Chapter 8

Chapter 8.

The barracks in the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep.

The musty smell of sweat, the sour stench from unwashed bodies, and the smell of dust mixed stickily together, pressing heavily down on the air. From all around came only rough snores and the occasional burst of sleep-talking. The old wooden barracks creaked with unpleasant sounds whenever the night wind blew through.

In that suffocating darkness and stench, Rian lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling.

‘It hurts.’

His muscles screamed from the harsh training during the day. In particular, the palms that had gripped the wooden spear had peeled and burned as if scalded, while his shoulders and back ached so badly it was difficult to sleep. The thin, rough blanket offered no comfort; instead, every time it touched his wounded skin, it only added a scraping irritation against his nerves.

But sharper and more terrible than that physical pain was the helplessness that felt as if his own body had betrayed him.

The drill ground from the day appeared clearly before his eyes.

His own figure, holding the spear in an awkward stance before falling over on his own. Den’s blatant contempt pouring toward him like a waterfall, and the laughter of the other soldiers. All of it came vividly back to life.

Strangely, he felt no shame. No anger, either, and no resentment. Instead, a cold, sharp impatience stabbed his heart like a shard of ice.

‘Gareth…… devoted his whole life with a body like this.’

In his mind, the back of a man appeared. A spearman whose name he knew, but whose face he did not. Yet the essence of that man’s life had now become Rian’s, or something dwelling within Rian. His life of rising before dawn every day for decades, gripping his spear, and thrusting tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of times until the sun went down. The weight of that firm, solitary obsession pressed down on Rian’s shoulders.

‘I’m carrying his life. I can’t collapse from only this much pain and contempt.’

It was not simple guilt. It was responsibility toward the life of the dead. That weight, heavier than a nightmare, had become both the shackle pressing down on Rian and the only driving force that moved him.

Rian carefully raised himself up. Quietly, as if dead.

Creak!

Even the small sound from the old bed made his heart drop with a thud. He immediately stopped moving and held his breath. He turned his head and checked his surroundings.

Den, asleep in the nearest bed, did not move at all. The other soldiers were also deep asleep, only letting out soft breathing. After waiting for a moment and confirming that everyone was completely asleep, Rian moved again.

He picked up his shoes in his hand. His bare feet touched the cold dirt floor. Like a cat, he killed the sound of his footsteps and carefully moved toward the barracks door, one step at a time.

At last, standing before the door, he grasped the old wooden handle. Slowly, very slowly, he opened the door so it would make as little noise as possible. His heart sank at the creaking sound, but fortunately, no one woke up.

Cold night air brushed his cheeks. Compared to the stale air inside the barracks, it was incomparably fresh, but within it lingered the chill of the battlefield. Rian slipped his body through the gap in the door, then closed it just as quietly as he had opened it.

He stood in the darkness for a moment, looking down at his solitary shadow.

***

The empty drill ground, faintly lit only by moonlight.

The shouts, dust, and smell of blood from the day had vanished as if they had been lies, leaving only silence. The cry of an owl in the distance made that silence even deeper.

Rian walked without hesitation toward the training weapon rack set up on one side. He picked up one of the many wooden spears.

When the rough, raised grain of the wood touched the peeled skin of his palm, a sharp pain spread through his entire body.

“Mmph……!”

He swallowed a groan without realizing it and frowned. But instead of letting go of the spear, he gripped it even tighter. As if trying to forget pain with another pain.

Rian walked to the center of the drill ground and took the stance to prepare a thrust.

It was the same as during the day. His stance was still clumsy and unstable. His shoulders were tense and stiff, and his waist sat awkwardly, not knowing where to put strength.

‘No. This wasn’t the feeling.’

Rian closed his eyes. He desperately tried to recall the flashing eyes of the imperial soldier who had attacked him that night. The terror of death. And…… the sensation of the moment when he had pierced through all of it.

‘My feet were firm, as if rooted into the ground. My waist was flexible like a bow, and the spear tip felt like an extension of my arm. All my strength gathered into a single point and exploded…… That feeling.’

Relying on his memory, Rian slowly extended the spear. He tried to recreate the perfect trajectory in his mind.

Whoosh!

But the spear betrayed his will, weakly cutting through the air before drooping downward. His body lost its center of gravity and staggered forward.

“Ghk……!”

A low groan burst from him in frustration. Something surged up in his chest.

‘Why can’t I do it? That sensation must still be somewhere in my body!’

Rian did not give up. He took the stance again. With anger and impatience mixed together, he thrust the spear once more.

Thrust, draw back, and thrust again.

The movement was still crude and a complete mess. The gap between the ideal in his mind and the reality drove him mad.

Thud.

In the end, his feet tangled, and he fell forward hard. His cheek touched the cold, damp dirt. Along with the smell of earth, a dreadful sense of despair rose like fog.

Rian was about to slam his fist into the dirt when he suddenly stopped his hand.

An image passed through his mind.

The back of Gareth, silently wiping his spear with hands where calluses had hardened like black stone. Those hands contained decades of time.

‘He…… must have repeated it tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of times.’

Lonely tempering that he likely had not skipped even for a single day. A life built up with blood and sweat like that—Rian had taken it with a single touch, regardless of the man’s will.

The despair slowly settled. In its place, a cold and heavy sense of responsibility rose like river water.

‘If I can’t make this talent mine…… then it means killing his life twice.’

Rian’s eyes changed. With eyes filled with resolve, he slowly raised himself up. He brushed the dirt from his knees and clothes without concern and picked up the spear again. Blood seeped from his peeled palms and stained the shaft red, but he did not care.

‘Again.’

***

The noncommissioned officers’ barracks.

Kairon lay on his bed under a coarse blanket, but sleep would not come. He had turned over again and again, trying to fall asleep, but his mind only became clearer.

‘Damn it, I can’t sleep.’

The image of Rian that he had seen during the day stubbornly kept surfacing in his mind.

Those empty eyes that had revealed no emotion, even amid everyone’s ridicule and contempt. That bizarre attitude of simply standing up silently after falling, without any sign of frustration.

‘That greenhorn…… something’s strange about him.’

His intuition, sharpened through decades on the battlefield, was warning him sharply. The existence known as Rian was an incomprehensible variable. A survivor who had returned alone from the hell where his platoon had been annihilated. Yet on the training ground, he still showed the same appearance as a straggler who could not even roll properly.

Those two images could not be combined into one no matter how he tried. It was grotesque, as if two different people were sharing a single body.

Kairon sat up in frustration. It was obvious he would not sleep even if he kept lying there. Thinking he would cool his head with some cold night air, he quietly stepped out of the barracks.

When the night chill brushed his face, his boiling head seemed to cool a little. Just as he was drawing in a deep breath.

……Whoosh. ……Thud.

From far off near the drill ground came a faint but regular sound. It was different from a patrolman’s footsteps, more like the sound of something being swung and then someone falling.

‘Who is it at this hour?’

In an instant, alertness rose sharply through his entire body. It could be an enemy spy, or perhaps a soldier preparing to desert. He lightly gripped the handle of the dagger at his waist and silently approached the source of the sound as if stepping on shadows.

Hiding himself in the dark shadow of the noncommissioned officers’ barracks, he looked out over the drill ground.

And his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

A figure stood alone beneath the moonlight.

His eyes clearly took in the identity of that figure staggering with a wooden spear in hand.

‘That bastard is……!’

It was Rian, the greenhorn he had so thoroughly despised during the day.

Kairon held his breath and carefully observed Rian’s movements. Rian clumsily thrust the spear, staggered, nearly lost his balance and fell, then took his stance again.

‘His movements are terrible. No different from during the day.’

Just as Kairon had first felt, they were still pathetic, unimpressive motions. There was not even the slightest thing to praise.

‘But…….’

Kairon focused not on Rian’s stance or skill, but on his attitude.

‘He isn’t that scarecrow from the day. This is…… closer to madness.’

Even though there was no one watching, even though no one had ordered him or punished him, Rian was whipping himself as if possessed by something. This was not training. It was closer to ascetic torment.

‘Is he punishing himself? Or…… is this that bastard’s true nature?’

Rian stopped for a moment, panting roughly. His whole body was soaked in sweat and gleamed under the moonlight. He looked down at the palm gripping the spear. Even in the darkness, Kairon could see dark-red blood gathering and flowing.

Kairon thought Rian would stop now. With wounds and fatigue like that, anyone would stop.

But Rian did not care and gripped the spear again. Without the slightest hesitation.

From Kairon’s face as he watched in silence, all mockery and contempt vanished completely. In their place came deep confusion and questions toward an existence he could not understand.

‘He wasn’t a coward who survived by luck.’

If he were merely lucky, he would not drive himself like that. If he were a coward, he would have given up long ago before pain.

‘Inside that bastard…… there’s something I don’t know.’

Once again, Rian stretched out the spear with staggering yet tenacious movements. In the moonlight, the side of his face was clear as he bit down hard on his lip and endured the pain. That desperate struggle felt more intense and bizarre than any veteran’s training Kairon had ever seen.

Kairon quietly turned around without watching any longer. His thoughts were tangled like a ball of thread. He had to begin judging the boy named Rian again from the very beginning.

‘Rian…… I’ll have to keep watching that bastard.’

Without leaving a single trace that he had been there, he silently disappeared into the darkness.

Only Rian remained on the drill ground again.

Completely unaware of Kairon’s presence, he was focused only on his own battle.

‘One more time.’

He stepped indifferently on the droplets of his own blood that had fallen to the ground and raised the spear again.

The boy, covered in sweat, blood, and dust, silently thrust the spear again and again beneath the cold moonlight.

His lonely and desperate back looked like a midnight ritual performed while carrying the souls of the dead.