SWY 12

Sharhan’s tightly clenched fist slammed into Lestel’s shoulder.

His pride was wounded, his emotions a mess, and he didn’t hold back. He hit with everything he had, and the sharp crack of impact echoed out. Lestel winced with a short grunt, his brows twisting in pain as he staggered back. Sharhan seized the moment to sit up quickly.

“Still packs a punch, huh.”

A thin sheen of sweat had formed on Lestel’s forehead as he rubbed the spot. It clearly hurt, not just acting. Sharhan’s own fist was aching too.

“Then why’d you do something to get hit for?”

Sharhan resisted the urge to rub his burning knuckles, forcing himself to sneer like it didn’t bother him at all.

Damn, that actually hurts like hell.

He glanced at the back of his hand. It was red, like it had been scalded. He quickly hid the hand behind his back and discreetly rubbed it against his shirt. The throbbing eased slightly.

“I was just stating facts. I’m taller than you now, aren’t I? A full three inches. So this is what it feels like to look down on someone. Feels pretty great. Empowering, even.”

Lestel’s eyes were smug as he looked down at Sharhan’s crown. Sharhan exhaled. For the first time today, it actually felt like the Lestel he knew was back. That version from earlier, the one who had pinned him down and stared at him with that unfamiliar weight, that had been too strange.

“I told you, it’s not three inches!”

“Looks like at least three inches to me.”

“What’s your height?!”

“Six-foot-four. You?”

As expected. Sharhan wasn’t quite six-foot-one. So yeah, the difference was over three inches.

“Six-foot-two.”

He lied boldly. Lestel gave him a skeptical look, scanning his height up and down. Sharhan just raised his chin like, Go ahead, take a good look. It’s not like they had a measuring tape. He could argue all he wanted.

“No matter how I look at it, it’s a three-inch difference.”

“It’s not!”

“Wanna swear on your noble honor?”

“I swear on my noble honor, I’m six-two.”

Never mind that he was a mercenary now with no noble honor to speak of.

Lestel gave him a long, suspicious look, then suddenly stood up.

“Honey, get up.”

“What, you think I can’t?”

His voice was confident and smooth, but his movements were cautious. He didn’t know what Lestel was planning. Lestel grabbed his shoulder, turned him around to show his back, then hugged him tightly from behind. Sharhan’s body went rigid in an instant.

“You psycho! What the hell are you-”

Lestel wrapped his arms around him, pinning him in place, and rested his chin right on the top of Sharhan’s head. His sharp jaw pressed into the crown of his skull.

“Your head fits under my chin with room to spare. Six-two, huh? You’ve gotten better at lying since I last saw you.”

“Why the hell are you like this now? If I say I’m six-two, just go with it. Why the hell are you hugging me?! Who the hell measures height like this? For fuck’s sake, who the hell wants to be hugged by some guy? Especially a guy from House Ailun.”

Sharhan yanked himself out of Lestel’s arms, his face twisted in disgust – but his heart was racing like mad. What the hell’s he been eating these past three years? He already knew Lestel had gotten taller and broader, but actually being held like that – he felt even bigger than expected.

“After kissing and groping your ass, you think a hug’s a big deal? Don’t tell me your heart skipped a beat.”

Sharhan snorted.

“You looking to get punched again? What the hell kind of crap are you spouting?”

“That last punch was a cheap shot. You caught me off guard. But now? I don’t think you’ve got the size advantage anymore.”

“You think fighting’s about size? It’s about strength and technique.”

“Anyone listening would think you’ve got more strength or skill than me.”

“That’s not wishful thinking, it’s just facts. No matter how big you’ve gotten, you’re still no match for me. Think about how many times you got your ass beat and cried about it.”

“Never cried. And fine, let’s count. Let’s tally how many fights we had and who won.”

“Good. But leave out the Academy matches.”

“Sure. Even so, my win rate’s still higher.”

“Save the bragging for someone else. I’m immune.”

The two of them began bickering at full volume, dragging out childhood grudges. They’d always been like that, constantly competing, fighting, making bets, and throwing punches. It was endless. As they argued about who had won which fight, the sun had completely set.

It was absurd, really, having this dumb argument in a pitch-black forest. But it was also kind of fun. Sharhan kept a straight face but started recounting everything he remembered.

“Wait a sec. Didn’t I win that one?”

The disagreement dated back to when they were twelve. While wandering the forest, they had come across a wolf pup, apparently abandoned by its mother. Both had insisted on taking it home to raise, and of course, it escalated into a fight. As Sharhan remembered it, he had won that fight.

“Why do you keep remembering it wrong, honey? I think your brain’s gotten a bit dull from all this mercenary work. Try reading a book for once instead of just swinging your sword.”

“My memory’s just fine. You’re the one twisting things. I’m telling you, I won that one.”

“That’s funny. If you’re talking about the time you lost and then grabbed my hair out of frustration… fine. I’ll accept that. Sure, you were losing up until you got a grip on my hair, but let’s say even a coward’s victory still counts.”

Sharhan bristled at Lestel’s smug tone.

“You grabbed my hair too!”

“Only because you did it first. Honestly, I never expected the proud heir of House Kaios to stoop so low and pull hair just because he was losing.”

“I already told you, it wasn’t on purpose! Your hair was just long, so it got caught in my hand!”

Even back then, Lestel had kept his hair long like now.

“Oh, so your hand was just sitting there, and my hair volunteered to get caught?”

“Exactly! It was an accident. You’re the one who did it on purpose, you asshole. You yanked out a whole fistful of hair, and I still have a bald patch on my scalp!”

Sharhan leaned forward, showing the top of his head. Lestel snorted and pushed it back with a finger.

“You think I don’t have one too?”

Sharhan had yanked out just as much. That day, the two of them had fought like wild animals, determined to make the other bald. The knights of both houses had to come running to pull them apart. What started as a fistfight had turned into a hair-pulling brawl, and by the end, their hands were full of each other’s hair.

Even after being dragged away, they’d fumed in frustration. After being carted home by a knight, Sharhan had been scolded harshly by his father for disgracing the family by fighting like some street urchin. He’d been forced to skip dinner and swing a sword a thousand times as punishment. Even then, he’d secretly felt proud of himself, thinking, I still won. Apparently, Lestel had felt the same.

“Of course you’ve got a bald spot. I yanked out more hair. So I win.”

“Ha, aren’t you embarrassed saying crap like that?”

Lestel scoffed, but Sharhan just shrugged proudly, unfazed.

“All that matters is that I beat you.”

Lestel looked at him in disbelief, then finally let out a short laugh and backed off.

“Fine, let’s say you won. I don’t want to go around bragging about winning a hair-pulling fight anyway.”

In truth, Sharhan only acted this immature in front of Lestel. He was nothing like this with anyone else. Back when he started out as a mercenary, he barely spoke, rarely showed emotion, and was cold to the point where people said, He’s got the face of a flower, but a heart of iron.

Hiiing.

While the two of them had been wasting energy arguing, Thunder and Lightning returned after grazing. Hearing their contented snorts reminded Sharhan of his own hunger. His stomach growled loudly. Lestel stood up.

“Let’s eat.”

Sharhan got up too, and the two of them prepared dinner together.

Unlike Sharhan, who had been practically kidnapped and hadn’t packed, Lestel had brought all the essentials for camping – blankets, food, everything. Aside from the tight schedule, they didn’t lack anything.

After eating his fill, Sharhan unrolled a blanket and lay down early. They’d be back on the road at dawn, and he’d need rest to endure the march. Lying on his side, yawning lazily, he asked,

“How many days left?”

“At this pace… probably a day or two.”

Lestel answered, recalling the map they’d checked earlier that afternoon.

“Is that map accurate?”

“It was made by a guide who’s traveled every inch of the empire. Very accurate. Our guild relies on it too.”

That was why Lestel had set out so confidently without hiring a guide. The man who’d drawn the map had spent his life mapping every road and path. When he became too old to travel, he sold it to Black Pearl for a fortune. The map was so detailed and precise that even on an unfamiliar route like this, it was good enough to rely on. It had been instrumental in opening up new trade routes.

“So we’ll be in Luhas by the day after tomorrow at the latest.”

“Probably.”

“The person with the Paphun addiction, he’s one of your guild’s workers, right?”

They were rushing to Luhas to get an antidote for someone suffering from addiction. But whoever it was, they didn’t seem like just a regular employee. Lestel could have just sent someone else or waited for Yuel to come back with the cure. The fact that he was going himself meant the person was clearly important to him.

“Yeah.”

Lestel replied absently as he spread out his own blanket. Sharhan, feeling him moving behind him, hesitated. He wanted to ask, How important is this person, that you’d go yourself? But the words caught in his throat.

He hesitated again and again, then finally told himself, Just ask already, and opened his mouth. That was when something warm rolled over and pressed against his back. No need to look. It was Lestel.

“Wh-what the hell?!”

Sharhan jolted in shock, but Lestel wrapped around him from behind and whispered.

“It’s cold.”