Leovald always pursued efficiency.
He cut away the most vital parts and moved on to the next target — conserving strength was paramount. He never knew when he might need to sever ties or when he'd get the chance to rest again. There was no room for waste.
Yet, mess always followed.
As if his life could never truly escape the filth of the streets he came from.
The pinnacle of taking life efficiently was always buried deep within flesh. He dirtied his hands, sliced through the outer layers, and stared into the insides — only to find that, in the end, everything boiled down to the same red mass.
Soft, slick, pulsing sacks of wet matter.
It was almost absurdly simple to think that life's core was nothing more than that. No matter how different the shell looked, strip it away, and they were all the same. Even himself.
It wasn't until much later that he realized… others didn't think this way.
Before he learned, Leovald never knew how others saw him.
He didn't realize what kind of looks he got, wandering around drenched in blood right after battle. He never thought about why people found the dried blood and tangled tufts of hair stuck to his sword so revolting. It took him even longer to understand why the dying screams of his enemies made people avert their eyes.
What was natural in his world… was repulsive in someone else's.
A massive shadow swept over him, the sound of wings beating growing closer. It was the beast they'd fought before — the one from the dragon's tail.
Leovald never forgot an enemy's weakness. He didn't need Isaac to remind him. Though… an excuse to hear his voice again wouldn't have been unwelcome.
The monstrous bird dived, beak open wide to reveal rows of jagged teeth. It tucked its wings in and spun, plunging toward him.
Without hesitation, Leovald snatched a fallen spear from the ground and hurled it. One of the beast's three heads impaled clean through, letting out a shriek that echoed across the battlefield.
Instead of snatching prey, the creature lost balance and tumbled.
Leovald didn't need to force anything. He simply sliced at the right moment.
Schk.
The weight of the plummeting beast carried the force for him. Its head, like a harvest ripe for the taking, severed cleanly and rolled.
Warm droplets spattered onto his cheek.
Leovald stared down at the beast, its body and head now separated. He raised his sword and plunged it deep into its heart one last time.
The blade sank through thick flesh, and when he pulled it free, it came out slick with glistening grease and blood. The carcass, hollowed out along the long incision, spilled its insides into a steaming, sludgy pool on the snow.
He grabbed a handful of snow to wipe his weapon clean, but the moment he picked it up, the white clump turned crimson. Only then did Leovald realize he was drenched head to toe in blood.
'…No wonder I wasn't cold.'
Fresh, hot blood had kept the chill from reaching him. He glanced around, belatedly taking in his surroundings.
When the battle first erupted, there hadn't been time to wait for reinforcements. He'd carved his way through the battlefield alone, leaving a path of carnage that was easy enough to trace — just follow the trail of the most gruesomely slaughtered corpses, and there he'd be at the end of it.
He absently reached up to wipe the blood off his face, but one look at his filthy hand stopped him. It would only make things worse.
Shaking the worst of the muck from his sword, Leovald glanced toward the approaching hunting party. They faltered at the sight of him, but he didn't care.
He let out a long breath, watching the heated vapour bloom in the cold air.
Only Raul, resting a spear on his shoulder, looked unsurprised. He whistled softly as he scanned the blood-soaked snowfield, as if this chaos was just another familiar sight.
"Did you overdo it a little, sir? Or did you sneak some kind of special tonic behind my back? With that stench of blood, I'd say we're out of luck today. The beasts won't come anywhere near this place."
Leovald barely registered Raul's words, his grip on his sword slack. He couldn't sheath it in this filthy state.
"I'm heading back."
"Go on ahead. I'll clean up and follow."
Thin trails of crimson and his heavy footsteps carved a bloody path through the snow.
He found his horse wandering the field, reins dragging. It reared at the scent of monster blood, but Leovald calmed it, taking hold of the reins. The horse, trained by the Ertinez family, was well-disciplined — yet even so, it refused to let him mount in his current state.
In the end, he walked back, leading the horse behind him.
Arrows from the archers stuck out of the snow near the barricade, jutting up like unnatural weeds. The thick wooden palisade, carved from entire winter trees, greeted him in silence.
The tightly shut gate groaned open, inch by inch, revealing the camp behind it. He saw people moving busily — setting up tents for the returning knights, preparing bandages and boiled water for the wounded, and stirring a large pot for the evening meal.
They froze at the sight of him, flinching back, eyes wide with unease.
And then, among the crowd, Leovald spotted the man orchestrating it all.
The man quickly sensed something was off from the surrounding reactions and turned around — his eyes went wide the moment he saw Leovald.
'Should've at least rinsed off at the river first.'
The blood had already thickened and clung to him like crusted tar in the cold. Water alone wouldn't be enough to wash it off. His clothes were so soaked through with the stench and stain of it that burning them seemed more practical than trying to clean them. But still…
Just as regret began to creep in, the man dropped everything he was doing and rushed over without hesitation.
"Leo!"
He grabbed him without a second thought, pulling him into a firm embrace.
The scent of smoke from the firewood, the crisp bite of winter air, and that familiar, unshakably sweet smell of him — clean, warm, and human — all flooded Leovald's senses at once.
Gentle, steady hands, dry and untouched by the filth of the battlefield, cupped his cheeks, brushing back the blood-matted strands of his hair with tender care. Without hesitation. Without disgust.
Is this what an apostle is supposed to be like? Leovald wondered bitterly. Do they ignore filth because they're too noble to be bothered by it?
Or was it because this was Isaac? Because Isaac was the only one who could do this?
A tight, aching satisfaction curled deep in his chest, squeezing his heart until it hurt.
"Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?"
Leovald instinctively pulled Isaac closer, wrapping his arms around him. His bloodstained hands smeared red across Isaac's cloak, ruining the pristine fabric. But Isaac didn't flinch.
The sticky, clotted blood that coated Leovald's body transferred to Isaac's skin, streaking his cheek, his neck, and his hands. It smeared across his clothes, marking him with the same filth. And still — Isaac didn't pull away. Not even a little.
So, with a playful glint in his eyes — like a beast marking its territory — Leovald deliberately ran his hand across Isaac's cheek. The smear of red settled there, blooming like a flush of warmth against his skin.
'…'
Leovald smiled brightly, his grin uncharacteristically wide and carefree.
***
Has he been through too much?
'Why does he look like he's lost it?'
Jeez… Godric really puts him through hell.
Earlier, when everyone suddenly stared behind me with that strange look, I almost thought Godric himself had shown up. The reverence and fear in their eyes were unmistakable. But when I turned around, all I saw was Leonardo — drenched in blood, looking like a ragged mess.
His deep sea-blue hair was so soaked in red it looked almost black, and the rest of him wasn't any better.
For a second, I thought he might be hurt and rushed over. But what greeted me was his face, oddly relaxed, like someone who'd just finished an all-out sprint and was finally catching his breath. His pupils were wider than usual, giving him a dazed, almost dreamy look.
He must've had to fight rougher than usual — not his usual clean style, but full-on brutality. No wonder he looked exhausted.
A wave of sympathy hit me. I pulled him into an embrace, patting his back to comfort him. He let himself fold into me, his larger frame curling in like a child seeking solace, leaning against me as if he were indulging in a bit of harmless whining.
"You did well."
I felt Leonardo's lips curve into a soft smile against the crook of my neck. He's really such a simple guy — getting comforted this easily by a few gentle words.
"What about Raul and the other knights?"
"They're cleaning up the bodies. They'll be a bit late."
"Yeah? Good. We were still getting things ready anyway."
The battle had settled down for now, and everyone was busy preparing food, beds, and supplies for the knights who would return soon. Not everything was fully set up yet, but surely, Leonardo could be the first to wash up and rest. He deserved that much.
When I coaxed him to go wash and eat, he sluggishly nodded, still leaning against me like he didn't want to let go.
"Let's wash together. You probably got dirty because of me."
"Huh? Oh, right. Well… sure."
Honestly, it wasn't the best idea to start preparing food while covered in blood anyway. I nudged Leonardo toward the tent, telling him to go ahead first, then turned to the other knights.
"Keep things going — I'll be back soon."
But for some reason, they barely reacted. They blinked at me like they hadn't fully heard or processed what I said. They looked stunned, like they'd seen a ghost.
I sighed, figuring it was faster to rely on the smartest one in the group and leave the rest to them.
"Vittorio, where are you?"
"I'm here!"
Vittorio poked his head out from inside the wagon, where he'd been rummaging for supplies. He blinked at me for a moment, then tapped his own cheek.
I followed the gesture, rubbing my cheek — and sure enough, a smear of crimson stained my thumb. Blood.
When did this get here?
"Are you hurt?"
"Ah, no. Leo just got back. I'm going to wash up — can you help out here for a bit?"
"Mm-hm! Got it!"
Vittorio nodded enthusiastically. Honestly, he was more reliable than the adults. See? Quick, sharp, and listens well.
"I'll be back soon."
Vittorio nodded again, all obedient and ready. But then, the knights suddenly snapped out of their daze, like they'd been woken from a dream, and started frantically shaking their heads.
"Take your time, sir! No rush!"
"We'll handle everything here — don't worry!"
…What's with them?
[
And why are you like this now?