TUK 19

Chapter 19

A heavy downpour had swollen the source streams of the Greenwave Forest.

Rian found a suitable pool, lit a campfire, and stripped off his armor.

He used leaves to wipe grime from the battered armor, spread it near the fire to dry, and then finally washed his own filthy body.

Sss—

Blood, sweat, and clinging mud ran off Rian’s body and darkened the puddle. The traces showed the dirt had been washed away.

But the smell that clung to him wouldn’t come off so easily.

‘I should’ve packed herb pellets.’

He’d forgotten to bring lavender or rose-scented candles in the supply train. Something like that would have removed the stink and restored a clean feeling.

Well, there are always alternatives.

Sssk… sssk…

Because wartime hygiene had to be treated as seriously as combat, Rian used dandelion buds he’d picked on the Dandelion Plain as a substitute to reduce the odor clinging to his body.

Crackle… crackle…

After his bath, Rian sat by the fire and dried himself—body and mind.

As his tension eased, his gaze slackened.

‘Am I tired?’

He didn’t feel particularly exhausted, but with the tension gone, a gentle weariness seemed to settle over him.

He closed his eyes in a comfortable posture. Sleep didn’t come, but in the darkness behind his lids a certain void crept in.

‘Maybe it’s hunger.’

Chomp… chomp…

Rian opened his eyes and tore into the jerky he’d left when he set up the fire.

“First, fill that emptiness in your belly. Only then can you show your strength properly—whether sparring or scouting—so you can detect the gaps in your skill.”

He hadn’t refused the jerky handed to him by the broad-shouldered silver-haired Berkir; he’d gladly accepted it.

The seasoning was nutty and salty—different in texture and flavor from the usual rations. The more he chewed, the more the savory and sweet notes blended; it tasted good.

Still, it wasn’t enough to chase away that indistinct hollow—whether it was emptiness or hunger. The amount wasn’t large enough to fill his stomach.

But even if he stuffed himself full, it wouldn’t feel like that hollow was gone.

It seemed that the eternal void and the emptiness of the stomach would remain lodged in his chest.

“Well, does it matter?”

In truth, it didn’t. The vague emptiness was easier to endure than writhing hunger.

‘I won’t starve to death.’

He hadn’t experienced it yet, but even a body that had survived torn hearts and severed throats didn’t seem likely to truly die of hunger.

“You don’t need to worry about hygiene like before…”

Rian thought he wouldn’t die from an epidemic or the like, but he shook his head and dismissed the thought.

Even if he himself wouldn’t die, others could—so hygiene was something that must be observed, out of consideration for others.

He remembered the deaths he had experienced. He’d been ripped apart, beheaded, bled out—he’d seen those deaths.

But deaths aren’t limited to those kinds.

One could literally starve to death, burn to death, freeze to death. One could die from a cultist’s curse or be eaten by a monster.

“Just thinking about it is horrifying.”

The deaths he’d just recalled felt like they would lead to an eternal death—processes he never wanted to undergo even once.

So avoiding death as much as possible was the best plan.

Sssk—

Rian turned his head, as if to stop the thoughts, and adjusted the armor he’d left to dry by the fire.

It was slightly damp in places, but wearable. He buckled on his gear and put out the fire he’d been using to dry the armor.

Thud—

He’d rested enough; it was time to find Dominic.

“Hah… I thought you’d take a nap and show up at dusk.”

Dominic stood before him, loosening his wrist as if ready to spar at any time, and said this to the already-loose Rian.

“Did you even rest properly? Don’t use flopping around on the ground as an excuse and say you’re tired.”

Tch. When he’d tried to stab him earlier he’d used honorifics in his apology—just a show, then. Fine; rudeness could be met with rudeness.

“Is that the sort of excuse you use? Noted.” “…….”

Instead of answering, Dominic furrowed his brow and drew his sword.

Ssshhh—

He wanted to make Rian kneel at once, but Rian also drew his sword.

At that moment, as if to hold the taut tension between them, Lea said:

“Remember: if you kill your opponent during sparring, you must repay death with death.”

Rian felt Lea’s gaze linger on him a little too long and it irritated him, but he saw no point in arguing and just nodded.

Then he focused his eyes back on Dominic.

Their gazes collided. Invisible sparks seemed to fly as they sized each other up—the sparring had begun.

Silence fell. No one dared even breathe.

Soldiers gathered around, forming a circular arena.

‘Damn… has his skill improved that much?’

Dominic couldn’t approach Rian like before. He felt the change in atmosphere.

There seemed to be no openings. Even standing with a sword in hand, Dominic felt no sense of pressure—yet something felt different.

‘All the same, he’s just a mere soldier!’

Pahat!

Dominic moved first.

They were about eight paces apart, but with a single step Dominic closed the distance.

Whoosh!

A linear thrust aimed for Rian’s chest.

The soldiers watching gasped at the speed. Rian calmly stepped back two paces and evaded Dominic’s attack, drawing loud exclamations.

“Ooo!! He dodged that?!”

“Looks like catching an elite of the Empire wasn’t just luck?!”

“I had no idea the Monckley Battalion had someone like that?!”

“Was the captain of the Third Cursed Squad really that level?!”

The soldiers cheered more at Rian’s evasion than at Dominic’s attack. Those who’d previously kept away for fear of the curse now quickly sided with Rian.

Whether or not that happened, Dominic and Rian kept their full focus on one another.

Huhng—! Kaaang! Ka-gan! Huhng! Huhng!

Dominic’s sharp assaults pressed Rian. Rian parried, evaded, parried again—repeating the pattern.

It was like splitting a beat into half-beats and defending the oncoming rush by tiny fractions.

But—

Shreek!!

Rian’s counterattacks, which sometimes slid in as surprises, were sharp.

Thud! Tat!

Each time Dominic felt a chilling crisis and took a step back.

‘Hah… his quickness is different. His movement… it feels familiar, like I’ve seen it before…’

While adjusting his breathing and thinking, Dominic remembered.

‘Right. The elite troops I fought before! The sharp hit-and-run step is similar… But why isn’t he taking the initiative? Why is he being defensive?’

Dominic expected Rian to dash in once he stepped back, preparing a counter, but Rian didn’t—Rian simply stood his ground and waited for an attack.

‘Indeed. Now it’s worth fighting without risking your life.’

Previously he couldn’t even track a simple blow with his eyes and had to risk his life to counter; now things were different.

Although Rian still responded with only a fraction of a beat difference, his eyes provided information, his mind processed it, and his body reacted—his sensory and reaction level had improved.

‘Is this thanks to Gerard?’

Subtly, his body’s reactions and judgement seemed to move as if Gerard were in his mind.

Especially his improved tracking vision—that was what caused it. He read Dominic’s movements and consciously pictured Gerard’s motions, imitating the hit-and-run step; it seemed to be working.

‘Is that why he has such a baffled expression?’

Rian felt pleased. He hadn’t actually reached Paul’s level of physical improvement yet, but—

‘I can catch up.’

If he kept fighting, meeting swords constantly, someday he’d surpass Paul. That thought filled Rian with a competitive gleam and made him smile.

“You’re smiling?!”

Of course, to Dominic that was provocation.

Kakang—!

The spar grew fiercer, and in the end it concluded with Rian’s narrow defeat.

After a seemingly endless exchange, Rian tried to thrust while responding to Paul-like fast steps, but—

In an instant Dominic disarmed Rian, took Rian’s sword, and held it to his throat—claiming victory.

“Hoo—. Hoo—. I… won. Admit it?”

Because he’d forced a disarm, Dominic’s hand bled, but he wore a sharp smile as if savoring the victory.

Rian nodded with an expressionless face.

“Yeah. I admit it.”

Maybe he would have been happiest to win, but losing didn’t make him feel diminished.

After all, the spar had been to measure his post-Gerard physical improvements. He’d seen potential for future growth—and that alone made Rian feel as if he’d won.

“Take care of the border scouting mission while I’m gone.”

Rian gave Dominic a crisp military salute, which somehow looked like the composure of a winner.

‘Arrogant bastard.’

Dominic wanted to grab his head and thump it, but seeing Rian salute respectfully after conceding stopped him.

“Hah… whatever. Do as you like.”

Dominic tried to wear the nonchalance of a victor, but the lingering sense of defeat made his words gruff.

Perhaps it was because Rian resembled the black mage he so hated. During the spar, there had been no sign of any curse or malice, so instinctively Dominic felt Rian wasn’t connected to those things—but he still couldn’t feel friendly toward him.

Just then, the silver-haired giant stepped out from between the cheering soldiers.

“Heh heh. That was a touching spar. But know that I’m next after Dominic. Not now, of course… the sun will set soon—what do you say to sparring about this time tomorrow?”

Rian looked up at the massive, rippling muscles of Berkir, who wore a benevolent smile.

“I’d be glad to.”

“Three thousand troops will follow me. The rest hold this place.”

At the command of the Empire’s Commander-in-Chief, Marquis Bueno Argen—short blond hair tidy, eyes sharp as a lance—the rear forces quietly slipped out through the Twin Canyon Gate.

‘I should be ready by now.’

Bueno had planned this from the start of the war.

The Twin Canyon was the shortest route to Northheim. By concentrating the main force here, he would draw in the kingdom’s main army, fixing them in place while he used the illusion to slow and entangle their movement.

He would then send mages and elite troops under Count Williams Durlenger to break the kingdom forces that were expected to defend Treverbbridge and secure that position.

After moving half of the main force there and carrying out a feint, he planned to annihilate the kingdom army and seize Northheim.

But—

“Your Grace!!!”

Not long after the troops were stealthily withdrawn toward the plain, a rider came charging in from the distance—Count Williams Durlenger, who had been tasked with advancing onto the plain.

Bueno felt a premonition of defeat when he saw Williams return with only a few guards.

“Did you at least have knight contingents there? Even so, with Norfin the mage and the shadows sent, they shouldn’t have been annihilated.”

Bueno urged Williams, who dismounted and knelt in front of him to catch his breath.

Williams had no words, but he had to avoid responsibility for the defeat.

“We didn’t have knight contingents… but there were spies among the shadows! Gerard!! Gerard colluded with the Azrion troops disguised as our soldiers and killed the mage….”

“Impossible!!!”

Bueno couldn’t believe spies would be in the units he had vetted and selected. He especially couldn’t imagine Gerard having any contact with Azrion to conspire.

So he couldn’t accept Williams’ claim that the defeat was due to the men he’d raised.

But Williams wouldn’t have lied about the defeat.

If anything, the enemy would be celebrating their victory and lowering their guard—that meant the movement would proceed unchanged. And—

In any case, the responsibility for the loss would be punished.

“I’ll go judge the situation myself. You will pay for this failure with death.”

“Your Grace!!!”

“Execute him.”

Only then did Williams realize his grave mistake.

It might have been better to return to his domain, fake his death, and hide.

Swoosh—

Williams’ head separated from his heavy body. Bueno increased the speed of his force and pushed onward.