The Senior Who Kicked the Ember Bucket
The morning forest woke people not with the chiming of bells, but with scents.
The smell of damp leaves.
The smell of cold ash.
Even the faint, lingering sweat of the red-band group, who had stood roll call with the bells that had chimed all night still hanging from their necks, was mixed low into the air.
Cerise folded the blanket in half and handed it back.
Lya hesitated as she reached out to take it.
"You can keep it wrapped around you a bit longer," Lya said.
"It is enough," Cerise replied.
"People who are exhausted always say it's enough."
Instead of answering, Cerise tightened the strap of her scabbard. However, she did not push Lya away as sharply as before. She held onto the edge of the blanket for a brief moment before letting it slip from her fingers.
Ronan watched the exchange and pretended not to notice.
"We agreed you'd wake me up for watch next time," Ronan said.
"I remember."
"Then no trying to tough it out alone today."
Cerise narrowed her eyes. "Is that an order?"
"A request."
At those words, Neris lifted her observation board.
"Erase that," Cerise commanded.
"I will commit it to memory," Neris replied.
Beside them, Dorman yawned so hard he nearly slammed his forehead into his shield. Ben quietly grabbed him by the scruff of his neck to pull him upright.
Just then, a low whistle echoed from the forest path.
An archer cadet clad in a brown cloak walked toward them. A small quiver hung at her waist, and dried grass seeds clung to the tips of her hair. Instead of standing beside the instructor, she went straight to the Ember Bucket and squatted down.
"It's Mirea."
The voice drifting down from the forest canopy was light.
Yet, the direction of the wind she pointed out was more accurate than anyone else's.
In that moment, Ronan categorized Mirea not as a playful archer, but as someone whom the forest recognized first.
Instructor Hagen spoke briefly. "Starting today, she will assist with the rules of the forest path. Her words may be light, but you can trust her ears."
Mirea waved her hand. "It's hard to tell if that's a compliment or an insult, Instructor."
A few cadets chuckled.
Mirea didn't even look in the direction of the laughter. She opened the lid of the Ember Bucket, which was fitted with a leather handle. Inside, the charcoal and red embers left over from the night were breathing.
"In the Monster Forest, the first thing you learn is how to discard fire," she said.
She scooped up a handful of dirt.
"If you douse it with water, the smell flares up. If you just leave it, smoke rises. Both are bad ideas. The hungry beasts follow the smoke, and the even worse ones love smoke mixed with the scent of humans."
Mirea mixed dry and damp soil together, pressing it down over the opening of the Ember Bucket.
The smoke thinned to a whisper.
"You're just suffocating it. Not killing the fire, but covering it so the forest can't see."
Ronan watched her movements.
They were swift but not rough.
With every angle her fingers pressed into the dirt, the path of the smoke shifted. It was a movement entirely different from swordsmanship. These were the hands of someone who didn't look for a path with their eyes, but saw it first through scent and wind.
A snort came from behind them.
"Good job scaring the freshmen."
A senior cadet wearing a red band stepped forward. He was one of those who had been hanging around the group that wore bells all night. He wore a brand-new cloak, which wafted a sweet perfume entirely out of place in the forest.
Mirea looked up. "That cloak. The smell is too loud."
"What?"
"Out here, a perfumed cloak stands out more than a flag. To anything with a nose, that is."
The senior's face stiffened.
A few giggles escaped from the surrounding cadets.
As if trying to redirect the mockery back at Mirea, he raised his foot.
"Then let's see how visible this is."
He kicked the Ember Bucket.
A dull thud echoed.
The leather opening warped, and the packed dirt burst apart. A plume of gray smoke billowed upward all at once.
Dorman coughed.
Lya immediately stepped in front of him. "Cover your mouth."
She pressed a handkerchief against Dorman's nose and mouth. Dorman nodded, his eyes watering.
Cerise did not draw her sword. Instead, she took a step forward to block the oncoming wind.
"Get back."
At her command, Ben pulled his backpack closer.
Neris peered into the smoke, her eyes narrowing.
"Black spots."
"What is it?" Lya asked.
"Insects. They are moving toward the perfume, not the smoke."
Mirea's hand drifted toward her bow.
The string was drawn ever so slightly.
Yet, she did not shoot. She knew she couldn't shoot a person in this situation. She also knew the senior was counting on that.
The senior laughed. "Why so serious? If you're scared of the forest, run back to the capital. Anyone can act tough with a bow."
The warmth drained from Mirea's eyes.
Just then, Ronan spoke. "Mirea."
She turned only her head.
"That smoke. It's not rising directly from the embers, is it?"
For the first time, Mirea's gaze locked onto Ronan. "You can see it?"
"The leather on the side of the bucket is bulging. There's a pocket of trapped smoke inside."
"City kids usually only look at the fire."
"I just learned it myself."
Ronan didn't take a single step forward.
Instead, he slowly curled his fingers.
A short Phantom Sword manifested in the empty air. Though it was still only One Sword, the trembling at the tip of the blade was less than before.
Its edges were still too faint to be called a complete sword. However, it shook less than it had last night. The blade did not point toward the embers. Nor did it point toward the senior.
It aimed only at the fold of the leather opening—the thin pocket inside where the trapped smoke was compressed.
Mirea spoke in a low voice. "You mustn't feed the fire."
"I know."
"And don't strike the insects. If they burst, the smell gets worse."
"Then I'll just open a path."
At those words, the corner of Mirea's mouth twitched upward.
Ronan lowered his finger by half an inch.
The Phantom Sword sliced through the leather opening.
There was barely a sound of tearing.
The embers did not flare.
Instead, the trapped smoke escaped sideways like a thin ribbon. It drifted not toward the direction Cerise was blocking, but toward where the senior stood.
The senior took a step back. "Hey, what is this?"
The smoke wrapped around the hem of his cloak.
In that instant, Neris spoke. "They've attached."
Tiny black insects changed direction within the smoke. At first, they looked like ash. But if they were ash, they wouldn't have clung to the cloak and started crawling upward.
The swarm of insects swarmed toward the perfume-soaked fabric.
The senior's shoulders went rigid.
"Get them off! Get them off me!"
He shook his cloak.
The more he did, the more the scent spread. Even more insects clung to him. Tiny black dots spread across his collar, sleeves, and even the red band on his chest.
The surrounding cadets backed away.
"It's because of the perfume."
Mirea spoke coldly. "The person who made the loudest smell in the forest has loudly announced his location."
The senior tried to strip off his cloak.
However, his flustered hands got caught in the knot of the red band. He lost his footing and tumbled onto the dirt ground.
As he rolled around trying to shake off the insects, dry dirt clung to his cloak.
It was the very dirt from the Ember Bucket he had just kicked.
Laughter erupted.
This time, it wasn't stifled. The group that had been dragged around by the bells all night and the freshmen who had only been watching the antics in silence laughed at the same time.
Covered in dirt and insects, the senior struggled to stand.
Ronan spoke flatly. "If you move, more will cling to you."
It wasn't a threat.
It was a precise warning.
The senior froze instantly.
Mirea walked over and stepped on the hem of his cloak. Then, using a small twig in her hand, she scooped away the dirt to create a path free of insects.
"Rolling around won't help. You have to cover the scent. Just like I said earlier."
Her voice was light, but no one laughed now.
The senior's face burned crimson. Yet, he couldn't vent his anger. Kicking the Ember Bucket, feeding the smoke, and stepping out in a perfumed cloak—he had brought all of it upon himself.
Instructor Hagen walked over slowly.
He looked at the fallen senior. He looked at the Ember Bucket. And he looked at the empty air where Ronan's Phantom Sword had vanished.
"Who kicked the Ember Bucket?"
The senior couldn't open his mouth.
His cloak was doing the talking for him.
The smell of dirt, insects, and smoke wafted from his shoulders.
Hagen didn't ask further.
"For the rest of the day, you will cover the Ember Buckets of every group. With your bare hands."
The senior's face turned pale. "Instructor, the insects..."
"You called the rules of the forest 'scaring the freshmen.' Then learn them with your own hands."
The clearing fell dead silent.
Mirea squatted back down in front of the Ember Bucket. She tied the damaged leather opening and pressed fresh dirt over it.
Ronan stood beside her and asked, "Is this enough to hide it from the forest?"
Mirea placed her hand over the Ember Bucket.
Smoke no longer rose.
"At this level, the forest won't see it."
She looked up at Ronan.
"But you see a little bit of it."
"I just copied what I learned."
"That's why I said you smell less like the city."
Lya stopped mid-fold of her handkerchief. "City smell?"
Mirea smiled casually. "Cadets from the royal capital usually look at the fire and notice the smoke late. But he saw the smoke first."
Lya glanced at Ronan. "So is that a good thing?"
"If it were a bad thing, I would have said it in a much more entertaining way."
Neris wrote on her observation board.
Lya immediately looked back. "Erase that line."
"It has recording value."
Cerise gently pressed down on Neris's observation board with her hand, which was still holding the folded blanket. "Only record the Ember Buckets today."
Neris thought for a moment, then nodded. "Then Lya's reaction will be stored in separate memory."
"Don't even remember it!" Lya huffed.
Dorman, still holding the handkerchief to his nose, mumbled, "Do I smell like the city?"
Mirea looked at him. "You smell like a shield."
"Is that a good thing?"
"It's the scent of someone who stands in the front."
Dorman's shoulders squared ever so slightly.
Beside him, Ben suppressed a chuckle.
Ronan looked at the people gathered around the Ember Bucket. The edge of the forest, which had been unsettled by jokes and mockery just moments ago, grew quiet again. This silence was not born of fear.
It was a silence born of understanding.
In the Monster Forest, the Ember Bucket was no toy.
And Mirea's words were no mere attempt to scare the freshmen.
The perfumed senior knelt before the Ember Bucket of another group. Every time he scooped dirt, tiny insects still fell from his cloak. He didn't kick it. He pressed the dirt down with his hands.
Once.
Twice.
And with every press, the gazes of the surrounding cadets pierced his back.
Mirea watched him for a moment, then spoke softly to Ronan. "Next time, speak up before I draw my bow."
"You had no intention of shooting just now," Ronan replied.
"True." She smiled. "But still, tell me. If we look together, we'll miss less."
Lya folded her handkerchief and shoved it into Ronan's hand. "You've got the smell of smoke on you. Wipe it off."
Ronan took the handkerchief. "Thanks."
Lya pretended not to look in Mirea's direction. "Since you can distinguish between the smell of the forest and the city, I was wondering if you could also distinguish the smell of healing."
Mirea answered immediately. "That is a good scent. The scent of someone who has spent a long time by the side of the injured."
Lya's expression softened for a moment.
Ronan swallowed a laugh.
Cerise slung her scabbard over her shoulder. "Ember Bucket secured. Prepare to move."
Hagen nodded. "What you learned today is simple. In the forest, even a faint scent is a loud noise."
His gaze fell upon the dirt-covered senior. "And he who kicks the embers covered by another will only end up covered in his own stench."
No one replied.
The smoke in front of the Ember Bucket had vanished.
Instead, a clear footprint remained in the dirt.
It was the footprint of the man who had kicked it.
Beside that footprint, Ronan's team listened to Mirea's forest rules for the first time without a single joke.