What Do You Wish For With Murky Eyes: Record of Highserk War - Chapter 2

In the intense battle, every moment counted, and those who were unscathed continued to move on the battlefield without a moment’s rest. Scavenging enemy supplies and belongings left behind was recognized in the Highserk Empire as a morale-boosting activity. Walm felt a bit hesitant to search the pockets of the opponents he had slain, but if he held back, there would be nothing left. The body of the man referred to as the squad leader yielded a substantial harvest.

A small bag containing silver and copper coins, hard-baked biscuits, and knee guards protecting the shin to the knee. The torso piece didn’t fit Walm, so he couldn’t wear it.

“Please excuse me.”

Although it was uncertain whether it would work, Walm prayed for the deceased. He forcibly opened the fingers that clutched the two-handed sword even after death. It seemed as if the thoughts of the dead were packed into it, but Walm was still at ease, as there was a military priest present, and there was no worry about demonic transformation due to magical interference.

The sword was not a bad piece, but Walm already owned a higher-quality longsword. After sinking into the sea of thought for a while, he raised his voice.

“Does anyone want a sword? It’s a good one. I want to exchange it for something.”

It was a great time for bartering. With this much abandoned loot, there should be one or two people who fit Walm’s needs. If it were small items, Walm might have carried them himself, but the two-handed sword was bulky. For Walm, who did not have a “magic bag,” it was an unnecessary burden. Before he raised his voice again, one soldier responded.

“Your shield looks quite beaten up.”

Walm’s shield, which had endured continuous attacks, was severely damaged, with some parts pierced through. There was a strong risk that it would break if used again in the midst of battle. In contrast, the shield the man held was simple and sturdy, without flashy decorations.

“Let me see it.”

“Yeah, sure, I want to see that too.”

Temporarily exchanging items, Walm focused on the material and reinforcement. It was lighter than it looked, and when struck, it produced a reassuring sound. The man also liked the two-handed sword. Walm and the soldier exchanged glances and nodded. It was a mutually satisfactory exchange. Walm passed a sling through the shield to carry it on his back and continued searching.

“What’s this? Still alive.”

A member of the squad who had been scavenging for loot on the edge of Walm’s field of vision found a barely breathing Liberitoan soldier. If alive, they could be collectively sent into slavery, and if they were nobles or wealthy enough, they might be released for ransom.

“H-help me…”

Organs and blood overflowed from the abdominal area, and deep lacerations were engraved on the shoulder. Even if healing magic were used, too much blood had been lost, and it was unlikely he could be saved. The plea for mercy from the Liberitoan soldier reached Walm’s ears repeatedly.

“This is no good.”

The soldier who had discovered the Liberitoan soldier stood up reluctantly, drew the longsword at his waist, and thrust it into his throat as he lay on the ground. Walm could have stopped him, but he didn’t. The Liberitoan soldier’s abdominal cavity overflowed with organs, and even if his life were prolonged, he would continue to suffer, not to mention the waste of resources. Though Walm understood this rationally, he unconsciously furrowed his brows in discomfort, watching the situation unfold.

“Ah, che…”

Walm inwardly clicked his tongue at the rough treatment. The soldier, who had not been hit in a vital spot and couldn’t die instantly, spat out blood and groaned, clutching at the sword stuck in himself as if to confirm.

“Clumsy, get out of the way.”

The voice belonged to the leader of the squad to which Walm belonged. It seemed he couldn’t stand the sight of the struggling enemy soldier. Pushing aside a fellow soldier with his hand, he lifted the war hammer he had been carrying on his shoulder and swung it down. A dull sound of a cracked skull echoed. This time, the soldier breathed his last. Walm averted his gaze from the corpse. The squad leader glanced at the dead body and spat at the soldier standing beside him.

“Tibard, when I’m about to die, I won’t ask you for the finishing blow.”

The bearded man with a twisted face snorted. He was Walm’s superior, Captain Duwei. The numerous battle scars all over his body told the tale of his long military service. His height was average, a bit taller than Walm, but his log-like arms and thick chest were reassuring, especially with the skill “Heavy Strike.”

Unlike the previous world, individual differences among humans in this world were intense. Magic users were rare, and those with skills were also rare and powerful. There were women who could break a man’s arm, scouts more agile than animals, and monks who could deflect sword strikes with their bare hands. Captain Duwei was one such person. His war hammer could crush enemies along with their armor. Walm’s straightforward impression was that he didn’t want to encounter such a person as an enemy.

As the commotion settled, Walm surveyed the lifeless bodies. There is no such culture. Unsure if he even had faith, Walm quietly puts his hands together. It’s a hypocritical act to help diminish his guilt. Reason gives a critical opinion, but Walm ignores it.

“What, Walm, your doing that again?”

“It’s like a habit.”

“Hmm, I see. Well, doesn’t seem bad, I guess.”

In response to Walm’s answer, Captain Duwei replied briefly. Whether he lost interest or not, the bearded superior ended the conversation. When there was nothing more worthwhile to find on the corpses, the squad was called to assemble.

“My squad has been ordered to deal with the bodies in the area. Fortunately, there are many prisoners this time. You can use them as you like. Keep a proper watch.”

Next to the assembled squad, the prisoners were gathered, sitting on the ground. Walm scanned them from one end to the other. There were about 20 of them in terms of numbers. None of them had suffered fatal wounds. Some had visible contusions and lacerations on their heads and arms, but Walm judged that it wouldn’t hinder their work.

Assigned to monitor four of the prisoners, Walm checked their condition. Escape was out of the question, but causing casualties during work would only be a wasteful consumption of human resources. There seemed to be no major injuries. At most, their faces were swollen or they had a significant lump. Walm speculated that they had surrendered adeptly.

The necks of these four prisoners were bound with ropes, and they wore nothing threatening. If they possessed skills or magic, it could be dangerous, but if they had the skill to overcome them with bare hands, they probably wouldn’t have been taken prisoner. Troublesome individuals with special abilities faced a choice between escaping or being killed.

The prisoners were instructed to strip the armor and clothing from the corpses. Insects and birds, enticed by the blood, eagerly flocked around. Walm, feeling disgusted, used his spear and hands to shoo them away. Each time, the prisoners trembled in surprise but continued their work. Walm pitied them; their bodies and minds must have been worn out by the battles.

Another squad used the prisoners to dig graves, and bodies were thrown into them one after another. When they carried up a body, Walm’s gaze was fixed.

“… He died?”

It was a young man from the same squad as Walm, who belonged to the neighboring village. They were close in age and had discussed their hometown and mutual acquaintances. His teeth and lower jaw were shattered, and his tongue was hanging out of his mouth. His eyes were wide open, filled with agony. This was his first battle.

Unable to overcome his battle viginity, he was left to expose his corpse a distant land. Walm pondered what the difference between them was. Whether it was the memories from the previous life, bad luck, or a difference in aptitude for killing, Walm contemplated, but there was no answer. After looking down silently for some time, Walm’s eyes quickly caught the slight movement of a prisoner who had grown impatient. Without exchanging words, he stared at them expressionlessly.

“Oh, I didn’t do it.”

“Me neither. I was too scared to stab with a spear.”

As if justifying themselves, the prisoners began to speak. Walm was surprised by their actions. It was as if they feared being killed out of a personal grudge. Unthinkable. While it would be a lie to say he had no feelings on the matter, this was war. Yes, war. They were only following the will chosen by their community.

They hadn’t willingly committed murder. They had simply defeated the enemy in war. This applied to Walm himself as well. Bringing personal feelings into it and killing them, the prisoners, would not make him a soldier; it would make him just a murderer. He had to adhere to the duties and responsibilities of being a soldier. That line could not be crossed. It was only permissible to kill as a soldier. Otherwise, as Takakura Raizou, as Walm, as a person, the fundamentals would crumble.

Is it abnormal to kill someone with slight hesitation for self-preservation, or are those who claim they couldn’t kill someone much more cultural and humane? Such thoughts crossed Walm’s mind as he returned from the sea of thought. He closed the eyelids of someone who had once been a comrade with his fingers and pushed the tongue back into the mouth.

“Carry it.”

The four understood the intention in those three words and began carrying as before, but they treated the bodies more respectfully than the others. It was as if they were handling volatile or explosive materials. The collected bodies were stacked one on top of another without distinguishing between friend and foe.

The military priest scattered holy water and continued chanting prayers to prevent the occurrence of magical creatures such as ghouls and skeletons at the battlefield site. The number of bodies had exceeded 1,500. Considering that there would likely be severely wounded individuals who wouldn’t make it through the night, Walm felt depressed. The casualties in the Highserk Empire were said to be around 300, so one could glimpse the extent of the damage to the Liberitoan Commercial Federation.

After finishing the body disposal, with the sun beginning to set, smoke from cooking rose simultaneously. While individuals had their portable rations, those were for emergencies only. As long as the distribution continued, Walm didn’t want to touch them. Besides, today there was a lot of plunder. Cooking was done at the squad level, and despite losing two members, the Duwei squad, for their excellent performance, received not only food but also wine and ale.

Wine doesn’t appear out of nowhere. Walm suspected that it was probably part of the large amount of supplies left behind at the enemy’s main camp. The Liberitoa Commercial Federation had many weak soldiers, but it excelled in economic power. The country had a coastline, mines, dungeons, and rivers for logistics that flowed across the country from a giant lake. It was an incredibly unfair opponent, and Walm felt exasperated. Turning his eyes away from unnecessary thoughts, he focused his consciousness on the meal in front of him.

Today’s meal included two hard-baked breads, salted herring and cod, and even sauerkraut. The highlight was uncontaminated horse meat from a horse carcass or a broken-legged warhorse freshly slaughtered, and hung from a tree to drain the blood. Although muscular, it is the highest quality protein available on the front lines, and no soldier, including Wollum, is averse to it.

In a large pot, horse meat and potatoes were simmering, including wild plants gathered from who knows where. The richness overflowed from the horse meat, and even when chewed, the tough texture of the meat provided a satisfying bite. The potatoes didn’t disintegrate when cooked, giving them a substantial texture. Walm earnestly shoveled the meal into his mouth.

Some of the soldiers, unaccustomed to the unfamiliar smell of death and the effects of combat, covered their mouths, unable to progress with their meals. It couldn’t be helped in their first battle. Bitter memories of Walm’s past flashed through his mind. It was a path Walm had also walked. Eating meat in the midst of the stench of death made him feel repulsed, but as he accumulated combat experience, he was aware that his senses were dulling. Whether it was a fortunate thing as a person, Walm didn’t know, but for now, if he could focus on the meal in front of him, that was good enough for him.

“Walm, I heard about it. You took down nine enemy soldiers. I got fifteen, so I win, but you’ve got potential.”

Walm understood without looking back at the source of the alcohol smell. Duwei squad leader, holding two bottles, had wrapped his arm around Walm’s neck.

“No, I can’t beat Squad Leader Duwei.”

It was his honest opinion. Walm was reluctantly gaining recognition among his comrades for his talent in battles and killing, but Duwei squad leader was in a league of his own.

“Now, drink.”

The middle-aged superior poured wine generously into a cup with a pleasant expression. Walm, with a wry smile, raised his cup, and squad leader Duwei poured the remaining half of the bottle into the cup and drank it all at once. Walm was impressed by his tremendous drinking skills, but he worried that the alcohol might run out for the other squad members. Checking the total amount of alcohol, Walm looked around, and other squad members also had bottles of liquor.

“Walm, you look puzzled.”

Jose, sitting to the right, was smiling while holding a beer barrel. Due to his dark skin, his face was hard to see in the darkness unless you squinted. Jose had been Walm’s partner since he joined the squad. He was an information broker, efficient in securing supplies, and a reliable companion. He had curly hair with a tendency to form locks. Despite his cheerful appearance, he had a rather sharp side.

“I wondered how there was so much alcohol.”

“When we captured one of the enemy commanders, it seems we also seized a ‘magic bag.’ It was filled to the brim with victory wine.”

Magic bags were the main players of distribution in this world and the backbone supporting logistics. Some were as small as waist pouches, while others were large backpacks capable of holding warehouse-class supplies. Walm also wanted to lay eyes on one, but unfortunately, they were extremely hard to obtain. The main ways to acquire them were through relics found in dungeons and ruins or the magic bags produced in the Alenard Forest Alliance, which possessed the World Tree.

Since Alenard kept the production method secret, only nobles and wealthy merchants, besides the military, owned them. Natural ones excavated from dungeons and ruins were said to have larger capacities. According to Jose, the only exceptions are adventurers who frequent the labyrinths and ruins and have many opportunities to acquire them.

“So, we’re raising a toast to the nouveau riche of Liberitoa. We owe them our gratitude.”

Instead of the wine they had just finished, beer was poured this time. Since there was no ice or refrigerator, the beer was at room temperature, but Walm found its unique sweetness, acidity, and eventual bitterness quite enjoyable as he continued drinking. In between sips, he tasted the salted herring. Due to its salty preservation, it had a strong flavor, but Walm didn’t find it too salty, thanks to the sweat lost from the battle.

Eating it alongside the beer made for a perfect combination. Celebrating with comrades on the side where the bodies lay, after taking lives, and raising a toast – Walm understood that he was adapting to a world with different values and laws, despite the confusion and agony. Even so, that was the only way for Walm to keep on living.