Chapter 63
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: The Saint's Secret
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The barracks where the generals stayed were in far more squalid conditions than I had imagined.
Mold crept over the blankets that covered the shelter, and the stale stench of tobacco smoke clung to every corner. The floor was an unkempt patch of mud, and the thin steel poles that served as the barracks' pillars swayed as if they might buckle at any moment.
Seriously, the tent was so shabby and unstable that it wouldn't have been surprising if the ceiling collapsed in the middle of the night.
“I’ve come to the generals’ barracks with a request. Is the Saintess available at the moment?”
As I was reviewing the notes from Alter’s lesson, a notebook propped on my chest, I heard an unfamiliar voice from outside.
“Come in.”
Grisha, who had been lying on her bed, carefully composed her voice so no one would hear, then spoke.
Her benevolent, warm tone had a way of putting the listener at ease.
Soon after, the flap of the barracks opened, and a large woman in a mud-caked officer’s uniform appeared.
“I know it’s outside of your duty hours, but the infections of some of the wounded are getting worse. Would it be possible for you to come and take a look?”
She offered the officer who had entered the thick tent flap a warm smile, just like in the game. It was a smile that overflowed with an indescribable divinity, something that could never be felt through a screen.
“...Could you wait just a moment? I’ll be right there.”
She pushed through her exhaustion and rose to her feet for the sake of the injured soldiers. Her clothes were covered in dust, and her arms and legs bore bloodstains of unknown origin, yet she never lost her smile.
“I will be waiting.”
With those words, the officer turned and walked back outside the barracks.
“...Hah.”
A sigh.
The moment the officer left, she let out a small sigh. The benevolent smile that had spread across her face was gone, replaced by a cold, blank expression.
“...”
It was a look I had never seen before in my life. I was certain that no matter where you looked in the database, no illustration or model of Grisha with such an expression existed.
Deep within her eyes was an indescribable, profound sense of powerlessness.
“Bel, got any tobacco leaf to spare? I need a smoke before I go.”
The Saintess Grisha uttered words that were completely at odds with her holy image, and she did so naturally.
Of course, in the medieval era, tobacco was treated as a kind of panacea, a popular item recommended by many medical and religious figures, but still...
‘She’s a hipster.’
The thought came to me unbidden.
The Astellan faith was a religion followed by most of the continent’s people, regardless of race.
To see the leader of a major religion, one with more followers than all of modern Christianity combined, asking for a smoke with a cold expression on her face was nothing short of shocking.
Where had that benevolent, gentle smile gone, leaving only a Saintess who furtively packed a pipe with tobacco leaves to smoke in secret?
...She’s a hipster!
“I’m all out myself. I’ve been burning the same ashes over and over.”
“Why is there never enough tobacco?”
“Because you’re always bumming mine. Items like these have to be specially requested, and there’s a limit to how much is supplied per person.”
“We’re generals, aren’t we? A few words should get us more.”
“That would be embezzlement, plain and simple.”
Bel answered curtly as he pulled his chair back to the desk.
“You’re so fussy about tobacco leaves. The soldiers on the front lines don’t even touch the stuff, so there should be plenty left over, right?”
“This would all be solved if you just requested a supply of tobacco and a pipe in your own name...”
“And let the faithful know I smoke?”
“What’s wrong with that? The Saintess is human, too.”
“Not to the faithful.”
Grisha sighed, clearly disappointed at not being able to smoke, and dragged her heavy feet toward the barracks entrance.
Before stepping outside, she cleared her throat once more and forced the drooping corners of her mouth into a smile.
Now, the same benevolent and beautiful smile as always settled upon her face.
I don’t know how others might have seen it, but to me, Grisha’s smile seemed merely pitiful and tragic.
“...I suppose it’s time for me to get moving as well.”
Bel, too, watched Grisha’s departing back with a look of pity before grabbing a stack of documents and heading out of the barracks a short while later.
I thought he was going to get a new supply of tobacco leaves.
But he didn't return until a couple of hours had passed.
“I’m borrowing that Ad fellow.”
He returned with that cryptic announcement.
* * *
Bel Artois walked outside with a stack of documents, and after only a few steps, he set fire to the papers in his hand.
The tiny flame instantly swelled, devouring the bundle of documents in a single gulp, then began to die down as if it had never been there.
Bel watched the stack of documents turn into a black pile of ash on the muddy ground, then put his pipe to his lips.
His personality was so meticulous, so particular he could be considered paranoid, that he had to personally witness such top-secret documents turning to ash with his own two eyes.
Soon, the embers died out completely, and a handful of soot greeted Bel Artois.
He kicked the pile of ash with his thick military combat boot.
Whatever contents the documents had held, no one but Bel would ever know now.
Bel Artois watched the ashes scatter in all directions before shifting his gaze.
Not far away, a line of soldiers shuttled back and forth between cargo wagons and a warehouse. Each of them carried two or three large boxes.
There were more private goods than military-issued supplies. The officers on duty would have their work cut out for them inspecting all those personal items.
‘...The soldiers will be pleased.’
Tobacco, alcohol, tea leaves.
While not as essential as swords or arrows, they were indispensable items for soldiers at war.
On a battlefield where someone next to you could die every day from an attack whose origin you couldn't even guess, you needed such things to stay sane.
‘Didn’t he say he had no battlefield experience? Or is he just that clever?’
Bel Artois was inwardly impressed with the kid named Bin. Setting aside where he got so much money, his taste in selecting supplies was excellent.
“Seems we’ve got a sharp one.”
Bel inhaled the acrid smoke and walked away from the generals’ barracks.
Passing through the camp, which reeked of blood, he found the officers’ barracks not far off.
“Ah, General. What brings you here?”
The officers, who had been squatting on the barracks floor or leaning against pillars for a quick nap, scrambled to their feet and saluted Bel.
“How is the personnel selection coming along?”
“It’s still in progress, sir. We’ll put some decent men on the list, but then they get injured. It hasn’t been easy.”
“...We need to depart tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. We don’t have much time, so I’ll select the men myself.”
“I’ll gather everyone who can move out immediately.”
“Thank you.”
Before long, a group of able-bodied human and elven soldiers stood in formation before him.
Orcs and dwarves were excluded from this mission. They were bold and brave, but they were far from stealthy or composed.
About 300 soldiers stood before Bel’s eyes. Every single one of them was an elite, capable of easily defending a village or two on their own.
Their skills were beyond question, but... this battlefield seemed to be taking its toll on them as well, for their eyes were filled with despair and fatigue.
“Those dismissed, return to your posts. You, you, and you.”
Bel began to send soldiers back to their positions, examining each one carefully. The dismissed soldiers looked a bit bewildered but returned to their duties without a word.
“...You’re out, too. And you.”
A soldier trembling like a leaf in the wind, another with listless eyes, one whose breathing was ragged. The soldiers Bel dismissed were not suffering from major physical injuries.
They were all, without exception, at their mental breaking point. No matter how strong their bodies or how outstanding their skills, he couldn’t use someone who was mentally cornered for this operation.
After the selection process continued, only about seven soldiers remained.
Three elves and four humans.
“...Why are you here?”
Bel frowned upon seeing a familiar face among the remaining personnel.
Ad.
The young man with a massive sword, as large as his torso, strapped to his back was mixed in with the ranks.
“Your duty is to guard Bin, is it not? Have you forgotten your post?”
“General Bin is safe in the barracks right now, is he not?”
“...What?”
Bel genuinely did not understand what Ad meant.
“Someone who is safe doesn’t need a guard. I didn’t want to just twiddle my thumbs until Master Bin set out on a mission. I want to make a name for myself, and quickly.”
“...”
For a moment, Bel sincerely wanted to slap the young man standing before him.
If he exhausted himself on another mission and failed to protect Bin at a critical moment, what was the point of him even coming to Vellaland?
Reputation, honor... Did this idiot not realize this wasn't the kind of battlefield where you gained such things?
He should have known from the moment the boy casually spoke of being a hero. This moron was far too immature to experience a real war.
“...”
Bel stared at Ad, lost in thought for a long moment.
Ad certainly had talent. Although he hadn't seen him fight firsthand, this mage, who had survived on extreme battlefields for well over a decade, had a discerning eye for talented warriors.
And that eye told him that the young man before him would become a warrior renowned across the continent in ten... no, five years.
The potential he sensed from him now was like seeing the orc who handled the front lines in his party, Heilum, in his youth. If his talent was nurtured properly by circumstance and luck, he had the potential to not just make a name for himself, but to become a fighter on the level of a ‘General’.
That was why it was so pitiful.
To see someone with that much potential obsessing over meaningless things like being a hero and honor.
On the battlefield, that sort of thing was utterly useless.
“Kid.”
Bel called Ad that. Ad didn't seem to realize the word 'kid' was directed at him.
“Are you prepared to die?”
At Bel’s question, every soldier except Ad swallowed hard. A question about being prepared to die from Bel carried a different weight entirely than one from an ordinary officer or superior.
Most officers threw out such words simply to test a soldier's resolve.
But Bel was different.
Bel was a cold-blooded man who would order a soldier to commit suicide if necessary. For the greater good, he was the kind of man who would throw a soldier or two into a pit of fire without a second thought.
Knowing this, cold sweat trickled down the other soldiers’ backs.
“I am!”
But Ad didn't know what kind of man Bel truly was. He was a fairly well-known and skilled adventurer, but as a soldier, he was just a rookie who had barely earned his private’s stripes.
His head was filled with the chivalrous desire to become a hero who saved people and a fantasy about the ‘General’ Bel Artois standing before him.
...If Bin had seen this, he probably would have thought Ad was an idiot.
‘He’s too foolish for the talent he possesses. I suppose it’s to be expected, since he looks to be no older than twenty. Born with exceptional talent, he’s likely never experienced a major failure or defeat.’
Bel felt a sense of pity looking at the proud and confident Ad.
What was to come would be a great trial for Ad. The young soldier's spirit would be torn to shreds, and he might never forget the memory of this day, perhaps even laying down his sword for good and living the rest of his life as a runaway.
“...Then that’s settled. The operation is in two days. I’ll brief you on the details at this time tomorrow. For today and tomorrow, rest well and manage your condition. That is all.”
Knowing this, Bel still decided to include Ad in the operation.
You can't move forward without feeling despair and getting hurt.
That was why, despite having planned a horrific operation that even seasoned veterans would struggle to endure, he went out of his way to add the rookie Ad to the team.
If Ad could endure what he was about to experience in this operation, he would undoubtedly become a useful soldier. But if he couldn't endure it and broke?
‘Then that’s just the extent of his worth.’
Bel had no time to coddle a promising youth. This was not the kind of battlefield that waited for the young to grow.
This was Vellaland.