TUK 07

Chapter 7

“First, you should receive treatment. Know this—I will be sure to reward the merits you showed today.”

Monclay had no choice but to acknowledge that it was thanks to Lian that they had escaped the brink of annihilation.

He still could not understand how Lian Cade had managed to return alive from the Dandelion Plains.

If it’s to survive, what wouldn’t a man do?

As long as it meant living, a person would even crawl into a heap of corpses—that was simply human instinct.

What good were honor or pride if one was dead? It was far more human to live on, disgraced and ridiculed, than to die nobly.

And was Lian Cade really in a situation to be blamed at all?

Even if he had failed to protect his commander, turned a blind eye to his subordinates’ deaths, and returned alone…

He killed a mage. Thanks to that, most of the Imperial army was drowned, and the allies on the verge of defeat survived.

He deserved to be praised as a hero!

Of course, the one who quickly grasped the turning point and transformed crisis into opportunity—that was me. The hero will be me. Lian Cade will be remembered in history by the sword that I wielded.

Hadn’t this man already been called the “Child of the Curse,” once stirring the whole kingdom?

It was said that his very curse had even robbed Ellen Cade of his aura.

If, through this, he could now be praised as the sword of a hero, there could be no greater benefit for him.

“Count Monclay Brown turned a curse into a miracle and overcame the crisis at the Battle of the Dandelion Plains.”
“He foresaw that the Imperial army would use elite soldiers and mages, and by commanding Lian Cade, achieved a reversal and victory.”

With such propaganda, their defeat at the plains could be packaged as victory. Both sides would gain.

Would Lian Cade object? Not at all.

Even if he had been raised from commoner to baronet, he was still an adopted son of a retired low-ranking knight.

Even if he protested, he had no backing. If this incident removed the stigma of “curse” from him, swearing loyalty would actually be in his best interest.

For this victory, a small promotion in rank and a monetary reward should be enough.

After all, no matter that he killed a mage, he still bore the stigma of being the sole survivor on the battlefield. Considering the soldiers’ resentment, that much would be appropriate.

In any case, their top priority now was to finish off the remaining Imperial troops and secure a complete victory.

“Well then. I’ll summon you when the situation is settled.”

Monclay spoke, mounted his horse, and left, his guards following behind.

Step. Step.

Lian limped across Trevor Bridge, littered with corpses.

For now, I suppose I’ve survived the worst.

The greatest danger would have been if, as the lone survivor of the plains battle, his past had been linked to the Inquisitors.

“Horrifying thought.”

In a situation where he could not die, they would no doubt torture him with talk of witch’s curses or black magic spells.

He could very well end up thrown into the underground prisons of the Aria Order, forced to endure endless cycles of death agony and resurrection curses—

—until he met a final, complete death.

So, if Monclay wanted to put his spoon in the pot of credit for slaying the mage and turning the battle, Lian could tolerate it.

Still, leaving a wounded man behind like that… feels a bit wrong. Did I act too unaffected?

Not that he expected to be carried, but still—he had saved Monclay’s life. Even if his injuries weren’t severe, to be abandoned so lightly…

But that was simply the sly and calculating nature of Monclay, the battalion commander.

Lian let it pass and trudged on across Trevor Bridge.

Step. Step.

He crossed the bridge, passed over a narrow plain, and climbed up the rise from which Monclay had observed the battlefield.

On the way, he felt the wound he had inflicted on himself had already closed, and the pain in his thigh had eased significantly.

So I haven’t lost my healing ability entirely, it seems.

It was nothing compared to the overwhelming regeneration that came when he brushed against death’s door.

But compared to an ordinary person, the speed was as though he had received divine healing from a priest.

I can’t go to the infirmary like this.

If he went there now, his condition would only invite suspicion: how could he be so unscathed?

So instead, upon reaching the allied camp, he headed to where he truly needed to go.

It was a supply tent built atop a cart of weapons and equipment.

“I need some armor and weapons.”

Lian stated his request without giving name or rank to the soldier organizing arms inside.

“Huh?! Lieutenant Riki…?!”

A brown-haired, big-eyed soldier recognized him.

It was Benjamin, a quartermaster he knew well, who even called him by his usual nickname.

But even as he recognized him, Benjamin’s eyes trembled as though he were seeing someone who shouldn’t be alive.

With his small build, youthful face, and wavering gaze, he almost looked like the sort who would stir women’s protective instincts.

“Benjamin, also get me a wet towel. As you can see, I’m a mess.”

Lian asked calmly, ignoring Benjamin’s half-dazed expression.

Benjamin swallowed hard, barely holding on to his scattered wits, and said:

“I thought you were dead! The soldiers who retreated suddenly said 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Companies were wiped out…”

Lian picked up a pen from the table, filled out the requisition form for weapons, and handed it to Benjamin, along with his reply.

“They say if you lick the goddess’s feet, she’ll save you. So I licked them in earnest.”

“Haha… ha…”

Benjamin forced a laugh at the joke, handed him the wet towel, and took the document in exchange.

Srrrk. Rub.

Lian wiped off the dried blood and grime from his body.

Meanwhile, Benjamin quickly selected quality arms suited to Lian.

Clang.

He laid them on the table and watched as Lian cleaned himself.

Was it really just luck…?

The towel turned bright red.

His body, honed by training, bore the scars of countless battles and drills—but none of the wounds seemed recent.

Yet they had said the enemy encirclement was so tight no one could break through, and that retreat was the only wise option.

For him to have survived inside that trap…

Unless he hid in a pile of corpses…

But was Lian Cade that kind of man? No. Never.

This was the man who carefully chose even his men’s gear himself, saying ability meant nothing without proper arms.

The one who spent half his pay upgrading his own weapons so he could always lead from the front.

A man like that would never hide among corpses just to survive.

As Lian donned armor and strapped on a longsword and three throwing knives, Benjamin finally asked:

“What really happened out there?”

“I was lucky.”

Lian brushed it off again.

“No, really! What happened?!”

“…”

Persistent one.

Seeing he wouldn’t let go otherwise, Lian told him:

He fought until he collapsed unconscious.
He survived hidden beneath corpses.
While the enemy chased their allies, he disguised himself and slipped back alive.

He deliberately left out the mage-slaying part—otherwise Benjamin would demand the whole story and never let go.

“Ah… so you really did lick the goddess’s feet…”

Benjamin still found it unbelievable—but what choice did he have but to believe?

After all, Lian wasn’t asking to return home on medical grounds; he was rearming to head back to battle.

“Well then. I’ve no time to waste.”

“Y-yes, sir! Good luck!”

Benjamin saluted as Lian left the supply tent.

Step.

Emerging, Lian considered where to go next.

Normally, he should head to the infirmary—but he had no wounds.

He had no company tent either, not until Monclay’s next orders.

Return to Nosheim? That too had not been ordered.

Usually, badly wounded men would be sent back to the garrison, but for some reason Monclay had not done so.

For a brief moment, the loneliness of having no place to go began to eat at him.

Step.

But a soldier at war couldn’t be aimless.

From the moment he returned alive, his path had already been set.

He must go back to the Dandelion Plains—to where his men’s spirits lingered, to where he himself had died and lived again.

At the very least, I must recover them with my own hands.

The clean-up squads would come later, but Lian would not stand by watching his men gathered up like so much debris.

And above all—

The war was not yet over.

Until it truly ended, it was never over.

The Empire might not retreat quietly. They might counter with another reversal.

Gerard, was it?

The man’s final gaze had still burned with fighting spirit.

Even as his body fell, Lian had sensed his will to fight from his eyes.

A gaze that swore vengeance.

So Lian had to rejoin the main force quickly. One way or another, they would meet again, and he intended to repay him for the first death he had been given.

Step.

He walked toward the stablemaster in charge of the couriers’ horses.

The sky was burning red.

Five courier horses, tethered to posts, grazed in the green meadow.

The stablemaster sat drowsing off to one side, as if the war was none of his concern.

“I’m Lian Cade, 1st Platoon, 3rd Company. I need a horse to rejoin the main force.”

“Eh? Oh—yes, sir! A horse? Ah! You need a horse, yes?!”

Startled by the sudden visit of an officer, the stablemaster jumped up, grabbed a saddle, and rushed to the horses.

He chose a sleek brown steed of good build and quickly saddled it.

At that moment—

Clatter! Clatter!

Five riders galloped toward them from the distance. Judging by their direction, they were coming from Nosheim.

Rangers?

Since a major battle was also raging at Twin Canyon, perhaps they came to report its outcome.

Lian waited for them to approach.

The stablemaster was just untying the rope from the brown horse to hand it over when—

One of the riders shouted:

“Hey! Where is Sir Monclay?! We come bearing urgent news—disciples of Sir Zion, Knight, have arrived!”