Chapter 2
Homecoming (2)
The madness of the battlefield was relentless.
It was brutal enough to make one accept, without resistance, the sight of someone you had shared a meal with now lying cold as a corpse; to endure blades and showers of arrows coming from all directions; to spend nights without sleep, cutting and killing as if it were nothing.
The illusion that death would somehow spare you is something that shatters in your very first battle.
The anxiety of not knowing when you’ll die becomes a lifelong companion—no, even after leaving the battlefield, it remains.
—
There was no way Elric could have stayed sane after wandering such a place for ten years.
On top of that, he swung his sword as if seeking death itself, so it was only natural he was twice as worn down as those who fought to survive.
And yet, there was one reason he was still alive.
His body’s strength had overcome the erosion of his mind.
—
A beast that charged into enemy lines as if it would die that very day, never stopping until nothing living remained before its eyes.
Eyes stained dark red—ones you should never meet on the battlefield.
The words used to describe the Sword Demon, Kasha, were all that vicious, and the soldiers’ awe toward him bordered on worship.
But in truth, his legend was built on sheer recklessness, backed by strength and luck.
People who had endured the twenty-year war for dominance in the western continent called Sword Demon Kasha a ghost that would not disappear until the war ended.
To Elric, however, it was nothing more than a ridiculous rumor.
—
*Crack—!*
Even the strongest living being eventually breaks.
Elric was no exception.
—
‘A serious injury.’
—
In the middle of a battlefield contested over a border, he had faced the extreme situation of holding off a thousand soldiers alone.
As always, he had ultimately won—but in the process, his right knee joint had been crushed.
It wasn’t an irreversible injury, but neither was it light enough to return to battle anytime soon.
No—he might not even manage daily life properly.
For a while, he would have to live as a cripple.
—
A mercenary, by nature, is expendable manpower bought with money.
Of course, Elric’s strength was far from replaceable—but in his current condition, where he couldn’t properly use it, he would be treated no differently from any other mercenary.
Without someone willing to hire him, how could he continue his rampage on the battlefield?
—
For that reason, Elric left the front lines after about four years.
It was still a war zone, but the rear lines were relaxed enough that one could sit at a bar and read a newspaper.
After four years of living like a madman obsessed with killing, Elric found himself reading something other than military codes.
—
“This is a newspaper from the east. Are you from there?”
—
Elric ignored the bartender.
Not because he thought the question unworthy—but because he was too absorbed in the newspaper.
How could he not be?
The eastern continent was his homeland.
—
Even after all this time, a sense of nostalgia remained.
Even after such a bitter parting, certain memories still haunted him.
The golden wheat fields of Wibin, and the childhood days spent there.
As death draws closer, people tend to dwell on memories—and since Elric always stood beside death, he found himself drowning in those illusions.
—
**“Princess Eklisia’s Tea Party.”**
—
The paper showed a brightly smiling princess, surrounded by noble ladies gathered to highlight her presence. Beneath it was a brief introduction and interviews.
—
‘No news from Wibin…?’
—
He flipped the page, letting out a small laugh.
Of course there wouldn’t be.
Wibin was just an insignificant wheat village in the eastern Kingdom of Ferdin.
What was he even expecting?
Shaking his head, he turned the page—
—
**“First Death Anniversary of Hoven Portman.”**
—
Elric froze.
His eyes widened, his breath caught as if someone had grabbed his throat.
His thoughts stopped, screaming as they tried to process the sudden information.
—
At the corner of the page was a small photo of a man he could never forget.
Though it was black-and-white and more wrinkled than he remembered, Elric recognized him instantly.
His father—cold, hateful—was there.
In a way he had never expected.
—
—
### *
—
Looking back, what remained was an old resentment.
Even when he first ran away from home, Elric had held onto a sliver of hope that his father would come for him.
No matter how much he changed his name or crossed borders, his father’s wealth could easily overcome such obstacles.
It was childish—he knew that now—but back then, he was too young.
And swept up in the madness of war, his unstable mind had twisted his emotions.
—
In any case, clinging to that stubborn feeling, years passed.
By then, shame kept him from returning to Wibin.
Even after his feelings toward his father had hardened, he kept delaying his return, thinking, *“Someday, I’ll go back.”*
Regret and bitterness rose—but quickly cooled.
—
‘I don’t even have the right to feel that.’
—
It was self-mockery.
Strangely enough, despite how much he once hated the man, the only emotion he felt at his father’s death was faint regret.
Was there sadness?
He wasn’t sure.
But one thing was certain—
He now had a reason to return to Wibin.
—
Even if it had already been a year since his father’s death…
Even if showing up now would seem shameless…
He couldn’t not go.
—
*Chiiiiik—!*
—
Elric boarded a train.
A steam locomotive that would take him east in a week.
After years on the battlefield, he had money to spare—enough for first class.
As he sat, the pain in his knee eased slightly.
He let out a long breath.
Outside, the scenery was tinged red.
—
Autumn.
The most beautiful harvest season in Wibin.
His nostalgia deepened.
—
*Whooooo—!*
With a loud whistle, the train departed.
—
—
### *
—
After a week of sitting and watching the passing scenery, his body—so used to constant battle—struggled with the stillness.
It cried out, unable to adapt to peace.
He twisted in discomfort, only to be reminded of his limits by the pain in his knee.
Still, time moved forward.
Enduring it somehow, he finally reached the end of the railway.
—
“Take care!”
—
The attendant who had served him meals bowed deeply.
Elric waved him off and exited the station.
—
‘Wibin…’
—
The view of Wibin spread before him.
Even after ten years, it hadn’t changed.
The streets, dyed red with autumn leaves, were quiet.
The people carried the calmness unique to the countryside.
There was none of the sharp tension of the battlefield.
Beyond them stretched endless golden wheat fields.
The sight, the smell, the atmosphere—
It made his nose sting.
—
Leaning on a cane, dragging his limping leg, Elric walked forward.
Despite the tearing pain, he didn’t slow down.
—
With each step, memories overlapped vividly before his eyes.
Soon, the straight path to the estate came into view.
The Portman family mansion lay beyond the fields, standing alone.
—
*Tap—*
—
His cane supported his weakened leg as he walked between the wheat fields.
—
Playing hide-and-seek with village children.
Getting scolded by maids for dirtying his clothes.
The butler calling him to dinner at sunset.
Hiding in the fields, waiting for his father to come find him.
All of it felt within reach.
—
Then his thoughts drifted further—to the face of a girl.
—
‘How is the young lady living now…?’
—
On the western battlefield, there had been no way to know what became of her.
She was probably doing well.
Someone must have taken such a beautiful woman as their wife.
Thinking that, he moved forward—
—
*Rustle—*
—
A sound came from the wheat field to his right.
His body tensed.
His head snapped toward it.
—
“…Ah.”
—
A soft exclamation.
Not his.
A woman stepped out from the wheat field.
Her voice—gentle yet clear, with a firm finish—
It was the same voice that had once shaken Elric’s heart as a boy.
—
She had grown.
The girl was now a woman.
Her mysterious, elegant aura remained, but the youthful softness was gone.
She was no longer fragile.
Her beauty had only deepened, quietly enveloping her.
Her slightly drooping eyes drew his gaze.
—
Elric, lips moving absentmindedly, spoke without thinking:
“Why…?”
—
Why are you still here?
—
The woman—Tyria Wibin—closed her lips briefly, then exhaled and composed herself.
Her gaze lowered.
Then she spoke:
—
“Because I am your wife. That is why I am here.”
—
She was still his wife.
Contrary to everything he had assumed.
