Chapter 62
Chapter 62
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Ghosts of the Past
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The scene before my eyes fragmented sporadically.
I was on the snowfields of the Northern Frontline, killed a Great Beast, then returned to reality to face Irena.
Irena's voice overlapped with Crim's.
Her words, "Let's survive together no matter what," rang out crystal clear.
I could feel the Northern chill.
My hands, slowly freezing in the frost, and the sword that wouldn't budge, nailed in place.
Before I knew it, I stood in the heart of the frontline.
"Die! Just die already!!"
A black wave stretched endlessly to the horizon.
We were swept up in the tide of monsters, fighting desperately to hold them back.
Imperial Calendar Year 423, January 19th.
That winter on the Northern Frontline was like a monster devouring every living thing.
The blizzard mixed with the stench of blood made even breathing painful.
The cold bit so deep into flesh that countless soldiers lost limbs to amputation.
Nothing felt unfamiliar, yet nothing could fail to shock in that moment.
It was two months after I'd graduated from training camp.
I forced strength into my frozen fingers and gripped my sword.
I couldn't even tell whose blood was seeping into my gloves.
"Ian! Cover the left! I'll take the right!"
Camus, my training camp buddy fighting beside me, shouted.
Monsters crawled up from the snow without respite, surging forward.
They trampled corpses, more piling up in tangles.
Every sword swing felt like it tore my arms apart, my wrists on the verge of snapping.
But I couldn't stop.
Stopping meant the line would collapse.
I swung so much it was pointless to count, abusing my arms until ligaments tore.
Even that wasn't enough; I wrapped my hands and sword in bandages to hold on by force.
The battle dragged on for a full 14 hours before finally reaching a lull.
"Ian, Ian!"
How many did I kill? How many died?
After swinging my sword like a madman, dawn was breaking.
I barely snapped out of it at the voice calling me and turned my head.
"You can stop now. It's over for the moment."
It was the squad leader.
His shoulder, torn clean off by a monster, looked emptily bare.
"Camus... what about Camus..."
"Camus croaked right next to you. Don't think about the dead. Just focus on killing those bastards."
He nodded toward one side, clamping a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.
Camus lay dead right beside me.
His guts spilled out from his ravaged abdomen.
Bodies were supposed to be warm, but this one was cold.
He'd been dead for over six hours.
"Urk!!"
"Whoa, you idiot. Haven't eaten half a day and you're puking? Cut it out and come light my cig. I got no arms."
The squad leader was a cripple—literally, not as an insult.
Arm cripple, finger cripple, cripple buckteeth.
His upper and lower front teeth were each missing one.
"Tch, Ian! Ugh, the smell. If you're gonna puke, go do it over there!"
"Fuckin' asshole... Is that how you react when someone's hurling?"
"What a cripple... You a girl or something? Get lost!"
The squad leader had lost his left ring and pinky fingers to frostbite.
He always compensated for the lost grip by bandaging his hand and sword together.
"Ian~ Wrap my bandages for me. No hands, ugh. This sucks."
"Sure, sure. Arm cripple, finger cripple."
"Try ending up like this yourself. Bet you couldn't tease then."
"No thanks."
But I didn't really mind.
Not because he was a good guy or had any personality worth praising.
This closeness was just—
"Pukey Ian survived again, huh?"
"Can we drop the pukey nickname already?"
"You puked in the barracks again last night? Stinks, moron!"
—because the squad leader had survived longer than most.
No matter how much you hated someone, amid the constantly changing faces, the one constant bred a bit of familiarity.
Build that up over time, and like it or not, you grew close.
Close enough to spill last words.
"Ian. If I die, hand my emergency stash to Lily."
"Not that it matters, but isn't Lily a whore? Saw her rolling with another guy right after you left."
"Faithful to her profession. How diligent and great. When I retire, I'll live with Lily."
"Ugh, that was disgusting just now."
"Your puke's more disgusting, you know?"
The very next day, he left those words and died, head torn off.
"Ian, Ian! Snap out of it, Ian!"
My vision blurred again.
Someone's voice rang in my ears, incomprehensible, vibrating through my bones.
Imperial Calendar Year 425, July 9th.
Before I knew it, I stood in the Northern training grounds.
A regular knight approached to correct my stance.
"Ian, switch your grip depending on the situation, and you can handle irregular moves easily. Like this—support it with two fingers and flick to disrupt their sword path."
It was Jenia, the sole woman in the knight order.
"Feels like I'd drop the sword doing that."
"That's why you train. Until you can support it with just two fingers, even for a moment."
I couldn't call it bullshit.
Jenia pulled it off effortlessly.
It wasn't a secret that she ranked fourth in raw strength on the frontline.
I owed Jenia one.
She'd greatly helped me develop a new swordsmanship blending training camp basics with the Baltazar house secret arts.
Without her, it would've taken much longer.
"What do you think of it like this?"
"Good. Not bad... But twist your foot a bit more—like that. Then bend your elbow after, and it'll carry more power."
Unlike the squad leader, Jenia had no personality flaws.
No bullshit temper, refined looks, and a build bigger than most men.
Subjectively and objectively, she was appealing.
Plenty of regular knights liked her.
That's why I got so much grief and sparring challenges aimed at me.
"Ian... Stay away from Jenia! Don't you have a fiancée?"
"Don't know any fiancée."
"Tch! Spar with me!"
Sparring was needed to refine the new swordsmanship.
I accepted gladly and got my ass handed to me, rolling on the ground.
"S-sorry. I went too hard."
"No, this is plenty. Can I ask for more next time?"
"O-oh, sure thing."
Maybe accepting every spar without refusal won me favor.
The knights jealous of me and Jenia gradually warmed up to me.
Sometimes, people even assumed things between Jenia and me on their own.
Even though it wasn't like that.
Jenia left me her last words too.
Nothing special.
She just missed her childhood friend back home.
After that, her mouth kept opening like she wanted to say more, but her vocal cords didn't quiver.
Makes sense, really.
How much more could someone say with their torso cleanly bisected, upper and lower halves neatly separated?
After Jenia died, I sent the letter she'd written to her childhood friend back home.
I wondered if it even arrived properly.
I hope it did.
"Snap out of it! Look me in the eye. This isn't the Northern Frontline. This is—"
"—so, what do you think? The unit vibe?"
"Heard it was the knight order's shit-shoveling squad, but it's roomier than I expected."
I was introducing the unit to Yullen, the new recruit filling in for Crim while he was away.
Saying it now, but Yullen was from the fourth dimension.
Blunt, spilling every thought as is—but that was her strength.
No need to read her expressions to guess her mind.
Everything she said was her true thoughts.
"A few weeks ago, I take back the roomy comment. This sucks. Why'd I even come here?"
"?"
"Hope they pay a ton. Got a bunch of mouths to feed at home. This is such bullshit. Why'd Mom pop out so many?"
"??"
Yullen died instantly to Befart's sword.
From the crown of her head down to her side.
Sliced at an angle like a watermelon.
Not much of a last testament, but I recalled her final words.
"Do they give death benefits here? Actually, I got a contract."
"What contract?"
"If other squad members die and I'm the last one, I get their death benefits."
"...Crazy bitch."
"Wanna sign too, Ian? You're dead anyway, can't spend the money. Better give it to me, right? You serious? Yeah, dead serious."
I signed, but she never got those benefits.
Not then, not now, not ever.
That pissed me off.
Couldn't hold back the irritation; after hitting the frontline, I barely slept through nights.
Wish there were sleeping pills.
So many damn monsters, but no sleeping pills?
I wanted to sleep.
Not this dream-filled sleep, but blank, thoughtless slumber.
Dreaming was exhausting.
I didn't want to anymore.
Even chanting that to myself, I always woke to shitty dreams stone-cold sober.
I liked them, cheered them on, and hated the ones in my dreams.
Don't show up in my dreams again, just die, I'd think.
Not truly sincere.
Just couldn't bear it.
Couldn't stand seeing them keep appearing before my eyes.
Chatting with me, only to die in the end.
Seeing nothing but corpses over and over.
So, if you're gonna die anyway, already dead... don't come back.
That's what I wanted to say.
Not sincere.
Yeah, not sincere.
Not sincere at all.
"Ian."
Whether sleeping, awake, gripping my sword, or eating.
In every moment, I see every footprint I've left behind.
I drift through time. Face death.
Drifting eons, I grow faint, smaller.
Smaller, even smaller.
Until I see nothing at all.
I don't want to hear anything, see anything.
I wanted to die.
Slap!
A hot jolt.
The shrinking me suddenly found himself in a humid room.
I faced Irena,
and realized she was pressed very close.
"Snap out of it, Ian."
Irena, who had somehow pushed me onto the bed, said.
"Good. You're finally coming around."
Her voice trembled.
Like someone holding back tears ready to burst.