When the last of the black-and-gold soldiers fell, there was a brief moment of respite. The surviving mortals stood still, restraining their bloodthirst as silence blanketed the battlefield.
The first to stir was none other than that man. It seemed he had only taken a moment to close his eyes, and when he opened them again, it was as if he were gazing at a serene field of flowers.
"Gather our dead and send their tokens back home," he commanded. His voice was neither loud nor soft, yet in the stillness, it carried to everyone's ears. He had addressed no one in particular, but his words spurred the soldiers into action, each moving with purpose.
He issued a few more commands with ease, his demeanor exuding the natural authority of one born to lead.
Haruki, meanwhile, had forgotten where he was. His body, mind, and soul were entirely consumed by watching the man. Only the sharp hiss of a sword unsheathing and the sudden gust of wind brushing his neck snapped him out of his reverie.
"Whoa!"
A heavy voice, hoarse from the battle, barked from above him. "Tsk! I asked you a question! Who are you?!"
Haruki looked up to see one of the surviving soldiers—one of his soldiers. The man's taut features made it clear he was suspicious, perhaps even convinced that Haruki was a spy.
"A wanderer! A spectator! I swear to the heavens, I'm nothing but dirt!" Haruki stammered, his words tumbling out in a panicked rush.
Haruki swiftly raised his hands in surrender, plastering the brightest smile he could muster. "Believe me! Your leader saved me from two of those madmen!"
The soldier's expression stiffened. "Leader? You mean the general?"
Haruki's eyes lit up like stars as he learned something new about his newfound idol. "So he's a general? No wonder! Such cool moves! Say, are you recruiting? Where do I sign up? A waterboy is fine too! I'll work my way up the ladder!"
His overenthusiasm completely threw the soldier off. In all his years, he had never encountered someone so eager to throw their life away—and with the kind of grin one might wear before walking down the aisle. He'd seen his fair share of madmen who couldn't live outside the battlefield, but this… this was something else entirely.
A sudden fear struck him: prolonged conversation with this strange samurai might erode his own intelligence. Without a word, he sheathed his sword, turned on his heel, and resumed dragging his comrades' bodies to one side of the field.
He naively thought he had rid himself of the odd wanderer, but when he turned back, those same wide, bright, and curiously empty eyes met his once more.
"Hey, need help? I can carry bodies too! Which ones are your friends? This one? Oh, he's got the same armor!"
Before the soldier could protest, Haruki had slung a body over his shoulder with surprising ease. He carried it to the growing pile, placing it next to another as if he'd been part of the group all along.
The soldier realized that the solemn atmosphere had completely dissolved. By the time they finished separating their comrades from the enemy's dead, Haruki was already joking with the other soldiers. His infectious energy seemed to stroke all their furs the right way, curbing their lingering bloodlust. The soldier blinked in confusion, struggling to process the change.
"General..." He turned toward the blue-haired man, his tone carrying a hint of grievance as he sought answers for his bewilderment.
"Leave him. He's harmless."
The soldier could have sworn he heard a faint chuckle hidden in the general's calm tone. But for the sake of his own sanity—and perhaps his survival—he wisely chose to selectively forget it. Instead, he gave a curt nod of understanding.
Haruki, for his part, had no idea he had been labeled as harmless by his idol. Even if he found out, it was likely he'd be thrilled, treating it as an exclusive badge of honor rather than an insult.
At the moment, his focus was on shamelessly integrating himself with the soldiers. He carried excess weapons, chatted animatedly about his perilous adventures to win their favor, and even submitted to a thorough inspection by their mage, standing in complete surrender during the process.
By the end of the day, under the light of the full moon, Haruki was seated around a campfire with a squad of soldiers he had successfully befriended.
"You're quite the man, Haruki. Who the hell in their right mind would hide as one of a drake's eggs?!" A boisterous laugh erupted from a man with a terrifying scar running from the tip of his left eye down to his chin. His short, almost-gray hair gave the impression of someone in his late forties, but Haruki knew better. In this world, appearances meant little; the man before him could very well be over a hundred.
"What could I do but pretend to be one of its sons?! My legs couldn't run anymore, and there just happened to be an empty eggshell in its nest!" Haruki grinned, his eyes darting around the group for their reactions. "It was still wet, too, so I used that to cover my scent!"
Another round of hearty laughter erupted, and a few shouts of "You're the man!" were passed around. Despite the absurdity of his tale, no one dismissed it outright. These were seasoned soldiers, men who had faced death countless times. They understood one simple truth: shame and integrity had no place in the struggle for survival.
The winner was always the one who lived.
The scar-faced man, still laughing, clapped a hand on Haruki's shoulder. "Good! You've got the basics of a soldier down! When we're done here, you better sign up and join my squad! I'll welcome you with open arms!"
"What basics, Old Jin?! Don't listen to him, Haruki!" another soldier chimed in. "There's no requirement to join his squad—they're mostly just meat shields on the battlefield! If you want to climb the ranks, join our squad instead!"
It was unclear when the crowd around the campfire had grown, but it seemed half the squad leaders had taken it upon themselves to fight for Haruki's allegiance. Their chosen method of decision-making? A good old-fashioned arm-wrestling match.