A full hour had passed. Diablo sat by the tree, the pot resting behind him. He had been there for what felt like an eternity, and no matter how long he waited, the fight still raged on. Now, he wondered just what kind of chaos he had caused by running to take the food. In fact, if there was anybody to blame, it shouldn't be him, right?
Only if that madman had just told us to share the food, no matter how small… but no, he wants everything to be training.
There was no denying he might face punishment, but at least it wouldn't be as severe, considering he had protected the food first. What would have truly pained him was if, after everything, the food had spilled. That would have hurt him more.
But at least now, the food was safe.
If he hadn't run then, taken the pot, and saved whatever he could, some of the others wouldn't be as angry as they had been when he ran. At least they'd have something to eat after such a brutal and exhausting fight.
Still, he knew how brutal that fight must have been, as he had heard the shooting, the slinging, and the clanging of swords.
He just sat there, absently playing with the rocks around him, while the pot was at the other end, his handsslightly burning him due to the earlier hotness of the handle.
"Damn, quit acting like a good Samaritan," he muttered under his breath. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to eat. Just as he moved toward the pot, he heard footsteps approaching.
'Wowww..great timing'
Then he heard a soldier's voice. "Where the fuck is he?"
Diablo spoke quietly, "I'm here."
The soldiers immediately moved, their sweat dripping from their foreheads. A blackish substance dripped down their clothes—some splashed on their faces, while others had it gummed to their skin. No one needed to explain to the army what it meant. They stared at the guy already shivering in the corner.
"Where's the pot?" one of them asked, paying no mind to the trembling Diablo.
Diablo pointed at it. Two of the soldiers lifted the pot and began heading back toward the tent area. Another walked behind Diablo as they moved toward the tents.
When they arrived, he was surprised to see all the other soldiers lined up in a straight line. Some were slightly injured; others were dripping with the black substance, which he guessed was the fish's blood.
The commander stood before him. Diablo cursed inwardly. He knew he wasn't in too much trouble, considering he had saved the food. At this point, he might even be viewed as a hero… or was he just delusional?
Finally, they dropped the pot. The commander spoke, his voice cutting through the air.
"You act like a child. At this point, I wonder if a child would act more mature."
The commander continued moving as he addressed Diablo, "You've caused more harm than good in this legion. But I'll give you one last chance. You've helped ensure that many will eat tonight, and that will be your credit for today."
Diablo smiled softly. "Yes, commander."
But then the commander spoke again, his tone sharp, "That does not mean you will not be punished for your rash act and for acting like a fool."
"Rash act? What now? You said I have credit, so why am I being punished? It's not like you're not happy that I brought this food for all—including you," Diablo thought bitterly.
"You won't be taking any food tonight," the commander finished. The place turned tense with shock.
Diablo's eyes widened. What was the commander talking about? The others stared in disbelief. After all the running and keeping the food safe for everyone, the commander was denying him food? It was almost laughably funny, in fact. Some of the food had started to cool, not as warm as earlier, but the soldiers were too relieved to care—they were just happy that they would eat tonight.
After all, Diablo had caused more harm than good and was one of the most annoying people in the legion. It seemed almost unfair—as he had mad smiles on their faces for the first time—but it was also fitting.
The commander spoke again, his voice cold, "To your tents, all of you. Bring your plates. A scoop will be served."
They all nodded in unison. "Yes, commander."
What made them even more relieved was knowing that everyone would be eating. The interruption by the monster fish had threatened to ruin their chance, but now, it seemed like they would all get a meal, thanks to Mr. Failure—Mr. Goody Two-Shoes—who'd ended up not eating after keeping it safe.
Diablo quietly walked toward his tent. Void came up behind him.
Before Diablo knew it, a punch landed straight into his face.
Blood trickled down his lips, but a soft smile grazed Diablo's face as he stared at Void, who had just punched him. Void's expression was a frown of frustration.
"Damn you, you big fool, idiot. How could you have such food and not keep any for yourself? I didn't expect that from you. You didn't even eat, you cow!" Void said, his voice thick with annoyance at Diablo's foolishness.
Diablo chuckled, his thumb moving to wipe away the blood before he examined it. He quietly rubbed it against the tent, leaving a long, straight mark. Then he spoke quietly, "Spoke too soon," and nonchalantly walked toward the table area, pulling out a drawer.
Void's eyes widened as Diablo brought out two large, full flasks. He tossed one to Void, who caught it with one hand. The flask was surprisingly heavy and hot.
A smirk spread across Diablo's lips as he raised his fingers to his forehead and gave Void a stylish salute.
Diablo spoke with a dazzling smile, his hand still around the flask. Void's eyes widened slightly, surprised by the unexpected turn of events.
"Bro, who the hell are you?"
Diablo's lips curled into a smirk.
"Call me… Diablo."