Sunshine on the First Line
An unexpected peace settled over the First Line.
It would last no longer than a blink, of course—but to men who had fought day in and day out, it was time they desperately needed.
"Never thought those bastards would actually pull back."
"They took a beating this time. Us, on the other hand… we barely got scratched."
One soldier said it while staring north. The middle-aged man listening to him frowned hard.
"Watch your mouth, you idiot! Don't go saying that anywhere. 'Barely scratched'? Over fifty of our men are dead."
For those who had lost close comrades, the sacrifice could only be grief. They had died leaving nothing behind.
And yet—
"For now, savor the joy of victory more than the sorrow. Who knows when you'll feel it again."
"H-Hearts of steel!"
"Hearts of steel! Platoon Leader, sir!"
First Company, Third Platoon Leader—Tertian. With a little breathing room at last, he walked the lines, reorganizing the situation. The men were flushed with a long-overdue victory and the coming awards; he meant to head off any accident before it could happen.
The middle-aged soldier spoke up again.
"Platoon Leader, the wound you took last fight—is it all right?"
"Barely a scratch. Appreciate the concern."
"Ah—no, sir!"
A cut across the left side of his back, earned fighting three of the Kar Tribe's Jireun warriors. Deep enough, maybe—but in the North, a wound like that was nothing.
The middle-aged man answered in a hurry, then glanced around and pressed on.
"By the way, sir—have you heard?"
"Heard what?"
"They're saying the Division Commander is coming here."
"…The Ogre?"
The monster among monsters who commanded all of Benhard in the northern territories, First Line included. The Division Commander they called the Ogre of Benhard, leaving his post to come to the First Line?
Tertian snorted a laugh.
"Bad intel. That heavy-assed monster isn't coming all the way out here."
"R-Right? I only heard it as a rumor myself… haha."
"Anyway—forget the grief and enjoy the win. Just don't slack on watch."
"Yes, sir!"
"Hearts of steel! Take care, sir!"
Tertian waved them off and started toward another section of the line.
But then—
"Platoon Leader! Orders to assemble everyone except the watch!"
A soldier came running from a distance. Tertian nodded. At last, the awards for this victory were about to begin.
A great many soldiers thronged the ground. No one raised their voices, but five hundred men packed together could not help but make a restless din.
Then—
"Attention!"
An officer bellowed at the assembled ranks. His voice rolled out like thunder, and for an instant the whole field fell still.
"We will now begin the awards for the defense of the Northern First Line!"
"Waaaaaaaaaah!"
"Yaaaaaaaaahoooo!"
At the cry that opened the ceremony, a roar like rolling thunder burst from the soldiers' throats. As the mood ignited in a heartbeat, the officer thrust a fist skyward and clenched it tight.
When the cheering died, Pierland stepped up onto the roughly built platform. He looked out over the men and spoke.
"Great Imperial soldiers of the North. Through your sacrifice, your devotion, and your effort, we have won a victory in this battle unlike any before it."
His voice was not loud, but mana carried it clear to every ear.
"Before these awards begin, do not forget—the greatest merit belongs to all of you."
"Yes, sir!"
"Yes—understood!"
"Understood!"
One answer sparked the rest; the soldiers shouted as one. Pierland allowed a faint smile and went on.
"Even so, there are those who distinguished themselves above the rest in this fight. First—the entirety of Third Company, Fourth Platoon."
"Representing them—Third Company, Fourth Platoon Leader, Lieutenant Hendris, step forward!"
At the summons, Hendris mounted the platform. Pierland addressed him.
"In fierce combat, the Fourth Platoon not only held off the enemy's assault, but broke through their encirclement and struck the enemy's rear, contributing decisively to our victory. For this, Lieutenant Hendris is granted a one-rank special promotion, along with a bounty of fifty gold."
"Ooooh! Congratulations, Platoon Leader!"
"Congratulations on making Captain!"
A few Fourth Platoon men shouted—then clamped their mouths shut under the stares around them. The ceremony was far from over.
"And to every member of the Fourth Platoon—ten gold, and a two-year reduction of their term of service."
The Fourth Platoon was a punishment unit, filled with men sent for crimes. Most were under forced enlistment—terms as short as six or seven years, as long as twenty for some. A two-year cut was something none of them would trade for anything in the world.
"T-Two years…?"
"I—then I get out next year…?"
For a moment the air grew solemn. They had committed offenses, yes—but it was hard to deny that most of those cases had been unjust, or the punishments excessive. A few soldiers wept openly at the thought that they might soon walk free.
The awards continued.
"Next—the man who has stood as guardian of the First Line and as death itself to the enemy, holding this battlefield until now. First Company, Third Platoon Leader, Master Sergeant Tertian! Step forward!"
At the officer's call, Tertian strode up onto the platform without hesitation. With every step, scars showed plain through the gaps in his gear—and every man there knew what those scars meant. Those wounds were the grace that had bought their lives. Without Tertian, the First Line would have fallen to the Kar Tribe long ago.
He had never taken a great prize before—there had never been a proper victory to hang one on—and that old slight still stung.
"A-At last, the Platoon Leader…"
"Kh… I think I've stayed alive all this time just to see this."
The men of First Company's Third Platoon watched him, faces tight with emotion.
Pierland looked at Tertian standing before him.
"…This honor is long overdue. Forgive me for failing to recognize what you have endured."
"Hearts of steel! I only did what needed doing!"
"Master Sergeant Tertian, Platoon Leader of First Company, Third Platoon, has slain countless Kar Tribe warriors on the fields of the First Line and saved innumerable comrades. In this battle as well, he is the unsung hero who held the center alone against the enemy—a fact every man here acknowledges!"
The officer paused, glanced down at the ranks, then raised his voice.
"In recognition of his merit—Master Sergeant Tertian is granted a one-rank special promotion, a bounty of seventy gold, and thirty days of special leave!"
"…!"
Tertian's eyes went wide. Not because the reward felt too much, or too little.
It was the last part. Thirty days of special leave.
Military law forbade leave to any soldier serving a punitive sentence. And there was only one reason a fighter as strong as Tertian had remained a mere platoon leader—and a master sergeant at that. A single incident from his days in the central army. That was what had gotten him demoted and banished to this northern front.
Pierland spoke to the stunned man before him.
"The Division Commander went to considerable lengths over this award. I understand he has petitioned Central about you for some time."
"…Is that so."
The Ogre of Benhard had done that much for him? Tertian allowed himself a small smile.
"If the chance comes, I will have to thank him in person."
"No need to worry about that. You'll have it soon enough."
"…Sir?"
"For the final award—it will not be the First Company Commander. The Division Commander will present it himself."
"…!"
At the officer's cry beside him, Tertian and every soldier on the field wore the same startled look.
What did he just say?
But then—
"The Division Commander approaches!"
A great shout rose from the far side, and someone rode slowly toward them.
Clop. Clop.
Hoofbeats, small but sharp. The clink and rattle of armor.
Then, on a hard gust of wind, a giant of a man came into view.
The Ogre of Benhard. Supreme commander of the Northwest—Velkain Caeron.
He dismounted and cut straight through the ranks.
Shff—!
As if on cue, the soldiers of the First Line parted to either side. Velkain walked between them and mounted the platform. Pierland had already stepped aside; he curled his right fist and set it to his left breast.
"Hearts of steel."
"Always."
With that brief exchange, Velkain stood on the platform and looked down at the men. He laced his voice with mana and spoke.
"I have received every report. The man of greatest merit in the defense of the First Line—Arteon. Step forward."
Velkain named him himself. At once the soldiers began to murmur.
"Arteon? Who's that?"
"What unit is he even from?"
But the moment Arteon walked out, the men who saw him could not hide their shock. A face somewhere between boy and young man. The soldiers of the First Company had no idea how to react.
Then the sheer presence of him—striding forward without the slightest hesitation—drew their expressions serious without their noticing. Young as that face was, the boy who stepped up onto the platform stood before Velkain, First Division Commander and so-called Ogre of Benhard, without a trace of being cowed.
Arteon faced Velkain, curled his right fist, and struck it to his left breast.
Thud!
"Hearts of steel!"
"Fourth Squad Leader, Fourth Platoon, Third Company—Arteon."
Velkain spoke his unit and name with exact precision. He regarded him a moment longer, then continued.
"In this Kar Tribe assault, Arteon not only helped hold the enemy's attack, but played the foremost role in the strike that broke through their lines and hit the main force from the rear. Beyond that, he was first to detect the surprise assault by the detached unit known as the Jireun, slew five of their warriors, and went on to defeat the Jireun's captain—a mid-tier Kar Tribe warrior—in single combat, raising the army's morale to great effect."
In the span of a few short days. Achievements no one would believe of a single man—and a common soldier at that.
"For this, Corporal Arteon is granted a two-rank special promotion and a bounty of one hundred gold. In addition, thirty days of special leave, and a further five-year reduction of his term of service."
The punitive term Arteon had been dragged here under was ten years. In a single battle, fully seven years of that sentence had vanished.
Arteon only looked at Velkain, expression calm. Ten years or three—until he reached his goal, he had no intention of leaving the North.
Still…
Leave, though…
Thirty unexpected days was a golden chance to get what he needed right now. Already Arteon had begun laying out the next steps in his mind.
But first—
"Hearts of steel! I will give everything I have to hold this northern front!"
Arteon saluted Velkain and shouted it clear. Velkain only watched him, face as unreadable as at the start.
What this boy truly meant to become.
"That concludes the awards."
He found himself curious about the path the boy would take.
The First Line, thick with the stench of blood. For the first time, it was not a blade of wind that fell on them, but sunlight.
When the ceremony ended, the platoon crowded around Arteon with their congratulations.
But then—
"Sergeant Arteon."
The officer who had run the awards a moment before approached him.
"The Division Commander wants you."
The Ogre of Benhard had called for Arteon once more.