Arthur and Add quickly moved south. Although Menes was absent, the forces had gathered around Bin and the spirits, allowing them to proceed smoothly without any further battles.
The moment they broke away from the enemy’s camp, Arthur swiftly discarded his mask. The air in the uninhabited zone wasn’t as toxic as in the enemy’s camp overrun by mutated creatures, making it safe to breathe without a mask.
The thunderous display that had previously embellished the dark sky had ceased long ago.
It was unclear exactly when Bin and the spirits had returned. The situation had been rapidly evolving, leaving no time to glance at the sky.
Amidst the oppressive silence, the sound of explosions occasionally echoed. As they traversed the uninhabited area, the corpses of people were scattered here and there.
Bang!
A deafening roar tore through the quiet. A wave of hot air surged as the ground shook. Somewhere not too far away, a landmine had exploded.
Had someone from the allied forces stepped on it, or perhaps one of the mutants? Maybe it was just a malfunction.
It didn’t matter to Arthur or Add. In a battlefield, landmines exist to explode, and whoever steps on them, dies—that’s how it is.
“Once we return to the unit, please guide me straight to the Holy Maiden. Let’s ensure I receive treatment as quickly as possible.”
Arthur, while rubbing his arm through his robes, spoke casually. To him, today was just another day where he undertook a slightly more dangerous mission than usual—nothing more.
“…Why didn’t you do anything?”
Add couldn’t help but speak with an irritated tone.
“A Mage’s presence must not be detected by the enemy. In any situation, it should be known that I do not participate in direct combat. This was discussed during the briefing.”
“…The situation changed, didn’t it? We’ve been discovered and had no choice but to engage in battle. Was that part of the plan as well? Did you mention this during the briefing?”
Add was deeply troubled by Arthur’s calm voice. It felt as if today’s casualties meant nothing to him.
“Those were people who could have survived. You, aren’t you the famous Bel Artura? With just a flick of your finger, those mutants could have been reduced to ashes.”
“A Mage’s infiltration must never be exposed to the enemy under any circumstances. Furthermore, if the enemy realized that the infiltrating Mage was a General, the Grand Marshals would surely have taken action themselves. In that situation, doing nothing at all was the best choice.”
Arthur calmly and clinically recapped the situation.
His judgment was right.
It was right both for the mission and for the survival of the soldiers.
As much as it made perfect sense, Add couldn’t find any counterarguments.
Thus, his heart felt even more distressed, a boiling frustration rising within.
“…You abandoned your subordinates, General.”
Just an illogical, emotional accusation from someone as naive as a child.
Such pointless accusations did nothing to soothe his anger.
“…Yes, I abandoned them.”
To that accusation, Arthur gave a low response.
Add couldn’t utter any words.
He didn’t feel good.
Nothing he said would make it better.
Arthur was far too rational.
Too frighteningly rational.
Even as he watched his subordinates die and people melt before his eyes, his voice didn’t waver.
“…Were you like this from the very beginning?”
“Hmm.”
Arthur took out a pipe from within his robes and placed it in his mouth.
He didn’t ignite it. It still wasn’t safe; a puff of smoke could signal incoming bombardment.
He chewed on the end of the pipe, thinking silently for a moment, then carefully started to speak.
“I probably wasn’t like this at first.”
“….”
At that indifferent response, Add suddenly felt chills. It felt as if he had uncovered the true face of a hero he admired.
When he thought about all the reasons he worked hard, the idea of eventually becoming a person like this felt empty and meaningless.
A deep chasm, unnoticed until now, spread before him. The thought that he had no more strength or reason to keep walking forward struck him like a sharp blow.
Simultaneously, the figure of a boy in the sky appeared before his eyes.
That boy, riding on the back of a thunderous spirit, summoning lightning against the Marauders—it was an image of him striking down evil with divine punishment.
Yes, not all generals were like this.
There were those like that boy, who moved beautifully and gloriously across the battlefield, right?
‘What I want to be is a general like Bin…’
“…Do you still believe you can become a hero?”
After walking ahead for a long while, Arthur turned back and asked.
“….”
A chilly silence filled the air between them.
Under the cool shadows, only Arthur’s heavy breathing could be heard.
Add’s shoulders ached, and his fingertips trembled.
He couldn’t answer Arthur’s question.
[Operation Name: Sweep]
[Status: Success]
[Survivors: General Arthur, Private Add]
[MIA: Corporal Sithadel Kraya]
[KIA: Lieutenant Menes, Sergeant Connor P., Corporal Mills, Corporal Alex G., Corporal James K. Silva, Corporal Hutchinson, Private Brandon.]
[Remarks: None.]
The moment Arthur finished writing the report, he loaded the pipe with freshly supplied tobacco.
The mixture of bitterness and sweetness slightly touched the tip of his tongue before swiftly traveling down into his lungs.
An indescribable sense of refreshment accompanied by a faint bitterness filled his lungs. The impression far outweighed the cheap military-issue tobacco he had been used to.
He sat in front of the small campfire lit behind the tent, staring blankly at the flickering fire. Officers and soldiers bustled around him, but his eyes didn’t catch any of it.
As he stared blankly at the fire for some time, he quietly rolled up the muddy sleeve of his left arm.
Scrapes from knife wounds lined his arm under the sleeve.
Arthur silently retrieved a thin dagger from within his robes. Although Mages didn’t usually need to carry daggers, in Arthur’s case, there was a specific use for it.
He held the dagger over the burning campfire. The flames licked at the back of his right hand, causing a slight burn. Yet Arthur’s expression didn’t waver.
He was like a machine. Even under extreme pain, he maintained steady breathing, and he rarely lost his composure in the face of fear.
There, seated in one place, he smoked for two hours straight.
The tobacco began to taste burnt about 30 minutes after it was lit, but Arthur didn’t care. Repeatedly, he continued to dry and burn its ashy residue.
He wasn’t hungry, and his legs hadn’t started trembling.
His chest remained unusually calm, and his mind was preoccupied with thoughts about what needed to be done to win this war.
This was an unyielding, almost inhumane rationality.
Arthur didn’t know how he became such a person. Before becoming a General, he hadn’t been this harsh, had he?
…Or maybe, he had been like this all along.
No one who remembered his childhood remained alive, so no one could tell when he started to become such a person.
He cautiously pressed the knife blade, heated from prolonged exposure to fire, to his left arm.
It was hot.
Hot, but not enough to elicit a groan.
He calmly scratched a mark on his arm with the heated blade.
The blood that flowed came into contact with the heated blade and boiled.
The smell of blood wasn’t there. It could have been covered by the surrounding decaying bodies, or maybe Arthur’s blood didn’t emit any smell in the first place.
No one knew the truth.
Arthur stared blankly at the new wound on his arm as time flowed on.
It didn’t hurt.
Normally, a person would experience severe pain when blood flowed from a wound, but strangely, he didn’t feel any pain.
“…What are you doing?”
As Arthur blankly stared at the wound, a cold voice reached to the back of his head.
Arthur didn’t bother to turn back. He knew the owner of the voice.
“Daydreaming. Smoking.”
Arthur wiped the blood from the blade and tucked it back inside his robe before lowering the rolled-up sleeve. The injured arm was now concealed by the wine-colored robe.
Gridia quietly sat next to Arthur and extended her hand. She appeared to have already figured out what Arthur was up to a moment ago.
“It’s fine.”
Arthur gently pushed Gridia’s arm away in response to her silent gesture. He didn’t want to trouble her by making her work late into the night taking care of this minor injury.
“If you get infected, I’ll have to do your job as well. Managing the wounded alone is hard enough, so give me your arm.”
“I sterilized it with fire.”
“It’ll leave a scar.”
“And?”
While re-lighting his pipe, Arthur asked in bewilderment.
Why did leaving a scar matter? Arthur didn’t understand Gridia’s concern.
“…Well, at least eat something, you probably haven’t eaten in thirty hours.”
Gridia moved slightly to hand over the wooden bowl filled with soup. Judging by the two bowls she had held, it seemed she had prepared food for Arthur as well from the start.
Arthur looked at the meat-filled soup that Gridia offered with an almost curious expression.
It smelled delicious.
There was even meat.
Curious…
The brat Bin had packed the supply cart with all sorts of things. Apparently, it had fresh vegetables and meat in it.
“Actually, I’m not hungry.”
Despite how appetizing the smell was, Arthur didn’t feel hungry.
…No, his stomach was not only not hungry but felt slightly uneasy.
“Shut up and eat.”
“A Holy Maiden with such rough language.”
“I’ve been through this battlefield for a decade; I think I earn the title of Holy Maiden.”
“The goddess would cry if she heard that.”
“Our situations are still better than those bleeding right now.”
“….”
Recognizing he had no choice, Arthur accepted the soup Gridia was offering.
It was warm. The smell was good.
But it didn’t spark his appetite.
“Ah… Are you having dinner?”
Just as Arthur stared blankly at the soup containing meat, the boy with white hair appeared from the other side of the campfire.
He carried a guitar in both hands, which seemed burdensome even for his slender arms.
He usually avoided hard work but appeared comfortable carrying this heavy guitar for some reason.
“According to the officer, it would be better if the generals ate separately… Is this where you eat?”
“Yes, please sit down.”
Gridia pointed to a clean piece of firewood on the other side of her.
The boy internally thought: ‘this place is supposed to be where generals eat, but there’s no chair?’
Arthur…was still blankly staring at the soup that had gone cold.
The flickering and dimming fire teased his eyes.
His left arm still didn’t feel any pain.
He wasn’t even craving food.
Arthur began to doubt if he was really human.
“… Why is the atmosphere like this? Something happened?”
The boy seemed to have noticed the heavy atmosphere around the fire.
“It’s just the same old thing.”
“It’s war, after all.”
Arthur and Gridia responded disinterestedly.
“Alright, I guess.”
The boy didn’t show much interest in what the two had experienced today.
He wasn’t the type to generally care about others, and he was already burdened enough with his own issues.
“Can I play the guitar?”
The boy already had the guitar on his knees and his sleeve rolled up when he finally asked. Perhaps he came here not for the soup but for the warm, inviting campfire.
There’s no need to elaborate that playing by the fire is far more enjoyable than doing so alone in an empty tent.
“…Do as you please.”
Arthur alternated his gaze between the boy and the guitar before answering dispassionately. Although he wasn’t in the mood for songs…
The boy clearly desired to play, so he permitted it.
The boy’s feelings were more important than his own at the moment.
Considering what this boy would have to do for the continent in the future… it was only natural.
Ting―
A thin sound of the guitar strings vibrating reached Arthur’s ears.
Soon, the thickest string at the top of the guitar shook, and a low note spread out over the campfire into the surroundings.
The individual tones gathered together to form phrases, and then they transitioned into a melody.
The melody became a song, traveling through Arthur’s ears to tickle the deepest parts of his heart.
Before long, unable to contain his excitement, the boy began humming a small voice.
Listening to the boy’s voice, a woman dancing with jazz came to mind. His voice was relaxed, clear, and at the same time, soulful.
The lyrics were an apology to someone.
At a glance, it sounded like an apology to a lost lover, but the following lines seemed more like an apology to someone like a parent, his benefactor.
Perhaps… it sounded like an apology to the subordinates he was forced to abandon today.
The strings of the guitar swayed, one by one deleting the tactics swirling in Arthur’s mind. With each gentle swing, his rigid pupils trembled.
Arthur blankly stared at the boy, who was singing.
The low, slow melody continued for around three minutes.
“My throat feels worn out already. I should’ve brought some honey water.”
The boy softly muttered after finishing his small song with a raspy voice. Though he felt like humming two or three more songs, his fragile throat made it hard to even finish this one properly.
“Um, why?”
After the performance ended, the boy noticed the awkward vibe and turned to find Arthur glaring at him with a befuddled expression.
“…No, nothing. Never mind.”
Arthur realized how foolishly he had been staring blankly at the boy.
He quickly looked away, and at that moment, a sudden sharp pain surged through his left arm.
Without realizing it, Arthur reached out to his left arm.
His arm throbbed. The injured blood vessels were pulsing with blood that could be distinctly felt through his robes. And that blood was… unbearably hot.
