What is a veteran?
Few people could answer that question right away. Likely, even if you searched the whole world, there wouldn’t be many, and the possibility of finding the right answer was infinitely low.
Before answering what a veteran is, countless individuals couldn’t even explain what kind of people veterans were.
They had six arms, or they were over twice as tall as ordinary people, or they split mountains with their swords.
Their drawn blades divided day and night, creating twilight.
These kinds of legendary or fairy-tale-like stories were all the answers one could hear, and there were always some who took them seriously.
This applied equally to the common folk of the Earl of Wopfol’s territory, where the Sanctuary of the Supreme Divinity’s fortress was nearby, and those of Count Scherlukunde’s territory.
Despite being geographically close enough to access accurate information, human tendencies drew them toward sensational rumors, preventing corrections of errors.
Truly monstrous beings, they said—warriors who had forsaken their human forms.
That’s what many truly believed.
And now, the woman gazing at the veteran entering the fortress thought something similar.
The Supreme Divinity’s Sword, a legendary being rumored to be a monster from the Mythic Age.
A martial master carrying hundreds of swords, whose massive body could erase an entire nation overnight.
When word spread that the sole solution and hope against this entity had arrived at the fortress, the soldier rushed to the entrance out of anticipation and curiosity.
Would this famed veteran look as majestic as the legends and myths suggested?
With curiosity in her heart, the woman reached the entrance of the fortress and looked through the bustling soldiers at the traveling party of the veteran.
“…What is that?”
The veteran she saw for the first time differed greatly from what she had imagined.
He wasn’t a giant, nor did he have six arms.
He didn’t wield a sword large enough to split mountains, nor did he possess the grandeur that could divide night and day.
Walking steadily, with tattoos on his face, was the leader of the group entering the fortress alongside the King of the Mountain Kingdom.
He just looked like an ordinary human.
Though he appeared somewhat handsome, and his height and build were larger than average, that was all.
Rather, his deeply tired expression and sorrowful face made observers feel uneasy.
The individuals walking behind him, with their downward gaze of emerald-green eyes, gave off a similar impression.
The entities meant to oppose the mythological monsters, capable of standing against them, turned out to be ordinary humans—far from what she had expected.
*
“Hey, Karl!”
“Aah, yes!”
“What the hell are you doing standing around with your hands idle?”
“I’m sorry! I was just thinking about something for a moment….”
“Tch, what thoughts does a new recruit like you have? Stop standing there like an idiot and get moving, moron!”
With a shout of “Yes, I’m sorry!” the woman closed her mouth and began pounding the wooden hammer repeatedly.
Each strike drove the stake deeper into the ground, and the woman watched the series of changes with interest as she moved her body.
It was two months ago that the woman pleaded with the conscription officer, borrowing her younger brother’s name to head toward Netchagni.
She was adapting to military life at an astonishing rate.
Insults and verbal abuse that once cut deep now barely fazed her, and the grueling rations she thought she’d never be able to swallow had become familiar.
Swinging the hammer and standing firm with a heavy spear had also become second nature.
Humans were adaptable creatures. As she swung the hammer continuously, the woman deeply realized this fact.
With each thud of the hammer, the palisade gradually settled into place, and the woman wiped her brow with a sense of accomplishment.
Sweat dripped heavily down her face. Nearby, a soldier who had just finished placing some wood spoke up.
“Karl, are you getting the hang of it?”
“Aah, yes, thanks to you….”
“Thanks? Tch, how come we have to deal with this nonsense?”
The grumbling soldier was the senior to the woman posing as “Karl.”
Although not particularly high-ranking or outstanding, this senior had been looking after her, who could barely handle even one person’s workload.
Naturally, Karl’s attitude became respectful, and every time this happened, the senior would awkwardly smile and try to change the subject.
“So, what do you think?”
There was no subject. Karl didn’t immediately understand what the senior was referring to and could only turn around with a blank look.
“What do you mean?”
“That thing about capturing the Supreme Divinity’s Sword.”
“…Even asking me what I think….”
Karl raised an ambiguous expression at this. It was the same look the senior had worn when he asked, and it was a look shared by every soldier within the palisades surrounding the fortress, and even by some of the higher-ups inside.
An unclear sense of leisure and subtle sentimentality lingered in the air, making them unable to empathize with the recruits who loudly declared that the impending war was a great calamity.
The reason was simple: the situation felt unreal.
And this feeling of unreality wasn’t exclusive to them; it permeated the entire fortress.
To such an extent that the looming crisis was hardly felt.
Leaning on the hammer and gazing beyond the palisade, Karl thought about the rumors circulating within the fortress.
Rumors about the enemy that even someone unfamiliar with monks or warriors would find hard to believe.
The enemy was the Supreme Divinity’s Sword.
This Supreme Divinity’s Sword was said to be a real monster capable of destroying cities and sweeping away armies with simple gestures and slashes.
Its length was said to stretch across mountain ranges, its width comparable to a giant’s, and its roaring gaze could supposedly shatter human bodies.
It sounded like something a frightened child might mutter while crying from a nightmare.
Most soldiers reacted exactly that way.
The recruits were the exception.
Thus, the atmosphere floating around the fortress, destined to become a battlefield, wasn’t that of facing an overwhelmingly powerful foe.
If they were to encounter a real battlefield, it would be an atmosphere prone to collapse—but Karl had no way of knowing that.
Instead, something else caught her attention.
As her gaze, which had briefly wandered beyond the palisade, returned, Karl followed the spreading commotion and turned her head.
Her senior also turned to look, and from that direction, someone was cutting across the encampment set up between the palisades.
“Ah.”
As the exclamation escaped, the senior’s face fell, clearly unimpressed.
That someone was a well-known figure.
A man with black hair and sorrow-filled emerald eyes, carrying a large deer on his shoulder.
His lean physique left an impression more akin to a scout or hunter than a warrior.
He was Aslan, the Veteran of Combat.
The senior stared silently at him for a moment before muttering under his breath.
“Hope….”
Currently, there were four major groups staying near the fortress.
Some were from the Calus Empire like Karl and her senior, others were wizards from the city of wizards, warriors from Varmanz, and recruits from Belus Alphen.
Among these groups, the recruits from Belus Alphen called him “hope.”
The sole hope in this mythic battlefield.
It wasn’t something Karl could easily agree with, and she found herself wearing a dour expression.
Leaning against the hammer and resting against the palisade, she noticed the man casually glance her way as he strolled by.
“Huh. Did he hear?”
At the senior’s murmured words, the so-called Veteran of Combat suddenly kicked the ground lightly while still carrying the deer on his shoulder, closing the distance rapidly.
BOOM!
Thunder roared suddenly. As Karl froze and the senior instinctively reached for his waist,
Karl heard an ominous sound creeping up from behind her neck.
The creaking of twisting wood, the sound of the palisade collapsing.
Chills ran down her spine, her body stiffened, and her mind went blank in that instant.
“Grasp.”
Invisible speed brought the Veteran of Combat forward as he extended his hand.
And he whispered softly, audible only to Karl’s ears.
An incomprehensible murmur accompanied by a sudden waft of his scent.
Simultaneously, the oppressive sensation running down her spine disappeared.
Standing almost nose-to-nose with the man, Karl followed his gaze and saw the palisade suspended mid-air.
An overwhelming weight impossible for any one person to hold back.
Yet, under Aslan’s extended hand, the palisade stopped and slowly tilted backward. So much so that it plunged deep into the ground.
A depth that would have taken Karl days of hammering. The deeply embedded palisade stood motionless, and the man sighed.
“You need to be more careful.”
It wasn’t a scolding tone but rather a light voice tinged with concern.
This tone was different from the surreal spectacle he had just displayed moments before.
It was filled with a distinctly human quality, weary and fatigued.
A different appearance from any legend or myth she had heard.
As most soldiers stared dumbfounded, Aslan gave them a sheepish smile and walked away.
While most soldiers quickly lost interest and returned to their tasks or continued previous conversations, Karl couldn’t.
She harbored doubts and sought to resolve them.
When the sun rose and eventually set, and Karl finished her portion of the palisade work, it was dinner time.
Following rumors that the veteran’s group had declined the offer of rooms inside the fortress and instead set up camp outside, she headed towards the encampment near the palisades.
In her hand, she carried the last piece of cheese she’d brought from her hometown, approaching the campsite.
Beyond the glowing campfire, various figures could be seen.
Robed recruits, a refined-looking woman busy cooking, a tall old man holding a mace, two young girls, and an elderly woman with white hair and a melancholic expression.
None of them seemed to fit the descriptions of being legendary or hopeful—just unique but not extraordinary individuals.
Among them, Aslan was at the center.
The man who had saved her earlier using peculiar powers.
Turning his head as the group’s gazes converged on him while he hesitated with his spoon halfway to his mouth, he recognized her.
“Ah, it’s the soldier from this morning.”
After swallowing the food in his mouth, the man greeted her warmly with a soft smile and beckoned her closer with a gesture.
Without even inquiring about her purpose, Aslan cleared space for her to sit and asked the well-endowed woman if she could spare another bowl.
“Well, I suppose there’s enough…”
“Then I’d appreciate it.”
“Hmm, alright. If Master Aslan requests it.”
The woman, somewhat reluctantly pulling out an empty wooden bowl, ladled out stew. Karl momentarily stole a glance at her impressive bust before bowing deeply and accepting the stew.
Sitting on the log where Aslan had been, Karl tilted the bowl and sipped the stew. The gentle warmth spreading through her body, the meticulous taste, and the chunky pieces that seemed to carry some meaning reminded her of her hometown.
Caught up in nostalgia, it took her a while to softly relax her gaze before she could carefully observe the group.
Upon closer inspection, the members of the veteran’s group were unique and extraordinary individuals.
Their weapons seemed ever-ready to take lives, and despite their seasoned years, they maintained sharpness in their demeanor.
They were undeniably formidable warriors.
But they looked very different from the image of a veteran Karl had envisioned.
Rather than appearing as special heroes or monstrous beings, they seemed like ordinary people with blood flowing through their veins and hearts beating, much like herself.
There were individual differences, but that was how they appeared to Karl.
Especially Aslan, regarded as the greatest beacon of hope, exuded a particularly human aura.
Tired and melancholic eyes. A gentle demeanor that didn’t quite match his sorrowful presence. A model of approachable kindness.
As Karl ate her stew and thanked Aslan for appreciating her cheese, she inadvertently spoke without realizing it.
“…What exactly are we fighting against?”
Silence ensued. As the group’s gazes turned to her, Karl involuntarily drew in a breath.
“Do… Do you think I can return home?”
Home. At that word, there seemed to be a shared understanding among the group.
That she hadn’t volunteered but had been conscripted.
And Karl herself belatedly grasped her situation.
Nobles didn’t act without reason. They weren’t that foolish.
That these nobles were gathering troops, preparing thoroughly, and bracing for the upcoming battle testified to the magnitude of the impending fight.
A hiccup escaped the disguised woman.
It was a sudden wave of fear.
Unaware until now why she had come, she finally understood.
She was afraid.
Thus, she sought solace and assurance from those whom the nobles heralded as hope.
Unable to conceal her intentions, she closed her eyes and reopened them to find Aslan sitting beside her on the log.
The creaking sound of the wood drew her gaze to his profile.
He then spoke with a sorrowful expression.
“I don’t know.”
Contrary to her expectation of comfort, it was an indifferent response. Staring blankly, Aslan grimaced and continued.
“If someone says no one will die, it would be a lie. This is war, and inevitably, some will perish.”
In his pained expression flowed a profound fear.
A fear greater than his own death.
After saying this, he paused briefly in silence.
It was a silence that felt oppressive.
As the stunned woman slightly parted her lips, Aslan tapped her shoulder.
“You won’t fight alone. There will be others in your battlefield.”
It was an obvious statement, yet its intent was unclear.
As the speechless woman struggled to comprehend, the unmistakably human hope smiled and added:
“And I’ll be there too. That’s the only thing I can guarantee.”
It wasn’t a promise of survival or a guarantee of returning home.
Not a declaration of certain victory.
It wasn’t clear analysis of our chances or details about the enemy.
Neither optimism nor pessimism.
Neither comfort nor curse.
Just a statement of fighting together.
Not an expression of confidence or a forced morale booster.
Simply a sincere declaration of fighting alongside her.
For reasons unknown,
the woman, who had impersonated her younger brother to enlist, felt her heart ease upon hearing those words.
It was a message more comforting than any consolation.
Cradling the stew bowl in her hands with a sense of calm, Karl felt a tap on her shoulder.
The hand of hope was warmer than she had imagined.
