If one were resourceful, even within this confined area, it was possible to meet with a courtesan.
Rumor had it that courtesans preferred being inside the military camp over being in cities or rural villages.
First of all, they could earn higher fees than usual.
And though it might be whispered about, this was not something officially sanctioned within military law or discipline.
Men encountered here, whether soldiers or officers, went out of their way to avoid causing a stir.
No one relished the hassle of getting caught for summoning a woman.
Thus, this place was practically a goldmine for the women.
'Even so.'
It's quite the skill, really.
After all, not everyone can do this, no matter how much they might want to.
'Big Eyes must have arranged it.'
"Man, that's impressive. Really impressive."
"Well, there's no need to live frustrated if you don't have to, right?"
Not wrong.
If you can, there's no harm in indulging.
Jaxen walked along, buttoning his shirt.
The woman left behind in the barracks was likely just a business transaction—he didn't even glance back.
A faint red kiss mark was visible through the shirt he fastened, evidence of a heated encounter.
Jaxen's reddish-brown hair fluttered slightly in the breeze.
He had a strangely appealing look—not particularly remarkable, but undeniably attractive.
Yeah, it's no wonder women gravitate toward him.
"What's the matter?"
Jaxen turned to Enkrid, asking casually.
As usual, his demeanor was easygoing and unassuming.
Jaxen, a member of the squad.
Rem's assessment of him: a deviant who enjoys exploiting vulnerabilities.
For a moment, Enkrid recalled Jaxen on the battlefield.
If Rem resembled a rampaging beast, Jaxen...
'Not quite.'
Enkrid had never truly seen Jaxen in action.
Apart from what Rem said and a fleeting image of Jaxen stabbing an enemy in the back with a spear.
That was all.
Still, it was possible to infer his skills.
Even Rem, who often sustained minor injuries, couldn't deny Jaxen's near-unblemished record.
He rarely got hurt, and when he did, it was barely anything.
"You're not planning to fight properly?"
Occasionally, Rem would growl these words at him.
When that happened, Jaxen would mock Rem openly.
"I'm not the type to relish the sight of blood."
"If you don't enjoy it, just get lost or don't stick around here, you sneaky bastard."
"That's none of your business."
"Fine. Should I split your head or your torso first?"
"Before that, I'd leave two thumb-sized holes in your heart."
And that's where the exchanges ended.
Enkrid would step between them—Rem, bleeding from his forearm with his axe in hand, and Jaxen, quietly rising from his seat.
"If you're so eager to kill each other, why not take it to the enemy side? Why here?"
Though they would glare at each other like they wanted to kill, they never actually fought.
Verbal spats didn't escalate when Enkrid physically placed himself between them.
How many times had he broken up his squad members like that?
Rem called Jaxen a sneaky alley cat.
Jaxen called Rem a deranged savage.
Enkrid had also seen Jaxen use a scavenged spear to stab an enemy in the back.
Even after being stabbed, the enemy couldn't pinpoint Jaxen's position.
While looking around, they were tripped by a crouching Jaxen, sending them sprawling with the spear still lodged in their back.
That vivid image lingered in Enkrid's mind.
Curious about how Jaxen pulled it off, he once asked during a quiet moment.
"Their focus was entirely on the front. That's why it worked."
Jaxen's explanation was succinct.
Rem, on the other hand, was generous in sharing his knowledge.
But the same couldn't be expected from Jaxen.
Still, Enkrid didn't give up easily.
"Squad leader?"
Jaxen stopped walking. At some point, they had arrived at the medical barracks where Enkrid was.
Hearing the question, Enkrid drifted into thought.
The answer required no deliberation.
Enkrid hadn't schemed to become the leader of the troublesome Fourth Squad of the Fourth Company.
Who could ever plan for relationships like these?
So, there was no need to overthink.
If something was curious, he asked.
If something was needed, he demanded it.
That's how Enkrid treated his squad.
"If someone like you stabbed me in the back, how would I defend myself?"
Jaxen instantly understood what Enkrid meant.
How many times had this man pestered him for tips on sneaking up behind someone?
His persistence was unparalleled.
Every few days, the same question was repeated.
If he had whined, it would have been easier to deal with.
Jaxen could have scared him off with a few threats.
But the squad leader didn't do that.
His eyes burned with curiosity and a desire to learn.
Though Jaxen wasn't impressed, one thing was clear:
If left alone, this man would keep asking the same question every few days for as long as he was in the squad.
If Jaxen somehow knew Enkrid for a lifetime, he would be pestered for a lifetime.
Jaxen didn't throw the term "tenacious" around lightly. He knew too well the limits of human endurance.
He understood the futility of terms like mental fortitude, conviction, or determination.
And yet...
To Jaxen, Enkrid was a truly relentless man.
His passion for swordsmanship and martial arts burned hotter than anyone's.
Was it that passion that drove him like this?
"Why are you so eager to learn?"
"Because knowing that could increase my odds of survival."
Jaxen almost asked what he intended to do with the life he clung to so desperately, pouring all his earnings into training.
But he held back.
What good would it do to know?
After all, wasn't this just another fleeting acquaintance?
Eventually, though it wasn't easy, Jaxen explained everything to the best of his ability.
Not that the squad leader could master it.
Naturally, it wasn't suited to his "style."
Yet today's question was slightly different.
"Do you think you broke my ribs because your oponent was too strong—or was it unexpected?"
Jaxen found the question reasonable.
If Enkrid thought he got kicked by the Frog in the last battle because he didn't sense it, he was sorely mistaken.
"No, it's not because your opponent was ridiculously strong."
"Then what?"
The questioning didn't stop.
Enkrid responded with a question of his own.
He knew Jaxen well enough.
Jaxen wasn't the type to be curious.
He kept everyone at arm's length, neither drawing too close nor pushing them too far.
No one considered Jaxen a close friend.
Except for the 444th Squad, no one particularly disliked him either.
Jaxen stood up, loosely draping a shirt over his shoulders, its buttons undone.
A suitable distance—this was Jaxen's usual demeanor.
Asking such questions might have felt awkward to him.
However, Enkrid knew that posing questions this way would compel Jaxen to answer without pressing further.
Their dynamic hadn't been deliberately shaped, but through their interactions, Enkrid had become well-acquainted with the responses and stances of those around him.
"No, not at all. If someone tries to stab you with a spear from behind, you just have to notice first."
As expected, Jaxen's explanation was terrible.
Though Rem claimed he was bad at explaining, compared to Jaxen, Rem could easily pass as an esteemed fencing instructor.
Fortunately, Enkrid had met and learned from a variety of instructors over the years.
Some were better teachers than practitioners, while others, despite their competence, were terrible at teaching.
From every teacher and every moment, Enkrid extracted his due.
Thus, he had an abundance of ways to learn effectively.
"How do you notice first?" Enkrid asked.
"Always keep an eye on your surroundings."
"What if you're attacked despite that?"
"Check more often."
"You can't just turn your head all day, can you?"
"If you're the squad leader, you can."
"No, that's impossible."
Sometimes, Enkrid thought Jaxen was some kind of weirdo.
Unlike Rem, who joked around, Jaxen was completely serious.
Through experience, Enkrid had learned the best way to respond: a firm refusal.
Perhaps this decisiveness influenced Jaxen, as he scanned their surroundings before casually moving to a pile of supplies stacked beside the medical tent.
He perched himself atop the pile, leaning slightly against a nearby tent, and said, "This might take a while."
"Well, today's already a long day," Enkrid replied.
At least until bedtime, he had plenty of time to spare.
"You should eat, though, right?"
"Missing one meal won't kill me. I'll even take over your meal duty for life—well, as long as we're in the same squad."
It was a promise that would disappear after today.
Enkrid often made such fleeting promises.
"If you're joking, it's not very funny," Jaxen remarked.
Amusingly, everyone in the 444th squad hated tasks like dishwashing and meal duty the most.
They all preferred battle over those chores.
Why?
Because they hated preparing meals for other squad members and cleaning up after them.
They were all equally crazy, but there was much to learn from them.
At least on the battlefield, their teaching was unparalleled.
If Jaxen couldn't address this issue, Enkrid figured he'd spend this time focusing or seek advice from Rem or another squadmate later.
A soldier who left no traces on the battlefield—whether Jaxen's skills were truly exceptional, Enkrid couldn't say for sure.
He had never witnessed them firsthand.
However, conclusions drawn from Jaxen's results spoke volumes about his prowess.
Rem's attitude toward Jaxen was evidence of his skill.
So, there must be something worth learning, even if it didn't help immediately—it might be valuable later.
The "Heart of the Beast"? That hadn't been useful from the start, had it?
"I don't have time to waste on empty words," Enkrid said.
"Didn't you just say you have all day?"
"That's a different matter."
"Fine. You'll keep your promise, right?"
Enkrid nodded and settled down right in front of Jaxen.
A few passing soldiers glanced their way but didn't engage.
Amid the flow of soldiers and supply carts, the two faced each other.
Though Jaxen sat higher on the pile of supplies, the difference wasn't enough to bother Enkrid.
Jaxen felt a strange unease.
Enkrid had plopped himself down on the ground and was now looking at him.
With the gravel and uneven rocks beneath, it must have been uncomfortable.
Not to mention the dust kicked up by passing carts, yet he seemed unfazed, entirely focused on Jaxen's words without a hint of doubt.
The sincerity in Enkrid's gaze prompted Jaxen to speak.
"Humans have five senses."
"Sight, smell, hearing—that kind of thing?"
"Yes. Sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch."
Why bring that up now?
Shouldn't Enkrid have questions?
Yet, Enkrid's expression showed none of that—he simply listened.
It was an admirable attitude, enough to elicit unexpected words.
Originally, Jaxen had planned to say, "Just train your senses," but he began explaining instead.
The words came not from his head but from his heart.
"If you can't keep turning your head, you need eyes on your back."
While heartfelt, the words weren't exactly kind.
Even Jaxen thought they sounded absurd.
His explanation had been poor.
"Got it," Enkrid said with a nod.
'Seriously?'
Jaxen carefully chose his next words.
He hadn't expected to teach this, but there was no harm in trying.
He knew from observation that the squad leader was ordinary—his senses were nothing special, naturally gifted in no way.
Still, that was fine.
The training Jaxen intended to teach was effective even for average individuals. With consistent effort over three to four months, it would yield notable results.
Typically, this training was conducted in confined spaces like caves.
Of course, the ideal method would involve repeatedly surviving assassination attempts, but that wasn't realistic.
"You can't always rely on your eyes to watch your surroundings, but your ears can do the job."
His explanation still felt lacking, but Enkrid quickly grasped the point.
"Ah, right. Sound doesn't discriminate between front and back," Enkrid noted.
"Precisely. To be more accurate, sound does have directionality. By learning to distinguish sounds, your hearing will develop. It's a practice you can start right here, even while sitting. Try it now—listen carefully."
Various sounds filled the air:
The creak of rolling carts, the murmurs of grumbling soldiers, groans from the infirmary, the indifferent voice of a medic urging patience, and the flapping of banners as a strong westerly wind swept through.
After a brief pause, Jaxen spoke.
"Today's wind is from the west. The medic is stationed three tents ahead from here. That cart's left wheel joint is loose. If they're lucky, it'll last two days; if not, it'll break today."
True to his words, the cart wheel soon gave way with a crack, collapsing to one side.
"Ah, come on!" the driver exclaimed in frustration.
"By distinguishing sounds and identifying them, you can constantly survey your surroundings," Jaxen concluded.
Enkrid was astonished.
Was such a thing really possible? Clearly, Jaxen had just demonstrated it.
"Installing eyes on your back—this is auditory training. Can you do it?"
This auditory training relied on environment rather than difficulty in methodology.
It was merely a matter of distinguishing sounds.
Of course, that didn't mean it would be easy.
"Repeating the same sounds and distinguishing them will help, right? And once you're used to that, you move on to other methods?"
As expected, Enkrid, though unexceptional in martial arts or swordsmanship, excelled at listening and comprehension.
His ability to listen well translated to quick understanding.
"Correct. For example, one method of detecting an assassin's silent approach is to distinguish the subtle sounds of shifting air. If you know a skilled assassin, have them attempt to sneak up on you—that would be the best training."
Jaxen's following comment was partly in jest, delivered with a faint smile.
It was a joke, yet somehow unnecessary.
Enkrid's knack for grasping Jaxen's inadequate explanations had led to the statement slipping out unintentionally.
It seemed like a notion irrelevant to Enkrid's life.
Yet—
"Is that so?"
Rather than dismissing it, Enkrid's eyes gleamed with interest.
What an inscrutable person, Jaxen thought as he evaluated Enkrid.