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That evening, Captain Gordon gathered all the platoon leaders under his command.
Before stepping into the trench bunker that served as the company command post, Aethlyn swallowed an uneasy sigh.
For some reason, she had a bad feeling that unpleasant news was waiting for her.
The other platoon leaders already inside looked equally unsettled.
“I saw those werewolf bastards wandering around. Anyone know what’s going on?”
“No idea. The men kept asking me, and I couldn’t give them an answer.”
“Maybe they’re just stopping by on their way back from a reconnaissance mission.”
“Without saying a word? Must be some classified operation.”
“Whatever the reason, I just hope they don’t stay long. Their mere presence kills morale.”
Apparently, even by the standards of this place, it was unusual for a Wildmen special operations unit to appear without warning.
While they waited for the company commander, Aethlyn found herself thinking back to the werewolf she had met earlier.
Sergeant Gennadi Vilev.
A werewolf sergeant.
A sergeant was already a fairly high rank by Wildmen standards.
To begin with, they couldn’t become commissioned officers, and even non-commissioned officers were rare among them.
‘He must be highly capable to have reached that position at such a young age.’
Despite his ragged appearance and intimidating eyes, he looked no older than his early thirties.
If she had to guess, he had probably enlisted at a very young age—perhaps even before reaching adulthood.
Aethlyn’s idle thoughts came to an end as Captain Gordon entered.
“Alright, everyone, settle down.”
After clearing his throat, Captain Gordon stared awkwardly into space, almost as if he were avoiding eye contact.
“For the next three weeks, we’ll be sharing these trenches with the Fenrir Detachment.”
The room immediately erupted with murmurs.
On reflection, it wasn’t entirely unbelievable.
The Fenrir Detachment was a small special operations unit.
Since they were deployed wherever they were needed, they could end up staying at any Republic of Esta position.
This trench was probably just another stop dictated by operational necessity.
The details were likely classified.
The problem, however, was that understanding the decision was one thing.
Convincing the soldiers to accept it was another matter entirely.
The usually quiet Platoon Leader of First Platoon addressed Captain Gordon.
“Will there be a separate area for the werewolves?”
“No. Each platoon will take one.”
The room became noisy again.
The First Platoon Leader protested.
“But…!”
“We don’t have enough space to house dozens of them together. The only option is to spread them out, one per platoon.”
“Then what about the people already sleeping there…?”
“They can sleep standing up, squeeze together, or figure something out themselves.”
This time, Lieutenant Jin, Platoon Leader of Second Platoon, spoke.
“What should we tell the men? If we suddenly tell them they’ll be living alongside a werewolf soldier, they’re going to push back hard.”
Captain Gordon answered irritably.
“You figure out how to explain it.”
“But what if something happens?”
At Lieutenant Jin’s anxious question, Captain Gordon finally snapped.
“Pathetic! You call yourself an officer? When the trenches come under attack, are you going to politely ask the enemy to fight with proper manners? Who do they think they are? If they’re told to do it, they do it.”
“…”
“If you really can’t think of anything to say, tell them this: the ones they should fear aren’t the werewolves on our side, but the bastards from the Kingdom of Barbaros trying to kill us.”
‘He’s right in principle.’
Aethlyn swallowed hard.
He wasn’t wrong…
But from the soldiers’ perspective, who suddenly had to live shoulder to shoulder with unfamiliar werewolves, it would sound like complete nonsense.
Their morale was already at rock bottom.
‘Is this really going to be okay?’
Fighting down the anxiety creeping into her chest, Aethlyn tried to stay optimistic.
‘At least they’ll only be here for three weeks. If we can somehow get through that…’
Once those few weeks were over, the werewolves were scheduled to move to Etaron, the rear-area garrison city.
They only had to endure until then.
Somehow.
Unsurprisingly, the soldiers reacted badly.
In fact, saying they “reacted badly” was putting it very mildly.
“Damn it. I’d rather patrol No Man’s Land! If it were some other kind of Wildmen, fine—but werewolves? That’s like locking us in a cage with a lion.”
“What if we’re their rations? Maybe Logistics finally decided it’d save supplies by feeding us to those wolf bastards.”
“Oh, brilliant strategy. No need to feed us anymore, and the werewolves get a full stomach.”
“Shut it, Buffon.”
The air filled with curses and complaints.
Normally, Aethlyn would have ordered them to stop grumbling and quiet down.
This time, however, she let the commotion continue.
She herself was deeply unhappy with the situation.
Unexpected variables were the thing she hated most.
The one small consolation was that, despite all their complaints, the soldiers were at least accepting the arrangement.
Then again, what choice did they have?
Just like Aethlyn, all they could do was shut their eyes, grit their teeth, and pray the time passed quickly.
After evening roll call ended and the trenches gradually settled down, the werewolf soldiers began arriving at their assigned platoons one by one.
The same was true for the Fourth Platoon under Aethlyn’s command.
And the werewolf assigned to them was none other than…
“I am Sergeant Gennadi Vilev of the Fenrir Detachment.”
‘What a coincidence.’
Looking up at the man before her, Aethlyn bit the inside of her cheek.
Those sharp, predatory eyes.
Those chiseled features.
The distinctive scar running across his left cheek.
It was him.
The first werewolf she had ever met.
‘Did he end up in this platoon because Doist is here?’
If so, perhaps that was for the best.
She could assign Doist—who already knew him personally—to keep an eye on him.
Another thing Aethlyn found reassuring was that Sergeant Vilev had returned looking much more presentable.
Gone was the fearsome image of a butcher she had seen earlier.
Now he looked… respectable.
Civilized, even.
He was actually rather tall and handsome.
The stern, intimidating aura remained, but…
It was honestly remarkable.
All he’d done was shave, wash up, and change clothes.
Yet that alone had transformed his appearance so dramatically.
Removing his helmet had also made a surprising difference.
Without the shadow hanging over his eyes, and with his neatly combed black hair now visible, he looked almost like an entirely different person.
‘…Werewolves really are similar to vampires.’
Unlike Wildmen such as centaurs, who were obviously distinguishable at a glance, vampires looked fairly similar to humans aside from their pale complexion. Werewolves seemed to fall into the latter category as well.
“Ahem.”
Clearing her throat, Aethlyn deliberately put on an air of authority.
“We’ve already met, but let me introduce myself properly. I’m Second Lieutenant Aethlyn Wintercrown, platoon leader of Fourth Platoon.”
She beckoned to the man.
“Your personnel record card.”
“…Here.”
The sergeant gave a slight nod and pulled a thin sheet of paper from inside his uniform.
As soon as she took it, she recognized the familiar format.
It was a personnel record card. Every soldier carried one, regardless of rank. Usually there were two versions—one for the soldier’s personal reference and another for their superiors. The one Aethlyn had received was the personal copy.
The first thing that caught her eye wasn’t the text.
It was the photograph.
An old, badly faded black-and-white photograph.
The moment she saw it, Aethlyn froze.
Her gaze shifted back and forth between the photo and the sergeant standing before her. She knew it was somewhat rude, but she couldn’t help herself.
The face in the picture looked astonishingly young.
Even being generous, he couldn’t have been older than seventeen.
Completely unlike the rugged man standing before her now, the boy in the photograph had possessed a delicate, almost beautiful appearance.
As she stared at the handsome youth—or perhaps young man—in the photograph, an inexplicable feeling washed over her.
It was familiarity.
‘…I feel like I’ve seen this person somewhere before.’
It was an absurd thought.
Under normal circumstances, a mage and a Wildman werewolf would never have crossed paths. Their lives simply didn’t overlap.
Holding up the photograph toward the man in front of her, Aethlyn spoke.
“I don’t mean any offense, but…”
“…”
“How old were you when this picture was taken?”
The moment the question left her lips, Aethlyn frowned.
She hadn’t even realized she’d asked it.
Just as she was about to explain herself, the sergeant lowered his head and answered quietly.
“I was nineteen… according to my official records.”
“Official records?”
“Yes. My official age.”
“I don’t understand. Are you saying your official age and your real age are different?”
“My official age was made up so I could enlist. I don’t know my real age.”
She still couldn’t make sense of it.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“…How is that even possible?”
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