Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 94

The battle over the Karoloria Magic Silver Mines ended in victory for the Dalimarcus Family, yet the fight was far from over. The Meizenaf Family organized a rear guard as they retreated, and the pursuit by their foes was unrelenting, intensifying the hunt for their defeated soldiers. Meanwhile, the captured prisoners, though their lives were spared, many common soldiers who lacked the financial means to pay a ransom were enslaved in the mines. Nobles and the wealthy, however, were released upon the hefty payments of ransom, guaranteeing financial difficulties for them.

The majority of the wounded were kept in a stable condition thanks to the relentless efforts of the healing mages, yet some would not live to see another dawn. Fortunately, Kuwen’s thigh wound had settled down, treated first by cauterization and then by the healing mages. The wound was covered with a cloth that had been sterilized in distilled spirits after being smeared with crushed herbs, ensuring it would heal without leaving any lasting effects, as long as he refrained from unnecessary movement to prevent infection.

“I’ve got it,” a voice called out.

“Thanks,” another replied.

The one who had dashed in was Karim, holding a helmet in both hands. He had turned the helmet upside down to reveal its contents: hard black bread, small potatoes, wilted cabbage, and leeks, along with a variety of beans stuffed inside.

“The rations are better than last time,” Kuwen commented with a pale smile as he sat up.

“It’s the spoils of a victorious, quick battle,” Karim responded, implying that they had leftover supplies because of their efficiency in the recent skirmish.

Indeed, the spoils of war from the enemy’s abandoned positions had been seized, adding to their bounty. In the chaos, the enemy had failed to destroy all their supplies; if even a third were discarded by the Meizenaf soldiers, it would still be considered fortunate. Walm had focused on the enemy at the supporting castle and thus did not participate in raiding the enemy headquarters.

It was a missed opportunity to overlook such a treasure trove but considering the aftermath and the need for post-battle cleanup, there was no choice but for him to give up. Had Walm been caught off guard, even the remnants of the enemies could have posed a threat, and he could’ve been slain as well.

Although he did not participate in scavenging the main camp, Walm was busy searching the burned corpses of enemy soldiers. Amidst the high heat and the unbearable stench, while other soldiers struggled with the task, Walm efficiently collected what was worth more than the promissory notes of silver and coins he had already received.

The supporting castle was now a pile of rubble, which made things easy for putting up fires. Broken wooden supports and defensive spikes were cut down to manageable sizes to heat their pot. Vegetables were chopped with a knife, sometimes torn by hand, then thrown into the pot along with salt.

Steam rose from the pot, enticing the appetites of Walm and his comrades. Though his bleeding had been controlled, Kuwen had lost a lot of blood. He had a piece of preserved meat on hand, but given the strain it would place on digestion, it was wiser to avoid it. Especially considering they might not relish the idea of eating meat amidst the burnt stench of death.

“Here you go,” Karim said as he served the soup.

“Thank you,” Walm replied, taking a sip of the soup that filled his empty stomach. He exhaled softly and tore off a piece of the hard black bread to chew on. The bread brought back distant memories.

“Heh, hehe,” a chuckle broke out.

“Huh? What’s the matter?” Kuwen asked with a puzzled look.

“Oh, just remembering some comrades from my days in Highserk,” Walm replied.

“Tell me about it,” Karim said eagerly, his eyes sparkling with interest.

“It’s not much of a story,” Walm began. “My squad leader was a man of extraordinary physique, and utterly reckless at times. He could crush a goblin’s head with his bare hands. When there were no skewers available, he’d thrust his hand into the fire to cook the meat he’d be holding. With a single swing, he could slay three enemies.”

“Um… are you sure he was human?”

“Not an ogre or something?”

The two listeners gazed at Walm with disbelief.

“He was definitely human. Though, I recall enemy soldiers shouting fighting an ogre would be less terrifying,” Walm continued, remembering the chaos at the Mayard border fortress where fleeing soldiers had shouted such things. With this recollection, Walm returned to his original tale.

“So, my squad leader, he ate in quite a wild manner, crunching through hardtack biscuits like nothing,” Walm said.

Hardtack, known for its thorough baking to eliminate moisture for preservation purposes, was significantly harder than black bread. There was a tale that a soldier once avoided an enemy’s “Strong Bow” arrow by secretly wearing a hardtack biscuit on his chest.

“Really? Those things? What kind of jaw did he have?”

“He must’ve had jaws strong enough to crush bones.”

Everyone had tried it at least once, so one could easily imagine. Encouraged by the response, Walm continued.

“Inspired by that, one after another tried their luck against the hardtack biscuits, only to be defeated. The sight of blood flowing from gums and chipped teeth made me and the onlookers burst into laughter, which ended up causing a fight within our squad.”

In particular, that incident involved the three fools who often spoke of being chivalrous but ended up fighting immediately, which turned everyone against them.

“It got so fierce that other squads started making bets. Everyone, including me, ended up with swollen faces from the fistfights, and finally, the platoon leader arrived to stop the chaos. Then, everyone became prey to the squad leader’s fists as if it were exercise after a meal. I tried to escape, but took a sharp blow to the head and went down. After that, except for the squad leader, strict orders were given to soak the hardtack biscuits in soup or water before eating.”

The conversation started with trivial stories. Walm spoke of his childhood escapades in the forests of his homeland, how he and his brothers were chased around by wild animals, and how they went to give thanks with hoes and shovels the next day. He also recounted the time their peeping was discovered, leading to them all being punished together in the center of the village. Both Kuwen and Karim shared similar stories, focusing mostly on their own past blunders. Then, the topic shifted to the settlements.

When discussing the claiming of new lands, the two had enough loot and coins that they didn’t need to borrow seeds or farm tools from their lord. Should they grow and start families, their tales of youthful bravery and war experiences would surely nourish their descendants and the local children. Walm remembered well the stories of his uncle’s exploits in battle.

Just then, several of Baron Josh’s horsemen passed behind Walm, their movements peculiar. The supporting castle was being cleared of enemy soldiers during the day. Whether they were remnants of a defeated army or prisoners, who would hide in a stronghold packed with enemy forces? Normally, they would flee as far as possible.

Assassination or a rescue of prisoners seemed plausible, but it appeared more likely they were desperately searching for something. The chatter ceased, and silence enveloped them. The newly added firewood popped and crackled.

“…The blue flames were yours, right?” Karim asked, hitting the nail on the head.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Walm replied, aware enough to understand what that meant.

It was expected that someone would connect the azure flames with the demon fire. Most of the guards at the corner tower and surrounding ramparts had perished, though not all. Even hidden behind a mask and viewed from afar through the demon fire, Walm could’ve still be seen.

“In fact, it seems like both Baron Josh and Viscount Edgar’s retainers are searching for the soldier who set the supporting castle ablaze. When I went to take the food, they asked if anyone seemed suspicious…”

Walm sighed and looked up at the sky. It was natural to think so. After such a conspicuous act of burning down a critical stronghold and harming fellow troops, some form of punishment or vigilante justice was inevitable.

“Of course, I said I didn’t know.”

The timing was critical. If caught, the severity of the punishment—whether it be enslavement or beheading—weighed heavily on Walm, who held his forehead in conflict.

“Walm, we should flee,” Karim said, rising to his feet and approaching Walm.

“That’s right, we were saved by Walm. If not for his wind-riding azure flames, we might’ve lost.”

Walm was no saint. The option to flee had indeed come first to mind, and he was not stubborn enough to deny it.

“…I’m glad I could fight alongside you guys. When we first met, I honestly dreaded fighting beside new recruits. But you two fought well. And I was able to recall some forgotten memories and old feelings.”

It was a heartfelt truth. The simple, untainted words of the two had saved Walm’s spirit. Otherwise, he would have continued to live, dragging along detestable memories.

“W-Walm,” Kuwen sobbed, tears forming.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Walm chuckled, his voice breaking as he spoke to the teary-eyed Kuwen.

“The village of Zulpes is our hometown. After we go back, we plan to build a new village in the claimed lands from there. If you have nowhere else to go, why not join us in creating the village?”

It was a sweet, tempting offer. Had Walm not participated in that war, had he been a wanderer with no destination, and had he not possessed these eyes, he might have joined them.

“I’m happy to hear that. Really. But… I can’t go. During the wars of the Highserk era, I lost my eyes.”

The two listened intently to Walm’s story, yet their faces were filled with doubt. And understandably so, for a man who claimed to have lost his eyes had both intact.

“It was a terrible place. Surrounded by over 100,000 monsters, many comrades, acquaintances, and a multitude of people died. It was hell. In that hell, I received a monster’s eyes in a transplant.”

Walm channeled his magic power and transformed his eyes. His pupils narrowed vertically, resembling those of reptiles, cats, or perhaps monsters. The two stiffened as their gazes met.

“Scary, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Karim replied, puffing out his chest, whether bravado or truth.

“The transplant was successful, but I couldn’t receive the necessary treatment afterward. A side effect of that is that without medication, my eyes will melt away. I was told that by a healer in the border city of Kopetsk, so now I travel to cure my eyes. That’s one of the reasons I joined this civil war. I might not find what I’m looking for, and I might even end up in the Aleynard Forest Alliance instead of the Labyrinth City. Either way, I have to go. Thanks to you guys, I’ve made up my mind. Thank you.”

Walm sincerely thanked them, patting their shoulders.

“If you finish your treatment, please come and visit.”

“I’m not great with promises… but I’ll do my best.”

A broken promise with a girl flashed through his mind. He wasn’t confident enough to promise outright. While it felt dishonest to him, Walm took precautions.

“It’s time to go. If I stay longer, I might get caught. Take care.”

Walm gathered his belongings and left the scene. The war was reluctantly peaceful, yet it had its rewards. Until now he had avoided confronting his past memories but facing them wasn’t all bad.

Alone in the dimly lit night, Walm became sentimental. The demon mask, known for its inability to read the room, rattled as if asserting itself. Whether it was consoling or provoking Walm was unclear.

“Never thought you’d be the longest relationship I’d have. Life is unpredictable.”

Walm muttered to the mask as he continued walking, his form blending completely into the darkness.

Translator – Lyxxna