Chapter 101
“You fool.”
Kravel sneered inwardly at Carlyle.
“No matter how much of a Sigmund you are, if you run that fast you’ll burn out after a few laps.”
Whatever Kravel thought, Carlyle kept running around the parade ground at a brisk pace.
Running with a 30-kilogram pack is physically very demanding, but Carlyle didn’t seem to be struggling.
“Maybe it’s because I shared those elixirs with Frey. I can keep going.”
The elixirs Carlyle and Frey shared didn’t just replenish mana — they dramatically boosted strength, stamina, and other stats.
Having downed several bottles, Carlyle’s endurance had far surpassed the limits of a normal human.
Thanks to that, he could run very fast even while carrying heavy gear.
“At this rate it’ll take less than an hour. I’ll run hard, then rest.”
Carlyle increased his pace.
“That crazy bastard! Huff, huff!”
Kravel simply could not keep up with Carlyle’s speed.
Carlyle ran so fast that following him was exhausting.
The distance between them kept widening until, before Kravel realized it…
“You’re going slow.”
“…!”
Carlyle had quietly caught up from behind and said.
“You’re purposely running slowly, aren’t you.”
“Y-yes. Huff, huff, huff.”
“Oh. So you’re regulating your pace.”
“Huff, huff, huff.”
“If it’s too hard, tell me. I’ll run alone.”
“Be- be quiet and keep running!”
“All right.”
Carlyle took off again, slicing the air.
‘Could he be using mana?’ Kravel wondered.
If he were using mana, Kravel could have matched Carlyle’s pace.
But that was highly unlikely.
Using mana usually gives off a distinct presence, and Kravel felt none from Carlyle.
“No way! How could a human—!”
While Kravel was stunned, Carlyle had already lapped him again and passed by.
‘Even a spoiled brat like him is still a Sigmund…?’ Kravel finally realized Carlyle wasn’t just some noble’s child but a direct descendant of the Sigmund family.
He hadn’t thought the legendary tales of their mysterious physical prowess were true.
But regret was pointless now.
The water was already spilled.
No matter how noble the opponent — even if he were a Sigmund — as battalion commander he couldn’t lose to a lowly private.
If he showed weakness now, how would about 300 soldiers in the battalion view their commander?
Gritting his teeth, Kravel ran on.
His soles burned, his knee joints ached, his back stiffened, and the pack on his shoulders felt as if someone were chopping them with an axe.
“Huff, urgh!”
His breathing grew ragged and harsh, as if it would not stop.
“Having trouble?”
Carlyle brushed past Kravel again and tossed out a line.
But Kravel didn’t have breath to reply.
“Huff! Huff, huff!”
He was out of breath and had no strength to retort to the taunt.
“If it’s hard you don’t have to do it.”
“Huff! Huff, huff!”
“No answer, huh? Then I’ll go ahead first.”
Carlyle dropped behind Kravel and sprinted off ahead.
‘That insolent bastard!’
Kravel was furious, but the pack was too heavy for him to show it.
‘I misjudged the Sigmunds. Even a reckless brat like that has monstrous endurance.’
Kravel realized this wasn’t a contest against Carlyle — it was a contest against himself.
‘I will not give up. I’ll at least finish the course and keep face as battalion commander. Ugh.’
Kravel had to quickly revise his objective.
Thirty minutes later.
“Keep going.”
Carlyle encouraged Kravel.
“Huff! Huff, huff!”
Kravel was staggering, passing by Carlyle who had finished.
Carlyle had already completed the 15-kilometer march with full gear in just thirty minutes and was resting.
It was truly an incredible, monstrous endurance.
A normal person would take at least one and a half to two hours to run 15 kilometers.
To do it in thirty minutes while carrying thirty kilograms meant Carlyle had already exceeded human limits.
Kravel, however, could not.
Still, his stamina was superior to regular scouts.
He’d risen from enlisted man to officer, gained a knighthood, and even reached battalion commander; his fitness level was formidable.
He wouldn’t have dared attempt a 15-kilometer gear march if he wasn’t confident.
In truth, Kravel was quite fast — just unlucky to be facing an abnormal monster.
About an hour later.
“Huff, huff!”
Kravel’s face had gone pale when he finished the march.
“Good work.”
“Huff, huff, huff!”
“You look like you had a hard time.”
“Huff, huff, huff!”
Kravel couldn’t answer Carlyle and couldn’t even take the water or towel offered to him.
His legs trembled like saplings — clearly he had pushed his body beyond its limits.
“Commander! Are you all right?”
The leader of the first company tried to support him, but Kravel refused.
“I’m f-fine. Don’t come near me. Huff, huff, huff!”
He forced himself to breathe and stood on his shaking legs.
He would not fall or sit down and show weakness.
“Carlyle… Private. Huff, huff, huff.”
“Yes?”
“This battalion commander… Huff. Your stamina level… Huff, huff.”
“Catch your breath and speak slowly. I’m fine, so you can take your time.”
Kravel sucked in ragged breaths and forced the words out.
“From now on… Huff. Follow the battalion commander’s orders… Huff. Promptly. Huff, huff.”
“Yes, yes. Oh, right. Loyalty.”
Carlyle snorted and returned a mock salute.
‘That damn—!’
Kravel bore it with all his might.
He wanted to punch that insolent face, but if he did, military life would be ruined for both of them.
A senior officer like the battalion commander assaulting a lowly private was a serious incident — and given Carlyle’s Sigmund blood, Kravel might lose his head if he overstepped.
‘I’ll remember this.’
Kravel vowed to bide his time and went to his office without accepting anyone’s help.
That night.
Carlyle suddenly became the center of attention in the scouts’ barracks.
“Ha ha ha!”
“Well done, well done!”
“You’re the man, master!”
The scouts praised Carlyle and enjoyed how he’d flattened the battalion commander’s pride.
However, some expressed concern.
The reconnaissance leader Begman was one of them.
“Okay, be happy, but don’t show it too much. It’s not exactly a good thing.”
“What do you mean it’s not a good thing?” Russell blurted, excited.
“Don’t be so inexperienced and naïve,” Begman scolded.
“You really do act like you haven’t been around long.”
“W-what?”
“How persistent that man is. Do you really think he’ll back down over something like this?”
“Hmm.”
“Besides, he’s the battalion commander. He has the power to make our lives hard if he wants.”
“Th-that’s true.”
“This is the army. Whether you like it or not, it’s bad to be on the wrong side of superiors.”
Begman, with his veteran experience, offered sensible counsel.
Someone else spoke up then — a figure crawling out from under a bunk.
“Alright, enough. Keep it down. You want me to screw up my last days here? I go home soon, you know?”
“Jeepers.”
Carlyle jumped at the voice.
‘Who is that?’
He couldn’t clearly recall the face at first.
“Ah! Sergeant Simon!”
“Y- you were there?”
Some of the soldiers recognized him.
‘Oh, right. Sergeant Simon.’
Carlyle remembered who he was.
Sergeant Simon — the most senior member of the scouts and a seasoned veteran, three years senior to Begman.
He’d served in Bowden Fortress for almost fifteen years and was due to finish his service and return home in a few months.
Because of that, he avoided the training, drills, and operations as little as possible.
Rumor had it he’d participated in the last siege on Bowden Fortress, but he hadn’t left an especially notable mark.
“Keep it down. I don’t want my last days dragged into nonsense. Please.”
“All right, go back and rest.”
Simon slid back under his bunk at Begman’s prompting.
‘You’d think he was an assassin,’ Carlyle thought a little amusedly.
But as a veteran who’d served fifteen years, it made sense he wanted a quiet sendoff — he’d be miserable if the unit’s troubles wrecked his last months.
“Kid, you better not pick up his habits,” Begman warned.
“He’s a Sigmund so he can get away with that, but we can’t. One complaint and we’ll be in the brig.”
“Yes, Corporal Russell,” Carlyle replied.
Russell whispered to the new recruit Adrian while pointing at Carlyle.
“Everyone can hear you, you know.”
“S-sorry.”
Carlyle snapped at him, and Russell hurriedly apologized.
‘I’d rather go on a mission than stay here,’ Carlyle thought, and the next day his wish was granted.
The next morning.
Helen convened the scouts and explained the mission.
This operation was completely different from their usual work.
Until now the scouts had mostly protected allied engineers from barbarian threats, but this time they would go on the offensive.
“Over the past few days of monitoring barbarian activity… we’ve detected signs they are mining mana stones in this area.”
Helen pointed to a spot on the map with her baton.
“So, our 3rd Company scouting unit will strike that area to prevent their mana stone extraction.”
“How large are they?” Carlyle asked.
“Good question, Private Carlyle.”
Helen nodded.
“But next time, raise your hand before speaking or asking a question.”
“Yes.”
“The enemy force is estimated at around fifty, with about ten warrior-class barbarians.”
“Any other dangers?”
Kudo raised his hand to ask.
“Not at the moment.”
“Hmm.”
“Of course, conditions can change on the battlefield, so we can’t be complacent. I’ll leave it to Scout Leader Begman to make judgments on the ground.”
“Yes, Sir Helen.”
“Then, make it a successful hunt.”
“Yes!”
As soon as Helen finished, the scouts rose from their seats.
‘An attack, huh. Better than defending,’ Carlyle thought, and joined the scouts as they moved out.
