The Mad Dog, Banished
War is a comedy. Yes, if you had to classify it, it would be something like a cheap street play. The kind of obvious, predictable story you could watch for a single copper coin in the middle of the market square.
As a child, I once watched a play while hiding in the shadows. It wasn’t because I was interested in theater. I was only keeping an eye on the crowd so I could steal wallets or belongings. If I didn’t bring in results, the boss who beat me mercilessly with a club would have my hide. I had to do something—anything.
The war between the Empire and the Kingdom Alliance. A tale that had dragged on since ancient times with no end in sight began the moment the curtain rose on stage. Even a child who had lost his entire family to war would feel his heart race at how thrilling it was. Longing for the power to save everyone was something a powerless child who couldn’t protect anything could admire.
But the child soon realized who he truly was. An orphan. A piece of trash who had to beg for scraps to survive. A life of clinging, stealing, and handing everything over to the boss. A weak little bastard who couldn’t live without getting dirty. That was me.
When the play ended, the audience’s expressions changed. They went back to their daily lives with blank faces, usually letting out sighs. People laugh uproariously at suffering they can’t bear when it belongs to someone else, yet act as if their own ordinary day is unbearable. That’s just human nature.
“Guh!”
Thud!
A short gasp and a long cry. Since the lungs had been pierced, the scream hadn’t come from the fallen man. It was from the one clutching his shoulder and shouting “Brother!” as life faded from his eyes.
What had I been thinking back then?
Ah. Cheap comedies really are no different from war. Same market square, same plot, only the actors’ makeup changes. Same time slot—around noon. Repetition, repetition, repetition. Even if you watch closely thinking something might be different this time, the ending is… always the same.
“I’ll kill you!”
The man’s eyes burned as he glared at me. Did he think I was his enemy? He charged with his sword drawn.
Clang!
A blade blinded by revenge is easy to deflect. I sliced his wrist, kicked his legs out from under him, and dropped him onto the corpse. He froze in terror, but I didn’t thrust my sword. I simply stared at him blankly.
Then he tried to hoist the body he’d crushed and retreat. But dragging a load that included an adult man’s weight plus armor wasn’t easy. He stumbled and fell several times while fleeing. In the end, he abandoned the very reason he’d risked his wrist—the person he’d come to save—and ran.
I’d cut his wrist cleanly. It would be inconvenient, but he could still return home and work the fields. That was how similar plays and wars were. The only difference was that you rarely saw anyone’s noble cause or sacrifice, which made it feel less like a boring comedy…
Watching the man’s mouth twist in joy even as tears streamed down his face at the thought of going home, I couldn’t help but smirk.
Do you know the saying that something looks like a comedy from afar but a tragedy up close? It was supposedly said by a famous clown… I don’t know who he was. I don’t care. But the saying stuck with me, so I remembered it.
Because it always left me with this question:
‘Just how far away does a tragedy have to be before it becomes a comedy?’
It wasn’t until I became an adult and witnessed countless tragedies on the battlefield that I could answer. The correct distance is the span between two people when their swords can touch. I had already realized long ago that it was the perfect range for laughing while cutting someone down.
War is when one person’s purpose clashes with another’s. Some live to kill even one more enemy. Others swing their swords to save even one more ally. And some idiot seizes the chance to build influence within his family, only to hide in the latrine because he’s too afraid to die.
I’m the same. When a mission is given, I throw myself into battle with the mindset of achieving more than what was asked. I don’t know what the results were like, but sometimes the higher-ups would reward me with a bottle of liquor. It tasted pretty good.
That doesn’t mean I fight for the alcohol. I have my own goals.
Many soldiers dreamed of becoming knights. Of course, most of them didn’t put in any real effort. Honestly, I had no interest in becoming a knight. But I had seen knights fight, and their battles were truly worth watching. The sound of swords clashing between two masters, the unforgettable heartbeat—I remembered it. It was the same feeling of longing I had felt while watching that play by chance.
I wanted to be as strong as those knights. No—I wanted to be strong enough that no one could bend my will.
“Uwaaaaaah!”
With a battle cry, a group of enemies charged at me. Look at those confident faces twist in an instant after I swing my sword a few times. They trip, kick their comrades who grab their ankles and scream at them to let go, then beg for mercy claiming they haven’t killed anyone yet…
No one here would dismiss my analogy as nonsense. War is a damn comedy that you have to watch up close, with bloodshot eyes.
It was after a long battle had ended and I had returned to the barracks to rest.
Flap!
The enforcer pushed aside the tent flap and strode in. Enforcers were basically minor dictators within the army—they taught military law and made sure soldiers followed it.
The soldiers snapped to attention and saluted the high-ranking officer, but Rood was the only one who didn’t. He was too busy disinfecting the wounds he’d received in the previous battle.
“The squad leader of the third platoon here, Galliot, is dead.”
When Rood heard that Galliot had died, he simply nodded.
‘Finally, the trash has been filtered out.’
Galliot had been Rood’s squad leader. He was incompetent, stirred up trouble among the men, and avoided dangerous fights. Rood felt nothing but relief. The bastard even had the disgusting hobby of making new recruits drink his piss, claiming it made them obedient. He was worse than useless.
When Rood had first been assigned, Galliot had made the same demand of him. Rood recalled the memory.
The other squad members held Rood down and forced him to his knees. His hands were already tied behind his back with rope.
“Drink!”
“Tch!”
At the shouts telling him to stay still, Rood frowned and said,
“It’s too small to see properly. Where exactly am I supposed to drink from? Hold it out further.”
“What the—? This arrogant little shit…”
Enraged by the clear provocation, Galliot thrust his filthy member forward.
Thud!
“Ugh…!”
Rood straightened his knees and slammed his head into Galliot’s groin. Galliot couldn’t even scream as he collapsed on the spot. Seeing him foam at the mouth and twitch on the ground, the senior soldiers holding Rood could only stare at each other in shock.
“A-are you alright?”
“Y-you bastard!”
“How dare you assault the squad leader?”
The men surrounding him were also special forces soldiers—only those skilled in combat were gathered here. In a place like this, a new recruit with both hands tied behind his back could only take a beating. Or so they thought.
“One… two… three… four… five… six… seven.”
“What the hell are you muttering, you crazy bastard! Even if you beg for forgiveness now, it’s too late!”
Rood finished counting and nodded. Seven in total.
“What are you waiting for? Come at me, all of you.”
That was when the nickname Mad Dog was born.
With both hands tied, he used his legs and teeth to subdue the entire squad. Just like the mad dogs that used to chase children in the neighborhood, Rood chased down even those who had lost the will to fight and kicked them while they were down.
The sight of special forces soldiers running from a single new recruit caused other units to look down on them for a while. But because Rood’s insane combat style was the same on the actual battlefield, the contempt didn’t last long.
Anyway, the nickname Mad Dog only spread further and further.
While Rood was lost in old memories, the enforcer continued.
“And evidence has been found suggesting that you, Mad Dog, are the one who killed Galliot. The proof is clear.”
When Rood looked around, he saw every squad member’s eyes fixed on him. One of them gripped the sword leaning against his bed.
Rood removed his helmet, opened his canteen, and poured the entire contents over his head. To wash away the sweat and enemy blood from battle. To show with his own body that no one here had fought as fiercely as he had.
“So, what do I have to do?”
“Surrender quietly. If you resist, I will carry out summary judgment right here.”
Shing!
The sound of a sword being drawn made the surroundings fall silent for a moment. The first blade drawn was Rood’s.
“You dare disobey orders?”
Sring. Srrrring.
At the enforcer’s words, the squad members all drew their swords as well. They instinctively understood. If Rood had truly murdered his superior and was now drawing his weapon, he must have already planned to kill everyone here and desert. They also knew full well that Rood was skilled enough to do it.
“Is there anyone here who saw me kill Galliot?”
No one answered.
“Is there anyone who saw how Galliot died?”
When there was still no answer, the enforcer stepped forward.
“He did not die in battle. Galliot was found in the latrine outside the barracks. It appears he was killed before the fight even began.”
“Ah, so he hid in the toilet again because he didn’t want to fight? I’m sure plenty of people hated seeing that.”
“There is clear evidence. Your dagger was embedded in his corpse.”
“I lost that several days ago. You’d be better off investigating someone inside this very barracks rather than me.”
The enforcer shouted, “If you are innocent, then obey military law! Your behavior alone is grounds for immediate execution!”
“You’ve been running your mouth this whole time… If you can kill me, then do it.”
The enforcer drew his sword and thrust it forward. In an instant, the blade reached the spot where Rood stood. But Rood had already vanished from that position.
Clang!
He deflected the thrust with the flat of his blade, then slipped into the enforcer’s lower stance.
Clang-clang-clang!
In the blink of an eye, ten clashes rang out as their swords met and separated in midair.
“Ugh! What are you all doing?! Subdue this man immediately…!”
Rood took a half-step forward. He slipped his right foot between the enforcer’s legs and spun sharply. The enforcer’s lower body lost balance and he staggered. Rood didn’t miss the opening. He raised his sword, put his weight behind it, and slammed the enforcer into the ground.
Thud! Thud!
When Rood’s fist connected with his jaw, the enforcer lost consciousness.
“Everyone stop. If you don’t want to die for real.”
When Rood turned around, the eyes of those who had been aiming for his back wavered.
“You mad dog bastard! Did you really kill Galliot?”
“There’s no turning back now. You assaulted an enforcer—you won’t die easily! Just give up!”
Rood grinned at the barrage of accusations.
“So that’s an enforcer? His skills aren’t much different from yours. Maybe a little better, at most.”
There was no one in the room capable of defeating an enforcer after only twenty exchanges. Only Rood could do it, and because the squad members knew his skill, none of them stepped forward to challenge him.
Rood lifted the fallen enforcer.
“Where are you taking the enforcer?!”
“Where else? To stand trial, of course.”
At Rood’s words about going to trial, the tips of the squad members’ swords trembled like reeds.
“What? Then why did you knock out the enforcer?”
“Bad luck.”
As Rood left the barracks, he said,
“See you later.”
After those words, Rood never returned to the barracks.
“Today will be your last day.”
In the last cell of a makeshift prisoner camp at dawn, two potatoes and a piece of meat were brought in.
Rood had carried the unconscious enforcer to the centurion and tried to explain and protest his position, but it was ignored. The prisoners in the other cells drooled at the sight of the food while looking at him with pitying eyes.
‘Is this consideration for someone who once served as a special forces soldier?’
The undercooked potatoes and the charred meat went surprisingly well together. He was grateful the meat had at least been decently seasoned.
How had it come to this?
Rood thought he would have felt less wronged if he had actually killed that bastard Galliot. He had considered escaping the camp, but with his hands and feet bound in chains, survival seemed unlikely unless he awakened his Aura.
Rood buried his face in the plate again and bit into a potato.
‘Aura awakening, huh. Let’s give it a try. I don’t really know how, though.’
Even though he knew his execution would come the moment he finished this meal, Rood did not stop trying to manifest his Aura. The unity of body and mind, the fundamental power that all beings possessed—Aura was a privilege only knights could have.
The reasons were simple. First, manifesting Aura itself was extremely difficult. Second, to control it, one had to gain enlightenment through secret manuals accumulated over hundreds of years. Since Aura manuals were only passed down within noble families skilled in martial arts, it was practically impossible for a back-alley orphan like Rood to manifest and wield Aura.
Except for the fact that he had coincidentally obtained a knight’s manual while infiltrating an enemy base.
“Damn it. If only I could remember it all.”
Unfortunately, while Rood had the talent to imitate any martial art or sword technique he saw once, he had no talent for memorizing densely written text.
“Finished eating? Then come with me.”
Rood walked down the long corridor. The chains connecting him to the prison walls were removed, and instead, his wrists were tightly bound with rope. Rood squinted at the bright morning sky.
“Nice, huh?”
He hated how cheerfully bright the sun was.
He walked for a long time following the camp guard. It was in the completely opposite direction from the barracks. In the middle of the plain where the previous battle had taken place, two men were standing. A single carriage waited beside them.
The chiliarch who had given long lectures during missions where life and death were decided in an instant was there. He was the commander in charge of the Ger front and the high-ranking officer who handled all matters within the army. Beside him stood a bald man with a pale face that suggested he had never experienced war, who kept talking nonstop.
Rood knelt at their feet, and soon a hood was placed over his head. He could see nothing.
‘Aura is something that if the body accepts it, the mind must accept it as well. To erase all doubt, one must first cultivate an attitude of doubt…’
Even though he didn’t know when his neck might be severed, Rood focused on manifesting his Aura. His senses seemed to be growing slightly sharper.
“So, you are the one who killed your squad leader, Galliot?”
The chiliarch spoke, so Rood answered.
“I did no such thing.”
“Even though the dagger you used was found embedded in his back?”
“Logically speaking, wouldn’t I have hidden such evidence?”
“That does make sense.”
Rood thought the chiliarch seemed reasonable and that he might be able to clear up the misunderstanding in a decent way.
“However, during this grueling war, we do not have time to investigate such matters.”
“Why not?”
“Wouldn’t it only lower morale? The bigger problem is having no culprit at all. Suspicion will tear the unit apart from within. Do you understand?”
“So you’re saying you’ll create an innocent victim?”
“The dead cannot speak, can they?”
Tap.
Rood felt something resting on his shoulder. It was the chiliarch’s sword.
“You are a major headache for the army. Your skills are excellent, of course, but war is not fought alone. Isn’t that right?”
“Isn’t it also difficult to achieve victory when surrounded only by the weak?”
“I think you are far too arrogant for someone who isn’t even a knight.”
At the giggling laughter, the chiliarch tilted his head.
“What are you laughing at? A man who is about to die.”
“If those words come from someone whose sword-drawing sound I cannot even hear, I will take them to heart.”
“They called you Mad Dog. It suits you even more than the rumors suggested. Are you not afraid of death?”
Rood giggled and threw out another jab.
“By the way, I wish the chiliarch’s mouth were as quiet as his sword.”
With a low chuckle, he felt liquid flowing down his neck. Soon, the skin on the left side of his throat stung.
“Now I see why you were suspected. You really have no manners at all.”
Then another voice interrupted. It was a thin, shrill man’s voice.
“Aigoo, respected chiliarch. Haven’t you already finished your business?”
“What is that squeaking rat bastard?”
“W-what did you say?! You don’t even know who holds your life in their hands…!”
Life in their hands?
Rood thought quickly. After losing his parents in the war, there was no one to back him. Who could it be?
In the midst of that, a low chuckle was heard.
“What a shame. If the timing had been better, it would have been perfect.”
The weight of the sword pressing down on Rood’s shoulder disappeared.
“What is this?”
“You died here. And your body will be buried in the southern Voenac Territory, two thousand li away. Do you understand?”
Rood did not nod carelessly. He understood immediately that they were sparing him, but he couldn’t understand why.
“Who are you? The person backing me?”
When the hood was removed, the bright sky still looked down at Rood. Perhaps because of the clouds, it didn’t sting his eyes as much as before.
“Didn’t I say the dead cannot speak? But one thing is certain… this is an order from someone above me.”
Since the chiliarch commanded an entire army, anyone of higher rank would not be a mere noble. Once Rood was convinced it was one of the high officials within the Alliance, he became even more curious about who it was.
“Ask that man for the details.”
When he turned his head, he saw the man whose face had been pale earlier was now flushed bright red. It was the messenger Rood had called a rat. Because the man was bald on top, the redness of his face stood out even more.
“Are you the one who saved my life?”
“If saving your life means saving it, then yes. But I am merely a messenger.”
“Then who saved me?”
“Why ask a rat when all it can do is squeak?”
Rood felt awkward at the man’s words and stopped asking questions. He decided it would be better to avoid answering as much as possible. The man seemed rather petty, so he immediately realized it was best not to speak to him.
The man climbed into the carriage first and began scolding him to get in quickly.
“Chiliarch, please untie the rope.”
“Untie it yourself.”
“Yes.”
When Rood put strength into both hands, the rope binding them snapped with a loud crack. The chiliarch stared at Rood’s face in disbelief.
“What is it?”
“What would you have done if I had really tried to kill you?”
“I didn’t feel any killing intent. I thought you weren’t actually going to kill me.”
The chiliarch clicked his tongue and kept muttering how truly regrettable it was.
After thinking for a moment, Rood asked,
“Did you… find the real culprit?”
“Of course. He will be dealt with quietly.”
Rood did not ask who the culprit was. Asking wouldn’t change anything. He could guess that the one who framed him had used him because they hated Galliot and knew Rood had a bad relationship with the man. If his innocence were proven, there was no guarantee the culprit wouldn’t ambush him in the next battle, making it difficult to continue the war.
It was a shame. If he left in this carriage for the south now, he would miss the chance to gain more combat experience and grow stronger.
Rood unconsciously relaxed his clenched jaw and let out a sigh. What mattered was the present. No matter where he went, the only way to become stronger was through his own training. Rood climbed into the carriage.
Since he had been reassigned somewhere new, he could guess there would be a mission waiting for him there.
It was a new beginning.