Ch.237The Road to Long Legs (1)

Finally, we rose up on the Long Legs, setting off toward the last attraction of the Meridia continent.

Faerun, Miriam, and now Meridia. Having completed pilgrimages to three continents, we still have ten more to go.

Though it’s only been three continents, it truly feels like we’ve walked a long road. And yet, it’s been merely a year and a half.

It’s already May of 1202. We were sailing smoothly with favorable winds, and my party members, who had now somewhat found their bearings, were behaving themselves without causing any trouble. Because of this, my mood these days was exceptionally refreshing.

“Chu… mmm… haah…”

“Hah… do you enjoy kissing me that much?”

“Yes… I love it… mmm…”

And naturally, since my mood was good, so was my wife’s.

No sooner had we finished breakfast than we lay on the soft bed making love, and I enjoyed the sensation of her bouncing breasts and voluptuous buttocks as our navels pressed together.

For a long while, the captain’s quarters were filled with the sound of flesh against flesh, and after hundreds of unions, the two of us, satisfied, embraced on the bed and kissed silently.

Soft hands that trembled yet never stopped embracing my body. And her voluptuous figure, so sensual it was almost suffocating, always brought me joy.

“I love you… Master. Enough to offer you my very soul…”

“That’s nothing new…”

We were married in the first place under God’s name.

That means from the moment our wedding ended, our souls became intertwined, inseparable partners in fate. So at this point, there’s nothing more of her soul left to offer.

Even so, having my wife leave kiss marks on my neck was something that greatly satisfied my pride as a man.

Surprisingly, I hear there are men in this world who, despite being married, cannot share a bed with their wives?

I don’t know the reason, but it’s truly pathetic. Any woman can be made into a virtuous wife with a good beating or whipping.

You know, as the old saying goes, to have delicious soup, one must beat one’s wife.

*

“Blank round loaded!”

“Loaded!”

Clank! Rumble…!!!

“Fire!”

BOOM!

The loaded blank round ended its short life as the specially manufactured shell was ejected by the force of the massive recoil mechanism.

If there was a disadvantage to airships, it was that realistic training with live ammunition was extremely difficult, unlike on sea or land.

If we were close to the ground, it might be different, but at this height, we had no way of knowing what was below us, so we had no choice but to train with blank rounds.

We couldn’t use high-explosive shells at all—if we accidentally hit a settlement or a column of refugees, it would be disastrous. Even dummy rounds had to be avoided, as anything falling from this height could become a deadly weapon.

“Aren’t there any bad guys passing by? I’d like to fire some nuclear shells. Last time it was 203mm, but this time it’s 460mm, so the explosion would be even bigger.”

“Haha… that’s a dangerous thing to say. Nuclear shells aren’t something to be used so casually…”

“Well, I’m the one with the final authority, so firing them is my decision. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s true, but…”

Mushroom clouds are beautiful. I won’t accept any objections.

Of course, being a person with common sense and education, I’m not suggesting using nuclear shells indiscriminately. I’m saying I’d use them without hesitation against bad people.

“Once we get to Long Legs, we’ll take in retired soldiers to expand the size of our army. I’ll buy lots of armor too, filling the shuttle with tanks and armored vehicles. Then we might be able to stand against the undead of the ruins to some extent.”

“Wasn’t Long Legs a resort? I’ve heard there are many retired soldiers there… but would those seeking rest want to return to military service? And a private army at that?”

“Staff Officer, what you don’t understand is that not all retired soldiers can escape war.”

“Pardon?”

“True retirement only comes when the war within ends. What good is physical comfort? If the soul is burning, the body will only burn to death even if it’s frozen.”

“Ah… I see.”

The staff officer didn’t seem to understand my metaphor.

I didn’t particularly blame him. He was a staff officer who didn’t—and shouldn’t—go to the front lines, while I had been slaughtering others to survive since childhood, so I was in a better position to understand the soldiers’ anguish.

Besides… all kinds of people gathered on the shores of Parcifal, and retired soldiers were no exception.

Without exception, they were drowning in alcohol, pointing accusingly at the air with terrified faces, or crying like children with their heads in their hands. I had seen too many old sergeants who ultimately blew their heads off with shotguns before me, their eyes empty.

I later learned they were severe PTSD patients. While I could ignore the guilt of killing and the fear of transcendent beings due to my innate mental strength and unique way of thinking, soldiers with ordinary mental fortitude could not.

How must a soldier feel when an aircraft carrier is sunk in one blow by tentacles approaching from the deep sea and dragged into the abyss, or when they must hold back an endless army of corpses pouring from infected mountains without support?

Even I couldn’t gauge that. All I knew was that once the soul starts burning, only two outcomes remain.

Either emerge stronger from the flames, or be completely consumed like the embers left in endless flames.

Needless to say, the former was preferable, but not all iron can become steel.

The human mind and soul are weak, and pitiful souls that cannot even corrupt themselves remain forever trapped in past terrors and future pain, ultimately meeting their demise.

Even my soldiers were no exception; the plague of the soul was truly fearsome and terrifying.

*

And that evening, I dined with the soldiers and officers in the mess hall for the first time in a very long while.

“How… is the food to your liking?”

“Hahaha… despite how I look now, when I was young, I survived by picking food scraps from the streets. This is nothing short of a feast. Don’t you all agree?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. Soldiers should answer loudly. Such spirit! I like it!”

“Thank you, sir!”

I preferred loud, spirited responses over soft, gentle speech.

In truth, this preference came from my work experience—construction sites where multi-ton materials moved dangerously about, kitchens filled with the clanging of dishes and roaring fires making communication difficult, and shorelines where voices were drowned by waves, requiring shouted responses.

Today’s meal was modest—chicken soup and rye bread—but the portions were generous, making it satisfying to eat heartily. For people like me, taste was satisfied by anything at the level of cafeteria or military food; what mattered was quantity.

Perhaps because I couldn’t eat enough as a child, I only felt like I’d eaten when I was completely full.

Some nobles deliberately eat until they’re not quite full to maintain their weight, but I found this incomprehensible.

Why not just eat until you’re full and then move around more?

“Eating together like this really strengthens our bonds, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, Lord Victor!”

“What a heartwarming sight to see soldiers and officers gathered at one table!”

“Surely the Sun is looking down upon us with pleasure!”

I had only made one comment, but the officers, wearing stiff smiles, responded one after another.

I don’t understand why they try so hard to impress me when there’s no bonus in it for them. Perhaps it’s because I beheaded a civilian woman without hesitation, forcibly conscripted her son, and sentenced and personally administered 3,000 lashes to my wife.

But the real reason I chose to dine with my subordinates this time was more definite and of higher priority.

The look in my wife’s eyes this morning, when her switch had flipped, was concerning.

If I returned to our room now, I would surely be ridden until dawn. To avoid that fate, my officers and soldiers had to become my sacrificial lambs.

“After we finish eating, I’ll inspect the barracks too. I want to see how the soldiers’ quarters are.”

“Is that so? The soldiers will be delighted!”

“Really?”

“Yes, sir!”

I’m sorry, my subordinates. But isn’t it more fitting for you to be exhausted rather than your lord…

And so I spent the late evening sharing “camaraderie” with my subordinates, then carefully returned to my room, where I sighed in relief seeing my wife already asleep under the covers.

Today too, I had survived my wife.