The Fruits of Fifteen Days
This was the land of the North, where every single day demanded fierce survival and victory.
Especially on days when the blizzard howled this fiercely, no one ventured outside the barracks if they could help it.
The blade-like northern wind was a weapon in its own right.
But……
Ssssshhhhh!
Even in the flesh-cutting wind, Arteon gripped his spear and fixed a sharp gaze on the wooden training dummy.
Already the tenth day.
Without missing a single one, he had trained in the Vargas Mana Cultivation Method, and at the same hour every day he had drilled his spearmanship against the dummy.
He understood it in theory, yet it had not fully sunk into his body.
“Hoo……”
Bloodstains stood out clearly on the spear he held.
Unlike his past life, Arteon was weak now.
Yet even as his wounds split open and blood ran, he paid it no mind. He simply wiped the blood roughly with snow and took up the spear again.
Thud.
Arteon gripped the spear with both hands and settled into his stance.
But then—
“What kind of stance is that? It doesn’t look like anything the army uses.”
At the voice from behind, Arteon turned.
“S-Steel Heart!”
In a blizzard like this.
No way… the Ogre of Benhard, coming here?
It was completely unexpected.
Yet Velkain casually surveyed the training ground where Arteon stood alone. Though the young man lived freely by himself, the place was neatly kept. And more surprising still was that in a blizzard like this—
“……”
—he was training.
Velkain looked at Arteon. Arteon answered.
“I learned it from my father when I was young.”
“I heard you were an orphan.”
“I simply lost my parents early. In truth I learned it so young that only faint memories remain, so I was just groping my way through it.”
Even a father who never existed in my memories is useful at times like this.
Velkain nodded.
“I see. Five days left. Do you have a post in mind?”
Why is he suddenly asking about a post?
Arteon looked at him with mild curiosity, yet answered as he always did—by the book.
“I will do my best wherever I am assigned.”
At that, Velkain nodded with an impassive face.
“Then I’ll see you in five days.”
As Velkain turned and left the training ground, Arteon watched his back with a somewhat dazed expression.
“Was he…… always like this?”
The man was famous for giving not the slightest attention to soldiers, let alone officers. The moniker “Ogre” carried more than the meaning of tyrant or raw strength; it also spoke of a man who had lost his humanity.
But Arteon soon shook the thought away.
No need to understand it right now.
There was something more urgent at hand.
In the blizzard Arteon raised his spear once more.
Wooooong.
The mana lingering in his mana hole stirred and wrapped around his body. As mana activated through every limb—
This time for sure……
He would succeed. Just a little more and he felt he could grasp that sensation.
Focusing every nerve, Arteon moved.
Ssshhk!
He thrust the spear deeply forward. The sound of it cutting the northern blade-wind rang out.
Slash!
His feet slid forward as if gliding, closing the distance to the wooden dummy in an intentional surge. In an instant he was inside, raising the butt of the shaft to strike near the dummy’s chest.
And then—
Boom!
He closed in tightly, drove his shoulder into the chest once more, circled behind the dummy, and struck with the spear he still held.
“I-I did it!”
A perfect continuous sequence. Arteon leapt up without realizing it.
The magic circle in the training ground that amplified mana concentration had let him accumulate power far faster than usual. With this he understood.
Vargas Spearmanship and the Mana Cultivation Method…… only when these two grow evenly is this possible.
The more he learned, the more wondrous and formidable it seemed.
Vargas Wolfhart.
How had that man created such spearmanship and such a cultivation method?
“Hoo.”
White snow still fell from the sky and fierce winds still howled, yet—
Grin.
—even this felt as though it were tempering him. Driving the cold away with mana and steadying his body, Arteon gripped his spear tightly.
“……Again.”
That day Arteon’s training did not stop until the blizzard ceased and sunlight poured down from the sky.
And so, before he knew it, the promised time had all run out.
“Come to think of it, that guy. Today’s the last day, right?”
“Who?”
“The one who came back alive from Bareda Hill.”
“Ah? The crazy bastard who asked for fifteen days of personal time as a reward?”
Arteon was already quite famous inside the unit. Secrets never lasted long. He was the one who, as reward for killing Moldrek—the man who had colluded with the Kar Tribe—had asked for a training ground and fifteen days of free time.
“Idiot. If it were me I’d take discharge on the spot.”
“A guy with nowhere to go even if he got out keeps talking about discharge every time he opens his mouth, hehehe. Why not just desert?”
“Even without discharge, a transfer to a rear unit would’ve been way better. Anyway, he’s definitely a dumbass.”
The soldiers snickered as they talked about Arteon. But then—
“Quiet down, you idiots.”
“S-Steel Heart!”
At the sight of Claw passing by, the soldiers hurriedly rose and saluted. Claw clicked his tongue at them and strode off somewhere.
Thud, thud.
His destination was the training ground where Arteon was. On this final day, by Velkain’s order, he had come to fetch him.
Feels like it’s been a while since I last came here.
Except for the first few visits, he hadn’t returned.
Arriving at the training ground, Claw strode straight inside.
But……
“……?”
As he entered, Claw’s eyes shifted slightly with surprise.
This is……?
The wooden dummy that had been intact only days ago was split cleanly in half, and the training spears hanging on the rack were stained with dark, dried blood.
“Steel Heart! Staff Sergeant Claw, you’ve arrived.”
A salute came from the side. Arteon, neatly dressed in uniform, approached. Without thinking, Claw held out his hand.
“……Yes?”
“Give me your hand.”
When Arteon carefully extended it, Claw examined the palm. Unlike the face that looked healthier from good meals these past days—
“……”
—Arteon’s hand was covered in wounds from blisters that had burst and re-formed again and again. And the military boots he wore were so worn that holes seemed ready to open at any moment.
Just how hard did he train……
Claw looked again toward the dummy. Unlike ordinary training grounds, this one used northern blackwood. Its hardness was on an entirely different level from common timber—and he had broken it?
Moreover……
His height……
Claw remembered the boy being shorter than himself, yet now their eye levels felt nearly the same. When he stared with a puzzled expression, Arteon tilted his head.
“Is something the matter?”
“……It’s nothing. The Division Commander has summoned you. Follow me at once.”
“Understood.”
Arteon nodded and fell in behind him. As he left the training ground he paused and looked back inside.
“……”
For the past fifteen days he had spent time so intense that no regret remained.
And……
……I obtained everything I wanted.
Though the period had been short, he had gained far more than he had expected. Arteon turned without lingering and followed Claw toward the Division Commander’s barracks.
“Steel Heart! Division Commander, I have brought Corporal Arteon.”
“You may leave.”
“Yes!”
As Claw departed, Velkain regarded the young man standing before him. It felt as though Arteon had grown a full handspan taller than fifteen days earlier.
But more than that—
……He’s changed.
Even when he returned from the Bareda Hill punishment Velkain had sensed a great shift, yet in a mere fifteen days the boy had changed again. He could not name the nature of that change, but—
“Did you rest well?”
“I am grateful for the Division Commander’s grace.”
“What grace? It is the merit you earned.”
Velkain was not a man who undervalued another’s effort. Moreover, had he not seen it with his own eyes—Arteon training in silence even on the day the blizzard raged?
Velkain glanced at the documents on the table.
“Corporal Arteon.”
“Corporal Arteon!”
Arteon snapped his heels together and locked into a sharp attention stance.
Velkain seemed to hesitate a moment, then spoke while looking at him.
“I appoint you Squad Leader of the 4th Squad, 4th Platoon.”
4th Squad, 4th Platoon?
Arteon’s pupils flickered. The 4th Squad of the 4th Platoon was the place where only the most problematic soldiers—even within the punishment unit—were gathered.
Yet that was not why he was startled.
In his past life, when he first became a platoon leader, the unit he had been given was precisely the 4th Platoon.
But……
This time, Squad Leader of the 4th Squad of the 4th Platoon……
It was the corner where the worst offenders among the 4th Platoon were collected. Formally speaking, at least.
“Why that look? Don’t you like it?”
At Arteon’s brief hesitation Velkain asked. Arteon answered at once.
“No, sir!”
If ordered, he would go.
And……
Rather, that place is somewhat convenient.
As an abandoned platoon, a certain amount of chaos was overlooked. Moreover, as a squad leader the scope of what he could do would widen no matter what. Whether the current 4th Platoon matched the one he remembered—
I’ll just have to go and see.
Thud!
Arteon clenched his right fist, pressed it to his left chest, and shouted.
“Steel Heart! Corporal Arteon! I will do my utmost!”
“The documents will be delivered shortly through my aide. You may leave.”
“Yes!”
Arteon turned and left the Division Commander’s office.
But right then—
Flutter.
Someone entered the tent. A man who rarely left his own quarters unless something special demanded it.
“For you to step outside your tent. A warm wind must be blowing today.”
In the North the cold blade-winds never ceased. The remark meant the visit was that uncommon.
It was Ervan, chief strategist of the 1st Division, who guarded Benhard alongside Velkain.
Ervan asked,
“Unexpected. I never thought you would send that rookie to the 4th Platoon.”
“……Isn’t it worth entrusting him once?”
Velkain turned and sat. There were many documents still to process. Yet Ervan remained standing and continued.
“It seems you believe that boy’s return from Bareda Hill was no coincidence.”
“What do you think?”
“……”
Ervan fell silent. But before long he answered.
“I think the same.”
The figure draped in snowfield-wolf hide, walking into the fortress without the slightest hesitation—it was impossible to imagine as the appearance of a mere fifteen-year-old first-year soldier.
Ervan said,
“A first-year soldier in the 4th Platoon. The unit will be noisy for a while.”
“You say that, yet you look pleased.”
“You’re mistaken.”
But by then a faint smile had already touched Velkain’s lips as well.