'...I thought they'd at least let me ride in a carriage since I'm a scribe.'
As they marched, Jake swallowed a bitter chuckle.
Of course, Martin had personally provided him with a horse. However, the animal was intended solely to carry the documents and luggage required for administrative work, not for Jake to ride.
In the end, as someone who had originally been a mere serf, Jake had no choice but to walk on his own two feet, just like the other conscripts.
But it wasn't particularly difficult.
Compared to the farmwork he'd endured over the past three years, a march that involved nothing more than endless walking was practically a vacation.
The real hardship, however, lay elsewhere.
“...Look at that bastard, all dressed up like he's better than the rest of us.”
“Tsk. Did he become a scribe by sucking up to the lord or something?”
“I heard he's an illegitimate child of some noble... Damn his bloodline.”
Contempt and jealousy were openly directed at him.
Jake had no idea how the rumors had spread, but the conscripts had seemingly agreed among themselves to ostracize him.
Nobody spoke to him, and whenever he passed nearby, they deliberately hurled insults loudly enough for him to hear.
Of course, it wasn't as though Jake couldn't understand their feelings.
They were nothing more than meat shields who could die at any moment, while Jake was a scribe who would spend his time pushing a pen around in the safety of the rear.
On top of that, he possessed the gambeson and shortsword Paul had given him.
It was only natural that the others found him irritating.
'...But if I keep putting up with this, they'll start treating me like a pushover.'
And so, on the seventh night of the march, Jake secretly summoned the five serfs who had been leading the harassment to the area behind the barracks, making sure their superiors wouldn't notice.
“Why the hell did you call us here, you bast— GACK!”
Before the man who appeared to be their ringleader could even finish picking a fight, Jake's fist struck him squarely in the solar plexus.
It was a blow of an entirely different caliber from the punches of an untrained serf.
A concise, efficient strike honed through the swordsmanship training he'd received from Martin.
THUD—!
“E-eek!”
As the man collapsed without even managing to scream, the remaining four turned deathly pale.
Before they could react, Jake kicked off the ground and charged toward them.
THWACK! THUD!
“Aaaaargh!”
THWACK!
“AAAAH!”
Five serfs who had received barely more than a week's worth of military training were no match for him.
In the blink of an eye, all five lay sprawled on the ground.
“Don't ever run those filthy mouths of yours in front of me again. Next time, it won't end with my fists.”
“Y-yes, understood.”
From that day onward, nobody in the camp dared to harass him again.
Of course, nobody approached him in a friendly manner either, but Jake actually felt much more comfortable that way.
After all, he and the other conscripts were destined to walk different paths.
There was nothing to gain for either side by forming unnecessary attachments.
And so, the fourteenth day since their departure from the lord's castle arrived.
It was time for the food rations to be distributed.
While chewing on a piece of hard bread, Jake happened to notice something.
“You worthless bastard! Who told you that you could eat that bread without permission?! Didn't we tell you to hand over your share to us?!”
THWACK! THUD!
In a corner of the camp, three young serfs had surrounded a boy as enormous as a bear and were repeatedly kicking him.
Yet the boy made no attempt to resist.
He merely curled up and endured their blows.
'...Tsk.'
Jake clicked his tongue quietly.
However, he had absolutely no intention of interfering in their business.
As he'd already decided, he had no desire to form friendships with the other serfs.
Getting involved in something like that would bring him nothing but trouble.
But then...
Jake happened to glance in their direction once more, and his movements suddenly froze.
The enormous boy being beaten was smiling foolishly.
No matter how Jake looked at him, the boy didn't seem entirely right in the head.
'Hmm... Even so, beating up someone who looks that simpleminded is going a bit too far. He seems to be around my age, too.'
In the end, Jake rose from his seat and strode toward the group beating the boy.
“Hey. Isn't that enough?”
At the quiet voice, the three serfs flinched and turned around.
When they realized that the person addressing them was Jake, bewilderment spread across their faces.
A brief silence followed.
“...L-let's go!”
In the end, they turned and fled as fast as their legs could carry them.
Apparently, they knew perfectly well that they were no match for Jake.
A short while later, Jake approached the boy.
The boy was still curled up on the ground, smiling foolishly.
“Hey, it's okay now. I chased those bastards away.”
Only after hearing Jake's words did the boy finally raise his head and look at him.
His eyes were as pure and innocent as those of a newborn baby.
“What's your name?”
“Hehe, I'm Hector.”
“I'm Jake. By the way, Hector, why were you letting those bastards beat you up? With a body like yours, you should be able to knock them out with a single punch.”
“Hehe, that's because we're friends!”
Jake was momentarily dumbfounded by his answer.
Friends?
What kind of friend beat up another friend?
“Friends don't beat each other up. Those bastards probably don't even think of you as their friend.”
At Jake's words, Hector's expression immediately crumpled.
His lips began to pout as though he were about to burst into tears at any moment.
'Oh, no.'
If Hector started bawling his eyes out here, they would attract everyone's attention in an instant.
They might even end up drawing the displeasure of their superiors.
'Tsk. I guess I don't have a choice.'
“Hector, don't cry. I'll be your friend.”
“H-huh? Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Th-then... you won't hit me?”
“Ha, of course not. I told you, that's not what friendship is about. Friends are people who trust and help each other.”
Hector stared at him blankly for a moment.
Then a brilliant smile spread across his entire face.
“Hehehehe! Friend! I've got a friend now! A real friend!”
He was so delighted that he even began dancing on the spot, an amusing sight considering his enormous physique.
He looked rather simpleminded, but Jake didn't bother pointing it out.
No, instead, Jake began examining Hector with growing interest.
'This guy... He's not just big.'
Despite having taken such a beating, there wasn't a single injury on his body.
The arms and legs visible beneath his curled-up posture were as thick as logs, and his entire body was packed with solid muscle.
Jake hadn't intended to become friendly with any of the conscripts, but he figured someone with this kind of potential might be worth making an exception for.
“Friend! Jake, my friend!”
“Yeah, Hector, my friend.”
“Th-then what should we play now?”
“What? What do you mean, what should we play all of a sudd—”
Jake stopped mid-sentence.
A good idea had suddenly occurred to him.
“Hector, then how about we try some swordsmanship sparring... No, how about we play a sword-fighting game?”
“A sword-fighting game! That sounds fun! Yeah, yeah!”
If he continued sparring against someone as sturdy as Hector, his swordsmanship would undoubtedly improve by leaps and bounds.
And it wouldn't be a bad thing for Hector, either.
He would also improve his skills, increasing his chances of surviving on the battlefield.
“Good. Follow me.”
“Hehe, okay!”
From that day onward, throughout the long march toward the front lines, Jake regularly crossed wooden swords with Hector whenever they had the opportunity.
And so, Jake's swordsmanship gradually grew sharper and more refined.