Chapter Nineteen: A Temporary Reconciliation

Kevin and Sain had set themselves against each other, and though their commanding officer hadn't said much at the time, he waved them off to eat first. It wasn't until dusk that he summoned them both for a scolding.

Kevin was convinced he was entirely in the right. As a supervisor, if persuasion failed and violence was forbidden, what else could he do? Stab him to death? Even in the most unreasonable army, there had to be a proper way to carry out orders. If everything he did was wrong, then they might as well just kill him.

Sain, on his end, was equally sure he had done nothing wrong. He'd been the first recruit to hit the bullseye that day—why should he be punished by holding a shield? Worse, he'd been struck by a commoner—utterly outrageous!

Both stood tall and proud before their officer, defiance etched on their faces. Marcus, however, refrained from assigning blame, instead repeating platitudes about camaraderie and the folly of fighting. Yet, to Kevin, a bard of some discernment, Marcus's sermon was feeble—he was better suited to speaking with his fists.

After the lecture, neither showed any reaction. Their expressions left no doubt—they were unconvinced, restrained only by Marcus's authority.

"You two, shake hands," Marcus finally ordered, opting for a hardline approach to force reconciliation.

Turning to face each other, Sain's gaze was razor-sharp, as though he wished to kill Kevin on the spot. Kevin's eyes, in turn, mocked him for his stupidity. Nevertheless, they extended their hands and gave a perfunctory shake, as if their eyes and hands belonged to entirely separate beings, doing opposite things.

"Enough," Marcus said. "I've said my piece. Anything you want to add?"

The two were silent, clearly unwilling to speak.

"If you have something to say, then say it." Marcus, seeing through them, pointed at Sain. "Are you dissatisfied?"

Cornered, Sain admitted, "Yes, I'm not convinced! My archery is excellent—why am I being punished?"

"What is the basic rule of the army?" Marcus asked.

"Obey orders!" Sain replied.

"Did I ever teach you any fancy arrow-spinning tricks?" Marcus's voice rose.

"No...no, sir," Sain muttered, head down at once.

It was simple and direct—enough to subdue Sain instantly. Had Kevin said the same, it would have drawn only laughter. In the end, strength lent weight to words. Kevin found himself thinking: if someday he became strong enough, he could debate those he couldn't defeat and fight those he couldn't out-argue. Not a bad arrangement. Then again, fighting was risky; perhaps it would be better to create such a protagonist in his stories instead.

"Kevin!" Marcus turned. "Any questions?"

"Yes," Kevin replied, deciding it was time to seek clarity. "If something similar happens again, should I try reasoning, or use my fists?"

Marcus paused, unable to suggest something as useless as "come back and tell me." By the time anyone ran back, the officer would already be on his way. "Reasoning" would make a mockery of military discipline; "fighting" contradicted the earlier talk of camaraderie. For a moment, he was speechless.

"Go back," Marcus finally said, having thought of a solution. He waved Sain away, then beckoned Kevin. "You make a good point. Come with me."

Kevin was puzzled, and as a bard couldn't help but wonder—was this like those novels where the mentor suddenly admires the hero and bestows a treasure?

But instead, they went into a small grove, where Marcus beat Kevin thoroughly. Without a word, with no one to see or hear, let alone help, Kevin had no choice but to cover his head and take the blows—unable and unwilling to resist.

"Understand now?" Marcus asked when he was done.

"I do," Kevin replied helplessly. It dawned on him that the very protagonist he had just imagined stood before him: debating when he could, and fighting when he couldn't. Such a hero, indeed, was formidable.

When he returned, Stadte approached. "How did it go? The three of them have been huddled together, plotting something."

"It's nothing," Kevin waved him off. "Just some kids. The important thing is to train, eat, and rest—don't stoop to their level."

"But I don't think they'll let you off so easily," Stadte worried. "I bet they were planning to gang up on Marcus, but clearly can't take him, so now they're coming for you instead."

Kevin shook his head. "Honestly, I only won today because everyone was holding back, and I used a little magic trickery. If things get ugly and it comes to a knight's duel, I can't beat him. That's just how it is—I'll avoid trouble if I can."

The evening bell rang, signaling bath time. Like everyone else, Kevin poured water over himself under the moonlight, then dressed and washed his clothes. The officer always finished first and left quickly.

Suddenly, a bucket of cold water was dumped over Kevin, soaking him through. His hands froze mid-wash, and his freshly donned clothes clung to his skin.

"Ah! Sorry!" came Marinas's voice, laughing. "Slipped!"

Everyone watched Kevin, waiting for his reaction. He paused only a moment, then calmly took off his wet clothes and added them to the wash.

The others exchanged glances, each with their own thoughts. Sain and his cronies wore victorious smirks. Stadte frowned—though, truthfully, he couldn't take all three of them. Grey looked utterly confused, not understanding what had happened.

"Hey," Stadte whispered, "aren't you going to say something?"

"What should I say?" Kevin replied. "It was Marinas who did it, not Sain. Even if I told the officer, he'd just call it an accident and apologize."

"And next time?" Stadte asked. "Don't even think about dragging me in. The two of us can't take on three; don't try to get me beaten with you."

"I figured you'd say that," Kevin said, glancing at him.

"Honestly, dealing with people like that is simple," Stadte suggested. "Beat him up at night, or dump a bucket of water on him next time. If you can't beat them head-on, play dirty."

"And then?" Kevin retorted. "They'll retaliate openly, then we retaliate in secret, and so it goes for three months?"

Stadte hesitated. "What, you plan to stab them?"

"You've read too many formulaic novels," Kevin couldn't help but scoff. "They dump water on me, so I stab all three?"

"Fine, then. What's your plan?" Stadte challenged.

"Can't you see I'm thinking?" Kevin replied.

"I see you washing clothes."

"I've been scrubbing this collar forever—doesn't that mean my mind's elsewhere?" Kevin was clearly annoyed.

"Alright, alright, sorry. I don't have your deep powers of observation," Stadte grumbled.

Kev