The crimson sunset settled between the tall trees.

In a large clearing near the stream, mercenaries and knights unpacked their belongings and began preparing dinner.

Choro, unloading a large box from the supply wagon, took out some bowls and wiped them clean with a dry cloth.

Next to him, Philip, stuck to him like a cicada, helped while humming a cheerful tune. Their song mingled with the busy noise around the campsite.

Returning from a hunt, Lavi carried three large deer on his back.

Graham, the cook, began expertly preparing the ingredients with a large knife.

Meanwhile, Eric seemed to be the most leisurely of the group.

Having already washed in the stream, Eric strolled back to camp, dressed in a fresh robe.

He draped the towel he had used over a sunny tree branch, shaking it briskly.

“Already done bathing?”

Sel, peeling onions while seated on a rock, asked Eric, who was shaking out his damp hair.

Unlike his glistening body, Eric’s dry, detached eyes were fixed on the onions in Sel’s hands.

“I don’t like bathing in water that others have already used. Better to wash early,” Eric replied indifferently, pulling a hand towel from his robe.

Then, with an easy motion, he wiped Sel’s tear-streaked eyes.

“Ah, thank you,” Sel said, embarrassed, as she finished rubbing her eyes against her sleeve.

Her reddened eyes grew even more flushed from her efforts.

“But have you already finished your tasks?”

No one was exempt from meal preparation and cleanup, yet Eric often seemed like he had no duties.

“Some fool who lost a bet to me is handling my work,” Eric said casually.

“A bet?”

“Yes. The one who knows the most about a certain person wins.”

“Ha! I wonder who you were betting against,” Sel replied, her curiosity piqued by Eric’s love of gambling.

Instead of answering, Eric tilted his chin toward a spot in the distance. Sel’s head turned to follow his gaze.

There, Gerard—sweating profusely—was hauling a large bucket of water.

Gerard, once the vice-captain of the knights and a self-proclaimed protector of Lavi, was fiercely loyal to him.

“I think I can guess what the bet was about,” Sel muttered.

The shared interest between Eric and Gerard was obvious.

Her gaze shifted silently to Lavi’s retreating figure as he carried his blood-stained shirt to the stream.

With a grunt, Choro and Philip set up two large pots in the center of the clearing.

“Let’s get started,” Graham said.

He evenly divided the ingredients between the two pots and lit a fire beneath them.

Soon, a hearty stew of vegetables, spices, and meat began to bubble.

The savory aroma wafted through the air, creating a warm cloud that spread throughout the campsite.

Graham was a skilled cook. If Eric’s pack was filled with sleeping gear, Graham’s was packed with spices.

The best meals during any expedition were always Graham’s creations.

“Your skills are truly impressive,” Sel said, holding out her empty bowl for seconds.

Naturally, she didn’t skimp on compliments, hoping for extra meat in her serving.

“…You’re quite the delicate one for a mercenary. Cute, even,” Graham muttered, his face softening as he scooped up the remaining stew and handed it to Sel.

Her lips curved upward as she accepted the bowl.

The joy of cooking, after all, was seeing someone savor your food.

Though mercenaries were often unpleasant, there was something endearing about this golden-haired one.

Graham’s hand unconsciously reached out to ruffle Sel’s hair.

“The more I see you, the cuter you seem,” he said with a low chuckle.

Suddenly, someone grabbed Graham’s wrist with a firm grip. The strength was startling.

“…Commander?”

“Take your hand off her,” Lavi said, his sharp gaze locked on Graham.

Fresh from his wash, water dripped from Lavi’s hair as he stood there, clad only in pants.

The warm atmosphere instantly turned icy.

Graham, baffled, glanced Lavi up and down.

Sel quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation, explaining that their commander sometimes became overly sensitive.

“Commander, maybe let go now…,” Sel said awkwardly, gently prying Lavi’s iron grip from Graham’s wrist.

Lavi’s unyielding hand softened instantly at Sel’s touch.

“Have you eaten yet, Commander?” Sel asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“…No.”

Lavi cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing into the pot.

It was empty.

“What? There’s nothing left for me?” Lavi’s face twisted in disbelief as he stared at the two empty pots.

Graham smirked, crossing his arms.

“Blame your own negligence for missing mealtime,” he retorted.

“What kind of cook doesn’t save food for his commander?” Lavi shot back.

“And what kind of commander expects special treatment?”

Tension crackled between the two, their eyes blazing.

Sel quickly intervened, holding out her own bowl.

“Here, I have some left,” she offered.

“But that’s yours,” Lavi protested.

“I got an extra serving,” Sel replied, ushering Lavi away from Graham as she handed him the bowl.

Her palm brushed against Lavi’s bare skin, causing his chest to tense involuntarily.

Lavi’s heartbeat pounded like a hammer, but Sel, busy thanking Graham with a polite nod, didn’t notice his reaction.

She led Lavi to a quiet corner of the campsite where a tree stump served as a seat.

Lavi followed her like a hunting dog on a leash, obediently trailing its master.

“You’re not a child, Commander. Why are you picking a fight with the Captain over something so trivial?”

“How is that trivial? He touched my woman’s hair—mmph!”

“Shh!” Sel hastily silenced Lavi, pressing a finger against his lips in panic.

“What are you even saying out loud right now?” she whispered, her shoulders drawn tight in alarm.

She was already anxious about the mercenaries discovering her true gender. On top of that, “my woman”?

Lavi watched Sel’s flustered reaction with a slow grin. His sharp teeth peeked through as he slyly stuck out the tip of his tongue. Then, he gently ran it over the finger that was silencing him.

It was just like a mischievous puppy playing with a stick.

Startled, Sel snatched her hand back. “What are you doing?!”

“Don’t worry. No one can hear us from here.”

“That’s not the point! And besides, who said I’m your woman?”

“Haven’t we already crossed that line?”

“…What?”

“I’m quite the loyal and sentimental man, you know. We’ve even spent the night together—mmph!”

Sel, utterly flustered by the sudden change in topic, shoved a spoonful of stew into Lavi’s mouth to silence him. She was desperate to shut that troublesome mouth of his.

In her haste, some of the stew spilled messily over Lavi’s lips.

Oh no. Sel fumbled in her pockets, searching for a handkerchief.

Before she could find it, Lavi slowly licked the spilled stew from his lips and called her name.

“It’s fine. No need to wipe it off.”

He reached out, gently cupping one side of Sel’s face, tilting her head slightly upward.

His action naturally brought her gaze to meet his.

“If you could just keep looking at me like this, that would be enough,” Lavi said with a soft smile, his eyes crinkling in delight.

Sel froze, like a deer caught in a trap, unable to tear her gaze away.

A tingling tension filled the air, wrapping around them like an invisible thread.

Sel’s toes curled within her boots, scraping against the firm soles in discomfort.

Lavi parted his lips again, as though silently asking to be fed once more.

He wasn’t a helpless baby bird waiting to be fed; he was a predator, hiding his sly intentions behind a seemingly innocent expression.

“Eat it yourself! I have things to do,” Sel said, shoving the bowl into Lavi’s hands before quickly fleeing the scene.

Left holding the bowl, Lavi chuckled softly.

‘Ah, if only I’d tried this sooner.’ He couldn’t help but feel regret over the gold he’d wasted on that Casanova swindler from the Western Continent.

***

The night sky deepened, a pale crescent moon rising among the clouds like a faint brushstroke of yellow.

Through the hazy wisps of mist, countless stars emerged, twinkling like scattered jewels.

The low, mournful cry of a mountain bird carried on the crisp night wind, its sound fading as it reached the warmth of the campfire.

After finishing their meal, the group settled into a modest evening of relaxation.

Graham, using a large oak barrel of distilled liquor as a base, mixed drinks for the gathered mercenaries and knights.

Clusters of people sipped their drinks and boasted about their exploits, their voices filling the air with lively chatter.

Even the clerics, who opted for warm water instead of alcohol, huddled together to enjoy the cheerful atmosphere.

“In the spirit of things, I’ll play us a tune!”

Drunk and merry, Gion pulled out his lute and began to play. The melody was a sentimental tune, often heard among wandering gypsies.

“That squid-like guy’s got a surprisingly delicate side,” muttered Braeden, his nose red from drinking, gesturing at Guion with his cup. “I heard he used to be part of a roaming assassin group before joining the mercenaries.”

Sel, sitting nearby and drinking like it was water, tapped her fingers against her cup, keeping time with the music.

“The song is lovely,” she remarked.

It was the first time alcohol had been permitted during this campaign.

Though the relaxed atmosphere hinted at the grueling course that lay ahead, Sel couldn’t help but enjoy the warmth of the drink spreading through her body.

As the alcohol loosened her tense nerves, she leaned back against a wooden pillar and began to hum softly.

Her voice, unexpectedly high-pitched for a man, carried a bittersweet sorrow that added depth to the already somber melody.

“Oh—Sel’s singing changes the whole vibe,” Braeden commented, sitting up straighter to listen, resting his chin on one hand.

Sel’s face, softened by a slight intoxication, seemed both relaxed and melancholy, captivating everyone around her.

Her high cheekbones and delicate features drew attention like a scene from a play, and even the chatter died down as others turned to listen.

Her voice, tinged with a slight rasp from the long-term effects of the medicine she took, resonated with a quiet intensity, scattering through the air like ripples on a pond.

When her song ended, the camp erupted into applause.

“Wow!”

“You’ve got an unfair number of talents, Sel,” Philip grumbled, pouting as he clapped.

Caught off guard by the enthusiastic reaction, Sel smiled awkwardly. Her flushed face grew even redder as the group clamored for another song.

But among the cheerful voices, Lavi’s expression darkened.

“Quite the talented individual, don’t you think?”

“Lavi?” Eric, seated beside him, nudged Lavi.

But Lavi, who had been staring blankly, suddenly stood and quickly walked away.