The Regression Of A Grand Mercenary - 70 - Independent Boys - Part 4

High atop a mountain peak, where the wind cut sharp and the snow lay endless, a lone figure moved as though the weight of the world was nothing to him.

A man—broad-shouldered, scarred, unflinching—balanced a boulder easily a thousand times his size across his shoulders. He squatted low, then rose again, each motion steady, deliberate, sweat pouring freely down his back.

“…992… 993… 994… 995…”

The mountain itself seemed to bend to his will. But then—

Crunch. Crunch.

The faint, deliberate sound of footsteps pressed into snow reached his ear. Distinct. Sharp. Not the tread of an animal. Not of a villager. He already knew what kind of presence approached.

Boom!

He lowered the boulder. The ground trembled under its weight, the entire peak quaking. A wall of snow peeled free from the summit, cascading down the mountainside into a roaring avalanche that scoured the trees below.

“…You’re the maid, aren’t you?” Thill asked without turning, his voice like stone breaking silence.

The woman who stood at the edge of the wind offered no reply. Her black uniform whipped against the storm, her face unreadable.

“I never caught your name,” he admitted, finally glancing at her. “But you’re one of the Shadows hired to guard Evelyn, am I right? Were you sent here by Desmond?”

Still, to his questions, silence was all that she could give.

He frowned faintly. “Then how did you find me?”

The only answer was the flick of her wrist. A folded paper flew toward him like a blade. Without effort, Thill snatched it from the air.

The sigil pressed in its wax was enough. The Amber family’s authentic symbol was enough of an identity for Thill to confirm it..

He broke the seal and read. The message was short. Direct.

After a moment, he exhaled, shoulders relaxing. “Tell him it’s the last day. So expect us by sundown.”

The maid gave the smallest nod. Then, like a ghost dissolving into the mountain winds, she was gone.

“…” and just as she left, Thill returned to his training once more.

Thill hefted the boulder once more, as if no interruption had ever come, his training resuming like ritual.

Meanwhile, early in that same morning…

The snow stretched endless and pale beneath the boots of fifty boys marching in silence. No one spoke. Every breath clouded in the frozen air, rising like smoke from an army of ghosts. Ahead loomed a jagged cliff, its base split by the gaping maw of a cave.

That was where the two-headed ogre made its lair.

Even at a distance, the stench seeped into their nostrils—rot, filth, old blood. Its presence was undeniable.

But they had no intention of charging it head-on. Not when they lacked the strength. Not when one sweep of its club could splatter a boy against the rocks.

Instead, they had prepared.

It only took a few seconds, but their formation was made in perfect order.

Astin knelt at the front, setting down a crude clay sphere the size of a helmet. The surface was cracked, held together by tar and rope bindings. Inside sloshed a foul concoction: the urine of dead goblins mixed with crushed leaves from a poisonous plant the hunters called “Stingweed.” Together, it made a smoke so acrid it burned the eyes and throat, while its stench could sicken even hardened men.

“Light it,” he whispered.

A torch was pressed to the fuse. It hissed, sputtered, then rolled forward across the snow, bouncing once before vanishing into the dark maw of the cave.

The silence that followed lasted only heartbeats.

Then— boom.

A muffled implosion echoed within the cavern. A foul cloud billowed out almost instantly, dark and choking. The stench hit them even from their distance, making several boys gag behind their scarves.

From within came a bellow. Then another. Two roars at once—pain, fury, and confusion tangled together.

The ogre burst from the cave mouth, both its heads screaming. Its four eyes were red and streaming, blinded by the smoke, its massive hands clawing at its faces. It stumbled in rage, rushing out into the open snow, more beast than warrior.

“Now! Pull it!”

At Mario’s shout, the boys heaved on the ropes.

Across the snowfield, a thick line of braided cords tightened—ropes they had buried beneath the snow and fixed between two boulders. The ogre, blinded and enraged, never saw it coming. Its foot hooked, its balance faltered, and the beast toppled forward with a thunderous crash that sent snow spraying into the air.

“Swarm it!”

They charged. Fifty bodies against one.

Spears stabbed. Swords hacked. Blades drove down at exposed flesh again and again. The ogre howled, thrashing, rolling in the snow as boys clung to its limbs, stabbing wherever they could.

But its hide was thick. Too thick.

Their blades sank only shallow, scratching skin, drawing little more than thin streams of blood. No thrust could pierce deep enough. No cut could cleave through the corded muscle. Their weapons bent, snapped, or slid off like knives against stone.

“Why isn’t it working!?” one shouted, panic in his voice.

“Drive harder!” another cried, stabbing uselessly at its side.

The truth was plain. Their iron was too weak, their bodies too small. To cut through the ogre’s flesh would require channeling a core’s power into the weapon itself. But none of them—not one—knew how to shape their cores, much less wield them in battle.

They were soldiers without fire.

Still, they fought. Still, they pressed their weight, their steel, their fury upon the monster. Because failure meant death, and retreat was impossible.

In their efforts to swarm the fallen ogre, soon…they started to notice its body slowly rise up to the air.

And all of a sudden.

“RROOOOOOAHHHHHHH!!!”

Its roar shook the ground, and the giant surged upward. Its massive arms swept wide, flinging boys aside like dolls. One head spat a bellow of rage, the other shrieked in mocking laughter. Both sets of eyes, though red and streaming from the smoke, burned with murderous light.

“Fall back!” Mario shouted, dragging one boy to his feet before he was crushed underfoot.

The boys stumbled backward in unison, shields raised, panting, snow hissing under their boots. The ogre loomed above them again, staggering but not broken, its club raised high to smash them flat.

“Second plan!”

At Mario’s call, the formation shifted.

All this time, only twenty boys remained in front with their shields braced to keep its attention. The rest—hidden in the woods, behind rocks, and spread across the ridge—revealed themselves at once.

And then the air whistled.

A storm of arrows darkened the gray sky.

The ogre looked up just as the volley fell. In the blink of an eye, twenty shafts buried into its flesh with sickening thuds. Its roar turned into a choking scream as arrows peppered its body, sticking out of its arms, chest, and shoulders like thorns on a cactus.

Another wave followed. This time, most arrows aimed for its heads. The beast flailed, tusked jaws snapping in rage, but still the shafts sank in. One eye burst under the impact of a black-feathered arrow. Another lodged deep into its other brow, blood streaming down its face. Both heads shrieked, blinded and furious, swinging wildly at shadows it could no longer see.

“Keep firing! Don’t let up!” Garon’s voice thundered from the treeline.

The boys obeyed, loosing arrow after arrow. The ogre staggered, its massive form shaking under the constant sting. Each new shaft drove it further into madness, into weakness. Its skin bristled with fletching, its faces a mask of blood and pain.

For the first time, the monster looked less like an unstoppable giant and more like a cornered beast.

But even then—it did not fall.

The boys gritted their teeth, knowing one truth lingered in the snow-drenched air: arrows could sting, could blind, could weaken… but they could not kill.

“Fuck…its not falling down!” said Astin out of anger.

Worried, he turned to Mario, hoping that they could find another way…

But Mario looked back with the same expression of worry.

Nothing else followed except for the idea that they would recklessly charge forward while the ogre was at its weakest. But if they did…they knew the risk that one of them one day against the hands of this ogre.

For the first time, they had no confidence at all to face this enemy. It wasn’t the kind of monster a simple person could take on…

It needed the touch of a superhuman.

Someone who had access to his core.

But how??!

It was simply not possible.

In a matter of desperation, Astin’s mind flashed with one thought—we can’t let this drag on. He had to decide.

So he spoke.

“Enough! Everyone—charge!” he barked, voice cracking, but the boys obeyed.

The arrows ceased. Swords and spears leveled. Fifty boots pounded across the snow.

They crashed against the ogre like a wave. But the wave broke.

The beast’s massive arm swept wide, and one boy was seized in its grip. With casual cruelty, it hurled him into another. The two slammed together with a sickening thud, collapsing in a heap. Both lay still, unmoving, their weapons scattered in the snow.

“Hold it back!” Mario roared, forcing himself in front of the monster. His sword slashed, biting shallow against the ogre’s arm. He pressed forward recklessly, desperate to keep its fury focused on him.

But then—

Boom!

The ogre’s palm smashed into his chest, a full-force shove. Mario was flung like a ragdoll, crashing through a line of boys, tumbling across the snow until he lay groaning, his breath knocked from his lungs.

Astin froze. His heart seized. The ogre loomed above them, tusks glistening, blood-streaked eyes burning through the haze of arrows still jutting from its flesh.

And in that moment… Astin felt it.

Fear. The true fear of death.

It clawed through his chest, gripping his lungs, choking his breath. His legs trembled. He wanted to run, to vanish into the snow. But behind that fear—something else sparked. A single, desperate thought:

I can’t die here. I have to end this. I have to go home.

His ambition, raw and unrefined, struck like flint. And deep within, something flared.

His core.

For only a moment, it awakened.

Heat surged in his chest. His veins thrummed with an unfamiliar strength, his blood alight with fire. The world sharpened—the ogre’s every movement, every twitch, burned into his mind with clarity.

Astin’s fear twisted into resolve.

Without realizing, he raised his spear and stepped forward, no longer retreating but striding toward the monster as though death itself could be defied.

Something had changed.

Astin bloomed.

The air seemed to still around him. The shouts of the boys, the roar of the ogre, even the rush of the wind—everything faded beneath the pounding of his heart.

Astin gripped his spear tighter. The wood no longer felt fragile in his hands. It felt alive—like the beating of his own pulse had run into it, hardening it, sharpening it.

The ogre saw him. Both heads snarled, its blinded eyes narrowing at the lone boy who dared step forward. Its massive hand swung down to crush him.

Astin didn’t flinch.

He charged.

Snow exploded beneath his boots as he lunged, his body moving faster, truer, than it ever had. His fear had turned to flame, and that flame drove him forward with reckless certainty.

The spearhead gleamed, vibrating with something unseen, something primal—the faint flicker of a core awakening.

The ogre’s palm swept toward him like a falling wall, but Astin slipped beneath it, his world a blur of instinct. He drove the spear upward with both hands, the weight of his soul behind it.

Shhhhk!

The steel point punched through the ogre’s chest. For the first time, their weapons did more than sting. The hide split, the muscle gave way, and the spear drove deep.

Straight into the heart.

The monster’s bellow turned into a choking scream. Both heads thrashed wildly, jaws gaping, blood spraying hot and steaming across the snow. Its club fell from its grip with a thunderous crash.

Astin roared, shoving the weapon deeper, every fiber of his being pouring into the thrust. His arms burned, his body screamed, but he did not stop—not until the beast’s colossal frame shuddered one last time and began to topple.

With a final wheezing howl, the two-headed ogre collapsed into the snow, the ground shaking as its life fled from its broken heart.

Astin stood over it, his chest heaving, his spear still buried in its chest. For a moment, no one moved. The boys stared at him in stunned silence.

Then the fear broke, replaced by cries, shouts, relief.

But Astin didn’t hear them. He was staring at his hands, trembling around the haft of his weapon. The heat in his veins faded, leaving only exhaustion—and awe.

For a fleeting instant, he had touched something beyond himself. Something impossible.

His core.

And with it, he had done what none of them could. He had ended the ogre.

He staggered back, ripping his spear free from the ogre’s chest. The beast lay still, blood steaming in the cold air, its two heads slack and lifeless.

For a moment, he almost allowed himself to breathe. Almost.

Then his eyes fell on the snow around him.

Boys groaning. Shields splintered. Swords lying forgotten beside limp hands. The two who had been hurled together were sprawled unconscious, and Mario—Mario lay on his back, his chest rising shallow, blood staining the snow beneath him.

Astin’s triumph turned to ice.

“Medic! Get to them—now!” he barked, his voice cracking with urgency. “Don’t just stand there! First aid, hurry!”

The boys snapped into motion, dropping weapons, rushing to their fallen comrades. Cloaks were torn into strips, wounds bound with trembling hands. Potions were uncorked and poured down parched throats, the strong herbal mixtures hissing as they knit torn flesh.

Astin knelt beside Mario, shaking his shoulder. “Stay with me, Mario! You hear me?”

Mario didn’t answer. His face was pale, his eyes closed tight, breath rattling weakly in his chest.

One boy pressed a vial of thick green liquid into Astin’s hand. He lifted Mario’s head carefully and poured it between his lips. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Mario coughed, blood flecking his lips, but the rise and fall of his chest grew steadier.

“He’s alive,” someone whispered.

Relief swept through them like a tide.

Around the battlefield, the others were tended to. Bones set, cuts sealed, bruises eased. The potions worked quickly—strong, costly things saved for emergencies—but even they could not erase the bruises of this battle.

When the worst of the chaos settled, Astin rose again, sweat dripping down his brow. His hands still trembled, but it wasn’t from the fight anymore.

It was from the weight of it. The victory, the casualties, the realization that if he hadn’t… if his core hadn’t awakened… all of them might be lying cold in the snow beside the ogre.

“…Lucky,” he muttered under his breath. “We were lucky.”

But as he looked at the boys patching each other up, bandaging wounds with grim determination, a small flame lit in his chest.

Perhaps luck wasn’t the only reason.

Perhaps they were changing.

***

“Hmm?” to Thill’s curiosity…he suddenly felt an unfamiliar presence in the forest while he was training.

When he turned to where this presence was coming from, he used his enhanced senses to look far and wide…and to his shock, he saw that Astin was the cause of this presence.

“Huh…Well, would you look at that.” he smiled at the sight of Astin’s potential.

And once again, Astin showed his potential.

***

Two hours had passed since the fall of the ogre.

In that time, the boys had done what they could. Weapons were cleaned and sharpened, broken shields repaired as best as possible, and wounds bound with fresh bandages. But more than anything, they waited.

Waited for those who had collapsed to stir again.

Especially Mario.

At last, he groaned, eyes fluttering open. His chest still ached from the ogre’s strike, but breath returned steadily, stronger than before. Relief washed over him—until he realized what he was seeing.

In front of him, two figures clashed.

Steel rang against steel, sparks flying in the snowy air. Astin pressed forward with a sword in hand, his movements sharp but uneven, bursts of power in one strike, then sluggishness in the next. Facing him was Malvoy—an older man, broad-shouldered, scars hidden beneath a worn cloak. An ex-adventurer. His stance was calm, precise, every parry measured.

Mario blinked in disbelief. “What the hell… why are they fighting?”

Beside him, a boy knelt with a cloth pressed to another wounded comrade’s head. Perlin—the grandson of the village elder, and the one who had been tending to the injured since the battle—glanced at Mario with a weary expression.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Perlin said quietly. “Astin… he realized what happened back there. He awakened his core.”

Mario froze, the words sinking into him.

Perlin continued, voice low. “He’s trying to understand it. To feel it again. That’s why he asked Malvoy to duel him—because Malvoy’s the only one here with real experience. The only one who can push him without killing him outright.”

Mario turned back to the clash.

Astin’s blade struck with sudden speed, a blur that forced Malvoy to step back. For a heartbeat, it looked like he had him—until the glow in his eyes faltered, the strength left his arms, and his swing slowed. Malvoy countered easily, twisting Astin’s weapon aside and knocking him back into the snow.

Astin growled, climbing to his feet, sweat dripping down his face. He lifted his sword again, determination burning in his eyes despite his exhaustion.

Perlin sighed. “But the truth is… he can barely use it. His core only stirs in flashes. One moment, he’s faster than any of us… the next, he’s just the same Astin we’ve always known.”

Mario clenched his fists, watching as Astin lunged once more, only to be countered and sent sprawling under Malvoy’s sword.

The awakening that had saved them from the ogre—it was real. But now it was slipping through Astin’s fingers like smoke.

Seeing the struggle, the fear, the doubt in everyone’s eyes… Mario pushed himself to his feet. His chest ached, his ribs burned, but he endured and stepped forward.

“What are you doing?” Mario asked, his voice steady despite the pain.

Astin looked back, surprise flashing across his face. Relief followed—he was glad Mario was awake—but then his gaze dropped to his sword, and worry returned. He could not feel his core stirring. Not even a spark.

He sighed and slid his weapon back into its sheath.

“Thank you, Malvoy, for sparring with me. But for now, we should rest.” His words were heavy as he turned his back and walked away.

The camp fell silent, the boys weighed down not just by wounds, but by the grim shadow of what lay ahead.

“Malvoy,” Mario said quietly, “it looks like it’s going to take a while before we move again… so why not have the guys cook up something decent? Might raise their spirits.”

Malvoy gave a short nod and turned to gather a few boys to start preparing a meal.

As for Mario, he followed Astin, his boots crunching in the snow. Slowly, step after step, until at last—

To his shock, Astin was standing before the corpse of the two-headed ogre.

He just stared at it. Silent. His eyes narrowed as though trying to capture something invisible, something fleeting.

He reached for his chest, then his hand tightened into a fist. “I can still feel it… the strength I had back then. But now…” His voice faltered. “It’s gone. Like it was never there at all.”

His shoulders shook, his teeth clenched. “…We’re fucked.”

Mario stood beside him, staring at the monster they had barely brought down, arrows still jutting from its flesh like thorns.

“…Yeah,” Mario admitted quietly. “We are.”

Astin’s voice trembled. “…What do we do now? At this rate, we won’t be able to stand against the colossus before we finally lose someone.”

Mario walked closer, staring at the corpse before them. “…Hmm, what else can we do?” He gave the ogre’s nose a light kick, as if testing if it truly was dead.

Astin’s fists clenched. “I’m thinking… if I could harness my core—even just a little—we might actually have a chance. We still have to kill one more ogre… but if I can’t awaken it again, then surely one of us will lose our lives!” His voice cracked, dripping with frustration and desperation.

Mario didn’t interrupt. He only listened as Astin’s words tumbled out, heavy with the pressure weighing on his shoulders.

“As of now, I’m the only one who even has a chance of dealing real damage. But what then?! After the ogres, we still have the thornhide maulers… and the colossus…” His breath hitched. “It all seems impossible.”

“Still, we have to do it,” Mario said flatly.

Astin whipped toward him, disbelief in his eyes. “Didn’t you hear me?! I can’t control my core yet! If we go out there without a proper tactic—without a plan—then—”

Mario cut him off, calm but firm. “We still have to do it.”

Astin froze, staring at him.

Mario’s voice softened, but carried weight. “So buck up, and get your head straight. Right now, your mind is clouded with uncertainty. And what do we do when our heads are clouded? What did Captain teach us?”

Astin blinked, the answer coming to him despite himself. “…We… meditate?”

Mario’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Yeah.”