As arrangements were being made to transport supplies and personnel to the Selta territory of the Mayard Duchy, Friug found himself overwhelmed with meetings alongside the operational unit. The sheer volume to be carried was staggering. When combining the supply troops, a light infantry platoon, and normal people, a total of 400 people would be moving at once. Checking lists, procuring rations, handling procedures and coordination… the complexity of it all was enough to make his head ache.

In the past, such complicated preparations and administrative burdens had been handled by civil officials. But now, it had long since become the norm to shout that anyone usable, dead or monster alike, should be put to work.

“I thought the Empire had no leeway left… but those days almost seem enviable now.”

Friug muttered an unproductive complaint.

In truth, large-scale caravans were inefficient. Ideally, a steady flow of small groups moving back and forth would place less strain on each location and improve transport efficiency. The only reason for forming such a troubleosome convoy was the incomplete control of the transportation route known as the Flame Emperor Dragon Corridor.

On both sides of the corridor stretched demonic territory, and Mayard and Highserk were connected by nothing more than a thin line. If even one point were severed, the connection between the two nations would be cut entirely.

Fortunately, the platoon leader of the supply troops assigned to this mission was a veteran who had risen through the ranks in the field. Friug had heard that he had survived multiple ambushes during transport missions and, during the Great Rampage, had refused to abandon the material cart and saw it through to its destination.

During their discussions, the administratively inexperienced Friug had been greatly aided by the man’s technical knowledge and practical experience.

“That platoon leader’s name was Hody, wasn’t it? As expected of someone from the former western army with a lot of combat experience.”

Given the severe shortage of capable personnel, the upcoming trip was certainly being treated with care. This showed that the military leadership longed for the return of a particular seasoned soldier.

In fact, there had even been a dispute over the affiliation of Guardian Chief Walm between regimental commander Hadro of the southern army, brigade commander Zeleph of the eastern army, and brigade commander Justus of the Mayard front army. Furthermore, Viscount Edgar of the Archipelago Countries and even Marquis Trio Borgia had attempted to make contact, hoping to bring him under their command. That Walm had not been taken by any of them and had instead returned to the imperial capital could only be called fortunate.

Friug returned his attention to the cargo for the return journey.

The Mayard Duchy had seized control of Refun Mine, formerly belonging to the fallen Kingdom of Felius, and had begun operations by employing refugees who had fled there. Payment for materials and food flowing in from Highserk was made in refined iron and aquatic products.

Mayard had lost much as well, yet its desire to reclaim influence was vigorous. Though the Grand Duchess of Mayard had once misjudged her course, she successfully governed the Selta territory as a sovereign ruler now. At least that was Friug’s assessment.

As he diligently reviewed the records, he lifted his gaze at the sound of approaching footsteps. They were deliberately loud, making it obvious that someone was about to enter the room.

Moments later, a voice followed.

“Company commander, you have a visitor. Guardian Chief Walm says he has business with you.”

“Show him in at once.”

Friug rose from his chair before Walm even entered, moving to greet him. Though the title of knight was now just an honorary rank from the old military structure, there were few still living and active within the Empire. At Dandurg Castle, even if it had been only a temporary wartime rank of battalion commander, Walm had led a composite battalion and fought with extraordinary valor. Without him, Dandurg Castle would have fallen with shocking ease. To remain seated while greeting such a man was something Friug personally could never permit himself.

“Sorry for intruding while you’re busy.”

“Not at all. I was just thinking of taking a breather after getting stuck. Is something wrong?”

As they exchanged words, Friug sensed agitation in Walm’s gestures and expression. The Guardian Chief rarely showed his emotions openly, so prompted by Friug, Walm began to explain.

“…So your brother is alive?”

After grasping the situation, Friug let out a troubled murmur.

Relatives, friends, acquaintances… Highserk citizens had lost neighbors in one way or another. It was not rare for entire family lines to have been wiped out, and Friug himself had lost many connections. In such circumstances, a blood-related sibling was a precious existence. Especially since the rest of Walm’s family and villagers had, without exception, passed on to the netherworld.

Recognizing the gravity of the matter, Friug moved swiftly. He pushed aside the things spread across his desk and retrieved a military map from a locked drawer. Though less precise than those distributed to battalion or regimental commanders, it far surpassed the crude maps sold commercially. It was constantly updated, and he had revised it just today.

“The village’s location?”

“Here.”

Friug looked at the spot Walm showed and spoke as if questioning himself.

“It’s within our control… but close to the provisional border.”

The village’s position was far from ideal. Though it was in their sphere of control, it bordered demonic territory and Libertoa’s land.

“We have the forces deployed for the taking back our former territories and for border surveillance, so accidental collisions are unlikely, but…”

The Libertoa Trade Federation prioritized control over the shores of Lake Selta and the river systems within former Highserk lands consumed by demonic territory. An immediate full-scale offensive was not anticipated.

Internally, the military predicted large-scale intervention within a few years, but for now there were no border violations, and outwardly both nations maintained a fragile quiet. Still, there remained the danger of monsters that had escaped elimination.

Friug lifted his gaze and saw Walm staring at the map as though he might bore a hole through it. If this opportunity were lost and his family departed for another country, the search would become exceedingly difficult. In this lifetime, reunion might never be possible. Walm had played a tremendous role in the Empire’s survival so at the very least, he deserved the small wish of reuniting with his family.

“Guardian Chief Walm. If you can return within four days, returning home is possible.”

“I’m imposing on you but allow me to go.”

“Of course. I would accompany you myself if circumstances allowed but…”

“With how busy things are, prioritize your military duties. Besides, if I brought soldiers along just for a simple visit home, my brother would laugh and call me spoiled.”

It was a fair point to make. In truth, only a few soldiers under Friug’s command were idle. Should he forcibly assign an escort? Friug wavered, but the image of Walm leading from the front and attacking monsters came to mind. It might’ve been unnecessary concern, considering that at Dandurg he had endured the Great Rampage, and in Labyrinth City he had faced the Undead Dragon and survived intact. It was impossible to imagine him falling in battle.

“An escort might be too much… Then, take care on your journey.”

As a soldier Friug strove to maintain objectivity, but for those who had fought under Walm at Dandurg, including himself, Walm had been the absolute commander. One could say that Friug had blind faith in Walm. Still, no matter how great one’s strength, a human remained human. Countless heroes, warlords, even military gods had fallen, their corpses left on battlefields across the blood-soaked history of the northern nations. No one would avoid death, even a knight.

◆

Until now, Walm had traveled alone from one battlefield to another. After the fall of his nation, he had wandered through the Archipelago Countries. Preparing for departure required no grand arrangements with Friug’s permission secured, so he set off immediately toward his destination.

On his way back to the Empire, it was not that he had never considered returning home. Nostalgia had swirled within him countless times, but what had restrained him was a kind of fear. If he returned to the village he himself had burned, he would be forced to confront reality. If that event had only been a cruel daydream, if life still continued there and his family welcomed him back, how happy he would have been.

“…Pointless fantasies. The clock’s hands don’t turn back.”

A year and a half had passed. His experiences in the Archipelago Countries, and the survival of his brother had allowed Walm to properly accept the truth.

Compared to the path he had walked thus far, the road home was short. He advanced, breath ragged, along a path etched vividly in his memory. Though once well-traveled, it was now slowly being reclaimed by the forest.

The deeper he went, the more childhood memories resurfaced, memories he had once sealed away. The forest where he and the neighborhood troublemakers and his brother had played until sunset. The packed dirt road. The rocks and trees they had used as landmarks. The sweet-sour taste of wild berries he had eaten with his brother rose vividly in his mind.

Swinging his halberd like a mountain blade, he cut through the plants blocking his path. The severed stalks spun wildly before hitting the ground. The sap clinging to the blade stung his nose but compared to the smell of human or monster blood, it was mild, and almost comforting.

He had worried about monster attacks, yet none appeared. The units stationed along the boundary must’ve been working diligently to keep the area clear.

Soon, a vine-entangled fence came into view. It hadn’t been repaired even when he had left the village for military service, and now it barely retained its original form. His heart pounded with lingering attachment. Like a statue, he froze in place. The demon mask at his side trembled as if urging him onward.

“I know. Don’t rush me.”

Exhaling slowly, calming his heart, Walm stepped forward.

The village that had been swallowed by azure flames and reduced to ash was now wrapped in green. Compared to the roads outside, the forest’s encroachment here was slower. As far as memory allowed, he searched for the remains of the villagers who had passed into the netherworld, but none were left scattered.

Walm crouched low, as if pressed to the ground, and stared at the earth. Drag marks and footprints were everywhere. As if guided, he followed them. All the traces led to the village square. Unlike the outer edges, the vegetation had been deliberately cleared and the rubble removed. At the center stood a grave marker constructed from the foundation materials of former homes. Most likely, all the remains had been gathered beneath it. Offerings of flowers and even alcohol were arranged on it.

As if feverish, he moved forward. In front of the grave marker stood a lone man. Walm’s throat felt clogged with mud, and no voice emerged. Instead, his half-boots betrayed him, crunching on a small stone and announcing his presence. The man turned and widened his eyes in shock.

“…Walm? It’s been a long time.”

His brother spoke his name.

Walm had harbored fear. The more he killed to survive on the battlefield, the more something essential within him changed. Whether morality, conscience, or something else, he did not know. But as the mind shifted, so did the appearance, and especially the eyes. Would his brother recognize him as he was now?

It had been needless worry.

“Ah… y-yeah.”

What a pitiful reply. Still, his brother didn’t tease him.

“You made it back. Welcome home.”

“I’m… home.”

Even if it was only one person, it was an answer he couldn’t have received in his previous return. Walm’s body trembled.

Translator – Lyxxna