Amber Eyes
Clothes I've never seen before… but they're definitely not Barbaros Empire uniforms.
Could it be the Willem Kingdom army? Paros forces? Seeking an answer, Ashlyn studied the unfamiliar man more carefully.
He had a muscular yet lean build—a fact that showed clearly even through the heavy military coat. The cap he wore cast a deep shadow down past his eyes, and within that darkness his amber irises shone with startling clarity. Add to that the rough yet sharp features, the solid jaw, the firmly shut mouth: examined one by one, it was unmistakably a handsome, masculine face. Yet whether because of his unshaven, shabby appearance or the uncanny atmosphere those yellow eyes created, she felt not the slightest goodwill. Far from it—something ominous and murderous radiated from him instead.
“…….”
The uninvited guest said nothing the entire time Ashlyn and the soldiers stared at him. He simply stood there blankly, meeting Ashlyn’s gaze with a sticky, lingering look of his own.
Perhaps ten awkward seconds passed like that. Then the man who had been standing still suddenly began walking straight toward Ashlyn and the soldiers. With each heavy stride the pressure everyone felt grew thicker.
“Eek!”
Corporal Buffon let out a startled cry behind her. Ashlyn flung both arms out instinctively to shield the men. In a trembling voice she demanded,
“Who are you? State your unit and identity.”
At her question the stranger halted.
“I asked who you are.”
“Uh.”
At last the man spoke. A low, rough voice that seemed to echo from a cave. But that was nowhere near a proper answer.
“If you do not answer within three seconds, I will regard you as an enemy and attack.”
Ashlyn slowly extended her left hand. She reactivated the magic circuit she had just extinguished. In a shaking voice she began the count.
“Three, two….”
One.
I’ll catch him with a binding spell.
A translucent lattice-patterned magic circle rose above the back of Ashlyn’s left hand. The man’s eyes widened as he caught sight of it; his amber irises flared with fierce intensity—like a predator locking onto prey. There was no more time to delay.
“Platoon Leader!”
The very instant before Ashlyn launched her attack, someone leapt between her and the man. It was Dorset—the idiot who went around with a chicken. He waved both arms wildly, trying to stop her.
“Platoon Leader, you can’t attack! He’s an ally! An ally!”
“Dorset! Stop talking nonsense and get out of the way! Unless you want to get hit too!”
But Dorset did not budge. Worse, he even dropped to his knees in front of Ashlyn.
“It’s true! I know him personally!”
“…What? Personally?”
It was so absurd it matched the moment she had first seen the chicken upon arriving at the trench. Ashlyn unconsciously arched one eyebrow and asked again for confirmation, magic circuit still active.
“How do you know him personally?”
“He’s a close older brother from the neighborhood.”
“…….”
The surroundings fell deathly silent again. Only the distant caw of a magpie broke the quiet. Ashlyn and the soldiers still trembling behind her all stared at Dorset as if he had lost his mind. Whether the concentrated gazes were too much for him, Dorset’s boyish face flushed scarlet as a ripe tomato.
Meanwhile the man standing behind Dorset remained blank, as if he were a third party to the entire scene, his eyes still fixed on Ashlyn’s magic circuit. Dorset carefully jabbed him with an elbow.
“Sergeant, what are you doing right now? Showing up out of nowhere like this! You at least have to give your rank and name to our platoon leader!”
“Ah. Sorry.”
Only then did he seem to snap out of it. The man with the amber eyes blinked slowly and straightened his back. His already considerable height suddenly seemed even greater.
He gave a short nod, then rendered a crisp salute.
“…Fenrir Detachment. Sergeant Gennady Vilev.”
Ashlyn returned the salute on reflex. Even as she did so she still felt dazed. She deactivated her magic circuit and massaged her left hand with her right, turning over the words she had just heard.
The Fenrir Detachment…
Wasn’t that the notorious special forces unit composed solely of werewolves? The anecdotes and rumors surrounding them were so widespread that even Ashlyn, who usually paid little attention to gossip, knew them. Stories that bordered on legend clung to the name—that they had single-handedly recaptured an entire fortress city overnight, that they had destroyed hundreds of Imperial golems, and so on.
Of course, not every tale that followed them was a heroic exploit. Some were so grisly they were hard to believe—like the story of them surviving in an isolated snowy mountain fortress by eating enemy prisoners. Because they were made up of werewolves, said to be the most savage and violent among the Wildmen, the unit was a frequent fixture in all sorts of military ghost stories.
No one ever bothered trying to sort out which of the rumors were true and which were false. Encountering a Wildman special unit was rare to begin with; that rarity was part of why the stories circulated so freely, like campfire horrors.
So why is a member of the Fenrir Detachment here…
Ashlyn’s question did not last long. She remembered what her friends had said at the banquet in Wintercrown Manor before she left for this place.
“By the way, of all places, you’re going to Paros? There are plenty of other postings where you could earn merit—why there of all spots?”
“Yeah, I hear there are a lot of ‘Wildman’ soldiers there. Just thinking about it gives me chills.”
Right. There are Wildman soldiers here.
So running into a member of the Fenrir Detachment was not so strange after all. Everything began to make sense—the unfamiliar uniform, the soldiers’ terror-stricken reactions. Ashlyn forced herself to swallow dryly. Caught up in the lazy atmosphere of the Kran trenches, she had momentarily forgotten that this was the most dangerous front in Paros.
She took her time studying the werewolf standing before her once more. Every element that composed the man now appeared sharper, clearer in a new context.
The great height, the lean frame, the deep wheat-colored skin, the blackened lower lids that looked like the corners of paper scorched by fire… and above all, those luminous eyes. Yes—the strangely glowing yellow irises drew the gaze most of all.
Right. That’s a werewolf trait.
Recalling the knowledge she had learned at the Academy brought a measure of relief. She could force the incomprehensible existence into a framework she already understood. Having calmed herself, she introduced herself.
“…Delta Company, Fourth Platoon Leader. Ashlyn Wintercrown.”
“…….”
That was the moment. The instant Ashlyn spoke her name, Sergeant Vilev’s yellow eyes suddenly began to shine with an even stranger heat. At least, that was how it looked to Ashlyn. A chill seemed to dig into the nape of her neck, and she shuddered involuntarily.
What is that?
Unable to identify the source of the unease, Ashlyn fell silent. Dorset, apparently interpreting her silence in his own way, hurriedly added,
“Platoon Leader, I’m sorry. Sergeant Gennady is a little awkward with human etiquette. Even though he’s the most sociable of the members there, he still causes unnecessary misunderstandings a lot. But he absolutely has no intention of being rude!”
Ashlyn regarded Dorset, who was pleading for understanding as if he were a lawyer defending a heinous criminal, with calm eyes.
“I see.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m not doubting your words. I simply want a satisfactory explanation for why a member of the Fenrir Detachment has suddenly appeared here.”
Ashlyn turned her gaze on Gennady. He was still staring at her as if entranced—like she were prey.
Just as that blatant stare was thoroughly souring her mood, Dorset answered in the man’s place.
“W-well, I’m a late child, so my parents worry about me too much… They asked the sergeant, whom we’ve known for a long time, to check on me from time to time and make sure I’m doing all right!”
Haha. Dorset laughed with exaggerated flattery. Ashlyn wanted to ask how one came to know a werewolf from long ago, but it did not feel like a lie. Still fawning, Dorset turned and snapped at Sergeant Vilev, who was offering no help at all,
“Sergeant, say something too!”
“It’s like you said.”
“I send so many letters home—you don’t need to come all the way out here to check!”
“Seeing with both eyes is more certain.”
“Ah, come on!”
While the two bantered like a comedy duo, Ashlyn’s irritation gradually subsided. All that remained was fatigue. She must have tensed up far too much earlier. Feigning composure as best she could, she said,
“…Dorset. If you have private business, handle it in the rest area after your shift. This is the path leading to the observation post.”
“Yes, yes sir! Platoon Leader! I’ll do that!”
Ashlyn turned without even listening to the rest of Dorset’s words. She could still feel the man’s gaze clinging to the back of her neck, but she decided to ignore it. Looking any longer into those eerie yellow eyes would only make her feel sick. Of course, her doubts had not completely vanished.
The Fenrir Detachment only enters places where especially dangerous operations are underway. Is some kind of operation scheduled here as well?
Or perhaps they were simply resting between missions. As she weighed the various possibilities, Ashlyn gave a slight shake of her head.
I’ll find out why the Fenrir Detachment is here at the upcoming platoon leaders’ meeting.
Having made that decision, she started to turn away—only for one of her friend’s pieces of advice from the banquet hall to suddenly surface in her mind.
“Still, always watch your back. They only look human; inside they’re beasts. Who knows what they’ll do if something goes wrong?”
Ashlyn barely managed to suppress the urge to look back.