The Hell of Endless Battle
Raon smacked his lips.
He's taken the bait perfectly.
Ever since obtaining the Requiem Sword, he had come to realize that wielding demonic energy was a little different from circulating aura. The Requiem Sword showed him the path, so using demonic energy itself was not difficult — but there was one other power he still could not properly command.
The bitter, killing cold.
With the swordsmanship of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, he could draw every last advantage from his fire-attribute aura. The extreme frost, however, was still nothing more than raw energy. He had never learned a method of truly handling it.
He had felt it even while fighting the Blood Fiend: he could not control the killing cold completely. Whether he tried the swordsmanship of Ten Thousand Flames, the Refining Sword Technique, or even imitating Runaan, all he felt was awkwardness.
I need a way to handle the cold.
The being who commanded frost better than anyone in the world was the Monarch of Wrath, currently camped out on his forearm. There was no chance Wrath would teach him how to use it out of the goodness of his heart, though. He would demand that Raon accept his wrath, or drop to his knees and beg, or fill a bathtub with mint chocolate — some ridiculous condition, without a doubt.
That's why the groundwork was necessary.
As Raon grew closer to the Requiem Sword, talking with it more and sharing a genuine sense of understanding, Wrath grew restless, desperate to wedge himself between them. Two weeks passed. Isolated and anxious, the little creature finally approached first and swallowed the bait whole.
He offered the greatest treasure he could give: the method of using cold energy. Raon's reaction, however, was perfectly indifferent.
It's not time to reel in the line yet.
Wrath was a sucker, but he was no fool. If Raon answered immediately and showed interest, Wrath would grow suspicious and take the offer back.
I need to let him stew a little longer.
Even when landing a powerful fish, yanking the rod straight up would snap the pole or break the line. This was the time to work the rod from side to side and wear the fish out.
The method of using cold energy?
Raon did not so much as twitch, as if the subject held no interest for him at all, and tossed the question back.
"Th-that's right. From This King's perspective, you haven't properly understood the cold at all."
Hmm…
"Someone of your caliber should already know you're lacking in that regard, shouldn't you?"
It's true that I have more problems with it than when I circulate the aura of Ten Thousand Flames.
"Exactly! If This King were to help you even a little, you would be able to command cold energy better than any other human alive. There is more than one way to use the frost, after all!"
Wrath's voice climbed, his words tumbling out faster and faster, as if someone were chasing him from behind.
Can you even use cold energy properly, though? All I've ever seen you do is scream "Aaaagh!" and blast frost everywhere.
"Th-that's because This King has no physical body! If I had a body, I would have shown you far more refined control!"
Well, it's not a bad offer, I suppose…
Raon rolled his neck slightly. Wrath had curled himself into a round cotton-candy ball and was staring at him.
"Think it through carefully. How long do you imagine you can keep hiding that cold? Sooner or later the information will come out to everyone, so learning a proper method of using it would be to your benefit as well."
That much is true.
"When This King was in the Demon Realm, countless demons came begging to be taught the art of commanding frost, and I never revealed that secret to a single one of them. A once-in-a-millennium opportunity has come to you, so…"
You're rambling. I'm getting sleepy again.
Raon turned his head away and pulled the blanket up to his chin.
"Ghhhkkk!"
I'm going to sleep. We can talk later.
He closed his eyes as if none of it mattered in the slightest.
"Raon Zieghart! You are letting a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity slip through your fingers! This King's command of frost is an art you could not learn even if you paid a fortune in gold, even if you staked your life on it! If not now…"
Ahem. Sleeping.
He pushed the endlessly chattering Wrath aside and smiled faintly.
I'll be able to learn it soon enough.
The fact that Wrath was coming on this strong was itself proof of how anxious he was. Before long, the little creature would pour his whole heart into teaching Raon how to command the cold.
As a small reward for a job well done, Raon gave the Requiem Sword a light tap. The blade seemed to understand, and trembled faintly in reply.
Raon looked up at the old, yellowed castle walls, mottled with bloodstains like a spotted puppy's coat, and slowly evened his breathing.
The stench of burned corpses, the reek of blood, and the musky odor of beasts hung thick in the air. Even someone with a strong stomach would have been ready to retch.
"Uggghhh!"
Dorian clutched a wall blackened by fire and started heaving. Raon patted him on the back and looked up at the ramparts again.
"So this is Habun Castle…"
The walls were covered in the scars of battle, and the smell of a battlefield that had not yet gone cold told him everything he needed to know about what this place was, and what kind of situation it was in.
This was, quite literally, a hell of endless combat.
"Haaaaah! This is the air of the battlefield that makes This King feel alive!"
Wrath seemed to like the scent of blood and rotting corpses; he drew in a deep, satisfied breath.
"M-Mom, this unfilial son is going first! I-I'll just go back to the house…"
"Get a hold of yourself."
He dragged the half-dead Dorian up to the castle gate. A young man who looked to be in his late twenties popped his head over the wall. Short-cropped purple hair and cold eyes made a striking impression.
"Who are you?"
"Mercenaries here as reinforcements."
Raon held up the mercenary badge Rimer had given him.
"Names?"
"Raon and Dorian."
A flicker of interest passed through the man's eyes at those names. He seemed to already know who they were.
"Open the gate."
"Open the gate!"
Whoever he was, he had the authority. At his order, the gates of Habun Castle began to swing open.
Once they were inside, the smell of burning corpses lessened, but the stench of blood grew even worse. It seemed there had been plenty of fighting within the walls as well.
"Raon and Dorian."
At the sound of their names, Raon looked to his right. The man who had been on the wall a moment ago was standing beside him. He was not particularly tall, but his build was solid, and a thick sword hung at his waist.
"You're a little later than scheduled."
As expected, he already knew they were trainees from House Zieghart.
"Is that going to be a problem?"
The man narrowed his eyes at Dorian, who was hanging limp as a frog caught by the legs.
"It's a regular occurrence. You don't need to worry about it."
Raon glanced at Dorian and nodded.
"I'm Terian. From now on, you'll address me as Vice Commander."
"Yes, sir."
"Follow me."
"Understood."
"Urgh…"
Raon grabbed Dorian by the scruff of the neck — the boy's legs had given out entirely — and followed Terian. They entered a five-story building standing at the center of the castle, where knights, swordsmen, and soldiers moved about in a constant hurry.
Their eyes are different.
In raw martial power they fell short of Zieghart's swordsmen, but the gazes that met his were packed with a dense, tempered strength. It was the presence of fierce warriors who had crossed the line between life and death more times than they could count. Looking at them, Raon was reminded once again that this place sat in the very heart of a warzone.
"This way."
He followed Terian up a worn staircase. On the fifth floor, a thick door of black wood came into view.
"The mercenaries from that place have arrived."
"Come in."
Terian knocked and stated their purpose, and a heavy voice answered from within.
The old door opened with a harsh, grinding shriek, as if the hinges had been twisted out of true.
The room was spacious, yet so sparsely furnished it felt almost empty. Aside from a bookshelf packed with maps of the area around Habun Castle and various texts, it felt less like a commander's office than an ordinary soldier's quarters.
A gray-haired old man rose from behind a desk that had yellowed with age. He was short, but the power and presence in his eyes were immense. Raon's fingertips trembled under an overwhelming sense of being, as if he had come face to face with a giant.
So this is Milland Bridon.
The man they called the Giant of the North — the guardian who had held this old, battered castle for more than twenty years — was this small old man.
"It's been a long time since This King has seen the eyes of a proper general."
You felt it too?
"I did. Those are eyes that only a man who has dug a single well for decades can possess. Back when This King was in the Demon Realm, loyal subordinates like that were piled up like mountains…"
Right.
"Listen to me! Do not ignore This King!"
Wrath's rambling went on too long, so Raon ignored him and turned his head.
"Raon Zieghart. Is that correct?"
Milland's voice was so husky it sounded as if his throat had been split open. It did not seem to be his natural tone so much as the result of an old injury.
"Yes."
"Th-that's right."
Raon answered calmly. Dorian answered as if he were about to faint.
"In this castle, the only people who know your identities are myself and the Vice-Lord."
Milland indicated Terian, standing to his left, with a tilt of his chin. The Vice-Lord appeared to be Milland's son.
"I know why Rimer sent you here. He wanted you to accumulate a great deal of experience and return. But there is no training here. No education of any kind."
A firmly held conviction ran through Milland's voice. Raon swallowed dryly under the presence of the giant who had spent a lifetime defending this castle.
"There is no kind instructor, no warm meals, no comfortable bed. All you will find here is a cold wind that seeps into your bones, and fighting without end. If you came hoping for an easy life, turn around and go back right now."
"C-can we actually go ba— mmph!"
"That won't be necessary. We came here to grow stronger. We'll accept any battlefield and any situation."
Raon clamped a hand over Dorian's mouth — the boy had been about to give up on the spot — and stepped forward.
"I like those eyes."
Despite the words, Milland did not smile in the slightest.
"We'll see how long they last. From this moment on, your rank is soldier. Start from the very bottom. Charles!"
Milland slammed the desk and shouted, and a middle-aged man with a long beard came in.
"You called, sir?"
"These two. Send them to the 3rd Scout Squad."
"Putting mercenaries in a scout unit? That's unusual."
"I intend to try them at a few different things first."
"Understood. This way."
Raon picked up Dorian, who was standing there in a daze as if he had passed out, and followed the man called Charles out.
The heavy door shut with a thud, leaving only Milland and Terian in the commander's office.
"They were pathetic."
Terian frowned, clearly unimpressed.
"What was?"
"You saw them. The one called Raon was as leisurely as if he'd come on a pleasure trip, and Dorian was so terrified his body went limp. They won't be any help. They'll only cause problems."
"Hmm…"
"Both of them are all show — swords hanging off them like ornaments — and Raon even had a flower bracelet on his wrist. That is not a warrior's mindset. Send them back now. If we go easy on them, our soldiers will be the ones who get hurt."
"You don't like them, I take it."
Milland looked at Terian, whose face had gone red, and smiled faintly.
"I can only think they look down on this castle we risk our lives to defend."
"That may be so. However…"
Milland's gaze grew heavier still.
"You must not judge a person by appearances alone. Those two passed Zieghart's training, which is infamous for its difficulty, and they now stand before their final examination. They are not the green boys they look like."
"I suppose that's true."
Terian still did not look convinced, but he pursed his lips and nodded.
"It won't be too late to judge them after we've watched them. There's no need to start with a prejudice."
"Understood."
"That said…"
Milland clicked his tongue and pulled a letter from a desk drawer.
"I don't understand why they want information on those two every two weeks."
"They're precious Zieghart assets, raised with care. Of course they're worried."
"That could be it. But this didn't come from Rimer, or from the 5th Training Ground."
"Sir?"
"It's a letter from the Lord's Manor of Zieghart. They want to be told everything those two do and how they move."
"The Lord's Manor? Y-you mean the Northern Annihilation King?"
"That's right. This is the first time His Lordship has ever made a request like this, so I don't know the reason. And it specifies that the reports are to be written in detail, too. Tch."
"Hah! I truly wonder what's going on…"
While the two of them were turning Glenn's intentions over in their minds, a light knock sounded and the door opened.
"Captain of the 3rd Scout Squad, Radin. I dropped my meal and ran the moment I heard the Commander calling!"
A man in his thirties, wrapped in an outer garment as white as a snowfield, came in and saluted.
"You can butter me up all you want. You're not getting anything extra."
"Haha."
The man who had introduced himself as Radin scratched the back of his head.
"So, what is it, sir?"
"I've sent two new recruits to the 3rd Scout Squad."
"Oh, how did you know we were short-handed?"
"Don't get too happy about it. I may send them somewhere else soon enough."
"Which means you are sending them, in the end. Ah, I got my hopes up for nothing."
"They're soldiers who will become part of our strength either way. Train them properly so they don't get themselves killed."
"Then we'd better go out on reconnaissance right away. Real combat is the most reliable education there is."
Radin grinned and nodded.
"The monsters' movements have been unusual lately. They're leaving their territories more often than not, so stay alert."
"I'm the captain of the 3rd Scout Squad. Trust me!"
He raised a hand to his brow once more and left the room.
"Sending them out immediately — will that be all right?"
"It'll be fine. I don't know about that coward Dorian, but the one called Raon…"
Milland tapped the desk and let out a short laugh.
"He was no ordinary boy."
Guided by the swordsman named Charles, Raon and Dorian arrived at the scout squad's quarters. There seemed to be plenty of rooms; they were given a two-person chamber they could share.
"Ugh!"
Dorian still had not adapted to the smell of blood. His hands were shaking.
"Th-this place seems a lot more dangerous than I thought? What is this, a mountain of corpses?"
"Calm down."
"Young Master, you saw it too. That smell of blood and corpses just now. It wasn't only monsters — there were a l-lot of dead people as well!"
"I always tell you. The more anxious and difficult it gets, the calmer you have to be. If you keep this up, you'll put yourself in danger even in situations that wouldn't kill you."
"Mmph!"
Dorian clamped his mouth shut and breathed slowly through his nose.
"Unpack first. It looks like we'll be here for a while."
"Yes…"
He wiped away a tear that had leaked out and set a mattress down on the bed. From his Belly Pouch he pulled a plush mat and a warm blanket, laid them on the bed, and hung a sky-blue cloth beside it.
"You're decorating, too?"
"The atmosphere is way too gloomy. It feels like we walked into a funeral home. Though I don't think anything I do is going to make me feel better."
He looked the cloth over this way and that and let out a sigh.
"Do you have a gold-colored cloth in there too?"
"Of course."
Dorian nodded and pulled out a golden cloth.
"Green."
A rustle.
"Blue."
A snap.
"Pink."
A flick.
The moment Raon named a color, the matching cloth came out. The boy's preparedness was staggering.
"You should sleep on one of these too, Young Master. If you sleep on a bed like that, you'll wreck your back."
Sniffling, Dorian pulled out a mat and blanket for Raon as well.
"Thanks."
Raon nodded and was about to make up his bed when the door slammed open.
"Recruits. Done unpacking?"
A man in his early-to-mid thirties, dressed in white, stepped inside with a grin.
"I'm Radin, captain of the 3rd Scout Squad you'll be joining."
"Raon, sir."
"D-Dorian…"
Raon bowed his head calmly. Dorian bowed with trembling lips.
"Good faces on you. So, uh — where did those mats and blankets come from?"
"I-I brought them…?"
"Huh…"
When Dorian raised his hand, Radin tilted his head and muttered that he had never seen a human like this before.
"Anyway, you can finish unpacking later. Throw on an outer layer for now."
"Sir?"
"We've got deployment orders."
Radin grinned and tossed them the white snow-camouflage uniforms he had brought.
"Today I'm going to see whether you two can survive in a scout squad going forward. I'll be looking at your reconnaissance ability, your judgment, and your senses."
He went on at length, as if trying to scare them, about how if they were lacking in even one of the three they would be dead before long.
"Eek!"
Dorian screamed in terror. Raon was different. He lifted his head with a faint smile.
"You're going to evaluate our reconnaissance ability and our senses, sir?"
Of everything in Habun Castle, that was the one thing he was more confident in than anyone alive.