Still Not Enough
Dozens of soldiers ringed the area, yet not a single one stepped forward.
No—more precisely, the atmosphere left no room for anyone to intervene.
"What the hell is this…?"
Tertian stared down at the Kar tribesman sprawled on the ground. Five of them were already corpses. And the last one still standing…
Clang!
"Kh!"
The warrior grimaced as he was driven back by the young soldier's spear. Tertian's gaze shifted to the Kar facing that same young soldier.
Two feather tattoos marked the man's shoulder.
Those tattoos carried immense weight among the Kar. Rank itself was determined by the number of feathers. Ordinary warriors each bore a single feather. Two feathers meant a middle warrior—even within the Kar Tribe.
Any average soldier would be dead in the blink of an eye.
Yet that young soldier was not merely holding his ground. He was driving a two-feathered Kar warrior back.
Whoosh!
Arteon pulled his spear back and charged. Using the momentum of his rush, he swept the withdrawn shaft forward in a broad arc.
Clang!
It was only a wide swing, yet the trajectory was strange—almost impossible to dodge cleanly.
This bastard…
This was no spear technique ordinary Imperial soldiers used. It was something entirely new—something Lokudam had never seen. Even at range it had been dangerous, but…
He doesn't fear closing the distance.
If anything, Lokudam—the one wielding a sword—was the one forced to create space. How did a man who looked like a common soldier possess skill like this…?
"What are you spacing out for?"
"…!"
Arteon's voice came from right beside him. Lokudam bit down hard on his lip. He could not shake free of the young soldier's fluid, almost sliding footwork.
Lokudam tightened his grip on his sword and thrust it straight at Arteon's shoulder.
Swish!
The boy would react to this. Of course he would.
But…
The shoulder strike was only a feint. The moment Arteon leaned back or shifted his spear to guard—
I'll cut his leg and get out of here.
The mission had already failed. The priority now was to wound anyone who looked like a real threat and withdraw. His pride as a middle warrior of the Kar stung, yet—
Better to plan for later than die like a dog.
Lokudam's plan was perfect.
Until Arteon spoke.
"I can see it all, you bastard."
Swish!
Instead of dodging or blocking, Arteon ducked and closed the gap. Lokudam's blade skimmed over Arteon's head and sliced empty air. The sheer audacity—and the resolve to act on it—left Lokudam reeling.
This bastard…!
The situation on the 1st Line had changed. They no longer had an accurate read on Imperial strength.
I have to report this…
Lokudam bit his lip and scrambled backward. Escaping this place was now the highest priority.
But Arteon was relentless. He closed in and slammed his shoulder into Lokudam's chest. A dull impact staggered the warrior—
"…!"
—and in that instant Arteon hooked the spear across his own shoulder and neck, pivoted on his right foot, and spun.
Slash!
Crimson blood sprayed through the air. Lokudam's eyes flew wide. He had felt it clearly at his fingertips: the spear tip parting flesh and scraping across his sternum.
"Gah!"
Lokudam staggered with a scream, his chest split open. Even a middle warrior of the Kar could not move properly after a wound that deep.
From behind a ring of bodyguards, Pierland shouted,
"Take him alive!"
"Yes, sir!"
At Pierland's command the soldiers advanced carefully toward the wounded Lokudam. Watching them approach, Lokudam clenched his jaw. He had already crossed a bridge he could not recross.
Then…!
Just when he seemed on the verge of collapse, he drove strength into his legs and ground his molars. Arteon watched him calmly. The man's intent was written plain on his face.
Even if it's only this one…!
A murderous resolve to kill Arteon even if it cost him his own life. Arteon answered with an impassive look.
"I've seen plenty of bastards like you."
He had known Lokudam would not give up. In battle, the Kar were madmen who defied ordinary common sense.
The moment the warrior everyone thought finished leapt at him again—
"Wha—?!"
"Look out!"
—the watching soldiers cried out. They had believed the fight already over.
But as Lokudam launched himself off the ground—
Whoooosh!
Arteon's spear shot forward in a straight line and struck the man across the throat.
"Guh…!"
Not the blade—the butt of the shaft. Lokudam's own charge sent him flying backward. He never managed a proper counter. He simply crumpled unconscious to the dirt.
Only then did Arteon release a quiet breath.
"…Hoo."
He had won, and it had looked overwhelming, yet—
I'm still a long way off.
There had been several razor-thin moments. If Lokudam had been familiar with this style of spearmanship—
No… if he'd fought me even once before…
—the outcome might have been different. The warrior's shock at a combat style that mixed spear techniques with close-quarters body work had played a large part.
Still, the fact remained: Arteon had brought down a middle warrior of the Kar. Ten years ago he could already stand nearly shoulder to shoulder with his past self. And yet—
Not enough. I have to get stronger. Stronger still.
Considering what lay ahead, this level of strength would achieve nothing. Arteon clenched his fist as he stared at the fallen middle warrior.
Then—
"Whoa… now that was something."
"…?!"
A voice from behind made Arteon flinch and instantly open distance. Tertian, surprised by the lightning-fast reaction, clapped without thinking.
"Pass. Where are you assigned?"
Arteon swallowed hard and looked the man over. He had only sensed Tertian's presence after the man closed in—despite that considerable bulk.
Nevertheless, Arteon offered a proper salute.
"Steel Hearts! Fourth Squad, Fourth Platoon, Third Company. Arteon, sir!"
"…"
That youthful face had made him doubt, but…
He's really just a common soldier?
By pure skill he was at least platoon-leader level—no, higher would not have been an exaggeration. Either that, or he was someone with a serious black mark, the way Tertian himself was.
"Impressive work. Do you know who you just took down?"
"Two feather tattoos on the left shoulder. I estimate he was a middle warrior of the Kar."
"…Exactly right."
A middle warrior of the Kar was at least two-star level. Which meant this boy was at least that strong as well.
At that moment—
"Tertian, I believe I should speak with that soldier first."
"Steel Hearts!"
"Steel Hearts!"
Pierland, still under guard, approached. Arteon and Tertian saluted almost in unison. Pierland ordered the soldiers to bind Lokudam and search for any other enemy forces that might have slipped into the formation. Then he looked at Arteon.
"Come to my tent."
"Understood."
Arteon followed Pierland inside. Twelve soldiers stood guard outside. Once within, Pierland picked up a bottle of wine.
"Care for a drink?"
"If you're offering, I'll gladly take it."
"Straightforward. I like that."
Pierland poured wine into a cup. Odd as it sounded, the one real advantage of this barren northern frontier was that wine stayed ice-cold. The swill commanders usually drank was low-quality stuff; nothing was more miserable than drinking cheap wine lukewarm. Up here, simply leaving a bottle outside produced wine cold enough to make your teeth ache. And when a man's blood was still hot from battle, that chill wine worked wonders as a sedative.
Gulp, gulp.
A faint sweetness touched the tongue, followed by a heavy, astringent note that the cold seemed to wash clean away.
"Hoo."
Arteon drained the cup in one go and exhaled hard. The wine was stronger than expected. Pierland stared at him in mild disbelief, then burst into hearty laughter.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
"You all right? That stuff's stronger than it looks. Didn't think you'd knock it back all at once."
"I'm fine."
"Heh. Growing on me already."
Pierland sat, but his expression soon turned bitter.
"The ones you just fought belong to a Kar unit called the Jireun."
"…Jireun."
As expected. In the Kar tongue the word meant "to shoot," and it also referred to these small guerrilla detachments. The Jireun were carefully selected from the fleetest, most skilled warriors in the tribe—and that same skill made them extremely dangerous to face.
"Knowing they existed and still failing to stop them is a serious failure on our part. I hear you were the one who first spotted them."
"I was lucky. We were training not far away and noticed them passing nearby."
"Luck, is it."
Pierland gave a short laugh. Most soldiers in this situation would have inflated their own contribution.
Is he still green… or only pretending to be?
His face made the first option seem natural, yet his eyes told a different story. An unreadable young man.
Pierland continued,
"However it happened, in the earlier battle you broke through the Kar assault, struck their rear, and contributed decisively to the victory. Then you discovered the force that had infiltrated our main camp and foiled their plan before it could unfold. On top of that you captured their leader—a middle warrior."
The achievements were almost too great to believe of a single man. Pierland took a sip of wine and turned his head.
"Their losses in this fight were severe. We've even confirmed signs that they're pulling their formation back."
Something that had never once happened on the 1st Line—an unprecedented development.
"I fully expected this battle to cost us another heavy price. Perhaps half our remaining strength."
In reality the dead numbered fewer than ten percent, and the wounded were not many either. All of it…
…What am I thinking.
A battlefield held countless variables. He would not pretend a single boy's exploits had canceled them all. That did not erase the merit, either.
Pierland smiled faintly.
"This victory will be reported through the division commander all the way to higher command. Unless something unusual intervenes, a large-scale merit review will follow. We'll formally commend your achievements then."
"Steel Hearts! Thank you for the Company Commander's consideration!"
"Until further orders, Fourth Platoon of the Third Company is withdrawn from combat. That is the only reward I can give you right now."
"Thank you, sir!"
"Dismissed."
The next day, just as Pierland had said, word arrived that the Kar warriors were withdrawing from the field and returning to their own lines. The brutal fighting of the past several days vanished as if it had never been.
"W-we're alive! We're aliiiiive!"
"Yeaaaaah! Those bastards are pulling back!"
"We made it! We actually made it!"
The men of Fourth Platoon, Third Company—dispatched to the 1st Line—cheered as they watched the Kar withdraw. Everyone had said they would die. The situation had been that bad. Yet here they stood, alive. More than that—they had even taken a step forward.
And then…
"Fourth Platoon, Third Company."
A messenger arrived from Pierland.
"Orders to prepare. The merit review is about to begin."
The time had come to receive the rewards earned on that hellish battlefield.