Chapter 44 - The Rite of Blood
They hadn't hit the critical parts of the Jimpanzee—its head or the center of its chest—but the incantation inscribed on the bullet caused its right shoulder and chest to explode into pieces. With this, it could no longer cast magic. I swiftly closed the distance, slashing at it repeatedly with my blade, and brought the hunt to a close. As I exhaled heavily, I scanned the surroundings. It was then that Old Man approached me noiselessly.
"Good grief. Up until now, the real struggle always began after stopping their legs."
"Old Man, what are the damages to the right flank?"
"......Two injured, one dead."
"Damn it!!"
A surge of emotion overwhelmed me—an emotion I couldn’t define as anger or grief. One dead. One dead. Those words from Old Man weighed on me as a commander, reminding me of the burden of the lives entrusted to me. That’s right. This was a battlefield, a place where a moment’s carelessness could snatch a life away. Because of that... because of that...
"Relay this to everyone. This operation is canceled. Tend to the wounded and recover the body of the one who gave their life as a foundation for the frontier’s peace. We return to the village. Furthermore, preserve all the remains of the defeated monster and prepare for its transport. Engineers, make the necessary arrangements. Move!"
The others could sense my sorrow and frustration. The seasoned fifth-year soldiers had seen death too many times... so often, in fact, that they never tired of warning against complacency. For that reason, they had been strict even on the training grounds.
Yet, the new recruits—those still struggling to grasp the reality—were now in shock. Just moments ago, they had walked alongside a comrade, shared meals, and laughed together about trivial things. Now, that same comrade lay silent, in eternal rest.
I thought bitterly to myself: how foolish. No matter how much we relied on scouting magitech tools or guns, in the end, it was people who wielded them.
--- People. ---
There was no need for a long lecture. Everyone now understood, etched deep into their hearts, what their carelessness had wrought. That went for me as well. Old Man (my adjutant) looked at me with eyes heavy with sorrow. He spoke of how, in the past, the casualty rates for guerilla units were far worse. I hated that.
And that was why we had scouting magitech tools and guns in the first place. Yet, it was precisely because of their effectiveness that we had grown overly reliant on them... That thought weighed heavily on me.
"Young Master. Let us return. We have preserved the remains of the one who served as our foundation. At the very least, their body will return to where it belongs. That alone is something unimaginable in the past. It is proof of your leadership, and surely everyone has come to understand that. But, Young Master..."
"What is it?"
"The loss may seem great, but what remains is peace for the frontier. Be proud of that. Otherwise, their sacrifice will be in vain. Understand this, Commander: your words and actions can lead your soldiers to their deaths with ease. There will also be times when you must command them to die. Steel yourself for that."
"......Yes. I am the commander. The commander of this guerilla unit. That’s why I must steel myself once more. I must be ready to bear the weight of their lives. Old Man, let us honor the soldier who became our foundation. I will do so as my vow."
"That would be appropriate."
It was a moment of awakening—a realization of the weight of life, one that could be called a Rite of Blood. The old man’s face was stern, but mine was even more so. A tension, like a drawn bowstring, enveloped the entire unit. No one wore the "familiar," relaxed expressions they once had.
Yes, even the soldiers had resolved themselves. The fifth-year soldiers seemed to stiffen their resolve further, seeing the shift in the recruits’ demeanor. In silence, we marched through the Shallow Forest. Not a single lighthearted word was uttered along the way back to the village.
--- § ---
Upon returning to the residence of our knightly house, I informed Father and Eldest Brother that I had called off the operation. We had successfully slain the small-sized monster, the Jimpanzee, but there was no guarantee that others weren’t lurking nearby. Jimpanzees tended to form small packs, so we couldn’t afford to lower our guard. Nonetheless, I had made the decision to withdraw quickly.
"For now, the immediate 'crisis' has been dealt with, but the threat still lingers in the shadows, is that correct?"
"Yes, Father. The responsibility for the damages sustained by our troops lies entirely with me. I am deeply remorseful for the life that was lost forever."
"It was an ambush... wasn’t it? This encounter. Even the main force would have struggled to deal with such a situation. You did well. Even if I had been the one leading, casualties would likely have been unavoidable. In fact, I’m astonished that you managed to deal with the Jimpanzee with only five casualties. I’m proud to see my gentle younger brother rise to the occasion as a courageous and capable commander. Isn’t that so, Father?"
"...The losses among the soldiers were unfortunate but inevitable. What’s important is that you’ve taken those losses to heart. There will be no punishment for you. You did well. That said, Jimpanzee... huh. The real concern is why a small-sized monster native to the middle forest regions appeared in the shallow regions. We must heighten our vigilance. Inform the guard units accordingly and instruct the villages near the forest to pay close attention to any minor changes in the forest."
"Understood, Father."
It seemed my approach had not been mistaken. My elder brother, who had likely faced monsters from the middle regions before, shared the same understanding of how difficult they were to handle. Father did not reprimand me but instead placed his expectations on me: to train the troops further, to make them stronger, and to ensure they practiced utmost caution in the forest... it seemed.
--- I understood.
The fallen soldier, who became a foundation of peace for our people, was laid to rest with as much care and respect as I could muster. Following Father’s example, I attended the funeral rites myself and offered a eulogy to honor his devotion. We requested the priest at the town’s cathedral to pray for the peace of his soul. His remains were cremated and, at his family’s (parents) request, buried in the soldiers’ communal cemetery. At his freshly marked grave, his comrades placed flowers and bottles of liquor as offerings. Their parting words were:
"Wait for us to the place where the distant wheel of time intersects. We’ll make plenty of heroic tales from now on, so prepare the place for us to share them with you."
I agreed with those words. Yes, prepare the banquet there. You were always good at hosting such things, weren’t you?
---
I returned to the Fortress with a heavy heart. Inside the smithing room, I gently placed the items I had brought back onto the table. They belonged to the soldier who had now departed on his final journey. They were his equipment—a standard sword of our frontier knightly house and the light armor issued to our guerilla unit.
The standard sword was broken midway, now only half its original length, with its edge chipped and battered. It was proof of how valiantly he had fought. The chest piece of his light armor was deeply torn and stained a dark, rusty red. The backplate, however, bore no significant damage. A clear sign that, until the very end, he never turned his back on the enemy. "He was a capable soldier with a brave heart." I etched this into my memory.
I fully understood the kind of person the one who passed away was. And yet, as I reflected on him, my mind turned to the uncertain possibilities of what ifs.
What if the standard sword had been harder, sharper—capable of slicing through the hides of monsters...
What if the chest piece of the light armor had been strong enough to withstand the claws of the beast...
What if... what if... what if...? These hypotheticals piled up endlessly in my mind. Considering the primary mission of the guerilla unit, we were far too fragile. There had to be something...
--- There had to be a solution.
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