"Sir…what do you mean you have to return to Paris?" Murat asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Napoleon paused in his packing, glancing up at Murat with a mixture of determination and concern. "It's exactly as it sounds, Murat. I have no choice but to go," he replied, his voice laced with urgency.

Berthier interjected, his voice laced with caution, "But General, this isn't a formal directive from the Directoire. If you leave your post without proper authorization, you risk facing a court-martial."

Napoleon's eyes flashed with a touch of defiance as he turned to face Berthier. "Do you honestly think they would court-martial the General who has been single-handedly winning this war?" he retorted. "I assure you, I will return before the operation begins. I'll take the fastest means available, even if it means traveling by train."

Murat stepped forward, his voice filled with concern. "General, please at least explain the situation to us. We can help relay the circumstances to your other generals and ensure they understand why you must leave so suddenly."

Napoleon's hand paused as he recalled the distressing letters he had received from Antoine Lavoisier.

"My wife has fallen gravely ill, Murat," he confessed, his voice tinged with worry. "It was said that she was involved in a commotion during the exhibition, and it has resulted in her current condition. I need to be by her side in Paris, to ensure her well-being."

His words hung in the air, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. Murat and Berthier exchanged a glance, understanding the weight of their commander's decision.

"We understand, General Bonaparte. In that case, you have to assign who will be in command of the Army while you are in Paris," Murat suggested.

"I appoint you," Napoleon replied, glancing at Berthier.

"Sir? You are appointing me as the Commander of the Army of Italy? Sir…I don't think I am fit to lead an army," Berthier protested lightly.

"You underestimate yourself, Berthier," Napoleon said, his tone filled with confidence. "You possess the intellect and organizational skills necessary to ensure the smooth functioning of the army in my absence. I have observed your capabilities, and I believe you are more than capable of handling this temporary responsibility."

Berthier hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting between Napoleon and Murat. The weight of the appointment seemed to settle upon him, and he straightened his posture, accepting the challenge.

"Very well, General Bonaparte," Berthier replied, his voice resolute. "I will do my utmost to fulfill the duties entrusted to me and ensure the Army of Italy remains prepared and disciplined until your return."

Napoleon nodded in satisfaction. "Then, I'll see you in two to three days."

***A day later, Napoleon arrived at Chateau de Chantilly. At the gates was Beaumont, the chateau's butler. He opened the iron gates allowing the horse-drawn carriage to enter the estate.

As soon as the carriage pulled to a stop, he immediately stepped out of it and rushed inside the chateau.

The chateau staff was shocked when they saw Napoleon enter, rushing past them and ascending the grand staircase to the second floor where Ciela's chambers were located. The air was thick with tension as he approached the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

He found Ciela lying on a lavish bed, her face pale and fragile against the softness of the pillows. A doctor stood by her side, examining her with a furrowed brow. Napoleon's presence in the room drew their attention, and the doctor turned to face him, his expression a mix of concern and uncertainty.

"General Bonaparte…I didn't expect to see you here," the doctor spoke.

"How is she?" Napoleon walked towards the bed and scanned Ciela's face. She was shivering, sweat glistening on her forehead, and her breathing was labored.

"She has a high fever, General Bonaparte. A few days' rest and proper treatment should help her recover," the doctor replied reassuringly.

Napoleon clenched his fists, his concern deepening. "Is it just a fever, or is there something more serious?" he asked, his voice trembling with worry.

But when the doctor was about to answer him, the door behind them opened.

"Napoleon?"

Napoleon turned around and saw Antoine Lavoisier. "You already arrived."

"I came here as soon as I received your letter," Napoleon said.

Antoine headed over to them and glanced at the doctor.

"Doctor, I appreciate your efforts, but I would like to speak with Napoleon privately. Please give us a moment.

The doctor nodded understandingly and quietly exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Napoleon knelt down and took Ciela's hand gently on his own. Her skin felt hot and clammy, a stark contrast to the delicate touch he had grown accustomed to over the years. He looked up at Antoine, his eyes reflecting both weariness and determination.

"Ciela…" Napoleon whispered. "It's me…Napoleon."

Ciela stirred, her eyelids fluttering open in response to Napoleon's voice. Her gaze, hazy and unfocused, met his, and a flicker of recognition passed through her eyes.

"Napoleon..." she breathed, her voice weak but filled with relief. She attempted to lift her hand, but her movements were feeble.

Napoleon squeezed her hand gently, a mix of emotions washing over him. "I'm here, my love. I've come as soon as I can."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Ciela's lips, though it was tinged with pain. "Wha…what are you doing here? Aren't…you supposed…to…be in Italy?"

Napoleon's gaze softened as he brushed a strand of hair away from Ciela's perspiring forehead. "My dear, circumstances have compelled me to return. Your well-being is my utmost priority. I couldn't bear to be away from you when you are in this vulnerable state."

Tears welled up in Ciela's eyes. "Oh, Napoleon... I never wanted to burden you with my illness. I'm so sorry…"

"Hush now," Napoleon whispered tenderly. "You could never burden me, Ciela. We are partners in life, through sickness and in health, remember?"

Ciela chuckled softly, a weak but genuine sound that warmed Napoleon's heart. "Yes, I remember."

"The doctor said that you are only having a fever…and I don't think you are infected with disease or whatever. You'll be fine, as long as you rest. Now, I will speak with Monsieur Lavoisier, you just rest there."

Ciela closed her eyes, allowing the exhaustion to overtake her once again. Napoleon reluctantly released her hand, gently placing it back on the bed. He stood up and turned to face Antoine, a mix of worry and determination in his eyes.

"Antoine, what happened? How did she end up like this?" Napoleon asked. "In your letters, you mentioned it was during the exhibition."

"General Bonaparte, a man by the name of Hippolyte approached your wife. I believe he was hitting on her but Ciela refused to take his advance. Things escalated when Hippolyte grabbed her arm and said something that caused her to falter…Earlier that day she was full of energy, but after that commotion, she seemed to deteriorate rapidly," Antoine explained.

ƥαṇdαs ηθνε| "Hippolyte…you say…" Napoleon growled, he knew that man, so he exists also in this alternate world huh? But instead of going after Josephine, he is going after Ciela.

"Yes, Lieutenant Charles Hippolyte. He even brought her flowers and came here personally, but your butler, Beaumont, didn't let him pass as per Ciela's orders."

"Anything else?" Napoleon asked further.

"Well, Ciela said that she was scared of him…whenever I mention his name to her, she shivers as if traumatized."

Napoleon contemplated for a second. Nothing is adding up, why would Ciela be scared of someone she can eliminate so easily? Could it be that there's something deeper here? Something that he hasn't explored yet. He knew that Ciela was just like him, reincarnated in this world upon their deaths. Maybe something in her previous life had left a lasting impact, a memory that resurfaced when faced with Hippolyte.

Trauma.

Napoleon glanced down at Ciela again, it is possible for a traumatized person to have a fever after a triggering event. But one thing is certain, eliminating the cause can help speed up Ciela's recovery. So he decided.

"Where can I find this Hippolyte," Napoleon inquired, his eyes gleaming cold.

"You can find him in Paris…but what are you going to do to him when you find him?" Antoine asked.

"Oh…I'll just talk to that guy," Napoleon's voice held a hint of menace as he spoke.