There were always flocks of crows on the day a battle ended.
They never came anywhere near while the fighting was going on, but once the battle was over, they each picked a spot, settled down, and began to enjoy their feast.
“Shoo.”
When Leon waved his hand, one of the crows lifted its head from atop a corpse and looked this way, but
it didn't look particularly afraid of people.
Annoyed by that, Leon picked up a stone. Only then did it fly away.
“Leave it.”
Huh?
“You won't be able to bury them anyway.”
It was so plainly true that Leon let the stone fall where it was.
Too many people had died in the final battle three days earlier.
When they counted the people who hadn't returned to camp after the battle, it looked like roughly thirty of ours had died.
It wasn't important now that the war was over, but counting had become second nature, a habit he'd formed after every battle.
He lay down and rested for a while. When he tried to get up, a dull pain rose from his left knee. He stayed seated for a moment, and before long, it faded.
Leon stepped outside the tent and slowly looked around camp. They had already begun the withdrawal.
There were still guards at the entrance, but they had only their spears. Their armor had been taken off and set aside.
They weren't planning to stay alert. The war was over, after all.
There were still plenty of tents in camp, and more than a thousand people remained, but everyone was packing up little by little.
Leon stopped for a moment and stared blankly at the sight.
“Leon!”
He turned toward the voice.
A fat man was making his way between the tents.
Looking closer, Leon saw that it was Fel, once the clerk of the Fourth Supply Company.
“I've been looking for you.”
Fel spoke while catching his breath, as though he had hurried over.
“They're handing out the pay.”
“Ah. Because the war's over.”
“What, you're not going?”
“I am.”
Fel looked Leon up and down.
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Watching.”
“Watching what?”
Leon looked around once more.
“They're breaking camp.”
Fel frowned as if he couldn't understand what he was hearing.
The funny thing was, the mercenaries hadn't shown much reaction when they heard the war was over. But the moment they heard they were getting paid, they swarmed in like bees heading for a honey pot.
That was probably why there was already a long line in front of the pay office.
Makes sense.
Peace doesn't fill your stomach, but money does.
As they moved closer, a shout erupted near the front of the line.
“That isn't what you said!”
The loud yell seemed to come from nowhere. The noisy area fell silent for an instant, and everyone turned to look at the mercenary shouting.
“You said we'd get two months' pay!”
The clerk answered in a weary voice.
“Combat pay is issued separately.”
“Then where the hell is that combat pay?”
“The final battle was not recognized as an official engagement.”
“What? Thirty people died!”
“Twenty-nine, to be exact.”
“Shit—does that matter right now?”
Fel clicked his tongue.
“He's going to draw his sword at this rate.”
“I don't think so.”
“Things look pretty bad...”
Instead of answering, Leon looked around once.
There were about six armed guards standing behind the pay office, and probably four more inside the tent.
On the right, a knight stood watching the place. He wasn't wearing armor, but he had a sword at his side.
The mercenaries in line, on the other hand, had mostly disarmed themselves and tied their weapons to their packs.
A lot of them had been drinking, but none of them really wanted to fight.
They had to get paid, after all.
“If he draws, he won't get paid. So he can't.”
Fel thought about it for a moment, then nodded in agreement.
“That's true.”
As expected, the mercenary who had been shouting backed down after spewing a few more curses.
After waiting a while, it was Leon's turn.
“Name.”
“Leon Hart.”
“Unit.”
“Last was the Third Scout Company.”
“Last?”
At the question, Leon thought for a moment.
“Before that, the Western Archers.”
The clerk flipped back through the ledger.
“Is that all?”
“Before that, the Seventh Siege Support Company.”
He flipped through the ledger again.
“Before that, too?”
“The Rassen Cavalry Scouts.”
Leon sighed.
“Can't you just look me up by name?”
The clerk sighed as well.
“There are a lot of people, and many of them have the same name.”
“Then look for Leon Hart with no left ring finger. I told them when I first registered so it'd be easy to find me.”
At that, the clerk's gaze dropped to his hand.
Sure enough, the last joint of Leon's left ring finger was missing.
After rummaging through the ledger a little longer, the clerk finally found his name.
“Found you. Years of service...”
The clerk's eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Fifteen years?”
“About that.”
Apparently quite shocked that a mercenary had survived fifteen years of battlefields, the clerk muttered under his breath.
“He survived fifteen years?”
Leon watched him and waited without comment.
Fifteen years.
Eleven wars, if counted by wars.
Seven companies, if counted by mercenary units.
He couldn't remember how many times he'd crossed a border, or how many people had died.
As he was thinking about it, a small silver coin pouch was placed on the table. Leon picked it up and opened it.
He poured the silver coins into one hand, then let them slide back into the pouch, checking their weight and estimating their value by sight.
Kingdom-minted silver coins and Northern Principality silver coins were mixed together, so their weights varied slightly.
Leon picked out two of them and placed them on the table in front of the clerk.
“I won't take these.”
The clerk looked at him in confusion.
“Why not?”
“They're too worn and clipped.”
“Everyone else takes coins like that.”
“I don't.”
The clerk picked up the coins and flicked them with a finger. With an annoyed look, he exchanged them for different ones.
Seeing that everything seemed to be finished, Fel came over.
“How do you feel?”
“About what? What feeling?”
“After spending fifteen years on battlefields, and now it's over.”
Leon tied the mouth of the pouch and put it into his inner belt pocket, lost in thought.
“I don't really feel anything.”
“That's it?”
“It isn't over yet.”
Confused, Fel looked around.
“The war isn't over yet?”
“It'll be over when I get home.”
Fel laughed as if the answer were ridiculous.
“That's true.”
By the time they left the pay office, the sun had begun to sink.
After entering his tent, Leon began sorting through what he needed to take and what he didn't before leaving.
A single-edged sword, a crossbow, a work ax, and two small knives.
Come to think of it, he'd promised to give one of the small knives to the new recruit in the next tent.
He unfolded his armor, stared at it for a while, then folded it back up.
“You're taking that, too?”
“Yep.”
“I thought you were retiring.”
“That’s why I’m taking it.”
“Why?”
“To sell it.”
Fel laughed, apparently amused by Leon's calmness.
He watched from outside for a while, then came into the tent holding a small bottle of liquor.
“It's our last day. Want a drink?”
Leon held out a hand while sorting his belongings. Fel handed him the bottle, and he took a sip.
It was cheap apple cider, which probably explained why it was so sour.
“Ugh...”
Even so, it was better than most of what he'd drunk on the battlefield.
“Where are you going?”
“South.”
“Your hometown?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
Leon fell silent for a moment, thinking.
When he pressed a fingertip against the pouch at his waist, he could feel its weight.
A small mill. Or maybe an inn wouldn't be bad, either.
“I’m going to buy a mill.”
Fel was silent for a while after hearing Leon's answer.
Then he suddenly burst out laughing.
“You?”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
Fel took a drink from the bottle and continued.
“I just can't picture you covered in flour.”
“Whatever it is, it'll be better than blood.”
The smile faded somewhat from Fel's face.
“That's true.”
After that, the two of them sat in silence for a while.
As they sat quietly, the sound of tent stakes being pulled up came from outside.
Leon felt strange.
It was as if the instincts he'd developed naturally from fifteen years on the battlefield were denying what was happening now.
“What is it?”
Fel asked after seeing Leon staring blankly outside the tent.
“Nothing.”
“Something bothering you again?”
“Just a habit.”
A habit he no longer needed.
Starting tomorrow, he wouldn't have to worry about where the enemy might come from, what to defend, or how to fight the battle.
“Are you leaving tomorrow?”
“When the sun comes up.”
“By the southern road?”
“Probably.”
“Want to go together?”
Leon looked at Fel at the sudden request for company.
“You said you were headed north.”
“I am, but we'd be going the same way for a while.”
“You have too much luggage.”
“How is this too much?”
“That cart is yours, too.”
“It’s everything I own.”
“That’s why I don’t want to travel together.”
“You cold bastard.”
Fel was laughing heartily when the footsteps outside the tent stopped.
Leon’s hand moved naturally. It took less than an instant for his fingers to reach the hilt of the sword lying on the ground.
The cloth at the tent entrance was lifted, and an unfamiliar man slowly entered.
He looked to be around forty, and from his neat clothes and the ink stains on his fingers, he appeared to be either a clerk or a butler.
Realizing the man had no intention of attacking at this point, Leon was briefly caught off guard and removed his hand from the sword.
“Leon Hart?”
The man asked, but Leon didn't know his intentions, so he simply stared at him.
“Is that right?”
“Who are you?”
“I'm not sure if you're Leon Hart, but I've been looking for him.”
“You found him. What do you want?”
“I have a job for you.”
“You know the war ended today, right?”
Fel laughed beside him at Leon's blunt reply, but the man didn't even look at Fel.
“This isn't a war-related job.”
Leon turned away as if he had no interest and went back to sorting his belongings.
“I'm not doing it.”
“I haven't even told you what it is or how much it pays.”
“I'm retired.”
The man's certainty left him speechless for a moment. He looked down at Leon's belongings as Leon continued sorting them.
After thinking for a while, he seemed to decide to explain anyway.
“You're heading south, aren't you?”
Leon’s hand stopped for the briefest moment, but the man noticed and continued.
“Our directions happen to be the same.”
“Who told you?”
“I overheard it while passing by.”
Seeing Leon's expression harden slightly, the man hurried to add,
“I didn't mean anything by it. I really happened to overhear you, and the conditions happened to fit—”
“So?”
“About five days.”
The man seemed briefly flustered. He caught his breath and continued.
“All you have to do is escort one person.”
Leon didn't answer after hearing him.
“It won't take you far out of your way south. We'll provide a horse, too. And food.”
“Who am I escorting?”
“Think of it as a child who's still young.”
“How old?”
“Thirteen.”
“Nobility?”
The man hesitated, which was answer enough for Leon.
Leon said,
“No.”
“It would be a little much to call the child a noble.”
“I like it even less now.”
Fel, listening from the side, nodded in agreement.
“Even I think that sounds bad.”
The man sighed and played his last card.
“Two gold coins.”
Fel's head turned, but Leon didn't move.
“Advance?”
“Half a coin.”
“And I get the rest when we arrive?”
“That is the plan.”
“No.”
“What is the problem?”
Leon looked at the man for a moment.
“I don't see why escorting a child for five days would require two gold coins.”
For the first time, the man gave a small, troubled smile.
“Just as the rumors said.”
“What rumors?”
“They say you're the man who never dies on the battlefield.”
Leon’s eyes narrowed at that.
“There’s no such person.”
“Is that so?”
“Only people who quit before they die.”
Leon lowered his gaze back to his belongings, signaling that the conversation was over. The man stood there for a while.
Then he placed a folded piece of paper on the ground.
“Will you think it over until tomorrow morning?”
“It’s a hassle. Take it with you.”
“If you don't want it, throw it away.”
The man turned and walked a few steps before stopping.
“The two gold coins are because the child may be pursued over something in their possession.”
Leon didn't answer and continued packing.
“That’s why I came looking for you.”
The man left, and the tent fell quiet again.
Fel looked at the paper on the ground, then at Leon.
“You're really not going to do it, right?”
“Yep.”
“Two gold coins.”
“I have enough to buy a mill.”
“You could buy a better mill.”
“I'll be living alone. A better mill would be a luxury.”
“Still, wouldn't it be better to have more money left over?”
Leon finished organizing his belongings without answering. Fel said he would finish his own packing and walked over to his things.
When he was done packing, Leon picked up the paper by the tent entrance.
He didn't unfold it. He simply folded it once more and set it beside his belongings.
Five days...
He'd spent fifteen years living on battlefields.
The last five days should be uneventful.