SWY 13

“You crazy bastard! If you’re cold, light another fire. Why are you hugging me? Get off!”

Sharhan struggled in disgust, but it was no use. Lestel’s arms wrapped around him like iron chains. The bile rising in his throat made it itch. Sharhan didn’t hold back and let out a string of curses.

“You’ve gotten even crazier since the last time I saw you. Shit, I said get off right now!”

“Why bother when I’ve got a human blanket? And don’t you know that on nights as cold as this, sharing body heat works better than lighting another fire?”

Lestel spoke calmly, ignoring Sharhan’s cursing. He wasn’t wrong. When mercenaries had to camp out on freezing plains in the middle of winter, they’d often huddle together to stay warm. Of course, that didn’t mean literally hugging someone like this. They just slept a little closer than usual.

“I said, let go.”

“You think I’m hugging you because I want to? Honey, if you don’t want to freeze to death, just do your job as my human blanket.”

It wasn’t quite freezing to death, but it was definitely cold. When they left Verden, the weather had only been slightly chilly. But the farther west they traveled, the colder it became, and now the night air was truly biting. Still, it wasn’t cold enough to justify being hugged like this by Lestel.

‘Shit, I’m getting goosebumps.’

Sharhan would never admit it, but Lestel’s body heat was helping to ward off the chill. Even so, goosebumps rose across Sharhan’s skin. His hairs stood on end. Lestel’s breath was the problem. Every time he exhaled, that warm air hit Sharhan’s bare skin and made him flinch.

“I’m warning you, I’m not saying it again. Let go.”

“Honey, your job is to keep me healthy, remember…”

Sharhan couldn’t take it anymore. He elbowed Lestel’s arm away. Lestel let out a short grunt, and Sharhan clenched his teeth. A sharp pain had just jabbed through his heart. Looking over, he saw blood welling up from Lestel’s reopened wound.

Lestel noticed where Sharhan’s gaze had landed and smirked.

“Honey, you’ve got to be careful. If I get hurt, it breaks your heart.”

When he punched Lestel’s shoulder earlier, it had been fine. But now that it hurt, it must’ve reopened a bleeding wound, and apparently, bleeding triggered the mark of the contract. Sharhan began calculating just how hard he could hit Lestel without activating the cursed contractor’s mark.

Not the face, right? That was too fragile and, annoyingly, too handsome to ruin. Shoulders again? Maybe the gut? He’d love to beat Lestel to a pulp, but thanks to the damn contract, he had to hold back.

“You’ve got a dangerous look in your eyes.”

“Glad you noticed. I’m just figuring out where to hit you. I feel like I need to land one good punch to calm myself down.”

“If you hit me, I’ll have to block it. And if I block with this arm and the wound tears more, who do you think loses out?”

Lestel lifted his bleeding arm to show his point. He was making it clear that if Sharhan threw a punch, he’d block with the injured arm no matter what. The smug look on his face made Sharhan’s fist twitch. A vein throbbed on his forehead. But eventually, he unclenched and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Of all things, you had to get hurt so I can’t even punch you. And what happened to all those swordman instincts, huh? Forgot how to use your body now that you’re playing merchant? Why didn’t you bring any weapons?”

Hand-to-hand was fine, but Lestel used to be a swordsman. Since their reunion, Sharhan hadn’t seen him carry so much as a blade. Unlike Sharhan’s calloused, sword-hardened hands, Lestel’s looked like they should be holding teacups.

“Why would I bring a sword when I’ve got you to protect me? It’s just extra baggage.”

“And what if something unexpected happens? Shouldn’t you at least carry one weapon for emergencies?”

“There won’t be any emergencies if you just stay by my side, right?”

“I’m not your damn arm or leg. How the hell am I supposed to stick to you at all times? There could be times we’re forced apart!”

“Then those situations better not happen. Because if you’re not next to me, I’ll get hurt again.”

Lestel’s tone turned cold as he brushed his fingers lightly across Sharhan’s cheek. It was practically a threat.

“Fuck, you lunatic! Do you think emergencies happen with permission? They’re called emergencies because they happen whether I like it or not! Can’t you use that brain of yours?!”

Finally, Sharhan exploded. His face flushed red with frustration. Lestel suppressed a laugh, knowing too well that laughing now would push Sharhan into a full-blown frenzy. Clearing his throat, he tried to pacify him.

“If we’re really forced apart, I’ll do my best not to get hurt at all. Because if I bleed, your heart aches too.”

“You say that, but you already got hurt when I wasn’t looking. You’ve gotten weaker these past three years, but you still act all proud like you’ve never lost. While you were playing merchant, I was out there bleeding as a mercenary. We’ve lived completely different lives, so stop pretending we’re on equal footing.”

Sharhan glared at Lestel’s forearm, his eyes sharp as if he could cut it with a look. He imagined slicing it open, blood gushing everywhere. Only then did his irritation start to subside.

When Sharhan lay down again, Lestel followed and immediately pressed close again. Sharhan squirmed and resisted for a while but gave up. Moving too much and reopening the wound would just cost him in the end. Might as well accept that he’d been saddled with one big, annoying human blanket. It really was a cold night.

“For someone who brags about having money, why didn’t you bring a heatstone?”

“Do you know how expensive those things are? Why waste a precious heat stone when I’ve got a perfectly good human blanket right here?”

That blanket, of course, being Sharhan.

‘I should’ve stolen one.’

Sharhan, sulking quietly, went still. Lestel, finding the lack of reaction boring, pressed in even closer. When something heavy brushed against Sharhan’s backside, he nearly burst out swearing. It wasn’t even arousal, but the thing that was clearly Lestel’s c*ck had presence.

‘What the hell? Even your d*ck got bigger?’

Wasn’t it the size of a finger?

Of course, that was back when they were seven or eight. Even back then, their rivalry had extended to comparing sizes. They used to yank their pants down without hesitation. Then one day, Lestel suddenly stopped participating. So all Sharhan knew of Lestel’s size was… finger-like.

But fingers only grow so much. There’s no way he’s bigger than me. I’ve already been outgrown in height. I won’t lose there too. He probably stuffed something down there to look impressive.

While Sharhan was inwardly slandering Lestel’s crotch…

“Mercenaries, especially war mercenaries, sometimes sleep with each other, right? Did you? Did you do that too?”

“Just go to sleep. Why are you talking to your blanket?”

Sharhan sneered.

“Answer me. You were a mercenary for three years. I bet you rolled around with a few bastards. So? What was it like?”

Before battle, soldiers often teeter on the edge of panic. That anxiety leads to mistakes, and on the battlefield, mistakes mean death. To relieve that tension, many mercenaries turned to sex. Some paid for it, but others simply did it with each other.

However, Abel strictly forbade coercion. It was fine if it was mutual, but any hint of force meant getting kicked out of the Red Wolves. Fortunately, none of the Red Wolves favored men, and even when prostitutes came by, they were mostly ignored. Sharhan was no exception.

In other words, he was still a virgin. Not because he lacked options, but because he wasn’t interested in meaningless sex. Between constant sword drills and training, he had no time to waste. The others teased him for it, saying he wasn’t a real man yet, but Sharhan disagreed.

Sex? It’s just sweat and wasted energy. Better to spend that time strengthening his core. As for pleasure? Nothing beat the satisfaction of swinging his sword ten thousand times and surviving.

And besides, sex between two guys? That took more stamina. And even ignoring the stamina… the idea of rubbing sweaty bodies with another dick-swinging bastard was just revolting. Unless he lost his mind, Sharhan would never roll around with a guy.

“Why do you even want to know?”

“Don’t I have the right to know if you’re still a virgin or if you ran off and got all used up? It’s my right as your greatest rival.”

“Bullshit. What right?”

“As your greatest rival. So answer me!”

Lestel grabbed Sharhan’s hip roughly. It hurt.

“Fuck, that hurts, psycho! What about you? Are you still a virgin or not?”

“I asked first.”

“Of course I’ve had sex. You think I’m still a virgin? I was a mercenary for three years. What else is there besides alcohol, sex, and risking your life in battle?”

Sharhan lied through his teeth. No way was he going to admit the truth and lose to Lestel.

‘That bastard probably used his finger-sized dick, but I’ll never admit it if he didn’t.’

Lestel clenched his fist, then slowly let it go.

“So you’re saying you did it?”

His voice was lower than usual. Colder. His face, hidden by shadows, was unreadable. Sharhan didn’t notice and pressed back with a challenge of his own.

“Obviously. You too, right? Or no?”

“Of course I did. Why would I save myself for something as trivial as sex? I’ve done it more times than I can count.”