The Meat Wager
“A bet?”
Hendris frowned at Arteon’s sudden proposal.
But Arteon spoke without a moment’s hesitation.
“I simply want to run a basic tactical exercise. If we do it for nothing, the men won’t put their hearts into it. Putting a small stake on the line should help.”
“Be specific.”
At that, a faint smile touched Arteon’s lips.
That was one of Hendris’s greatest strengths as leader of the 4th Platoon.
He never lets his own mood dictate how he treats his subordinates.
They were due to move to the First Defense Line soon, so the man had to be under enormous pressure. And yet here he was, still giving a proper answer to a subordinate’s absurd request.
In Arteon’s past life, most of the officers he had served under would have simply told him to get lost in a situation like this.
Arteon went on.
“I want a mini-game in which the other squads attack and ours defends. The stake will be every scrap of meat from the supply ration.”
“You’re putting the ration meat on the line.”
Food was a precious commodity in the North. Meat, above all, was a rare and coveted ingredient.
“I also request that you personally serve as referee, Platoon Leader.”
In truth, that part was not strictly necessary. What mattered most was giving his squad members real experience.
If they just get thoroughly beaten, their skill is bound to improve.
It might be a somewhat inefficient method, but in a situation where they still lacked even the basics…
This is the fastest way.
And time was short.
Arteon waited quietly for Hendris’s answer.
“So the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Squads attack, and only the 4th defends?”
“That’s correct.”
“I’ll pass the word to the other squad leaders and let you know. Return to your unit and stand by.”
“Understood.”
As Arteon turned away, a smile curved his mouth.
This was a punishment unit, after all—a collection of scoundrels. And the 4th Squad was especially disliked by the others. Even among scoundrels, they had been the worst of the lot and had caused more than their share of trouble inside the platoon.
So if those same men were suddenly given a chance to thrash them black and blue?
They won’t let it slip by.
Back at the barracks, Arteon immediately assembled his men.
And then—
“Whaaaaat?!”
“S-Squad Leader, are you serious?”
Graphil and Raphelson could not hide their shock.
And—
“Heh heh heh, so while we’re defending we can just thrash them too, right? Squad Leader! You’re saying we get to legally smash those bastards’ faces in?”
There were men like Bert, who loved the idea.
“Being able to train like real combat could be a good experience.”
And men like Raymon, who calmly analyzed the situation.
And then—
“Sounds like a waste of time to me.”
Even men like Zalbarog, who took a bleak view of everything.
But Zalbarog went a step further and spoke directly to Arteon.
“Squad Leader, do you really think we can survive? Do you even know what the First Defense Line is?”
Perhaps all the obedience he had shown until now had finally piled up past the breaking point. Zalbarog kicked the shield lying beside him and spat the words out.
“Shit, we’re all gonna die tomorrow and these bastards are playing games?”
The resentment that had been building erupted all at once.
In an instant the atmosphere in the barracks turned ugly, and the squad members glanced warily at Arteon. By temperament they would have liked nothing better than to beat Zalbarog flat on the spot—but they hesitated, afraid of drawing a rebuke from their squad leader if they stepped in.
Arteon looked at Bert and gave a quiet snort of laughter.
In that short time he’s already learned to keep his temper in check.
There was change. Positive change. Of course discontent would surface along the way.
“I told you that if you had a complaint you could come at me anytime, but…”
Simply crushing them underfoot was not going to solve this.
Arteon looked over his squad and said,
“All of you, arm yourselves and follow me to the training ground.”
“Ah… fuck.”
Bert muttered a curse under his breath. Training had barely ended and they had finally been allowed to rest—yet because of Zalbarog alone they were being dragged back out to the training ground.
In that tense atmosphere, Arteon studied his men on the training ground. Every one of them was watching him carefully. To a degree that was a good sign—but it was also a bad one.
At this point…
He needed to drive the purpose of the training—and their motivation—into them once and for all.
“It’s been a week since we started this so-called coordinated tactics nonsense.”
At Arteon’s words they held their breath and listened. Zalbarog still glared at him with open hostility, but Arteon paid it no mind and continued.
“In that week, the odds of you surviving have gone up by maybe one percent at best.”
This barren North—especially the desperately fierce fighting on the First Defense Line—killed most men who did not bring both absolute resolve and real skill.
Arteon spoke to Zalbarog and the rest of the squad.
“Think about why you’re here. Why did you end up in this place?”
“……”
“That’s…”
They all knew the answer. They were men who had committed serious crimes—men it would be no great loss to kill. They had been sent here merely so they could serve as meat shields on the battlefield before they died.
“From the start, you were sent here to die. You’ve just been lucky enough to survive a few times.”
Not one of them had survived by his own ability. They lived only because a comrade had died in their place, or because an enemy had made a mistake. Everyone understood that it would not be strange if they died at any moment.
Which was why…
I have no choice but to show them clearly.
Arteon turned to Bert.
“Bert. Step forward.”
“……Me?”
Bert started in surprise. Why call on him of all people? Still, at Arteon’s order he swallowed hard and walked forward.
Arteon said,
“Bert. Spar with me.”
“What?!”
Toward the startled Bert he added,
“If you last one full minute against me, I’ll speak to the supply officer and triple your meat ration for the next three days.”
“Th-triple?!”
Bert’s eyes lit up. He was bigger than the rest of them, so of course he needed more food. But supplies in the unit were always short, and he had never once eaten his fill.
And now—
“Meat!”
His eyes went wild for an entirely different reason. Bert snorted hard through his nose and barked at Arteon,
“One minute. You promised!”
“I promise.”
Arteon picked up a wooden staff. The moment Bert raised his twin axes—
Pa-bat!
Arteon charged.
Suaak!
The staff whipped toward Bert’s thigh with startling speed. Bert yelped and threw himself backward.
“Ughk!”
He had been hit by Arteon once before. He knew that a single clean blow would put him down for good.
Whoosh! Swish! Thwack!
Arteon’s attacks came one after another. Each time Bert screamed and scrambled away—yet not a single true hit landed.
But then—
Thud!
Before he knew it, Bert’s back was against the wall of the training ground. Nowhere left to run. Despair flooded him—until Graphil’s shout cut through the air.
“Bert! Fifteen seconds left!”
At Graphil’s cry, fighting spirit blazed up in Bert. He raised his axes and roared,
“If it’s come to this, I might as well die trying!”
Boom!
With a powerful charge, the man who had done nothing but flee now hurled himself at Arteon. Far faster than before. The axe that came crashing straight down carried enough force to kill.
Except—
Tang!
Arteon lightly tapped the side of the axe with his staff and turned its path. The instant Bert’s balance wavered—
“Side.”
Suaak!
Without hesitation he swung the staff at Bert’s ribs.
But—
Jjjeong!
“……!”
“H-he blocked it?!”
Even Bert himself looked stunned that he had stopped the blow.
“What are you standing around for?”
Puhk!
The moment Bert froze, Arteon cracked the staff straight down on the crown of his head.
“Gyaaagh!”
A sound like a skull splitting open rang out as Bert screamed. And then—
“I-it’s over! Time’s up!”
Graphil, who had been keeping the count, shouted at the top of his lungs. Arteon checked his swing and looked at Bert.
He had taken one clean hit, but—
“Hah… I lasted, right?”
Bert grinned through the pain. Arteon nodded.
“You win.”
Arteon walked back to where the rest of the squad stood and asked,
“Raise your hand if you think I went easy on Bert just now.”
“……”
“It… didn’t look like he went easy.”
Not a single hand went up. Of course not. He had sparred at roughly the same intensity as the day he first beat Bert down. If he had truly meant to finish it, the fight would have been over in ten seconds, not a full minute.
But the important thing was—
“So? Does it still look like we’ve spent the whole week on pointless nonsense?”
—that they had changed.
“Honestly, I thought I might tank one or two hits, but I never expected to block one.”
That last axe that stopped Arteon’s strike meant something real.
“It’s only been a week.”
In that single week, Bert had changed this much.
“And without even realizing it, the rest of you have been changing too.”
They were no different. At Arteon’s words the men stared at one another with blank, almost foolish looks.
“Are we… really changing?”
Graphil asked. Arteon answered,
“A week ago you had never even shot a bow. How far were you hitting the target today?”
“About… thirty meters, I think.”
By the standards of a trained archer it was nothing. But—
“Right. That means you now have the ability to kill every enemy inside thirty meters. And you still say nothing has changed?”
Of course their raw stamina had not skyrocketed in a single week. That took real physical time. But a week of training had corrected their balance and given them a feel for combat. The fact that Bert had blocked Arteon’s attack was proof of exactly that. When you got beaten every day while learning, the body started moving on instinct.
“The battlefield is far fiercer than this. But we still have to do it. Tomorrow’s inter-squad spar will raise those odds another tenth of a percent.”
If he had never taken responsibility for them in the first place—
I wouldn’t have cared whether they lived or died…
But once he decided to do something, Arteon did it properly.
He swept his gaze over the squad, then fixed his eyes on Zalbarog.
“Zalbarog.”
“……Yes, Squad Leader.”
“Do you still think the training is unnecessary?”
“……No, sir. I was short-sighted.”
“And the rest of you?”
“W-we think we’ve changed a lot too!”
“We’ll work even harder from now on!”
The squad members shouted their answers. The gloomy atmosphere flipped in an instant.
“In that case,” Arteon said with a wide grin, “tomorrow, in that spar…”
He looked them over one by one.
“We chew the other squads to pieces. Understood?”
“Yes, sir! Understood!”
For the first time, the voices of the 4th Squad rang out as one, filling the entire training ground.