Within the Shards of Memory, Part 3
"We are the Soori Mercenary Group," the woman told Aryen inside the caravan.
Aryen stared at her with vacant, unfocused eyes. She had copper-toned skin, an eyepatch, and short-cropped black hair.
The woman gestured with her chin toward the comrades riding with them in the caravan, calling out their names one by one.
"Charlie, Don, Brett, Mac, Heaney."
Each time she called a name, the rough-looking men glanced toward Aryen. But soon, as if losing interest, they either bowed their heads to catch some sleep or pulled something from their coats to munch on.
The woman frowned slightly as she looked at her companions.
"The guy driving the horses is Walter. And I'm Carla."
Aryen stared at Carla with a gaze that hovered somewhere between a glare and a blank stare. He couldn't think of anything. His senses were still submerged in that sea of blood; it felt as though only his empty body had been left behind and was being transported.
What are these people going to do with me? Am I going to be killed, or sold off?
"If someone gives you their name, it's only polite to give yours, kid."
The man—a bald mercenary named Charlie—spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. Aryen let the man's words drift past him, showing no interest.
Thwack. Carla's finger flicked Aryen's forehead. Aryen's eyes instantly grew fierce, his gaze toward Carla turning hostile.
"What's your name?"
Yet, for some reason, her voice seemed to possess a strange knack for making him open his mouth.
"Aryen Elmion."
He had been told that Elmion was a surname bestowed upon his family a long time ago. It didn't carry much meaning, though. Aryen thought it was just a useless extension of his name. His tongue felt rough as he spat it out. He bit down on his tongue.
"Aryen, then. Nice to meet you, Aryen."
Aryen snapped his head away. Carla snorted as if finding him cute, then let her hand drop. The other mercenaries watched this and let out quiet, amused chuckles.
"You people... you're on Crome's side."
Crome was the enemy nation. Aryen repeated the name to himself and buried his face in his knees. At his words, Carla chuckled. Aryen couldn't understand why she was laughing.
"We're on the side of whoever pays us. This time, they just happened to be the ones who shelled out the coin. If Kairos had paid us, we would've been on Kairos's side."
Carla said this as she scraped the floor of the caravan with a large dagger she had been playing with. Perhaps because she had done it so many times before, the floor of the caravan was covered in deep scratches.
"That doesn't change the fact that you killed our people."
His father was probably dead. His mother, too. Aryen couldn't cry. The shock seemed to have torn his tear ducts to shreds. If he were to look in a mirror right now, he would probably have the same hollow, pale eyes as those corpses.
"I won't apologize. If I did, it would make all the people from other countries I've killed up until now look strange. Besides, we've been hired by other nations to kill Crome's people before, too."
Carla shrugged. Aryen couldn't comprehend her attitude toward death. She spoke of it so casually, as if it were nothing.
"I'm not asking for an apology. Why did you leave me alive? Why didn't you kill me?"
When Aryen asked, his voice rising in accusation, Carla offered him a bitter smile.
"You'll find out later, kid. Don't worry, we have no intention of selling you off as a slave."
He was confused. He didn't want to talk to her anymore. Aryen closed his eyes, keeping his face buried in his knees. He had no idea where the rattling, swaying caravan was taking him.
"The world is a harsh place, Aryen. It's harsh, cruel, and shows no mercy. There is no such thing as benevolence. Those who wander in search of salvation are abandoned, while those who reject it and prey on others survive."
Carla's voice softened. Aryen exhaled as he listened to her speak, her tone like someone reading a fairy tale. Everything was a mess. Something was terribly wrong. It felt as though someone had scooped out his brain and left it floating in midair.
"So you must live. You must live and become harsher than the world itself. So that the world cannot devour you. So that it cannot lead you down the path of death."
Carla's words sounded almost like a prayer. Aryen felt his consciousness drifting away. Exhaustion washed over him. Lulled by the rhythmic swaying of the caravan, Aryen nodded off and fell asleep. In his slumber, he felt as though someone gently laid him down and pulled a blanket over him.
Aryen was not sold. He did not become a slave. The mercenaries of the Soori Mercenary Group raised Aryen like an adopted child.
Aryen had no other choice. Besides, they weren't the ones who had burned his village and slaughtered his people.
The Soori Mercenary Group was a stateless band of wanderers hired by enemy nations. Wherever war broke out, that was their country, their hometown, and their home.
The mercenaries traveled without regard for terrain—seas, high mountains, plains, and forests. Aryen grew up rubbing shoulders with the mercenaries of the Soori Mercenary Group.
The rough mercenaries could never be fathers to him, but they could be mentors. Aryen learned the sword from them. He learned how to fight, learned tactics, strategy, and warfare. He learned about money, alcohol, and people.
Death was something he never wanted to learn. Yet, time inevitably forced its lessons upon him. Don died, Brett died, Mac left, and Heaney laid down his sword one day.
Aryen grew. The boy who had been on the shorter side in his youth eventually shot up, towering over his late father's memory and reaching a height similar to Charlie's.
Aryen's growth was rapid. His swordsmanship soon reached a level where the mercenaries had nothing left to teach him. Aryen was strong, and he was highly skilled at killing. New members joined, and Aryen rose to the rank of a veteran at a young age.
"It seems you're already stronger than me," Charlie said, letting his sword hang low.
Aryen sheathed his blade with an expressionless face. The corpses of fallen soldiers and knights lay scattered at his feet.
Even their allies kept their distance, staring at Aryen as if horrified by his prowess. When Aryen turned his head toward them, the soldiers scrambled to avoid his gaze.
Aryen watched them indifferently as they cleared the battlefield.
"I think I surpassed you a long time ago, old man."
"Give you an inch and you take a mile, Aryen. Still, you never know until we actually clash."
Aryen smirked and shook his head. Charlie watched him, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips.
"I wouldn't mind handing over the vice-commander position to you soon."
"I'm still a long way from being able to lead people. I don't want to take on such a troublesome chore. I'll just stay quiet until you retire, old man."
Aryen looked down at the pools of blood and the corpses. The men Aryen had killed stared blankly with wide eyes, just like the corpses he had seen in his childhood. Aryen knelt and gently closed the eyes of a dead knight.
"Good work, Aryen."
Carla approached him without hesitation, throwing her arms wide and pulling Aryen into a tight hug. Aryen flailed in her embrace, his face flushing red.
"W-Wait a minute."
"What, are you embarrassed? After all this time?" Carla laughed and hugged Aryen even tighter. Unable to bring himself to push her away, Aryen could only flail his arms helplessly.
"There's... there's blood on me."
"So what? I'm already covered in it too," Carla said, finally releasing Aryen. Aryen's face was as crimson as the blood on his armor. Seeing him like this, Carla grinned.
"You're hilarious. You really are still just a kid."
"Shut up. Seriously." Aryen shook his head vigorously and stood up.
While the other mercenaries in the group couldn't even manage to be clumsy uncles, let alone fathers, Carla was different. Carla strove to be many things to Aryen. A clumsy mother, an older sister, a friend, or even a lover. Carla taught Aryen everything the other mercenaries couldn't.
Life. What Aryen had learned, perhaps, was how to live.
"Any casualties this time?"
"None. Aryen swept up most of the tough ones by himself anyway," Charlie snorted as he answered Carla's question. Carla blinked and looked at Aryen. Aryen scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish.
"They were all weaklings. I just did what had to be done."
Carla stepped up to Aryen. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him now, but she still reached up and flicked his forehead. As Aryen frowned and rubbed his forehead, Carla looked up at him with a stern expression.
"Don't overdo it. And don't show off. How many times do I have to tell you that you never know when you'll die on the battlefield?"
"...I get it."
Even when slashed by a sword, he barely felt the pain. Yet Carla's flicks always stung just as much as they used to. Carla gestured for him to lean down. When Aryen lowered his head slightly, Carla stood on her tiptoes and thoroughly ruffled his hair.
"You've gotten way too tall for this," Carla laughed. Her face hadn't changed since the day Aryen first met her. While the faces of mercenaries like Charlie, Mac, and Heaney accumulated scars and wrinkles, Carla didn't have a single wrinkle, let alone a new scar.
"Well, shall we move along then?" Carla said, dusting off her arms. Today's battle was over. Carla gave a casual wave to the commander, who shook his head in disbelief.
"Good work. I'll be counting on you for tomorrow's battle as well."
"Anytime," Carla replied lightly, then nudged Aryen's back as they walked toward their assigned quarters.
That night, Aryen woke up, frowning at the sound of someone knocking on his door and a presence outside. The time was 1:30 AM. Feeling slightly irritated, Aryen walked over and swung the door open.
"Who is it at this hour..."
"Hey."
And upon seeing Carla standing at the doorway, Aryen froze completely. Seeing his stiffened face, Carla giggled and peered inside the room.
"Can I come in?"
Aryen stepped aside slightly to let her pass, and Carla hummed a soft tune as she entered his room. Her swaying hair was slightly damp, as if she had just washed it. Aryen turned from the doorway to look at her. Carla casually walked over to his bed and plopped down. When Aryen scowled, Carla laughed again and gestured to the space beside her.
"Sit next to me."
Aryen closed the door, walked over, and sat down beside her. The moment he sat, Carla turned to face him. Seeing her wearing a top that was practically undergarments, Aryen's face flushed.
"Why did you come to my room?"
Carla shrugged at Aryen, who had forced the words out to break the awkward silence.
"I had a strange dream."
"A strange dream?"
Carla grinned again. Aryen felt her smile was somehow hollow.
"Yeah. But I'm not going to tell you. I feel like talking about it will just make me feel bad again."
"Invading someone else's bedroom just because of a bad dream..." Aryen muttered under his breath. Carla shook her head.
"Do you know how often I slept beside you when you were little? You had so many nightmares. I had no choice but to keep you close."
Aryen's face twisted into a deep scowl.
"What's with the sudden trip down memory lane?"
"Back then, you were a bit prickly, but you were still a cute kid."
Carla's demeanor was just like usual, yet entirely different. Aryen chose not to press her on it. I should have questioned her more back then.
"Hold me," Carla said, leaning in close to him. Unable to back away, Aryen gently wrapped his arms around her. It was the first time he had ever initiated a hug with her. In his arms, Carla felt much smaller than he had ever imagined. Aryen breathed in her scent. It was closer to a fragrance than a mere smell.
"Let's lie down."
Following Carla's lead, Aryen lay down on the bed. Moonlight spilled over the mattress as they settled. Carla's eyes were gray, a shade remarkably similar to the pale moonlight. Her warmth was close. Aryen lay there, staring into her eyes for a quiet moment.
"Yeah. This is nice." Carla smiled faintly, like the moon, and placed her hand on Aryen's cheek. Then, she nudged herself closer, burying her head against his chest. Aryen wrapped his arms around her head and held her tight, sensing a faint trace of anxiety lingering within her.
Aryen could feel Carla's soft sighs against his chest. The dread of tomorrow slowly crept in, but it was fine. Aryen held Carla with his back to the window, as if trying to block out time itself. The moonlight held no warmth. The only thing he could feel was the warmth of Carla's skin pressed against his own. And in that warmth, Aryen thought he saw her tears.