Chapter 7: A Toast to Friends

“Ahh~ Easy!” In the tent, Fred, Rama, and a few others were helping clean my wounds. Although Echville’s medicine was very effective and the wound scabbed over quickly, because it was so long, it kept splitting open and was hard to heal. On top of that, those guys were all clumsy, so every cleaning felt like torture.

Thanks to Echville’s influence, the tavern dispute brought us no trouble at all. I even got a long-term sick leave and lay on my bunk all day, which made my brothers who had to run around every day so envious that they wished they could cut a gash on themselves too and enjoy the patient treatment. That troublemaking officer Ridaddis was discharged from the military and fined to pay for me and Fattel’s medical expenses.

The most infuriating thing was that drunkard Fattel. Because he was dead drunk, he didn’t feel a thing when he was beaten. The next day after he sobered up, he found himself lying in a top-grade officer hospital full of beautiful women, and received a hefty compensation plus three months of paid sick leave. He was overjoyed, and that very night he sneaked out of the hospital on crutches and went to a tavern for a heavy drinking session. When he came back, he told us that this kind of life was way too enjoyable, and that after the sick leave ended, he should find a place to get beaten up again. Of course, his wish was fulfilled ahead of schedule right here with us.

Fred was already a national hero in the recruit camp. The camp was buzzing with the story of how he bravely fought against three evil cavalry officers who were assaulting a young girl, wielding a radiant divine sword, and finally won the beauty’s heart. And I, as his chief assistant, also appeared in this legendary story. Because Fred was known for being proud and cold-faced, people who had gotten gently rebuffed by him often came to me to confirm the story. Naturally, I told the truth:

“That’s right, those three cavalry officers were a good two… ah no, three heads taller than him, holding giant swords wider than your waist, riding tall horses with horns growing on their heads… I don’t know where they got those unicorns from… Quick as lightning, he caught the incoming blade with his bare hands, and then… with a wave of his hand, a bolt of lightning fell from the sky…”

With my publicity campaign, people started asking Fred for autographs, some wanted to paint commemorative portraits with Fred, and some simply hugged his legs when they saw him and shouted: “Hero! Please take me as your apprentice!” I took the opportunity to lie on my bunk imitating Fred’s signature handwriting, and mobilized the brothers in the tent to collect items related to him, making a tidy windfall. The thing I was most proud of was that we named Riley’s smelly socks that hadn’t been washed in three months “The Swift Foot of Warrior Fred” and held a small live auction, which was unprecedentedly successful. A fanatical admirer of Fred won this “treasure” at a price beyond our imagination after fierce bidding, which improved the meals for all six of us for six whole days. Later I heard that this lucky guy, during a patrol, was chased all night by a large group of wild cats that smelled the salted fish odor on the socks. The next day, when people rescued him from deep in the jungle, he foamed at the mouth and sincerely sighed: So this is the secret of the warrior’s incredible swiftness!

In front of us, especially in front of me, Fred gradually shed the mask of coldness, arrogance, and inaccessibility, and began to become more cheerful and talkative. Although our well-meaning pranks caused him plenty of trouble, he had tacitly accepted our mischief from the very beginning. Of course, as the licensor of his name, every “Warrior Fred” business deal gave him a thirty percent share of the profits, and these, without exception, turned into thick books piling higher and higher on his desk.

“Fred, tell us about your past.” On the night my wound healed, everyone snuck out of camp to have a big meal to celebrate. During the meal, I suddenly brought it up.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve all shared our stories, only you haven’t said anything.”

“With skills as good as yours, your past must have been amazing. Tell us country bumpkins about it.”

This sudden topic made Fred fall silent. He looked at us sitting in front of him. His change in mood gradually quieted us down, and the atmosphere became a bit awkward. Just as I was beginning to regret making such a request, as if he had made a great decision, he downed a glass of wine in one gulp, stared at the empty cup in his hand, and said absentmindedly:

“Alright, I’ll tell you…”

We perked up and listened, afraid of missing a single word.

“You might not know this, but if the children of nobles committed offenses before they came of age, they were not allowed to be physically punished. They believed that their noble bloodline could not be violated by commoners, and all the servants who carried out punishments were commoners. So they always had to find a commoner ‘substitute’ for their children from a young age. Whenever the noble child made a mistake, the ‘substitute’ had to take the punishment—light ones were slaps on the palm, heavy ones were whippings. The best ‘substitutes’ were orphans or abandoned infants, raised from childhood, ready to be beaten whenever called upon.”

“Because my family had too many mouths to feed and life was hard, I was sold at a very young age to Lord Count Berkshire, the master of Turan City, to be a ‘substitute’ for the young master who was the same age as me. I don’t remember how old I was back then. I only know that my surname was Guderian, that I once had a home, had parents—nothing more.” Although his tone was as calm as he could make it, when he said the words “had parents,” he still couldn’t hide the longing and loneliness in his heart, and his voice trembled slightly.

“Ever since I could remember, I was beaten every day. I got beaten when walking, beaten when eating, beaten when sleeping, and even beaten right after just being beaten. Every time I was punished, little Berkshire had to watch from the side as a warning. But every time he watched me get beaten, he grinned cheerfully, looking like he was watching a circus show.”

“In the first few years, I couldn’t help but cry. Around the age of ten, I gradually became numb. That little bastard, seeing that I no longer cried, found all sorts of ways to make mistakes. At first, he deliberately messed up noble etiquette in front of others. Later, he would just smash vases and break windows when he had nothing better to do, then shout that I had made a mistake again and to come beat me. While watching me get beaten, he would shout from the side: Beat him hard! Even if you beat him to death, it doesn’t matter—just spend thirty copper coins to buy another one. Thirty copper coins. That was my price.” He drank another cup dry. That cup of wine cost about ten copper coins.

“But being a ‘substitute’ had its benefits too. I could receive noble education together with that little idiot—astronomy, geography, literature, gymnastics, swordsmanship, archery, horsemanship, etiquette—and later I slowly came into contact with philosophy, history, religion, military affairs, politics, and economics. All that knowledge that ordinary people could hardly access was taught there by specialists hired by the Count. Also, they would have proper clothes tailored for me, so that I would dress decently when studying with him. Noble education was very broad and very useful. I felt it was a rare opportunity, so I just casually learned quite a bit.” Although he said this, I knew that no matter which subject it was, he had studied and practiced it with extreme diligence. I had no doubt that with this young man’s intelligence and perseverance, after receiving a first-class noble education, he was bound to be an outstanding talent rarely seen in the world—at least in horsemanship and weapon combat, he far surpassed ordinary people.

“After I entered the Count’s mansion, I never saw my parents again. To be precise, I never even knew who they were. No one ever told me. When I was put up for sale with a price tag, I was a child who didn’t even have memories. But I don’t blame them. Sometimes I was allowed to take half a day off to wander outside. I could see those poor wretches who toiled all day long, their whole families struggling on the edge of death. Thirty copper coins could feed a family of four black bread for a whole month.” I felt ashamed. Although I was also a commoner, I had never known that such miserable lives existed in this world. My entire childhood was spent in the noisy, joyful atmosphere of a tavern. Although my whole family treated the beggars who asked for alms kindly, I had never thought about how many people lived what kind of lives.

“These poor people would bow to me from afar every time they saw me—to me, a child not even ten years old. Why? Simply because I wore clean, new clothes. In their eyes, anyone who could wear clothes without patches was a great person living in heaven, even if that person was a snot-nosed child who understood nothing.”

“Around the age of twelve, one time, I saw Tommy in the slums. He was two years older than me, and he was carrying his little brother Mike, who was barely breathing and about to starve to death. I couldn’t hold back and put the last small piece of biscuit from my pocket into his brother’s mouth. He rushed over, knelt down in front of me, and shouted: Thank you, young master! May Daremoth bless your whole family!”

“I was no young master! I was a child with the same lowly blood as them, a child who should have been starving and freezing in this poor district! These thin, skin-and-bones children should have been my friends, my brothers, my own flesh and blood!”

“Little Mike died in the end. A small piece of biscuit couldn’t save a child who hadn’t eaten anything for nine days.”

“From that time on, I saved whatever food could be stored from every meal, and when I was allowed to go out, I gave it to Tommy. He was an orphan, living day to day by begging and doing odd jobs, sometimes also pickpocketing. But he never stole from those poor commoners. He would rather take bigger risks to lift a few bits of change from the rich. He told me many interesting street stories and news from the slums, and I taught him to read. He and his brother had depended on each other for more than five years, and he loved him deeply. Although I often gave him food, what he was most grateful for was that small piece of biscuit I gave his brother. He treated me as his benefactor and friend. He defended me, encouraged me, and would not allow anyone to insult me or speak ill of me. Just because someone said I was a lackey of the nobles, he once fought desperately, alone, against a group of kids much older than him, and nearly lost his life.”

“Actually, I should thank him. Before him, I lived in a cold world. No one was willing to say a single heartfelt word to me. My life was just studying and getting beaten. ‘Fred, get down and take the beating.’ ‘Done. Now get out!’ Those were the two sentences I heard the most. They hit me and cursed me, and I couldn’t even get angry. He brought sunshine into my life, letting me see that I still had feelings, that I was still a human being.”

“We spent four years like this. Those four years were the happiest time of my life. As time slowly passed, little Berkshire gradually grew tired of the life of amusing himself by whipping me and began to wander around for fun like other young nobles. My free time slowly increased as well. Apart from the required studying and work every day, I always had time to spend with Tommy. He was almost at the age to join the army. He said he wanted to be a soldier, earn merit on the battlefield, become an officer, become a noble, and then help poor children like himself, so they could have black bread every day and no one would starve to death like his brother.”

“The day before he was going to sign up for the army, I stole some food from the kitchen and ran out to find him, planning to see him off. However, I was spotted by little Berkshire and his pack of friends who were idling on the street. They followed me and saw Tommy. Worse, they saw the food I had stolen.”

“Berkshire’s gang had more than twenty people in total. They chased us for four or five blocks. Later, Tommy and I got separated, and I was surrounded by them. That was the first time in my life I fought back. I nearly broke Berkshire’s nose. But they had too many people. It wasn’t long before they knocked me to the ground and started punching and kicking me. At that moment, I thought I was about to die. I only hoped that Tommy could escape danger and smoothly fulfill his dream.”

“Just as I was about to pass out, I heard Tommy’s roar. Then I felt someone throw himself onto me, holding me tightly in his arms. Berkshire shouted from the side: ‘Beat these two thieves to death!’ Their beating seemed to get even fiercer, but no more fists landed on me. After that, I gradually lost consciousness.”

“When I woke up, I found Tommy lying on top of me, shielding me with his body. He was covered in blood. His head had been split open by a club, and almost every bone in his body was broken. He was no longer in human shape. When he saw that I had woken up, he actually still smiled and asked me: Are you all right?”

“He said at that time: ‘Looks like… I can’t become a soldier anymore. But I’ll be seeing my little brother soon. That’s… fine too. My dream will have to be fulfilled by you, Fred. Remember, you have to become… become a noble. I’ll tell my brother that the one who gave him the biscuit back then was a great man, a king—His Majesty Fred Guderian. He once saw the King’s procession out on tour, and he always dreamed of sitting in the King’s beautiful carriage. You’ll have a carriage, right? A beautiful one, pulled by four white horses.'”

“On the first night I arrived, I dreamed of Tommy. I told him I would become a king, that I would fulfill his wish. You heard my sleep talk, calling me king. I didn’t want to deny it. That was my promise to a friend.”

“The last words he said were: Goodbye, my friend. My friend… I was his… friend.” Fred finally couldn’t hold it in anymore and broke down sobbing.

Dakla and Riley cried while hugging each other. Rama secretly wiped his tears with his greasy, fat hands. Roll had long been a mess of snot and tears.

I sniffled hard, but in the end I still couldn’t hold it back. Salty tears flowed into my mouth. Now I knew that the word “friend” had left Fred an irreparable wound, so much so that he was always afraid of investing his feelings when getting close to people. And I understood what kind of feeling he was expressing when he called me “friend,” and why he had become so furious after I blocked that sword for him. I had won a friendship that could be called “great.” This was my fortune, and also my honor.

“Let’s raise a glass—to Tommy.” I raised my cup and proposed.

“To friends.” Fred finally held back his sorrow.

That night, every one of us said a lot to one another. We raised our glasses in toasts again and again, and a strange emotion flowed in our hearts. We were drunk—including me—not because of the wine.

We did not know that, just as we were stirred with emotion and drunk in sincere friendship, war broke out…