Chapter 02
The madness of the battlefield was vicious.
It was vicious enough to make a person accept without question the sight of someone they had shared a meal with one day lying cold as a corpse the next; to accept blades and showers of arrows raining down from every direction; to accept spending days and nights without sleep, doing nothing but swing a sword.
The illusion that death would spare only you was something everyone lost in their very first battle.
The anxiety of never knowing when death would come was a lifelong companion—one that never truly disappeared, even after leaving the battlefield.
There was no way Elric could remain mentally sound after wandering such places for ten years.
Especially when he swung his sword in search of death. Naturally, he was twice as worn down as those who fought desperately to survive.
And yet there was one reason Elric was still alive.
His body had outlasted the erosion of his mind.
A beast that charged into enemy ranks as if today would be his last day alive, never stopping until nothing living remained before him.
The crimson-black eyes no soldier ever wished to face on the battlefield.
The titles given to Sword Demon Kasha were all equally terrifying, and the reverence soldiers held for him bordered on religious worship.
But when stripped of all embellishment, his legend was built upon little more than overwhelming strength and absurd luck.
Everyone who had survived the twenty-year struggle for supremacy in the western continent said Sword Demon Kasha was a ghost that would not disappear until the war itself ended.
To Elric, however, it was a ridiculous rumor.
Crunch!
No matter how strong someone was, a living creature would eventually break.
Elric was no exception.
It’s a serious injury.
It had been a brutal battle over a contested border.
He had been forced to hold back a thousand enemy soldiers alone.
As always, he had ultimately won.
But in the process, the joint in his right knee had been crushed.
It wasn’t a permanent injury.
Still, it wasn’t the sort of wound one could ignore and immediately return to battle with.
In fact, he wasn’t even sure he could walk normally. For a while, he’d be little better than a cripple.
At their core, mercenaries were replaceable soldiers that could be bought with money.
Of course, Elric’s strength was far beyond replacement.
But if he couldn’t properly use that strength, then he would be treated no differently than any other mercenary.
Without someone willing to hire him, how could he continue rampaging across battlefields?
And so, for the first time in four years, Elric left the front lines.
The rear was still technically a war zone, but compared to the front, it was peaceful enough that one could sit at a bar and read a newspaper.
For the first time in four years of living with nothing but bloodshed and swordplay, Elric found himself reading words that weren’t military code.
“That’s a newspaper from the east. Are you from there?”
Elric ignored the bartender.
Not because he thought the question unworthy of an answer.
He was simply too absorbed in the newspaper.
How could he not be?
The eastern continent was his homeland.
Even after all these years, nostalgia remained.
Despite the bitter way he had left, there were still scenes that haunted him.
The golden wheat fields of Wibin.
The memories of childhood spent there.
As death drew nearer, people naturally found themselves dwelling on old memories.
And since Elric spent every day standing beside death, he often found himself drowning in those memories.
[Princess Ecclesia’s Tea Party]
A photograph showed the princess smiling brightly, surrounded by noble ladies gathered to complement her radiance.
Beneath it were descriptions and interviews.
Nothing about Wibin?
As he flipped through the pages, Elric let out a small laugh.
Of course not.
Wibin was nothing more than an insignificant wheat-growing territory, even within the Kingdom of Ferdin in the east.
What exactly had he expected?
Shaking his head, he turned another page.
Then—
[The First Anniversary of Hoven Portman’s Death]
Elric froze.
His eyes widened.
His breathing stopped.
His thoughts came to a halt as his mind screamed in protest at the sudden information.
There, at the corner of the newspaper, was a face he could never forget.
Though printed in black and white and lined with more wrinkles than he remembered, Elric recognized him instantly.
The man who had been colder than ice.
The father he had hated.
Hoven Portman.
And there he was.
In a form Elric had never imagined.
* * *
What returned to him was an old resentment.
When he first ran away from home, Elric had still held onto a sliver of hope.
No matter how thoroughly he changed his name or crossed national borders, his father’s immense wealth should have made finding him easy.
Now he knew how childish that way of thinking had been.
But he had been young.
And at the time, the battlefield had already begun twisting his mind.
It was inevitable that his emotions would take strange directions.
Whatever the reason, he had stubbornly endured year after year.
By the time several years had passed, shame had become the reason he could no longer return to Wibin.
Even after his feelings toward his father had solidified, he kept postponing his return, telling himself:
“Someday.”
And somehow, ten years had passed.
Regret and bitterness welled up inside him.
Then quickly faded.
As if I have any right to feel that way.
It was self-mockery.
The strange thing was that despite once hating the man so deeply, all he felt upon learning of his father’s death was faint regret.
Was he sad?
He wasn’t sure.
But one thing was certain.
He now had a reason to return to Wibin.
A year had already passed since his father’s death.
Showing up now would undoubtedly look shameless.
Yet he couldn’t simply stay away.
Chug-chug-chug—!
Elric boarded a train.
A steam locomotive that would carry him to the eastern continent in a week.
After years spent on battlefields, he had barely spent any of the money he earned.
At least enough remained to afford a first-class ticket.
As he sat down, the pain in his right knee eased somewhat.
He let out a long breath.
Outside the window, everything was tinged red.
Autumn.
The harvest season.
The most beautiful time of year in Wibin.
Nostalgia surged within him.
WOOOOOO!
With a shrill whistle, the train departed.
* * *
One week passed as he sat watching the scenery roll by.
His body, accustomed to years without rest, could not adapt to such peace.
It screamed endlessly for action.
Even when he twisted and shifted in discomfort, the pain in his knee quickly reminded him of reality.
At least time continued moving forward.
And eventually, the journey came to an end.
“Have a safe day, sir!”
The attendant who had served his meals bowed deeply.
Elric waved a hand absentmindedly and exited the station.
Wibin.
The sight of his homeland spread before him.
Ten years had passed.
Yet nothing had changed.
The streets glowed red beneath autumn leaves.
The people carried the relaxed pace unique to the countryside.
There was none of the sharp tension of the battlefield.
And beyond them stretched endless golden wheat fields.
The sight.
The scent.
The people.
The atmosphere.
All of it made his nose sting.
Immediately, Elric began moving forward, leaning heavily on his cane and dragging his injured leg.
The pain felt as though it might tear him apart.
Yet his pace never slowed.
With every step, memories from his childhood rose vividly before his eyes.
The games of hide-and-seek among the wheat fields.
The times he was scolded by maids for ruining his clothes in the dirt.
The butler calling him home at sunset in place of his father.
The days he hid among the wheat, secretly hoping his father would come looking for him.
Every memory felt close enough to touch.
And eventually, among those memories, one face emerged.
Tyria… How has she been living?
The western battlefields offered no news of Wibin’s noble lady.
He had no way of knowing.
Still, she was surely doing well.
She had been so beautiful.
Someone must have married her long ago.
Thinking such things, he continued forward until the mansion finally came into view.
Rustle!
A sound came from the wheat field to his right.
Elric flinched.
His head snapped toward the source.
Then—
“…Ah.”
A soft gasp escaped.
Not from him.
From a woman emerging through the wheat.
A gentle yet distinct voice.
Clear and firm despite its softness.
A voice that had once shaken the heart of a foolish young boy.
Yes.
The girl had become a woman.
The mysterious elegance remained unchanged.
Yet the youthful fragility from his memories was gone.
She no longer seemed delicate.
Instead, an even more breathtaking beauty quietly surrounded her.
Her slightly drooping eyes drew attention despite being wide open.
Elric stared blankly as his lips moved of their own accord.
“Why…”
Why are you still here?
Tyria Wibin pressed her lips together briefly.
Then she released a long breath and composed herself.
Her gaze lowered.
Only then did she speak.
“Because I am your wife.”
She was still Elric’s wife.
Contrary to everything he had assumed.
