Chapter 67
Chapter 67
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: The Last Instructor
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Ding!
[Notification: The Hatchling has cast !]
'Breath of Purification…?'
[Breath of Purification]
A dragon's breath is, in itself, a remarkable form of magic.
- An archmage, during his research on dragons…
Removes status ailments such as poison, mutation, curses, frostbite, burns, etc.
"Hoo, hoooo."
The Hatchling continued to exhale its [Breath of Purification], 'purifying' Gwen's body.
About a minute passed like that.
"Ah."
Carlyle realized that Gwen's body had fully returned to how she looked in life.
Her grotesquely contorted face now appeared peaceful, as if sound asleep. Her dying skin seemed to regain its vitality, and her bluish lips had a faint luster.
"Pant, pant, pant."
Having finished the 'purification', the Hatchling panted.
"Butler. Is this good enough? Pant, pant."
"Yes, you did well."
"But why do you look like that, Butler?"
"Like what?"
"You look even more troubled than before."
"That's because…"
Carlyle, at a loss for words, paused for a moment before answering the Hatchling.
"She looks like she could wake up at any moment."
"Butler…"
"It's nothing, don't worry about it. This feeling will pass. I'll get you food later, so just wait a little longer."
"Okay."
The Hatchling, seeming to read the room, nodded without another word and crawled back into Carlyle's arms.
"Haaam."
With a yawn, the Hatchling curled up and fell into a soft slumber.
It seemed a bit tired from using its [Breath of Purification].
"Are you all right?"
Begman approached and placed a hand on Carlyle's shoulder.
"Yes, I'm fine."
"Your face says otherwise."
“…”
"Was she with the 2nd Combat Engineer Platoon? She was such a bright kid. A bit clumsy, though."
It seemed Begman knew Gwen too.
Then again, how many troops were there at Bowden Fortress?
"Couldn't have been love at first sight. You barely even met. Of course, you're a handsome bastard, so she might've had a crush on you."
"What are you talking about all of a sudden?"
Carlyle frowned.
He couldn't understand Begman's intention, talking about such things in front of a dead body.
"Hear me out first. I'm just trying to explain why you're reacting this way."
“…”
"You two didn't have any special relationship, yet you're reacting like this, rookie… It means she must be your last instructor."
"Last instructor?"
Carlyle tilted his head at the unfamiliar term.
"First time hearing it?"
"Yes."
"Right. You're a Sigmund, so you wouldn't have needed to go through basic training."
"Yes, I suppose so."
That wasn't just true for the Sigmund family.
Those born into martial families that produced knights often began their swordsmanship training and military studies in strategy and tactics from a young age, making it unnecessary for them to enlist in training centers or study at knight academies.
How much more so for someone from the Sigmund family?
"We're different. We're just common folk, so the first thing we do after enlisting is enter a training center for basic military training."
"I see."
"Most of what the instructors teach you is useful. Every bit of it is golden. Though it's hell when you're the one going through it."
Begman chuckled, seemingly recalling his own time in training.
"The instructors teach you most of the essential knowledge you need as a soldier. But there's one thing even they can't teach you."
"What's that?"
"Losing a comrade."
“…!”
"Training instructors can teach recruits how not to get themselves killed stupidly, but they can't teach you what it feels like to lose a comrade. That's something you can only learn by experiencing it."
"I suppose so."
"A true soldier… has to lose a comrade. Only then do you realize what a battlefield is, just how fucked up it is."
"Ah."
Carlyle finally understood what Begman meant.
"That's why we call the first comrade we lose our last instructor. Derek died first, but you'd barely spoken a few words to him, so you probably didn't feel much whether he lived or died. By that logic… she's your last instructor."
"Is that what this is?"
"Yeah. I don't know how her death will affect you, but… it's time to let her go."
Begman took out the flag of Decaron that he had tucked into his gear and handed it to Carlyle.
"Here, take it."
“…”
"She needs to rest now. Let her go."
"I under… stand."
Carlyle took the flag and leaned over Gwen's body.
Wiping his blood-stained hands on his uniform, he gently closed Gwen's eyes.
Whether because she hadn't been dead for long, or because of the [Breath of Purification], her eyes closed easily.
Her face then looked truly peaceful, as if she were in a deep sleep.
'Rest in peace.'
Carlyle thought as he draped the flag of Decaron over Gwen's body.
'Goodbye, my last instructor.'
And so, for the first time, Carlyle bid farewell to a comrade.
* * *
Even a sane person is bound to go mad during military life.
Just being confined in a controlled environment was mentally taxing, and with the added physical torment, it was perhaps natural for one's mental state to fluctuate.
How much more so for soldiers serving in a place where fierce battles were a daily occurrence?
Was that why?
The soldiers' reactions after the battle were, at first glance, utterly bizarre.
They would roar in victory, then weep at the sight of their fallen comrades' bodies, and then, once the bodies were mostly collected, they would start joking and laughing as if nothing had happened.
Then a memory of a dead comrade would surface, and they would fall silent and somber…
'Pick one, just pick one.'
Carlyle found it difficult to get used to the soldiers' behavior.
But now, he understood.
Why they had no choice but to act that way.
He suddenly remembered a conversation he'd had with Marder.
- It's not like we were always this weird. Our situation, this Blood-Soaked Land, is what made us this way. As you're starting to see, this is a place where comrades die every other day. Guys you cried, laughed, and struggled with are just gone overnight. Just like when Derek died.
- I understand.
- No, you don't understand yet. You haven't experienced it. Anyway. Feeling down, feeling sad—that only lasts a day or two. When you go through it often enough, you naturally become numb. I don't know if that's a good thing, but what can you do? It's how we endure. So don't look at us too strangely, little noble lord.
He really hadn't understood back then, but after saying goodbye to Gwen, he thought he was beginning to.
- If you ever go through something like that? And you will, soon enough. When it happens, just ignore it and keep fighting. That's what I do. If it's really unbearable, get angry instead of sad. Anger is more useful than sorrow here.
He was right about that, too.
Carlyle had been more angry than sad.
And hadn't that anger awakened the ancient, monstrous power dormant in the Sigmund family's blood?
'There's wisdom in experience, after all.'
Through this experience, Carlyle realized that the words of a seasoned veteran were worth trusting.
Why?
Because their words were the product of experiences they had seen, heard, and felt with their own bodies.
'If I keep toughing it out here, I'll probably grow numb too. Then I'll be one of them, laughing one moment and crying the next.'
Carlyle gave a bitter smile.
Wasn't he, even now, heading to the mess hall to get food for the Hatchling, leaving Gwen's death behind him?
'Man, the feed for this thing is expensive. I'll have to bring back plenty of small change next time I'm on leave. I can't keep handing out gold coins.'
With that thought, he arrived at the mess hall, which was bustling with meal preparations.
It was mealtime, and after a battle, it went without saying that the soldiers needed to be supplied with high-calorie food.
Of course, one might wonder who could get a spoonful of food down their throat with corpses strewn about and the stench of blood in the air, but they couldn't just starve.
'Right, the living have to go on living.'
A bitter smile touched Carlyle's lips.
Even war was fought to survive…
Whether one had an appetite or not was a secondary concern.
"Oh, you're here?"
Andre, the mess officer, greeted Carlyle.
Seeing the blood-soaked bandage wrapped thickly around his shoulder, it was clear he too had been injured in the battle.
One might wonder how a cook got injured, but when the entire unit was on the brink of annihilation, a cook couldn't just stand by and watch.
"You're hurt?"
"This is nothing. Don't worry about it."
Andre flexed his massive bicep as if to show it was no big deal.
Judging by the dented, oversized ladle in his hand, he must have hastily used his cooking utensils to bash in the heads of some barbarians.
"Anyway, what brings you here?"
"I came to get some food for the little one."
"Ah, the cat?"
"Yes."
When Carlyle offered a gold coin, Andre waved his hand dismissively.
"It's fine, put it away. We've got plenty of ingredients left over, so you don't need to pay."
“…”
Carlyle fell silent.
"Anyway, the survivors are in for a feast. Why'd they all have to go and die without even getting a meal, damn it. Even if you're going to die, you should at least eat first."
“…”
"But why are you alone? Last time…"
"She was killed in action."
Carlyle answered.
"I just closed her eyes."
"Ah, is that so."
Andre sat on an overturned soup pot and put a cigarette to his lips.
*Flick, fsssh.*
"Hooo."
Whether it was of lower quality than the ones Kudo smoked, the harsh, acrid smoke filled the mess hall in a haze.
Smoking in a cooking area might seem outrageous, but this was a battlefield.
No one would bother with such things here.
"She was a kind and cheerful kid. A damn shame. *Hooo.* Want one?"
"I'm fine."
Carlyle shook his head.
The cigarette Andre was smoking was so strong that the smoke made his eyes sting.
"Suit yourself."
Andre shoved the crumpled cigarette pack back into his pocket.
"Wait about ten minutes. I'll get it ready for you."
"Yes."
"And… thank you."
"For what?"
"We survived thanks to you. You're damn strong. Just like a Sigmund. Ah, should I be talking to you like this? You'll be an officer soon…"
Ding!
[Notification: Progress for has reached 100%! (10/10)]
[Notification: Voting will begin shortly!]
Carlyle dismissed the notification window that appeared before him and spoke.
"I'm still a private, so please, speak comfortably."
"Hmm."
"Besides, we didn't survive because of me. It was because of someone else."
"It's the same thing. If you weren't here, do you think Brigade Commander Selena would have come all this way?"
"What?"
"It was obvious she rushed over because she was worried about her little brother."
"Pfft."
"Why are you laughing?"
"Because that's absurd."
"Why is it absurd?"
"You do know about the relationship between my sister and me, right?"
"Hm?"
"We don't get along. At all."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"How does it not have anything to do with it?"
"You're family."
"Family…?"
"There's no good or bad when it comes to family. Especially not when a life is on the line."
"Hmm."
Carlyle felt as if he had been struck in the head with a hammer and was left speechless.