Chapter 16

Chapter 16.

The road back to Outpost Seven was sunk in a dreadful silence.

Only the squeak of the cart wheels, the footfalls of exhausted soldiers, and the occasional dry cough filled the desolate road. No one opened their mouth. It was as though the memory of the brutal battle in the abandoned village pressed heavily on everyone’s tongue.

But that was not the only reason for the silence.

In the heavy air, the squad members’ gazes flicked toward Rian again and again before quickly pulling away. Their movements were like someone stealing a glance at something ominous. What lay in their eyes was not simple curiosity. Wariness and a primal fear of something they could not understand were stickily mixed together.

Den walked at the far opposite end of the column. He deliberately stared only at the ground, struggling with all his might not to meet Rian’s eyes. His shoulders sagged, and the spear shaft in his hand seemed to weigh him down like a heavy lump of iron.

Thomas, who had been taken hostage by the deserter Garik, was in even worse condition. He stuck close behind another soldier, desperate, as though trying to hide himself in the shadows. Like a child afraid of even stepping on Rian’s shadow, fear seeped from his entire body.

Rian felt all those gazes and actions on his skin. It was the sensation of dozens of cold needles being driven into his back. But he showed no reaction. He simply gripped his spear in silence and advanced with measured steps. Their fear now felt like a story from some far-off world, something that had nothing to do with him.

At last, the wooden palisade of the base began to appear faintly in the distance.

When they arrived at the familiar barracks, the creak of the door rang out strangely loud. The moment Rian stepped inside, what greeted him was a silence that seemed to have been cut with a blade.

The voices that had been grumbling about equipment just moments ago, the snickering laughter as they divided up spoils, all that noise stopped as if it had been a lie. The soldiers halted mid-sentence, froze mid-action, and stiffly stared at Rian as he stood at the entrance.

Receiving their gazes, Rian walked into the barracks. It was only a short path toward the corner where his bed was. When he moved, a strange sight unfolded. As if by prior agreement, the men stepped aside on both sides along the path he took. Like the parting of the Red Sea, an invisible space formed around him.

No one spoke to him, and no one tried to brush against him.

Rian finally reached his bed and sat down without a word. Then, with a familiar motion, he took out an oiled cloth and began maintaining his spear. He wiped the faint bloodstains from the spearhead and ran his hand along the shaft.

Scrape, scrape.

When the sound of cloth brushing over the spearhead echoed through the barracks, time, which had stopped, began to flow again. The soldiers awkwardly resumed their conversations, but none of the earlier liveliness remained. Everyone lowered their voices and consciously avoided the corner where Rian sat.

He had become perfectly alone.

***

Late that night.

The barracks were filled with the even breathing of his comrades and the occasional sound of snoring. Amid the peaceful noise made by exhausted bodies, Rian quietly opened his eyes toward the darkness.

He had not fallen asleep. He could not fall asleep.

His mind was cold and clear as ice water.

Faint moonlight seeping through a crack in the window cast long, chill shadows across the barracks floor. Without making a sound, he raised himself from the bed. Then he took out the old parchment he had tucked deep inside his clothes.

A dry, rough texture, as though it might crumble at his fingertips, touched his skin.

Rian moved to the corner of his bed where the moonlight fell most clearly and carefully unfolded the parchment.

Under the faint moonlight, letters written in rough handwriting and crude but incisive drawings revealed themselves.

Rian’s gaze went first to the drawing.

A man with a sturdy build, clad in armor. His impression brought a fierce wild boar to mind. Above all, what stood out was the deep scar gouged across his forehead. Even through the drawing alone, the pressure he radiated seemed palpable.

Beside the drawing, a name was written in ink as red as blood.

‘Haken the Slaughterer.’

Below that, his post and expected route had been briefly described.

‘Vanguard commander of “Iron Fist” Wolfgang’s unit. Advance reconnaissance mission for the Gallows Heights supply route. Scheduled to pass the old watchtower in the Ashen Forest at midnight in three days.’

Rian’s gaze moved to the very last line of the parchment.

There, without any other modifier, only a single line of command had been written.

‘Eliminate him.’

For an instant, Rian’s breathing stopped. The low thud of his heart rang clearly in his ears.

‘An assassination?’

He quietly closed his eyes. In his mind, the scenery of the Ashen Forest took shape. Dense trees, clammy darkness, and a heavily armed imperial army unit passing through it. At its head would be the man in the drawing, Haken.

Rian superimposed himself onto that scene.

He charged out of the darkness, spear in hand. He rushed toward Haken.

But before he could even reach him, the blades of the bodyguards keeping watch around him would pierce him first. He could vividly imagine the sensation of dozens of blades and arrows lodging in his body until it was like a honeycomb. Even approaching was impossible.

‘Borik’s spearmanship is specialized for frontal combat and defensive battles against multiple opponents.’

Borik’s movements replayed in his mind. The technique of firmly planting one’s feet on the ground, knocking aside and piercing the enemies that came flooding in. It was spearmanship meant to endure on the battlefield with comrades at one’s back. It was spearmanship for survival.

‘It doesn’t suit stealthy approach or a killing blow.’

This was not a head-on confrontation. It was a mission to infiltrate deep into enemy lines and cut off a commander’s head. With Borik’s spearmanship, there was no chance of success.

He coldly realized that this was no different from a suicide mission. Kairon had thrown him an impossible assignment.

Rian neatly folded the parchment again. Carefully, so it would not crumble, yet with a firm hand, he tucked it deep inside his clothes.

He did not lie back down on the bed. Sitting in the darkness, he stayed awake through the night with his eyes open.

***

Before dawn, on the training ground covered in deep blue darkness.

The dawn air was as cold as a blade, and white mist rose from his mouth. Rian stood alone in the center of the training ground, swinging his spear.

Whoosh, whoosh.

The sound of it cutting through the air was sharp. There was not a single superfluous motion in his movements. Every action, thrusting, cutting, blocking, and swinging, flowed together like water. The experience of Borik, a veteran who had weathered decades of battlefields, now seemed to have completely melted into his body. His flesh remembered. It remembered how to move most efficiently and how to use strength most destructively.

Then a familiar figure appeared from the direction of the barracks. It was Kairon.

“Rian.”

A low, hoarse voice broke the stillness of dawn.

Rian caught his breath and stopped his spear. He turned his sweat-soaked face toward Kairon.

“Follow me.”

Kairon said nothing more. He tossed out only the business at hand and immediately turned around. Rian slung his spear over his shoulder and silently followed him.

The place they arrived at was a secluded, damp clearing behind the armory. In one corner, rusted or broken weapons that had been thrown away were piled up like a mountain. Broken swords, split shields, and bent pieces of armor revealed a bleak appearance under the faint light of dawn.

Kairon began rummaging through the pile of weapons without a word.

A moment later, what he pulled out was a longbow with worm-eaten wood and a bowstring so rotted it had frayed to tatters. It looked as though it might snap at any moment.

Next, he picked up an old leather quiver with several arrows shoved into it haphazardly, their fletching all gone and their arrowheads blunt.

Kairon approached Rian with them in hand. Then, without a word, he threw them at Rian’s feet.

Thud.

Flop.

The bow and quiver fell to the ground, raising a puff of dust. It was an indifferent motion, as though he were throwing away garbage.

Rian silently looked down at the things that had fallen to the ground. No expression appeared on his face.

“Find a way yourself.”

Kairon’s voice was colder than the dawn air. His eyes held no emotion. There was only the emotionless gaze of a superior who demanded results and nothing else.

“All I require is results.”

Leaving only those words behind, Kairon turned away without lingering. His footsteps receded, then soon vanished completely into the darkness.

Rian was left alone in the clearing once more.

For a long while, he stared at the bow and arrows lying on the ground. Then he slowly bent down and picked up the old bow.

It was nothing like the firm, smooth feel of the spear shaft his hand knew so well. The wood felt dry, rough, and brittle. It was awkward and uncomfortable.

He took the arrow that seemed to be in the best condition from the quiver and set it to the string. Then he slowly tried to draw the bowstring.

Tremble, tremble.

His arm shook unnaturally. Shoulder muscles he had never used before screamed as though they were about to tear. This body had been trained to grip, thrust, and swing a spear. A bow was nothing but a foreign tool.

Rian weakly lowered the bow.

He stared for a moment in the direction where Kairon had disappeared. Only pitch-black darkness faced him.

‘He isn’t telling me to do it with this.’

His mind settled coldly.

‘He’s trying to make me confirm for myself that I don’t have the ability to handle this.’

Kairon’s intent was clearly readable. This was not support. It was a test closer to mockery. It was unspoken pressure telling him to realize clearly that it was impossible with his abilities.

‘This isn’t an order. It’s a test.’

How would he make the impossible possible?

Rian’s eyes sank coldly. There was no longer any emotion such as anger or bewilderment. Only the task before his eyes existed.

‘It’s impossible with a spear.’

That was a clear fact.

‘Then I need something other than a spear.’

Rian’s gaze slowly moved away from the old bow in his hand.

His eyes were now fixed beyond the base’s wooden palisade, toward the dark, deep forest where the imperial army lay in wait.

It was where his enemies were, and at the same time, where countless corpses lay scattered.

Flynn’s agility. Borik’s spearmanship.

He knew where the source of his power lay.

‘I have to find what I need.’

A faint but steel-like resolve passed over his face.

Rian picked up the old bow and arrows lying on the ground. They were useless items now, but they were the symbol of the test Kairon had thrown at him.

Then he turned back toward his barracks.