Intermission (8)

Leovald approached the sleeping man.

The sound of soft groaning grew closer, the suppressed noise that a wounded beast makes when in pain spreading faintly.

Cold sweat. Chills. A pale face.

He easily lifted the man, moved toward the campfire and sat down, placing the man on his lap. At the rustling sound, he glanced back. A little child, with sharp hearing, had woken up and, as usual, was watching him and the man. Leovald placed a finger to his lips, signaling the child to stay quiet, reassuring the little one not to worry. The child hesitated for a moment before curling up again, wrapping the blanket around them. 

Outside the cave, rain drizzled down. Due to the shortage of blankets, they had to wrap both of their bodies in one. Their wet clothes were still drying by the fire, leaving them almost bare, and Leovald's hand gently brushed over the man's smooth skin. It seemed the man hadn't noticed, but recently his body had been unusually warm, which concerned Leovald about the man's developing cold.

Leovald gazed silently at the man in his arms. He was still groaning. His brows were slightly furrowed, his eyelids twitching faintly, and his heart was beating rapidly. This had been the man's abnormal condition for the past few days.

Leovald thought back to the inn they had left behind. The man's inn had been the first place where Leovald had felt any sense of comfort. Now, he felt a sense of nostalgia for that place, which had long since burned down to ashes.

He imagined that the little child, who had also lived without ever truly knowing ownership like him, would understand his feelings. That oddly affectionate place had been cozy in a way that matched the sentiment, but the space itself wasn't very large, and the faint sounds beyond the walls could always be heard.

Especially for Leovald, with his sharp hearing, there were often sounds of the man washing himself with splashes and the scratchy noise of charcoal being written on paper into the night. But none of those sounds had been like this. The groaning, the cold sweat, the trembling of the body—this nightmare had not been witnessed back then. Since the night they had left Sinistra after the commotion underground and the clash with the Count, the man had been plagued by nightmares every night. 

Today marked the fourth night. Leovald knew how to handle it. He traced circles on the man's back, calming him as he shivered. What had started as an awkward rubbing motion had become smooth and skilled, as if the hand had become familiar with the skin. His hand, which had been moving around the back, slowly slid up, tousling the hair that covered the man's neck with his fingers, as though brushing it gently. The man's nails dug into Leovald's flesh, gripping so tightly that the white, pale hand trembled. Slowly, he released the grip, smoothing out the fingers, and once the tension eased, the man no longer clenched. Occasionally, Leovald would knead the fingers, and the circulation would return, filling them with a faint reddish hue.

The pale cheek warmed under his other hand as he gently stroked it, and the stiff, cold expression on the man's face slowly softened. Leovald watched in secret as the tension in the facial muscles gradually loosened, the stiffness melting away along the ridges from the forehead to the nose, and from the nose to the lips. 

It was pleasurable. Watching the man's pain ease, Leovald smiled. There was a joy in unraveling the complex issues that life throws at him, in slowly figuring out solutions to the conundrums of others. The process of discovering the way another's rigid body slowly relaxes and melts into his own, finding the right approach, gave Leovald a strange sense of control and damp pleasure.

Above all, hadn't the man come for him?

The mangy stray dog, the vagrant, the errand boy for the mercenary group—yet the man had said, "I came for you."

Leovald had never experienced such a thing. Not even when he was called a hero or a commander. Even the times when he had been referred to with such grand titles, in essence, no different from his youth. Leovald traced back through his memories and thought of his army. People who had only ever held farming tools in their lives, or those who could never have dreamed of knightly lessons or training under a noble family—bastards like him.

In the battlefield, where life itself is constantly being tested, the most disregarded people in the world gathered. In the struggle between life and death, they must instantly decide which way to turn their swords to survive, whether that figure ahead is an ally or it, and act without hesitation.

The accumulation of split-second decisions grants them the right to live for just one more second. The battlefield is a place where their right to breathe is constantly tested. Yet, they were familiar with standing before the judgment, so they did not complain.

Even before the erosion, they had always had to prove that they deserved to live, that they were worth surviving. It was nothing new to them. Farmers plowed the fields diligently every day, bowed to their lord, and low-born bastards lived in silence as if they didn't exist, without any desire or ambition. To survive, they had to meet the conditions imposed upon them.

Just as Leovald had to kill something in order to eat a single meal when he was with the mercenary group. The agent of validation had merely shifted from the eyes of society to resistance against the erosion. Thus, Leovald thought, his childhood and youth were fundamentally the same. At the front lines, they were consumed and replaced like parts, repeatedly.

The day after receiving the report of the new recruit's transfer, there were numerous instances where documents recording his death were stamped. No matter how much he was hailed as a hero by the world, the moments accumulated to prove his worth to live were ultimately the same; if he failed even for a moment, he would die just the same.

But suddenly.

As life continuously questioned him through trials whether he could prove his worth to live, this apostle, who appeared unexpectedly in his life, shared those trials with him. The scars etched on the man's body. Seeing the strangled neck and the mutilated arms, Leovald reflects on what he has endured with his counterpart in such a short time.

Thus, this level of care is only natural. It's just regrettable that it is merely a temporary measure. He doesn't understand what is bothering him so much that he can't sleep. He knows only how to soothe and comfort without knowing the source of the problem.

Now that he has learned a bit about his counterpart's identity, he thought he could let go a bit, but his curiosity surged once again. What dreams could he be having that torment him with nightmares every night? It's a pity he can't split open the man's head to find the answers. Even if he did, it wouldn't guarantee he'd find the answers.

Will he ever reveal the reason he can't sleep? Will he tell what nightmares he is having? What about the past? What's his name?

"Name."

I'm curious. I want to know how it will feel on my lips and how my tongue will move to pronounce it. Will I eventually learn everything?

He let out a deep breath as he gazed at the unknown that clung to the form of a person. With the man sitting on his knee, Leovald controlled his impulses. The crackling of the campfire sent sparks dancing into the air as if they were performing a solitary dance.

The sound of a mule braying briefly caused the man to open his eyes. He wasn't waking from sleep. It was just a reflexive reaction of his overstretched nerves, thinned by nightmares, responding to the external noise.

From a distance, his eyes appeared black, but up close, one could see the bright colour of the tree bark, so densely packed that it looked like one could see through it. The light from the sparks reflected on the smooth surface of his eyes, making it seem as if stars were flickering within them.

The ancients believed that flames had the power to enchant people. It was a faith rooted in the unpredictable nature of fire, which could turn into a disaster or a helpful tool at any moment. For Leovald, this man was even more enigmatic and capricious than the dancing sparks. The moment their eyes met closely, the skin on his chest tingled slightly.

The man's hair flowed and brushed against his skin, perhaps causing that sensation. Leovald adjusted his position and pulled the man closer, wrapping him more tightly in the blanket. With the blanket forming a barrier around them, it felt like a cozy cocoon.

The man's face was buried against Leovald's chest, his lips pressed against the skin. He mumbled something in his sleep, but Leovald couldn't make it out. It just felt ticklish and pleasant.

A heavy sensation, like a mountain moving from a distant place, could be felt. It must be the sound of a herd of monsters moving. However, he knew they wouldn't come this way. He had burned a little of the serpent beast's skin in the firewood to mask the scent of predators. Thus, there was essentially no need for a watch. He could just sleep soundly and move on the next day.

But Leovald thought there could be no better excuse than to put the man to sleep first and keep watch. So he did just that. They had decided to take turns keeping watch, and he might hear complaints tomorrow about not waking him, but that would be something for tomorrow's him to handle.

Instead of complaints, wouldn't it be enough to be able to watch over the man sleeping soundly throughout the night?

Leovald closed his eyes.

It was a deep sleep.

***

[Scenario weight: 25.50%]

When I woke up, my vision was filled with flesh-coloured skin.

What is this?

Moreover, it felt incredibly suffocating… 

Now I see that Leonardo was holding me tightly. My cheek was squished against soft skin, making it look ridiculous. The uncomfortable feeling of having a restless sleep evaporated instantly in my surprise. Hmm, I wonder if it's okay to express this feeling. Maybe it's because he's a nobleman, but his skin is smooth. Beneath that, there's soft muscle, and I know just how firm it can be.

This… feels intriguing. I've never had the experience of being so close to someone else's pectorals in my life—though I have had a bit of that recently. In any case, it was fascinating. Anyway, I was feeling suffocated and wanted to escape from his embrace. As I fumbled over his slightly indented collarbone that I could barely see, my hand slipped carelessly, causing Leonardo's chin to flinch. Was it ticklish? It might have been. When I let my fingers drop, he moved the hand that was gripping my waist and began to rub my back.

"You're awake, aren't you?"

"Hmm."

Could it be that he's trying to pay me back with tickling? What a foolish action. I couldn't help but smile lightly. It wasn't ticklish at all. Rather, it felt good to have my back stretched after sleeping on the hard ground, relieving the stiffness. Leonardo hesitated for a moment before letting me go.

But now I noticed the sound of birds chirping. The rain had definitely stopped. The surroundings were bright, and soft sunlight was filtering through the vines that covered the cave. This guy said he'd take turns keeping watch, but he just fell asleep, didn't he?

"Hey."

"Ah, um, yeah. I was just taking a moment to hunt…"

But things didn't unfold that way.

"…..!"

Suddenly, Leonardo quickly blocked my way. I sensed an approaching presence. The vines covering the cave parted on both sides, revealing someone's figure.

"There's someone here?"

[Accessing information on the specified entity.]