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‘He doesn’t know his own age?’
Aethlyn’s thoughts tangled together like a knotted ball of thread.
No matter how unusual Wildmen were, how could someone not know their own age?
No.
If anything, it was even harder to believe because he was a Wildman.
The Republic of Esta had the Wildman Registry.
Every Wildman born in Esta was entered into the registry the moment they were born. The same applied to immigrants. Aethlyn didn’t know the exact reason, but that was the law in Esta, and every Wildman followed it.
So Sergeant Vilev’s claim that he didn’t know his age simply didn’t make sense.
Seeing how genuinely puzzled she looked, the sergeant showed an awkward expression for the first time.
After scratching the back of his head for a moment, he spoke haltingly in a low voice.
“I didn’t find out I was a werewolf until I was older. That’s why… the age on the registry isn’t accurate.”
“…I see. Understood.”
‘No, I still don’t understand at all.’
Didn’t ordinary people know how old they were?
Still, Aethlyn decided not to press the matter. There had to be complicated circumstances behind it, and she didn’t want to pry.
Instead, she shifted her attention to the personal information section.
Personal Information
Name: Gennadi Vilev
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Blood Type: DEA4
Hometown: Gravenport, Tolle Province
Operation History: Operation Frozen Fortress, Operation Ironclad, Operation Ashvale
‘He was at Operation Frozen Fortress…?’
A second wave of shock hit Aethlyn.
Operation Frozen Fortress…
Wasn’t that the infamous operation where the werewolves had supposedly survived in an isolated mountain fortress by eating enemy prisoners?
She recognized the other two operations as well.
Even more unsettling, the next three lines had been completely blacked out.
‘Just what kind of horrific information was censored so heavily…?’
Her uneasy gaze followed the thick black redaction bars before settling on the Special Notes section.
Special Notes:
Graduated at the top of the class from Lycon Mercenary Academy. Possesses exceptional leadership ability and serves as the detachment’s de facto leader. Thanks to being raised by a human family during childhood, communication is smooth. (The following sentence is blacked out.)
Diligent with excellent judgment. Can be deployed effectively in scouting, intelligence, assault, and a variety of other operations. However, as a high-value asset, care should be taken to avoid unnecessary losses.
Aethlyn’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“‘Can be deployed effectively’… ‘high-value asset’…”
Even if he was a Wildman and a soldier, it felt rather inappropriate for such blunt evaluations to be written on a personnel card meant for the holder’s own reference.
But she quickly changed her mind.
‘There must be reasons for managing Wildmen this way. It’s not my concern.’
In truth, none of it was her concern.
How old Gennadi Vilev really was, or what he had done during those operations, offered her no particular benefit.
“You can take it back. I’ve finished reading.”
As if he had been waiting for those words, the man swiftly took the paper from her hand.
Giving him a slight nod, Aethlyn spoke.
“If you have questions about life here, ask Private First Class Doist. He should be able to answer them. But if you need anything else or have something to report, inform me first. This assignment may be temporary, but as of today, I’m your direct superior.”
“…Yes.”
“I look forward to working with you.”
To conclude, Aethlyn extended her right hand for a handshake.
Unlike her gloved left hand, her right hand was bare.
Then something strange happened.
“…”
“…”
The man, who had been answering her questions without much trouble, suddenly fell completely silent.
Even in the dim room, his amber eyes fixed on Aethlyn’s pale hand.
More accurately…
They stared at it.
‘Did I do something rude?’
Aethlyn grew uneasy.
Countless possibilities crossed her mind.
Did werewolves not have the custom of shaking hands?
Did offering one’s hand mean challenging someone to a duel in their culture?
Just as she awkwardly started to withdraw it—
The same Gennadi who had acted as though he didn’t understand handshakes suddenly seized her hand.
“…Ah.”
The unexpected sensation made Aethlyn flinch.
His palm was hot and rough.
It was the hand of someone who had spent a lifetime wielding guns and blades instead of pens.
When she instinctively tried to pull away, his rough hand tightened around hers.
Not painfully.
Just enough to keep her from withdrawing.
At last, he whispered in a halting voice.
“I-I… look forward… to working with you too.”
Did she imagine that?
Slightly startled, Aethlyn looked up.
His face was faintly contorted, as though he’d been pricked by something small and sharp.
Then something even stranger happened.
His hand began to tremble.
The massive, powerful hand that had surely felled countless enemies shook with an almost fragile quiver.
An indescribably awkward silence settled between them.
The two stood there, exchanging an uncertain handshake.
If it could even be called a handshake.
After a couple of tentative shakes, their hands finally parted.
Only then did Sergeant Vilev seem to come back to himself.
Keeping his head lowered, he turned around and quietly left.
“…Haa…”
Only after he had completely disappeared from sight did Aethlyn realize she had been holding her breath.
Staring blankly at the doorway he had gone through, she asked herself,
‘…What was that just now?’
She could still feel the rough calluses lingering across her hand.
Opening and closing her right hand, Aethlyn tried to shake off the strange sensation.
A week passed after the members of the Fenrir Detachment arrived at Kran Trench.
Fortunately, there were no major incidents.
The werewolves slept during the day and spent the nights on patrol or standing watch.
They didn’t seem particularly interested in humans.
Or rather, they behaved as though the humans in the trench simply didn’t exist.
They never made eye contact.
They never spoke to them.
That didn’t mean everything was running smoothly, however.
“What is it with that howling? I can’t get any sleep at night! Someone ought to tell them to shut up.”
“You do it.”
“…I’d rather not.”
“I actually feel safer because of it. At least we don’t have to worry about trench raids.”
“Is that really the point right now?! There hasn’t been any meat in our rations these past few days! Those damn mutts are obviously eating it all first!”
“So what do you want us to do? Tell them to stop eating? Yeah, good luck finding someone willing to say that to their faces.”
The complaints, though mostly minor, never seemed to end.
To be fair, it was more or less what Aethlyn had expected.
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—Fourth Platoon was more peaceful than the others.
“Sergeant Vilev, over here. Could you lift this barbed wire?”
“Sure.”
“And the sandbags too.”
“Here.”
It wasn’t because Doist had done an exceptional job as his assigned point man.
Rather, it was because of Sergeant Vilev himself.
Despite his intimidating first impression, he communicated far better than the other werewolves assigned to the various platoons.
Just as his personnel record had stated.
>Thanks to being raised by a human family during childhood, communication is smooth.
Now that a week had passed, he was chatting not only with Doist but occasionally with the other soldiers as well.
“Sergeant, what’s that blade you’re carrying?”
“…A dagger.”
“Wouldn’t something longer, like a spear, be better?”
“Not really. My arms are long.”
‘What half-hearted answers.’
Watching Sergeant Vilev converse with Corporal Buffon from a distance, Aethlyn narrowed her eyes.
Sergeant Vilev was clearly just humoring the soldiers with the bare minimum of responses.
The soldiers, however, were a different story.
Their earlier fear had completely vanished.
Their eyes sparkled as they hung on every word he said, as if each casual remark might be the secret to staying alive.
As an officer whose authority was being quietly overshadowed, it left a bitter taste in Aethlyn’s mouth.
At the same time, she understood.
If she had been an ordinary soldier, she too would have sought advice from a battle-hardened noncommissioned officer rather than an officer with no combat experience.
Perhaps sensing her gaze, Sergeant Vilev turned to look at her.
Then he suddenly stiffened, his shoulders twitching.
“…Hm.”
‘He’s really strange.’
Aethlyn narrowed her eyes.
Ever since that handshake, she and Gennadi had barely exchanged a proper conversation.
It wasn’t because she had been avoiding him.
It was the opposite.
“It feels like he’s deliberately avoiding me.”
At first she wasn’t sure.
But after a week, she was convinced.
Sergeant Vilev was intentionally keeping his distance from her.
It made no sense.
The first time they’d met, he had stared at her so intently.
Now, whenever their eyes so much as threatened to meet, he would startle and quickly look away.
‘I have no idea why.’
It didn’t seem to be because she was his commanding officer.
Was it because she was a mage?
The thought only made the bitterness in her chest deepen.
For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Aethlyn repeated the same thought to herself.
‘I really wish we’d see combat soon. I want to prove what I can do.’
As though someone had heard her earnest wish, her superior, Captain Gordon, appeared.
“Wintercrown.”
“…Yes, Captain.”
Aethlyn turned toward him and hurriedly raised her hand to salute.
Just then, Captain Gordon suddenly smacked her arm.
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