TUK 20

Chapter 20

Somewhere beyond the sky stained with red, the sun fell. The sight was like a watercolor painting, and against this backdrop, the corpses gathered in one place fell into an eternal, unbroken slumber, waiting for their journey home.

In that same time, the living did not stop moving, continuing to survive the ongoing reality of war.

Soldiers gathered by units, making resting places, or ventured into the forest to gather edible supplies. Some were seen maintaining weapons or training. Everyone was spending time in their own way.

Their commander, Monclair, was also attending to his duties.

He took a pen and parchment from his saddlebag and, using his discarded armor backplate as a desk, diligently wrote something. Then he handed it to his aide, Bonmurd, who did everything Monclair ordered without question.

“Report our victory. Ensure it reaches Commander Graham without any mishap.”

Bonmurd accepted the rolled-up report Monclair handed him and gave a military salute.

His unwavering gaze held clear determination, and Monclair nodded with a satisfied smile.

Clop-clop—.

Bonmurd turned his steps toward the place where his horse was grazing. His expression was still filled with certainty, though not necessarily about delivering Monclair’s victory report to Graham.

‘The battlefield needs heroes. That can’t be Monclair Brown.’

He had survived battles alone, saved allies from crisis by killing a wizard, and even fended off an ambush by the Empire’s elite troops.

This was undeniably the achievement of Lian Cade alone.

It wasn’t luck. One could see that even from the duel he just had with one of Zion’s disciples.

Though he had lost narrowly, was it even a defeat to speak of? How could he, a qualified knight, fail to match those worthy of the title in a duel?

‘Lian Cade has saved those still alive here.’

He was a hero. Fully deserving of it. Even the soldiers who had avoided him, calling him “cursed,” cheered and supported him.

So, one cannot allow the narrative of a hero to be distorted.

Moreover, Bonmurd could not bear the stain of having contributed to such a distortion. He would lose face before the children he had always taught to live righteously.

Clop-clop—.

Bonmurd decided to deliver to Commander Graham the letter he had hidden in his possession, rather than Monclair’s victory report. There was no need to check what Monclair had scrawled on it.

‘This needs to be burned at an appropriate place.’

He intended to ensure that the world would never see a falsified report claiming that fallen soldiers endangered the battle by disobeying orders, dressed up as Monclair’s achievement.

Hiiing—.

Bonmurd placed Monclair’s report back in his saddlebag and mounted his horse. Then he turned toward Treverbridge. At that moment, he encountered Lian Cade and Zion’s disciples, who were patrolling the border.

Clic—.

Lian saluted Bonmurd. Bonmurd returned the salute with a slight smile.

No conversation passed between them—no casual greetings, no wishes for luck. They were not close enough for that.

After a brief military salute, they passed each other and went their separate ways.

Ahead, the tall silver-haired Berkir spoke to Lian:

“I think it would be good to start from now.”

The real reason Lian had no time to converse with Bonmurd was because of Berkir.

This was not a sudden suggestion either. The duel was indeed planned for the next day around this time.

‘The duel is just an excuse. True verification must begin with training!’

Berkir brushed the sunset-streaked silver hair from his face and gave a gentle smile.

When had it begun? From the moment Leia said she wanted to test the author? Or was it because of Lian Cade’s potential seen during the duel with Dominic?

‘This author is my kind. Constantly training for growth. Now is the perfect time to confirm that. Heh heh!’

Berkir smiled, waiting for Lian’s reply.

Lian tilted his head.

“Now? Didn’t you say around this time tomorrow?”

From Lian’s perspective, Berkir’s suggestion seemed like an abrupt challenge when they were just about to depart on a scouting mission.

“Haha. My duel begins with training. So I suggest we run to the plains where we battled the Empire’s elite troops before.”

It was a suitable distance—half a day on horseback, slightly more than half a day on foot—to warm up.

When night fell, monsters drawn by the smell of corpses left behind would appear.

‘We’ll reach the destination right from the start, continuing infinite training even after arrival! Accept it, Lian Cade! And show me your trained skills! Haha!!’

Berkir chuckled inside, wearing a mischievous grin, and Lian responded:

“As you wish.”

Lian accepted Berkir’s proposal in his calm, indifferent tone. Though Berkir’s scheming expression was slightly burdensome, he did not mind.

‘This won’t be boring.’

Since the battlefield had once hosted the Empire’s shadows, monsters would likely appear, drawn to the smell of corpses. It was clearly a calculated proposal. Yet would he reject it? No, on the contrary, it was perfect.

“Haha! That’s the spirit I like! Consider it just a warm-up before the duel. We can gauge the difference between us. Not a bad suggestion, right?”

“…Certainly.”

The tone suggested a cautious agreement, almost provoking competitiveness, but Lian replied casually, as if it did not matter.

A duel was a duel, but a training run across the plains was also a welcome challenge for Lian.

How long had it been since he last trained? Moreover, this was the first training since realizing his body could not die.

He could observe whether physical training influenced immortality differently than the enhancements felt after death.

There was no reason to refuse.

“Beki, are you really going to carry all that weight while running?”

Fiene pointed to two heavily loaded military packs Monclair’s soldiers had gathered. They contained food and miscellaneous camping supplies.

“Of course. Imagine the freedom when I’m rid of this weight—wouldn’t that be enough reason? Haha!”

Fiene saw madness in Berkir’s smile and eyes. Then, pointing at Lian, she continued:

“I don’t think Lian Cade would think the same.”

Her question arose from worry that Lian might die foolishly while keeping up with Berkir.

Swish—.

Lian silently shouldered the pack on the ground.

‘Is madness contagious?’

Fiene let out a small sigh. She decided she wouldn’t be responsible if something happened.

“Alright. We’ll depart first. You can follow at your pace! Haha!”

Berkir waved at his subordinates and then spoke to Lian:

“Follow me closely! Don’t bother searching if you get lost!”

Bang!

It was the signal to start. Not a duel, but a training run. Even though there was no reason to compete, Berkir’s early start provoked Lian.

‘Duel or training…’

Ha!

Lian kicked off the ground, determined not to lose.

The sky, blazing as if red paint had spilled, was now shrouded in darkness.

Stars welcomed the night, twinkling brightly, and the crescent moon shone gently. The land, however, barely resisted the darkness, so dense that it could easily disorient.

Only the chirping insects and glowing fireflies offered faint illumination.

“Hoo! Hoo!”

Every time Lian struck the ground running, the fireflies’ light scattered, illuminating his path.

Berkir, slightly ahead, did the same. Observing him ensured they would not lose the way.

Yet, it was a blow to Lian’s pride.

‘This guy’s a monster. I can’t close the gap.’

No matter how fast he ran, the distance of roughly a hundred steps did not shrink. He had expected to catch up with knightly talents during duels with Dominic, but now it felt like the difference between him and Zion’s disciples.

Berkir had not exaggerated when he said it would gauge their disparity.

Should he give up? Collapse in exhaustion?

‘Impossible. That author is challenging me to follow.’

Maintaining exactly a hundred-step gap, Berkir ran with composure, sometimes showing his back, and even scolded him as he ran. How could Lian give up?

“Your core strength seems lacking.”
“Your lower body is unevenly trained. Did you neglect it?”
“You lack flexibility, reducing efficiency.”
“Your endurance is good, but your force distribution still needs learning.”

Berkir’s provocations made Lian flare up inside. Yet he did not retort; after all, they were not wrong.

Instead, he analyzed Berkir’s words silently, discerning the truth in the provocations.

‘Core, lower body, flexibility, force distribution.’

Compared to Berkir, Lian noticed the differences. Despite Berkir’s heavier pack, his upper body remained stable, movements smooth and springy, footwork light.

‘I can feel the training gap. There’s also a technical difference in running efficiently without tiring.’

Was there any other difference?

“Hoo! Hoo!”

Lian focused on closing the distance, concentrating on his entire body to optimize force distribution. Berkir’s black silhouette gradually approached.

It wasn’t his posture or breathing changes that caused progress.

‘What is he going to say now?’

Berkir clearly slowed as he neared.

“Cough—!”

Lian felt a sudden chest pain, lungs burning—a sign of overexertion.

“Ugh. Ugh!”

Breath became shallow, vision blurred. The body warned him to stop and rest.

Yet something ahead drew his focus, enough to ignore the fading sight.

‘What is that light?’

Approaching Berkir, Lian saw a faint glow—not fireflies. Possibly vapor from sweat in the night air, but vapor doesn’t emit light.

It was clearly luminous, like white smoke that dispersed easily. As Berkir approached, the glow faded.

“W-what… is that light?”

He asked Berkir, who looked down with a smile.

“Hmm? Fireflies, you mean?”

Berkir feigned ignorance.

“No.”

Lian asked no further.

“Hehe! If you’re already tired, you can rest. Resting is part of training. Haha! I’ll go ahead!”

Berkir assessed Lian, then ran ahead, and the glow that had faded returned to Lian’s sigh