War (2)
Thud—!
“Uncle Rascal—!”
The arrow that came flying grazed past me and punched straight through the forehead of the man who had volunteered for conscription to feed his children. No—Uncle Rascal, who had always smiled at the Rueshatia conscripts with the gentle warmth of a father. His eyes were still open, yet he never even managed a scream as he toppled backward, blood pouring out of him.
He might still be alive. I should have moved. I knew that. But far off, beyond the fog, human shapes began to waver into view.
“Take cover behind the fortifications! Re-form the ranks first!”
Someone shouted—one of the squad leaders. We had been ambushed; we needed a moment to collect ourselves, a moment to gulp down potions, a short prayer to the gods begging to live, and a brief mourning for the ones already gone.
I knew all of that. But I saw Rubiru. She was starting to move toward Uncle Rascal’s body, as if she meant to reach him.
“Rubiru, stop—!”
I lunged for her, wrapped her in my arms, and we both went down hard.
“U-Uncle Rascal might still be a-alive!”
“He’s dead.”
“No, he might have just fallen…”
“He’s dead!”
Ordinarily I would have soothed her, teased her a little. This was not that kind of moment. I forced her to look straight at me and shouted.
“Are you going to die too!?”
She had always insisted she would stay on the battlefield and had learned dagger work from me. Yet now Rubiru’s eyes were wet, her whole body shook with fear, and her fingers had locked around her pendant without her even realizing it.
No matter how hard she pretended, she was still just a girl—my age, ordinary, someone who had never killed a monster or a man.
“Rubiru, listen carefully—”
Whoosh—!
In the middle of the sentence a fire arrow skimmed over my head.
“N-No—!”
Still crying, Rubiru yanked me against her and covered me with her own body. Then the real rain began—an arrow rain that set the entire camp ablaze and sent terrible flames roaring upward.
Screams rose behind us.
“R-Ralph—!”
Ralph was gone. Even that scream was swallowed by the sound of the fortifications collapsing in fire. I still had to speak. I could not let Rubiru die here too.
Her body lay over mine; her heartbeat hammered against my chest. Tears clung to her lashes, her pupils trembled with terror, and even though she was terrified she still held her breath so no one would hear her. Holding her like that, I whispered into her ear.
“…Rubiru. Listen carefully.”
I had no intention of simply dying either. Dying while fighting to survive was one thing. But I would never accept a girl who could not even fight properly dying beside me.
“At this rate we all die.”
Trying to save her had pulled us away from the squad. That meant we were now in a position where we could not even resist. The conscripts’ outpost and the outpost of Baron Köln’s knights and mercenaries were different worlds because of rank.
The only way for us to live was to hold until Baron Köln’s reinforcements arrived. Or else one of the knights who had split off to command our unit—someone who could actually use mana or aura—would have to slaughter them all alone.
“…Run. You’ve learned well from me all this time. If you keep running straight back you won’t meet the enemy. Even if you do, you said you can protect yourself, right?”
“W-What are you saying…?”
“Go. The second I stand up.”
Whatever hope I was spinning was pure delusion, and there was no time left for delusions. I pulled the dagger Laika had given me from my thigh sheath and pressed it into Rubiru’s hand. Still covering her, I dug into my inner pocket, took out the little portrait, opened her pendant with shaking fingers, and slipped the picture inside.
“I’ve just entrusted you with two things more precious than my own life.”
Rubiru understood. Even in this frantic moment her eyes filled. She was only a stranger who had approached me because we were the same age, who had smiled at me so warmly. Every one of those small moments flashed past.
Her tearful face looked like Claudia’s. If Rubiru died it would feel exactly as if Claudia herself had died. I was afraid, but that thought terrified me more.
“That’s why I told you to run away from the start, you dead weight!”
I deliberately used the cruel words I had never been able to say to Claudia, Ceria, or Rhea. There was no need for all of us to die together.
“Get up and run back. Get out of sight. Don’t draw attention. Understood!?”
Fire arrows turned the camp into an inferno. For an occupation the enemy would have to charge in and plant their flag. Next would come the melee.
“I-I don’t want to—. I don’t want…”
“Didn’t you hear me? You’re in the way. Get lost already.”
“Ri-Riel— n-no. I-If we’re running, t-together…!”
“If we run, Köln is in danger too. You know our job is to hold until the main force arrives.”
“B-But— Ri-Riel, y-you’re shaking!”
“You’re imagining it.”
I did not look at her face. I could have talked about feelings for hours, but there was no time. And it was not only for Rubiru.
I still had my squad. The squad leaders who had gone on reconnaissance in place of a child like me, in place of the talented one, were already dead. The bastards who had cut those men’s heads off and sent them back on horseback were out there somewhere.
I felt no particular hatred for the enemy nation they called barbarians. But I knew exactly what I had to do. Mourning comrades meant killing the ones who killed them. Proper repayment meant holding this camp. It meant driving stakes behind their graves, carving their names, and praying so they could be mourned properly.
I must have developed a trauma. The desperate wish to protect Rubiru and the guilt of failing my comrades stabbed me in the chest over and over. My body was trembling so hard I could not deny it, yet I forced myself to stand as if denying the tremor itself.
“Go. Now.”
The moment I rose, men with the bulk of beasts came crashing through the fog. Their bodies were caked in blood; one look at those frames and I understood why people called them barbarians.
I was still a half-grown boy. But I knew I had to fight, so I gripped the sword Cronian had given me until my knuckles whitened and walked forward.
We numbered barely thirty now—no, not even that. They looked well over a hundred.
Taat—!
I kicked off the ground. Fear I buried under terror, terror I burned away with rage, and rage I fed with debt and responsibility until it roared. A mere brat charging as if he meant to die seemed to startle them; their ranks wavered.
“M-Mana? He might be one who can use mana—!”
They had mistaken me for a mana user.
“H-Then that’s even better.”
From the disordered line one barbarian strode out alone. He was larger than the rest, hung with finer ornaments. Like me, he seemed to be a squad leader of sorts. Every muscle looked bigger than my whole body; his greatsword was longer and thicker than I was tall.
He raised the blade and pointed it at me. For barbarians they still liked to play at honor. He wanted a duel.
“Uoooooh—!”
His roar split the air and the whole barbarian host answered with a surge of killing intent that seemed to pierce the sky. None of that changed what I had to do.
I charged. He lifted the sword bigger than my body high overhead. If I met that force head-on my blade would shatter. If I dodged and ran, those sky-high spirits would turn every one of us into meat.
I did not run. The greatsword still hung in the air, ready to split me. If I could cut and slip past I would have, but he was faster than I expected. Keep going straight and I would be the one cut in half first.
Chijik—!
I feinted a deep thrust, then stopped dead. I raised my sword—not to strike, but to let his blade slide down mine along a diagonal.
Kagagagang—!
“Keuk—!”
My wrist felt as if it were being crushed, yet I gritted my teeth and forced the greatsword to ride the edge all the way down.
Pusuk—!
“Y-You little—!”
A shocked gasp left him. The greatsword was buried in the earth; his body stood completely open. I knew a simple cut would never have the power to take his head through the armor. I stamped on the stuck blade so he could not lift it, then sprang lightly and spun.
One stroke. Kill him in one stroke.
I clenched my teeth until they creaked and gripped Cronian’s sword hard enough to make the hilt groan.
Seogeok—!
I put every ounce of the spin into the cut and took his head. Blood erupted like a fountain and rained down. Only then did the barbarians realize one of their leaders was dead. They flinched, then closed in to surround me.
“Ri-Riel, you crazy bastard!”
Behind me the three remaining squad leaders and the conscripts followed. There were no war cries, no shouts of “Die!” or “Revenge!” Only silence. We had all been trained for the same purpose: to kill.
Instead came the sounds that crawl under the skin—flesh parting under steel with a wet seogeok, severed arms and legs dropping with heavy plops into pools of blood, heads rolling with a dull tung-geu-reu-reu. The battlefield filled with the voices of men who, facing death, suddenly became children again and called for their mothers and fathers.
I cut. I hacked. I stabbed, then kicked the body free to free my blade. I rolled through the mud, soaked myself in blood, flung dirt into eyes, grabbed living men and used them as shields.
I no longer knew how many I had killed. I no longer knew how many of us had died.
Then, abruptly, I looked for Rubiru. I had never even watched her leave; some childish part of me feared she had stayed. While I searched I took a fist to the face and went rolling, scrambled up, lost Cronian’s sword somewhere in the chaos, seized a dead comrade’s blade instead, and kept stabbing, cutting, dismembering.
Pook—!
Cold metal punched through my belly. The pain was enough to kill, yet I was still alive, so I carved open the chest of the man in front of me. When the sword was yanked free, hot blood gushed down and soaked my legs.
My lips trembled. My fingertips did the same. Pain white enough to blank my vision washed over me, but instinct refused to let me stop. Instead of screaming I kept moving. My sight was fogged, yet there still seemed to be far too many left to kill. Using the sword as a cane I forced myself upright again.
“Knights of Rueshatia!”
That was when it happened. Riding like heroes, Baron Köln and his knights and mercenaries crashed into the fray. They were already drenched in blood; clearly the camp Köln had been holding had been hit as well.
“Exterminate the barbarians!”
Knights and mercenaries were on another level from even well-trained conscripts like us. Their numbers were so few, however, that strategy always kept them in the rear until the moment of decisive joining. Among us there were a few who could match them, but only three or so. At the sound of the shout I turned my head; almost no standing conscripts remained.
Two surviving squad leaders, and me. Roughly ten of us left in all.
Rubiru isn’t here.
She must have run. I wondered whether relief was the proper feeling in a place like this, yet relief flooded me all the same. I watched Köln and his men dismount and begin cutting the barbarians down.
…Ah. I’m going to die soon, aren’t I.
The moment the fear eased, the pain arrived in full. My limit had come; my legs gave out and I collapsed. Then a warm touch wrapped around me.
“Ri-Riel—!”
Rubiru. Tear-streaked face, eyes full of worry. Her brown hair brushed my skin and tickled.
“Why did you fight so recklessly!”
Earlier she had looked like Claudia; now she looked like Rhea. When she laid me down and clasped my hand as if in prayer, she looked like Ceria as well. Thinking I was about to die, Rubiru hugged me tightly. Strength drained out of me; I glanced down and saw far too much blood leaving my abdomen.
Sleepy. So sleepy.
As my eyes closed she pulled out a potion and poured it between my lips. Then—
“…You have to take responsibility. You have to go back…. You have a family….”
Still holding me, Rubiru closed her eyes. At the same instant dark-red blood spilled from the corner of her mouth. The lively color of her skin turned corpse-pale in a heartbeat; a moan of pure pain slipped between her lips. Even her body heat seemed to drain away. Her hair began to bleach from the tips and crumble like ash.
She was losing vitality and bleeding, yet paradoxically a pure white sacred light rose from her body. That light nestled into me, seeping through my skin. The pain receded; ease slowly returned. The more it did, the more labored Rubiru’s breathing became.
“…Don’t worry, Riel—”
Was she saying I was the one worrying? The instant the words left her I reached up without thinking and stroked her cheek, wiped the sweat, then moved to her mouth and cleaned away the blood.
“…Ru-Rubiru—”
She caught my hand, held it tight, and smiled as if to reassure me.
“…I’m a medic, remember? I even went to the academy. Healing magic is simple….”
Behind the forced smile came more pain. Any thought that she might be the one worrying vanished; all I felt was fear for her. I wanted to wipe the blood, to ease even a fraction of her suffering. I wanted to reach out. I wanted to hold the crumbling, fading Rubiru.
Yet a strange drowsiness rolled over me. My eyes drifted shut.
Then, at some point, they opened again. Canvas tent. The familiar scenery of the camp. The same cot I had always slept on. Beside it lay Cronian’s sword—someone must have recovered it—and the identity cords of my squad hung nearby.
It had not been a dream. They told me the camp had been rebuilt. Because conscripts were so scarce, Baron Rueshatia had moved into our position.
“Eight-tenths of the conscripts are dead.”
Only ten of us remained, they said.
“…Ru-Rubiru… how is she…?”
When I asked, Köln hesitated, then answered lightly that she was fine. A moment later he called me over and spoke again in a grave voice.
“…She will suffer for several months. You know magic always exacts a price. The weaker the caster, the heavier the cost. It is possible… her lifespan has been shortened.”
He explained that Rubiru had used healing magic for everyone—especially to save me—and that her condition was now dire. I could not stay still. I rose from the cot and ran outside.
The air reeked of blood, yet the wounded slept with strangely peaceful faces. I left that place of contradictory calm and went looking for her. Rubiru lay with a deathly pale complexion and eyes so weak they looked ready to close forever. She saw me and managed a smile.
“…Riel. Thank goodness. You look all right.”
“…Is that what being a medic means?”
I knew almost nothing about magic. Sharing one’s own life force—that was not magic. What meaning was there in sacrificing yourself to save someone else? A mountain of questions rose in my throat, yet Rubiru only kept smiling.
“…I couldn’t just let you die.”
She added, more than once, that ordinary healing magic never hurt the caster this badly. I barely heard her. I stepped close and pulled her into a tight embrace.
“…I’m sorry, Rubiru.”
Not Rhea, not Ceria, not Claudia. I held Rubiru. Startled, she went blank for a second, then her own arms came up and wrapped around me.
“…Never again… don’t tell me to run. Like my brother… I was so scared you were going to die.”
I made the promise. We stayed like that for a long time and spent the rest of the day together—joking, talking, simply being near each other.
The next day we raised simple markers for the fallen and offered prayers. Only ten of us were left, yet with Köln’s knights and mercenaries the total came to thirty; we held a rough funeral. Even on the battlefield someone had found liquor, and we drank to the fact that we were still alive.
The border was vast. A hundred had hit our conscript position alone; more than a hundred had struck the place Köln originally held. Word came that there would be no fighting for a while, so we devoted ourselves to recovery. Once our bodies could move again we sparred with the knights and mercenaries, clinging desperately to any chance of surviving the next battle.
Throughout those days Rubiru, claiming my constant fretting bothered her, cut her long hair short. She said every time I looked at the white strands I grew sad, so she would rather hide them.
“Like this?”
“No—move it like this.”
She spent almost every free hour with me, learning dagger work and whatever else I could teach. Her body was still so weak that a few minutes of practice would drop her to her knees, yet she kept getting up and trying again.
Every day I told her to go home. Every day she shook her head and refused.
I had lost my family; she had come here to protect hers. At first it had been a childish impulse that brought her to the front. Now it was different. Riel, I don’t want you to die. I want you to return to the people waiting for you. So I don’t want to leave. I’ll stay. Because I’m worried about you.
She grinned and tilted her head, saying she would go back only when she went back with me. I sincerely hoped that day would come.
The first five months had passed without battle; perhaps we would have another five. In that time I might learn to handle mana from Köln or the knights. The knights and mercenaries kept saying that if not for the war I would already have become a Sword Master.
If I could learn it somehow—if my body, if I myself became even a little stronger—then at least I would not die. I held onto that hope. Holding it, I lived for tomorrow.
But six months after I left the church, the barbarians came again—this time bringing men who could use mana—and fell upon the camp.