The Search Party (1)
The battle with the hounds was over, but the tension lingered. An awkward silence filled the space between me and the soldiers. No more howls or footsteps echoed through the forest. All that remained in this place was ground soaked in monster blood, soldiers who had lost their words, and me.
Their faces showed clear signs of strain as they looked at me, drenched in hound blood from the fight. I wondered what I must look like in their eyes. I studied their expressions. Fortunately, they seemed more dazed by my sudden appearance than afraid or wary. Or perhaps it was because my appearance was so utterly abnormal.
That makes sense.
My clothes were little more than rags, torn in so many places they could rip further at any moment. The leather armor layered over them was worn thin and frayed, just as likely to tear. Every weapon I carried had either a dulled edge or a blade on the verge of snapping. It would be strange not to feel uneasy seeing someone wandering alone through this dangerous forest in such a state.
As I scanned the soldiers’ faces, my gaze fell on one of the fallen men. I pointed at him with my sword.
“We should treat him first.”
“Ah, y-yes…”
One of the soldiers answered as if snapping out of a daze at the sound of my voice. He was the same man who had first understood my gesture and given orders to the others. Just as I had thought, he was the squad leader in charge of this unit.
The soldiers moved busily at their leader’s command. They formed a defensive circle around the perimeter while the leader and a few others examined the injured man in the center. The hound’s venomous saliva had turned the soldier’s arm a deep violet. Yet despite the sight, the leader and the others remained remarkably calm.
“I’ve already administered the antidote. Luckily, we stopped the poison from spreading through his whole body. He won’t be able to use that arm for a while, but if it’s only this bad, we can get him back to base and have a priest heal him with their blessing.”
“Whew, that’s a relief.”
The man who appeared to be the leader handled the situation with practiced ease, no doubt from experience with many severe injuries. The fallen soldier let out a sigh of relief at his words. Though his arm throbbed from the poison, he seemed reassured that his life had been spared.
Only after tending to his subordinate’s wound did the leader turn his gaze toward me. He approached slowly and extended his hand.
“…Thank you.”
I stared at his offered hand for a moment. I wondered what it meant. After a brief hesitation, I was inwardly surprised to realize he was offering a handshake out of genuine goodwill. To show kindness rather than suspicion or wariness toward someone who had suddenly burst into their fight… Even though I remained still and did not take his hand, he did not withdraw it. It seemed he had no intention of lowering his hand until I grasped it.
“……”
After a short internal debate, I took his hand.
“May I ask the name of my benefactor?”
The leader’s voice carried clear goodwill. I hesitated. Should I tell him my name? As far as the Central Command was concerned, I had been recorded as killed in action. There were probably even witnesses who had seen me die. From the final memories before I lost consciousness, Rumia and many of my comrades had watched my last moments firsthand.
After long consideration, I finally spoke.
“…Han Jungwoo.”
I decided to give my real name. I was from the Ricon Kingdom. Names from this region were quite similar, and there were quite a few people who shared the same one. There was no way my existence would be questioned simply because I had the same name as a dead slave soldier.
“My name is Han Jungwoo.”
When I spoke my name a second time, a strange weight accompanied the words. It was like a newfound certainty about myself. I had died and come back to life. I possessed a bizarre ability to hunt monsters, absorb their power, and take in their memories and skills. A confusion about my own identity—whether I could truly call myself a ‘person’—had taken root deep in my heart. Speaking my name felt like shaking that confusion off.
“I am Garan, squad leader of the 4th Search and Reconnaissance Unit under the 9th Directional Force. Once again, I wish to express my gratitude for your assistance, benefactor.”
“…Yes.”
It was a polite and disciplined expression of thanks. I gave a small nod to accept it.
I saw the injured soldier being helped to his feet by his comrades. I turned my gaze back to Garan.
“What do you plan to do now?”
“…We’ll have to return. We’ll end this search mission here and make returning to base our top priority.”
“Yes!”
The squad members nodded at Garan’s decision. While the injury wasn’t life-threatening, continuing the search mission while escorting someone who could no longer fight would only invite greater danger.
He seems like a good person.
Many units would have ignored a member’s injury and pressed on with the mission. Such judgments were common depending on the importance of the assigned task or the individual capabilities of the troops. Yet he had immediately declared they would return. Did that mean he valued his subordinates’ lives more than the unit’s achievements or his own record?
It was only my impression from his words and actions, but neither Garan nor his men left a bad impression. Above all, the fact that they showed me goodwill as their benefactor rather than any sign of wariness struck me deeply.
Perhaps that was why the words left my mouth before I could stop them.
“There is a safety zone where you can rest safely until tomorrow morning. I’ll guide you there.”
It was as if my heart had moved on its own, responding to the kindness they had readily shown me.
“…Thank you.”
Garan once again expressed his gratitude.
Thank you…
I turned the words over in my mind. The goodwill and words of thanks someone was directing at me. Those words, and whatever lay within them, seemed to tickle something deep inside my chest.
I led Garan and his squad members to the cave I had been using as my shelter.
“This place…?”
“It’s where I’ve made my base.”
The squad followed as I walked confidently deeper inside. Garan, examining the interior, spoke.
“So this was originally a monster den.”
“Yes. It was a goblin nest. I’ve cleared them all out, so it’s safe now.”
“……”
At my short nod, the murmuring from behind abruptly stopped. Since I was walking at the front as their guide, I couldn’t see the expressions of those behind me. Still, it wasn’t hard to guess how they felt. They were probably uncomfortable about resting in a space where monsters had lived. Even though I had completely cleared it out, that feeling couldn’t be helped.
But none of them voiced their displeasure. Having carried out many search missions, they must have encountered such situations before. That was why, despite their discomfort, they understood this was the best option available.
Still, what you dislike, you dislike.
The fact that they were making an effort to hide their unease was something to be grateful for.
“Goblin nest…”
Only Garan seemed to be carefully turning my words over in his mind, lost in thought.
“You can stay here for the night.”
I didn’t lead them too deep into the cave. The inner sections were too dark without light, and even if we lit a fire, there was nowhere for the smoke to escape. It was better to settle in a suitable spot and rest.
“There are quite a few signs of daily life here. This space wasn’t made in a day.”
Garan seemed to have noticed the traces of habitation—a section of floor smoothed out like a bed, a collection of various weapons, scorch marks from fires. He glanced at me and asked.
“How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know.”
After I revived, the first goblin nest I discovered and cleared had become my base ever since. I hadn’t had the luxury of counting the days, nor had I felt the need to. I didn’t even know how much time had passed since I came back to life. By my own estimation, it felt like roughly three months had gone by. That was all I could say.
Perhaps that was why the question suddenly occurred to me.
“What year is it now?”
Garan looked slightly puzzled by my question but answered readily.
“It is year 327.”
“…I see.”
Two years. That meant approximately two years had passed since my death. My mind grew complicated.
Are Rumia and Hayun safe? What about the others?
Once again, I found myself wondering about their fates. As I was sorting through those brief, tangled thoughts, the squad members had already finished preparing camp. They pitched tents using field equipment, lit a bonfire, and laid out simple cooking utensils. They took dried ingredients from their packs, dropped them into a pot of boiling water, and seasoned it with salt and spices. The quickly prepared soup was distributed to the squad members one by one.
“Here, eat.”
A soldier held out a bowl full of soup and some bread toward me.
“I…”
I hesitated at the sudden offer. I hadn’t expected them to give me any of their food.
“Come on, eat! You’re the benefactor who helped us!”
Without thinking, my eyes flicked toward Garan. He gave a small nod. It seemed he had no intention of stopping the distributing soldier’s kindness.
“See? Even Squad Leader Garan has given permission! Hurry up and eat!”
His attitude was almost forceful, as if he would not accept any refusal. With no other choice, I accepted the soup and bread from the soldier.
The bread, completely devoid of moisture, was as hard as a rock. I dipped it in the soup until it softened and chewed it vigorously.
“……”
The salty flavor and aroma of the seasoning spread through my mouth. It was a modest and simple meal, but it was the first truly human meal I had eaten since coming back to life.
“…It’s delicious.”
It was a taste I had missed terribly.
“Ah, it’s nothing that special…”
The soldier who had made the soup scratched his head in embarrassment. He didn’t seem displeased by my short compliment.
“There are a few things I’m curious about. If it’s alright with you, may I ask?”
“If I can answer them, I will.”
“Are you, by any chance, the ‘Drifter of the Forest’?”
“Drifter?”
I tilted my head at Garan’s question. It was the first time I had heard the term.
“Starting about three months ago, unusual reports began coming in from the area around this forest. Many units that entered the forest on missions were wiped out. Among the few survivors, several gave similar eyewitness accounts.”
I listened quietly to Garan’s words. I was beginning to understand what he was getting at.
“One of the survivors said his squad was ambushed and annihilated by a group of goblins near this forest. He himself was nearly killed, but someone saved him and helped him return to the forward base. The other survivors gave similar reports. We compiled those common accounts and named the unidentified person the ‘Drifter of the Forest.’”
“……”
“When I heard earlier that this cave was the den of the goblin pack you cleared out, it occurred to me.”
Even as Garan continued to voice his speculation, he kept watching my expression closely. He asked, as if he was at least half—perhaps nearly certain.
“Is the ‘Drifter of the Forest’ who helped those survivors return alive… you?”
I gave a small nod.
“…Yes. That’s me.”