Chapter 61
Beneath the dim clouds, soldiers were bustling about, moving various supplies, alcohol, and cigarettes brought by enormous caravans. Every soldier, without exception, was eyeing the dozens of stacked alcohol cases, licking their lips in anticipation. Some couldn’t resist any longer and were caught trying to touch the supplies, leading to punishment by the officers.
Currently, amidst the ongoing war, it wasn’t possible for all the soldiers to gather amicably and enjoy a party. However, soldiers who had finished guard duty or returned from arduous missions to their barracks could lean on alcohol, finding brief moments of peace.
The soldiers on guard duty carried small flasks of alcohol with them, a fact known to the officers, but given the harsh nature of the battlefield, it was often overlooked.
All the soldiers stationed in Valleland were highly skilled veteran soldiers. There was no one so irresponsible as to succumb to the temptation of alcohol and get completely drunk, neglecting their duty. The alcohol consumed by those on guard duty was merely sipped sparingly to forget bad memories, and there was no one causing trouble by getting drunk.
Cigarettes were not particularly popular among the rank-and-file soldiers. Not only was it inconvenient to carry pipes and maintain them, but smoking also had a fatal disadvantage: it revealed one’s position in the battlefield.
Lighting up smoke on the battlefield was tantamount to asking for death. The soldiers here understood well the importance of staying hidden, and none ventured into battle with a cigarette in their mouths.
However, cigarettes were quite popular among the officers at the rear lines and the medics. Since they didn’t confront the enemies face-to-face with swords and spears, it wasn’t unusual.
Moreover, in medieval times, people believed that cigarettes helped with organizing one’s thoughts, provided an aid for meditation, and even functioned as a health-improving dietary supplement. Due to this misconception, the medics even recommended cigarettes to the wounded under their care.
…As someone with modern knowledge, I tried to dissuade them from such practices, but they didn’t pay much attention to what I said.
“Not really, given that soldiers assigned to Valleland are all monsters that surpass common sense, how would their lungs be affected by smoking a couple of cigarettes?”
Moreover, in this world where fantasy rules apply, it’s possible that cigarettes really were beneficial to health.
“…Yeah, thinking this way makes things much easier.”
“This is where the Generals are staying.”
A gruff-looking officer, after assigning someone else to take care of the supplies, led me and my party to the tent designated for the Generals.
It looked far too modest to be the tent of the heroes carrying the future of humanity. The earth-colored thick cloth was tattered and dirty from mud and rain, with noticeable patches and mends all over.
I cautiously lifted the thick cloth covering the entrance and peeked into the tent.
Inside the spacious tent, only two people were present.
The first person to catch my eye was Bel Artura, the 9th Tier Flame Mage. The man with jet-black, well-kept hair, like other officers, appeared to have had several sleepless nights, evident by the prominent dark circles under his eyes. His wine-colored robe, though torn in several places, revealed no wounds on his body.
Holy Maiden Gridia was lying on a bed with her eyes closed, though she didn’t appear to be asleep. Rather, she looked exhausted.
The fingers of her clerical attire were covered in blisters, perhaps due to the repetition of poison cleaning and purification.
Both Bel and Gridia noticed me when I entered and greeted me with a deep sigh instead of words.
I was quite familiar with these faces. The Sword Saint’s party is central to the game’s storyline. As the characters develop and progress, the relationship between them evolves into a mutually beneficial one.
There was, however, something strange to me, someone who had played the game for thousands of hours—their expressions were excessively gloomy.
The game developers must have intended to emphasize their status as the strongest individuals in the game’s world, as they always portrayed them with smiles or expressions of confidence.
Gridia, the Holy Maiden, always helped the needy with a compassionate smile, while Bel Artura wielded his staff with calm self-assurance.
However, lying there in the tent looked exhausted and anxious beyond belief.
“Ah… Nice to see you.”
But to me, who had spent countless hours with the game, something felt off—how deeply dark and somber their expressions were now.
In the in-game artwork and graphics, Bel Artura didn’t smoke or exhibit signs of stress or anxiety. After all, terms like stress and insecurity didn’t exist in his world.
“Ah, you’re here.”
Bel Artura—the strikingly calm and dark-haired Mage in his 30s rose from the moldy bed, pulling a pipe from his robe. The pipe was filled with what looked like old tobacco residue. Apparently, it hadn’t been cleaned in a while.
‘…Did this guy smoke?’
Naturally, the game’s illustrations or graphics never showed Bel Artura smoking. In the game, he was portrayed as someone who had no concept of stress or anxiety.
“You will be sitting over there. You can settle your luggage there if you have any.”
“Yes, understood.”
Watching Bel speak with his fringe almost covering his eyes, my pupils wavered. This was unfamiliar territory. The Bel Artura I knew was not the type to be easily described as having a pleasant demeanor. This current version was alien to me.
In the game, Bel Artura was known to blast fire at anyone who dared oppose him, even among his own subordinates. Cool and calculated, the man could sometimes seem demonic—even more so than the Marauders.
His almost inhuman and machine-like coldness and poise made him akin to a strategist in the Sword Saint’s team. Even the Sword Saint rarely argued with Bel’s commands.
In summary, a man who could quite possibly be one of the influential powerhouses in this military—no, possibly the entire country.
Thinking about it, do you know how the power ranking of the continent works? The Emperors and Kings are at the top, second place is Bel, and the Sword Saint ranks only third.
“…You know Alter Heinzel and the prodigy from the Storm School. What about the rest of your companions?”
Bel, pipe still clamped between his teeth, stepped outside and looked back at me, referring to the group waiting for me.
“Ah, they’re the vanguards I’ve hired. It seemed inefficient to keep forming new strategies and adjusting plans with different vanguard teams in each battlefield.”
“Hmm.”
Bel ignited the ash of his pipe by flicking his fingers. He didn’t seem particularly interested in my explanation.
“You there, the Elf and the Human.”
“I-It’s Lir…,” the elf muttered, pulling her hood lower as she avoided eye contact.
“Private Add Taylor, sir!” the human shouted, almost deafening everyone in earshot.
“…”
Bel’s expression wrinkled slightly at the volume of Add’s voice. For some reason, his subtle change in expression made my spine chill.
“You two, return with this supply carriage to the capital.”
“But—” Add blurted out the most foolish thing soldiers shouldn’t say, his eyes wide in disbelief, and Lir mirrored his disbelief with widened eyes as she stared at Bel.
“We’re capable! Please give us a chance to prove ourselves!”
‘Crazy bastard, what are you doing?’
I watched Bel nervously, knowing that in the game he would set fire to soldiers who disobeyed orders due to “ruining army discipline.”
“Your skills seem to arouse no suspicion.”
Bel, however, explained kindly in a way that made a joke of my worries.
“You two are promising. There’s no reason to waste such potential as meat shields in these battlefields. That’s all the reason you’ll get.”
“But… if we’re promising, surely sending us back is wrong, isn’t it? Coming back suddenly… it doesn’t make sense…”
Add unnecessarily pressed the matter further with another question, clearly struggling to accept the situation.
“You didn’t understand that you’re promising, did you? We consider you a nuisance. You’re lacking both experience and competence. We don’t waste time protecting kids while we fight.”
Bel retorted sharply, and while Lir lowered her head further under her cap, as if fearing for her life, Add stepped closer and raised his voice even more.
“Are you calling me a kid? I can definitely take care of myself!”
“… I also do not wish to return.”
Beside Add, who was loudly disobeying orders, Lir timidly voiced her opinion in a soft tone.
“I have been a wandering adventurer for 20 years, fighting numerous monsters and mutants. I will prove myself! Please give me a chance to show what I’m capable of! Let me become a hero!”
Phfft.
A snort of laughter, or perhaps smoke, escaped Bel’s mouth, shrouding his eyes with the pungent cigarette smoke.
‘Shit, is he going to show his true colors now…?’
I anxiously observed Bel’s fingertips. If he wanted, he could reduce Add, this brat standing in front of him, to ashes without leaving a trace within moments.
I stared anxiously at the back of Bel Artura’s head.
…If, by some chance, his hand or staff were to point toward Lir, I would immediately use “Awakening” without hesitation.
“Alright, if that’s what you want, die then.”
Bel looked at Add and Lir for a while longer, then raised his head, muttering something under his breath.
The ominous clouds still densely covered the sky, hiding all sunlight.
“…Thank you!”
Even though they had been told to die, they still expressed gratitude. It was clearly a miscommunication, but I didn’t intervene.
Lir, too, seemed relieved to be allowed to stay.
“Escort them to their tent.”
Upon receiving Bel’s order, another officer with heavy dark circles led the four of them to another nearby tent. I looked at Bel, who was glaring sharply at the retreating backs of Lir and Add, and mustered courage to speak.
“They won’t be a nuisance. Lir became the youngest 5th Tier Mage in the history of the Storm School. Add… While I don’t know much, Rex called him technically superior to himself, so he will definitely be helpful.”
I added this as a precautionary measure, fearing that Bel might secretly harbor ill-will and burn down their tent.
Alter Heinzel is a master to me. Learning magical theories from him was what allowed me to survive thus far.
Rex was my benefactor who risked his life to save me, even though he could have left me for dead on the road. And Lir is the only person I have met in this strange world with whom I can open up and communicate freely.
I had to prevent them from getting injured or dying.
And Add?
Well… I didn’t know him for more than a day, so it wasn’t a big deal, but shouldn’t one prevent people from dying?
“They will be helpful, but it’s just a pity.”
Bel spoke while deeply inhaling from his pipe, which no longer produced any smoke.
“In ten years, they both will grow into the likes of people whose names will echo across the continent. Young talents with significant growth potential getting injured or dying here will be a great loss to the Allied Army.”
“Then why are you not sending me back?”
I unintentionally voiced a question that had lingered in my heart.
No, come to think of it, shouldn’t I be the most promising?
Even if it’s based on a misunderstanding, I’m the one seen as “a promising savior of humanity.”
I do not want to die in this dark, hopeless battlefield without even a chance to scream.
“It’s true that you’re here in this battlefield too early. So I don’t expect you to do much.”
“Then why am I not useless in this battlefield? Why tell them to return and not tell me the same?”
I latched onto Bel’s words and stretched them. Unexpected emotions of frustration and confusion welled up in my chest, raising my voice accidentally.
Why send Lir and Add away but keep me here? If I won’t contribute actively, do I need to be here?
Please send me back to the capital.
“You seem quite upset that your companions are being disrespected.”
He looked down at me with a mix of disdain and acknowledgment, implying another misunderstanding.
…It’s not that, it’s just envy.
“True, it’s not like I wouldn’t send you back to the capital if I could, but unfortunately, there is something that you must do.”
After inhaling from his smokeless pipe and walking back into the tent, he spoke.
“Rest for now. I’ll explain your task later.”
The dirt-colored smoke hit the tent ceiling and gently floated back down, stinging our noses with the pungent and toxic smell.
The idea that smoking indoors is harmful also didn’t exist in the medieval era.
