The words, simple yet chilling, sent a shiver through everyone within earshot. The protesting soldier faltered, his knees almost buckling under the squad leader's oppressive stare. He quickly averted his gaze, mumbling a faint, "Understood, sir," before retreating.
The squad leader returned his attention to Issac, his expression unreadable once more. "Get some rest."
One of the soldiers escorted Issac to his tent. From the first glance, it was clear that the accommodations were less than luxurious. The tent was small, practical, and barely furnished. A simple bed made of woven bushes rested in one corner, a wooden desk stood to the side with a notebook and pen placed neatly on top, and a small cabinet was tucked away where Issac stored his armor after removing it.
Now unarmored, Issac was left wearing a half-ruined tunic and loose trousers, both riddled with cuts and dirt. He examined himself briefly, noting the sorry state of his attire, but exhaustion quickly overtook his thoughts.
"Finally... I can rest," he muttered, allowing himself to collapse onto the makeshift bed.
Just as his eyes drifted closed, the sound of a voice from outside startled him awake.
"Sir Arthur, may I enter?" a soft, feminine voice called from outside the tent.
Issac sighed. The thought of finally getting some much-needed rest evaporated, leaving him slightly annoyed, though he kept his frustration hidden.
"Of course, you can enter," he replied, sitting up slightly.
The flap of the tent lifted, and a young female soldier stepped inside. She carried a tray of food and a neatly folded set of clean clothes. Her appearance was modest, with her hair tied back into a bun, but her expression quickly shifted when she saw Issac's disheveled state. Her cheeks flushed a light pink as her eyes darted away from his tattered clothing and unkempt appearance.
She handed him the clothes first, her voice polite but slightly flustered. "Please wear these, Sir."
Issac noticed her discomfort and raised an eyebrow in confusion. It wasn't until he glanced down at himself—his ragged tunic barely clinging to decency and dirt smudging every inch of exposed skin—that he realized why she was embarrassed.
"Ah... my apologies for my appearance. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said, offering a faint, sheepish smile.
"It's fine," she replied quickly, her eyes still avoiding him.
"Thanks for understanding. By the way, what's your name, soldier?" he asked, shifting the focus of the conversation.
"It's Elizabeth, or Eli for short," she answered, her voice more composed now, though her gaze still flickered away from him occasionally.
"Well then, Elizabeth, you can leave the food on the table. There's no need for you to waste time here anymore," Issac said with a polite nod, trying to make her feel at ease.
"Thank you, Sir," she said, setting the tray down on the desk.
Without another word, Elizabeth left the tent, though her departure was quick and somewhat flustered. Issac couldn't help but notice, but he dismissed it with a sigh as he turned his attention to the clean clothes she had brought.
"I definitely need to take a bath first," he muttered to himself. "I stink, and I'm completely filthy..."
The grime of the battlefield clung to him like a second skin, and the stench of rotting corpses lingered in his senses.
Issac made his way to the back of the camp where the bathing area was located. It wasn't much, but it served its purpose. The "bathroom," if it could even be called that, was a crude contraption consisting of three metal sheets buried partially into the ground to provide support. They formed a makeshift enclosure, with a fourth sheet acting as a door that barely managed to swing open and shut.
Issac stared at it for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line.
'Well... at least it gives some kind of privacy,' he thought, somewhat sarcastically.
Inside, the setup was as basic as it could get. A single bucket of water stood in the corner alongside a small mug for scooping. The water tank supplying it sat outside the contraption, and judging by the icy chill emanating from the bucket, it seemed to store its contents in the open air.
Issac dipped a finger into the water, only to shiver immediately. "Bone-chilling cold. Of course it is," he muttered under his breath.
With a resigned sigh, he accepted his fate. "In the end, it is what it is."
He undressed, folding his tattered clothes neatly in a corner of the enclosure before stepping over to the bucket.
He scooped the icy water over himself, scrubbing the dirt, grime, and blood from his skin.
Once finished, Issac dried himself off as best he could using his tunic, then changed into the clean clothes Elizabeth had brought him.
He stepped out of the contraption, the cold night air prickling his skin. Looking up at the stars that dotted the sky, he exhaled deeply, the frost of his breath visible in the chilly air.
"Ice Bucket Challenge Done," He forced a smile.
Even though the signs of weakness were evident—his frame slightly thinner than it should have been—they did little to diminish his natural charm. Arthur was an imposing figure, standing at an impressive 6'3" with a lean but well-defined build.
His jet-black eyes held a quiet intensity, complementing the straight, neck-length black hair that framed his sharp face. Most of his hair hung loose, but he had tied a portion of it into a small, neat bun at the back of his head, like of a samurai.
His chiseled features were striking, with high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a perfectly straight nose. His skin, now clean, carried a healthy tone despite the slight pallor from his weakened state.
Issac couldn't help but pause for a moment as he caught his reflection in a small, cracked mirror hanging in the corner of the tent.
"So this is Arthur's true face," he murmured, tracing a hand along his jawline. "No wonder, Elizabeth was flushed... I know it's not because of my face as she could barely see through the dirt,"
(End of Chapter)
*****
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