Chapter 99

The Archlords were dead.

Four of them, at that.

A victory so profound, so immense, it warranted the most unprecedented accolades.

Yet, those departing this battlefield wore faces devoid of any joy.

Unconscious Bell and Grisha, ever vigilant by his side, were the first to board a carriage bound for the capital. Her eyes held a deep worry, betraying the image of a soldier triumphant in a long-fought war.

Despite surviving such brutal combat, the soldiers’ eyes seemed hollowed. They hadn’t yet managed to erase the faces of those fallen beneath the mud.

And so, a day passed.

“His Majesty awaits.”

A young servant, dispatched from the palace upon hearing the news, arrived. The stench of bloodshed from this terrible battle clearly churned his stomach. He tried admirably to conceal it. Such consideration was quite unnecessary, really.

After settling Rex and Alter in the modified cargo wagon’s rear compartment, the servant ushered me inside the carriage.

A jolting ride. Wheels groaned faintly over the ravaged road.

The inky black mud gradually receded.

A wind arose from somewhere.

Banners fluttered.

The banners, too, faded into the distance.

” … “

Inside the carriage, Lierre and I exchanged not a single word. Not for any particular reason.

Just…just nothing to say.

Soon, a verdant hue enveloped us. The horses, nostrils flared, shook their heads at the sharp, green scent.

“Attention, all troops!”

The booming voice hammered against my ears as I stared blankly at the carriage’s interior. It was Red Hammer, Bellua.

“Salute, for the glory of the Empire!”

A ripple of sound passed through the ranks of soldiers. The heavy thud of boots striking the ground resonated deeply.

I turned my head slowly, drawn by the noise.

A panorama unfolded: countless dwarves, a scattering of elves, and humans lined both sides of the supply route.

“Third Division of the Imperial Army, the Black Hammer Unit! We offer our respect to the General of the Allied Empire!”

“Loyalty!”

At Bellua’s command, a multitude of soldiers snapped their hands to their brows in unison.

Hot.

Why was the Achiliptus Forest so oppressively hot and humid?

“…Loyalty.”

I raised a hand to those visible through the window.

“Huh?”

At the edge of the perfectly aligned formation, a figure dressed impeccably in uniform caught my eye.

Glossy golden hair, and long, slender ears that betrayed his race.

“Honestly, I thought you were a goner, kid.”

He was Trian. He stepped forward from the ranks, quietly, positioning himself near the road. As if waiting for something.

“It’s dangerous, back to the lines…”

“Leave him.”

I cut the coachman off, stopping him.

“That promise to let me hit you, maybe once, if I come back alive, you remember it?”

Trian’s voice grew louder.

I laughed, incredulous, and Lir followed suit, a smile gracing the corners of his mouth.

“I’m a man who keeps his promises. So I’ll give you the chance.”

I leaned out the window, and the coachman slowed the horses accordingly.

Trian stood before the window. He glanced into the gloom of the carriage, then carefully met my eyes.

“How does it feel, being a victor?”

“It feels like filth.”

I laid bare my honest feelings, as they were.

Even with four Archlords dead, the sight of Valerand hadn’t changed much. Still, bones and gore hid within the mud, the wounded moaned, and some had simply lost their minds.

Though the battle was done, the battlefield remained.

Those searching for their comrades’ corpses in the mire, the wounded crying out for rescue from beneath piles of bodies, the soldiers who couldn’t sleep.

Win or lose, the battlefield was the battlefield, and victory… it didn’t really register.

“…Yes. War is filth.”

I made a fist with my left hand and tapped Trian lightly on the chest. Trian held firm, at rigid attention.

“Drive on, please!”

I leaned out the carriage window, telling the driver to get the horses moving again.

“……Loyal.”

The words, barely a whisper, came as the horses lifted their hooves. I twisted back in my seat, half-expecting to have misheard, only to find Trian there, one hand raised to his brow.

“…….”

I could only stare, dumbfounded, at Trian’s precise salute.

My own right arm, useless as it was, prevented me from returning it properly, from offering Trian the crisp acknowledgement he deserved.

An awkward silence hung between us.

*Should I offer a left-handed salute, at least?* The thought felt ridiculous the instant it formed.

“……Giddy up!”

As if sensing the uncomfortable air between us, the driver cracked his whip, urging the horses forward.

The carriage quickly left the Akiliptus Forest behind. Trian remained with his hand raised until he was nothing more than a speck in the distance.

*Just one word, tell him to relax.*

Couldn’t have made a dumber mistake.

* * *

Back at the castle, the first thing I did was shed my robe.

Stained with sweat, blood, and mud, it stank abominably.

Then, I walked straight to my chambers.

I knew a report was expected, but first I needed to bathe. To scrub away the vile stench clinging to me.

Stripping off the grime-caked clothes proved to be quite the ordeal. My already pathetic physique, compounded by a ruined right arm, meant it took over ten minutes just to wrestle free of the robe and layers beneath.

But I managed, more or less, to slip into the tub before the water cooled completely. The heat immediately began to leach away the filth clinging to my skin.

The bathroom ceiling, thick with white steam, wept droplets.

“…Hot.”

I didn’t leave the tub until my pale skin blossomed red. I wished I could just melt away, dissolve completely in the heat.

And so, I stayed submerged until the point where I knew I would truly be in trouble if I lingered a moment longer.

Barely feeling clean, I opened the bathroom door, and the world spun once, the heavens and the earth rudely exchanging places.

I couldn’t even properly dry myself before collapsing onto the bed.

I didn’t trust myself to stand.

And then, the memories of that day vanished.

* * *

The price for losing consciousness without drying myself was steep. Exposed naked for hours to the cool autumn air, I caught a rather nasty cold.

The servant said my temperature had spiked to nearly 40 degrees. My whole body trembled with chills, and breathing was a struggle, but strangely, I didn’t feel much pain.

I lay sick like that for almost two days.

Luckily, I was spared being summoned to report to the kings.

During that time, Leere stayed by my side, constantly changing the towels and wiping away my sweat.

The only time she left my side was to briefly check on Alter’s progress.

On the morning of the third day, my fever had broken considerably. I was left with a slight sore throat, but it was mild enough to resume my daily routine without difficulty.

I made tea and coffee, waiting for Leere. She had left the room to check on her master’s condition before breakfast.

An hour or two must have passed.

Leere hadn’t returned. I tried to calm my anxious heart, fearing some kind of accident, and reached for the doorknob.

At that moment, the door opened on its own, and Leere, her face flushed, entered.

“…He’s awakened.”

Traces of tears remained starkly on her cheeks.

It was a progress much faster than the two weeks they had anticipated.

I, with Lir, headed toward Alter’s room to confirm his condition. There, surrounded by clergymen and a physician, lay the white-haired elder.

Alter, seeing Lir and me enter, offered a bright smile.

Lir scampered to her mentor’s side and, like a sparrow, chirped about everything that had transpired. Alter, with a trembling hand, stroked Lir’s hair.

It was a scene that warmed the heart just to witness, but soon, one of the physicians approached me and whispered, asking if he could speak with me for a moment—an act that felt laden with significance.

I held the still-ajar door and stepped out into the corridor.

“What is it?”

“…It’s, well, Alter-nim’s legs are the problem.”

First, the physician expressed his deep regret, then he began to explain Alter’s current state.

When he was discovered by the Sword Saint, he had been caught in a massive storm conjured by Maltiel, his legs shattered into fragments and burns covering his entire body.

They had been worried due to his age, but his body’s resilience was surprisingly strong, and thanks to the Holy Maiden’s aid, he regained consciousness quickly, but now, a significant aftereffect remained in Alter’s legs.

“Aftereffect? How severe is it?”

“Considering Alter-nim’s age… he will likely find it difficult to even walk, let alone run.”

“…Pardon?”

“Rehabilitation should only proceed for about fifteen minutes per day. If you are impatient and overdo it, his condition may worsen. He should remain in bed until the 30th of this month….”

A ringing.

An irritating ringing clawed at my ears.

* * *

Alter spent twenty-three hours out of every twenty-four in bed.

It was not meant to be so. To spend even an hour anywhere but upon that mattress.

The doctor had said, until the thirtieth of this month, he must lie abed and give his leg absolute rest.

Yet, when he ate, he forced himself to sit at the table, and he endeavored to read at his desk for at least ten minutes each day.

When Nana or Lierre suggested he simply read in bed, he’d retort with some nonsense about “a desk being a scholar’s second battlefield,” forcing the issue.

It wasn’t that Alter didn’t understand the condition of his leg.

Doctors and clerics alike had pleaded with him to rest, but Alter Heindel was a man who simply wouldn’t heed their warnings.

By the evening of the fourth day, Alter had begun to forcibly walk out of bed, and on the morning of the fifth, he started his self-directed rehabilitation, gripping the hallway wall.

He couldn’t walk a single meter before collapsing, and each time, he’d plant his cane and grunt as he hauled himself upright.

Without anyone’s assistance.

I, witnessing this spectacle, teased him, calling it “a gait befitting his age.”

Lierre reacted coldly to my cutting remark, but Alter boomed with laughter, filling the hallway with noise.

“You always seem to be so crafty, but it seems you are unaccustomed to uttering straightforward words when they are actually needed.”

Alter leaned against the wall, turning his head toward me.

His face was drenched in sweat, but his eyes still burned with vitality, and his hands were filled with strength.

“…Perhaps old age has finally caught up with me. You’re babbling.”

“At times like these, you can simply speak plainly.”

A faint pity clouded his gaze.

Pity? Who was it with the ruined leg, that he would offer me such a look?

“… “

I was beyond words, utterly speechless.

Alter, giving me the space to steel myself, simply stood there, waiting without pressure.

Had ten minutes passed like that?

No, perhaps not even thirty seconds.

In silences so heavy and stiff, one second feels like ten.

“…It’s time you retired.”

I shattered the weighty, unyielding silence, finally uttering the words I had prepared.

“I will not.”

Alter responded immediately, without the slightest hesitation.

…To answer so resolutely, doesn’t it make me, the one who deliberated and spoke with such care, feel foolish?

That damned old man, couldn’t he consider the other person’s perspective for once?

“With that leg, you absolutely cannot return to the field.”

“Of course not in this condition, but rehabilitation won’t take more than a month.”

“Even with the best rehabilitation, you won’t escape needing a cane.”

“The doctors and clergymen said the same. But exceptions exist, wouldn’t you agree?”

“…”

Lir, wordless, tugged at Alter’s sleeve, her mentor, practically her father.

She, too, likely felt sympathy for Alter’s struggling.

“Don’t say such nonsense. This isn’t like you, Alter.”

“Heh heh, this old man’s stubbornness is quite relentless! I’m afraid that request is one I cannot grant.”

Alter’s eyes still shone with a glimmering light.

So, when you met his gaze, the hope that he might truly recover the use of his legs would flicker through you.

Could Alter Heindel not conjure another miracle?

…No.

But one shouldn’t entrust the future to such vague hope.

“Retire. Leave the field to the younger ones, and concentrate on mentoring Lir and me, Alter.”

This is reality.

Someone has to stop this hot-blooded old man.

Otherwise, he will push his legs, with their dwindling lifespan, to exhaustion in the name of rehabilitation.

Leading to a state where he can’t walk even with a cane, and ultimately spends the rest of his life reliant on a wheelchair.

To believe he’ll achieve a miracle and leave him to his own devices is, in the end, to kill him.

“The probability of Alter’s legs returning is converging on zero percent. He’s aged, and the extent of the injury wasn’t trivial. It’s a miracle it ended here.”

“How could I possibly rest easy, sending only these clumsy students of mine onto the battlefield? Lir or Sir Veen, to my eyes, their training is less than that of naked monkeys.”

“…Alter has earned the right to rest.”

“Rest is poison to someone like me. In an era where battles are raging somewhere on the continent even today, a life of basking in the sunshine and greeting sparrows perched in trees doesn’t suit the man standing before you.”

“…”

Ah, damn it, that look again.

“How can an old man who has accomplished everything still have that look?”

“Accomplished everything? I don’t know what you mean. The wall of the 9th Circle is still before me. And when I reach the 9th Circle, I will challenge the wall of the 10th. I still have a long way to climb.”

That old man had the eyes of a boy.

Those eyes still gazed upon dreams yet realized, gleaming with a readiness to risk any peril.

“More frightening than being unable to walk, is failing to even attempt reaching for a miracle.”

This old man before me was a boy, an explorer, an inexhaustible seeker, all at once.

And a magician, too.

“…I will be waiting. Heal those legs quickly.”

That was all I could ultimately offer to this man named Alter Heindel.