of the battles he had waged, and the blood he had spilled in this life.

But today, Heidi tied the blade to his belt, and whispered in his ear.

"Elsa asked me to remind you to wear it."

Bruno knew that officially the sword was not something he was generally supposed to wear at formal German military events.

But... who exactly was going to tell him no?

Because of that, he smirked as he unsheathed the blade; its fine nickel plating shimmered almost as brilliantly as its golden fittings.

He admired the polished sheen and witnessed his own reflection. The old collegiate dueling scar beneath his left eye, which gently graced his cheek suddenly forced a sentiment to the front of his mind.

"He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword...."

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