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The feast of Einherjar surpassed Gilbert’s expectations.

Using the Mana Road to define the area and activating his regeneration ability, Gilbert could feel the warmth of the Mana Road as soon as the feast was declared. It wasn’t pain, but a pleasant heat felt as the half-destroyed Mana Road recovered.

According to the skill description, this absurd regeneration seemed to activate throughout the feast. Even considering it was conditional, it was hard to believe such a recovery skill existed.

It wasn’t an instant effect like an elixir, but where could one even find an elixir if they wanted to?

Compared to the legendary elixir that could fully restore one’s health in an instant, any skill would pale in comparison.

However, Einherjar’s Feast was a skill that enhanced regeneration, obtainable only after fully developing recovery-type skills. Considering that regeneration could reattach severed limbs, enhanced regeneration might even regrow lost organs.

Gilbert found it astonishing that the Mana Road, which he doubted could even be repaired, was being restored in real-time. It was unusual for the Mana Road, deemed unhealable even by sacred power, to recover so quickly.

In reality, relying on natural healing was all one could do, and even that was impossible if it was as damaged as Gilbert’s.

Thus, Einherjar’s Feast was no less than a characteristic skill in potential. It had no defined grade and still had unlocked abilities.

Gilbert smiled at the unexpected success and looked around at the Punitive Force members enjoying the feast.

Their expressions, dark before the feast, had improved. The pressure of their first real battle and the sudden appearance of monsters had weighed heavily on them.

It was inevitable.

Realizing that what they had taken lightly actually required risking their lives naturally caused turmoil. The low survival rate of rookie pilots in their first battle was due to this.

Gilbert, a veteran pilot who had seen countless rookies, knew it was his duty as a senior to alleviate the pressure of real combat. Proposing this feast to boost morale was also part of his role.

War wasn’t just about having good soldiers. They were people with emotions, not chess pieces, and even the best pilots could die from trivial matters on the battlefield.

In that sense, this feast was necessary for the Punitive Force members who had just experienced their first real battle.

“Nice speech, wasn’t it?”

“Brynhild, right?”

Brynhild, holding a glass in one hand and a large bottle in the other, sat down in front of Gilbert.

“How about a drink?”

“Is offering alcohol to the injured part of Sigurdian culture?”

“Of course not. We’re not some barbaric tribe that considers alcohol a cure.”

Brynhild frowned as she filled Gilbert’s empty glass. Her actions didn’t match her words, but he didn’t point it out.

“You say that, but you filled my glass before I could answer.”

“After nearly dying, is one drink really a big deal?”

“Fair enough.”

Gilbert and Brynhild clinked glasses and downed their drinks in one go. The sweet aroma of fruit wine spread in their mouths, leaving a unique flavor.

“That was too reckless this time.”

“I had no choice.”

“I know. But you could have called for help.”

“No. Calling you in that situation would have been a mistake. The balance was barely maintained because you were there.”

“You should have called. Gilbert. You seem to misunderstand. I’m here solely because of you. If you die, there’s no reason for me to stay here.”

“Even so, I couldn’t abandon my comrades. That’s the soft spot of Sigurdians.”

“Never been more annoyed than today.”

Brynhild clicked her tongue and poured herself another drink, seemingly to vent her frustration.

Gilbert watched Brynhild down her drinks one after another and took the bottle from her. He knew a Grand Warrior like her wouldn’t get drunk easily, but she was drinking too hastily.

“Gilbert.”

“What is it?”

“Do you remember when we first met?”

“I do.”

“I was surprised when I lost to you, who applied for the forgotten Volsung Saga, and was asked to help with the peace treaty between our tribe and the Empire. According to the saga’s vow, I had to follow any order you gave, even if it meant betraying my own tribe.”

The saga’s vow was a contract made with one’s life and soul.

The vow’s compulsion would have forced her to follow any order, and if Gilbert had ordered her to raise her sword against her tribe, she would have had to do so without resistance, staining her hands with her family’s blood.

Just thinking about it was horrifying.

That she, who loved her tribe more than anyone, would have to bring about its downfall with her own hands.

Of course, it never happened. It remained a mere assumption, all thanks to Gilbert.

So, on the day the peace treaty was signed, Brynhild cut her hair and gave it to him. It was a significant gesture for a Sigurdian, but she didn’t hesitate.

“You were our tribe’s benefactor, and as the tribe’s Grand Warrior, I owed you a debt of gratitude. For us, hair holds great symbolic meaning, so cutting it and giving it to you meant I would stand by you no matter what. That’s why I gave you my hair.”

“Didn’t you say you also give it to your marriage partner?”

“Of course, it became an unchangeable fact the moment you defeated me. I decided it.”

Gilbert felt a headache coming on at her added comment.

But he didn’t show it. He knew why she was bringing this up.

“So, the reason I’m at the Academy is solely because of you. The reason the Sigurdian Grand Warrior came to the heart of the Empire and became an Academy Cadet is because Gilbert Lion Heart is here. Conversely, if you weren’t here, I wouldn’t have a reason to stay. So, take care of yourself.”

Her words, scolding him for pushing himself to the point of damaging his Mana Road, were also a direct expression of her concern, typical of Brynhild.

She was telling Gilbert to stop seeking death. Believing in himself was good, but that belief was only possible as long as he remained intact.

Gilbert didn’t want to argue with her concern.

Such blunt worries often carried remnants of the past.

“Understood. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“In that sense, have another drink.”

“Offering more alcohol to a patient seems problematic.”

“So, drinking will act as anesthesia?”

“Hans always says, can’t you think before you speak?”

Hans, who was always being scolded, and Angelina, who scolded him, approached Gilbert and Brynhild’s table. Following them were Lily, smiling behind her hand, Camilla, laughing heartily, and Ilene, smiling silently as usual.

“Fufufu! You can’t enjoy the feast alone!”

“Camilla’s right. This is cheating, Commander.”

“I agree. Lord Gilbert.”

As the surroundings became noisy, Gilbert’s gaze drifted off to somewhere far away.

It was a faded fragment of an old memory. A cherished scene from his memories naturally overlapped with the current situation.

A nostalgic and irreplaceable moment from the past…

“Gilbert?”

Camilla looked at Gilbert with wide eyes, surprised. Having only seen his stoic side, she couldn’t adapt to the current situation.

It wasn’t just her who was surprised.

Lily, Brynhild, the mischievous Hans, and even the usually silent Ilene were just as startled as Camilla.

Before them, Gilbert was smiling warmly, a sight they had never seen before.

***

“Always hogging the spotlight. Who was it who went to help?”

Ian grumbled as he watched Gilbert finish his speech and enjoy the feast.

The reason he charged at the monster Ogre wasn’t to help Gilbert, but somehow, in his mind, it had turned into him rushing to Gilbert’s aid.

Ian’s emotional state was unstable at the time, leading to impulsive actions.

Perhaps he distorted his memories as a defense mechanism to avoid feeling left behind by Gilbert.

Fressia thought the same.

Ian had twisted all unfavorable memories to create a favorable narrative for himself. His current complaints were an extension of that.

He was proud of risking his life to save a comrade but was jealous that Gilbert had taken the important role.

Is this right?

Since that day, a crack had formed in Fressia’s heart.

Her determination to support the inexperienced Ian and make him a hero hadn’t changed, but seeing Gilbert’s truth firsthand left her uneasy.

Especially when she saw Ian like this, that feeling grew stronger. She asked herself but couldn’t find a clear reason. It was just a suffocating feeling filling her chest.

“Fressia, you think so too, right?”

[Yeah… I guess.]

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

[No, it’s nothing.]

“If there’s any problem, tell me. You’re really important to me.”

Fressia felt a slight relief at Ian’s warm words.

Perhaps this suffocating feeling was due to hastily judging Gilbert. Labeling him as a thug or a delinquent was a mistake.

Fressia decided to apologize to Gilbert if she got the chance.

His actions were exemplary, worthy of emulation. To have condemned such a person one-sidedly must be why she felt this way.

[Thanks for worrying about me.]

“Don’t mention it. By the way, Gilbert’s injuries are severe, so he won’t participate in the next punitive force. It’s finally our turn.”

His words were filled with unfounded confidence, but Fressia didn’t point it out.

It wasn’t entirely wrong.

[Yeah. It’s finally our turn.]

“Don’t worry. I’ll outperform that Gilbert guy.”

[Ian will do just fine.]

Fressia played along, looking at the noisy scene around Gilbert.

Still, the suffocating feeling in her heart was unavoidable.

 

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