A week had passed since Delam came to his senses.
To begin with, astonishingly, there were no external wounds at all.
Recalling that fierce fight with the barbarian warrior, it was a detail that told you just how far Delam's technique had climbed.
At any rate, it was internal injury for the most part.
There was no need to stay long in the medical tent.
He stayed one day and then moved to the 1st Unit tent to live.
The one who nursed Delam was Mark.
Not that nursing amounted to much, of course.
Odd errands at about the level of bringing him his meals.
Still, seeing how devoted he was, for a blockhead he seemed to understand perfectly well whom he had to thank for surviving.
Shock therapy really was best.
For bringing childish kids to their senses.
'The body's recovered a good deal.'
Delam thought it while observing his interior.
The damaged tendons and mana roads had all been restored.
If anything they had become tougher and sturdier in the course of healing.
By rights, restoring mana roads like this would have been difficult.
But Flurex Arts was the summit of stability.
Being stable meant there was no severance, and that meant that so long as even the faintest path was visible, he could reconnect it.
Delam asked Rubian, who was walking ahead of him.
"So where are we going, ma'am?"
"To the Merit Office."
"That's where you go when you've done something that gets you a reward, right?"
"That is so."
Rubian nodded.
War merit on a battlefield was divided from 1st grade to 5th grade.
Grades 1 through 3 were for knights and mages.
However hard a soldier tried, 4th and 5th were his ceiling.
What Delam would receive was, among those, 4th-grade merit.
'I thought I wouldn't get it, and here they are giving it.'
A thirteen-year-old boy killed a knight-class barbarian warrior?
The truth was, it made no sense.
Even with the soldiers Delam had saved testifying, the same held.
Then what was there that Delam couldn't kill?
They'd have to believe him if he ran his mouth about slaying a dragon.
But things changed when Rubian appeared.
She had witnessed that scene in person.
She hadn't seen the fight itself, but with the eldest daughter of Vistache — one of the kingdom's five great houses, no less — vouching for it, what bastard was going to disregard that?
And so the Merit Office, in the middle of deliberating, discovered something odd.
That the thirteen-year-old boy had been assigned as a decurion in the first place.
So they sent word to the training camp, and—
Astonishing testimony came back.
After that it was easy.
Everything lined up front and back, so there was no reason not to award it.
"Boy, when merit is achieved, prize money and a medal are given as standard. Beyond that, if you wish, you may also receive things such as a weapon or a secret manual of weapon technique, so if there is anything you need, say so."
"Would it be possible to change units?"
"Units, is it... mm, I understand."
Rubian nodded.
His first battle had been all but a defeat, and on top of it he had met an enemy like a natural disaster in the form of a barbarian warrior and barely survived.
Delam having been through such things back to back, there was nobody who would blame him for wanting to move to a safe unit in the rear.
Only, her expression held a touch of regret.
The spirit to get all his comrades away and buy time!
She'd thought that after a long while the makings of a knight had appeared......
"To state the conclusion first, you can change. However, a place requiring special skills — like a unit only a smith can enter — would be impossible."
"Then I would like to go to the Special Duty Corps."
"The Special Duty Corps......? Are you certain about the Special Duty Corps?"
"Yes, ma'am. The armed unit for special purposes."
Each unit's work was clearly defined.
The line unit was a meat shield holding the line at the very front.
The archer unit was an arrow machine that did nothing but shoot until it died.
The supply unit was a living wagon... and so on.
The Special Duty Corps, by contrast, was somewhat different.
The Special Duty Corps was a special unit that did anything requiring force.
What it did most were forward searches, sweeps, reconnaissance, and infiltration.
You could tell just from hearing that.
That it was a unit which quite literally staked its life.
A unit with a lower rate of coming back alive than the front line.
Which is to say, it wasn't fleeing.
If anything it was a road walking into hell.
No wonder Rubian's eyes went round as she asked.
"Why do you mean to go to the Special Duty Corps?"
"Because I want to earn greater merit as a soldier."
"Splendid! But... the Special Duty Corps does not take just anyone. You can only belong to it if the officer responsible for that unit permits it."
"I'm confident about that."
"Good. Is there nothing else you want? Entry to the Special Duty Corps is a matter we ought to be requesting of you, so giving it as a reward seems too harsh a treatment. How about leave? I can grant up to about a month."
"That's all right, ma'am. Setting aside camp life, it's only been a little over two weeks since I enlisted anyway."
At Delam's words Rubian grew even more restless.
Should she tell him to take swordsmanship, or spearmanship?
Or a serviceable weapon?
But Delam refused all of it.
To the disappointed Rubian, Delam said,
"Ah! There is one thing that comes to mind."
"What is it? I will see it done on my own responsibility."
"Could you send a friend from my home village to a rear unit that raises horses? He's a fellow who's of no use whatsoever wherever he is. But he was a shepherd, so I think he'd raise horses well."
"If that is all... understood!"
Rubian said it as if to tell him to leave it to her.
And so the two walked a while longer and arrived at the Merit Office.
Going inside, a splendidly appointed space came into view.
A thick carpet was laid over the floor, and above it stood a luxurious dais where the merit recipient would stand.
Once a merit recipient was decided, the commander presented the commendation from that spot, and down below the subordinates gave applause.
That was only when nobles received it, of course.
Fourth and fifth grade were nothing much.
The unit's men gathering to make noise together was the whole of it.
Which was why Delam was alone.
The men who had shared a tent with Delam numbered eight in all.
And every one of them was dead or wounded.
"Well done."
So the merit ceremony was simple and to the point.
It ended with Rubian pinning the medal on his chest.
He received prize money as well, but there was nowhere to spend it right now.
Still, it seemed like it would come in handy later as a bribe for the men above.
"Ah, ma'am. Where do I stay from here?"
"Let us go to the Special Duty Corps first. If the vice-commander accepts you, then there; if not, you will be assigned a new unit."
"Understood."
Rubian put an arm around Delam's shoulders.
The look of being proud of him was plain enough, but — how to put it.
The distance between them seemed to have gotten strangely close... his imagination, surely?
***
"Sir Rubian, welcome."
Rubian guided him all the way to the Special Duty Corps herself.
As it happened, the vice-commander was in the tent.
Delam swept his eyes over that vice-commander quickly.
'Let's have a look.'
Age, forties.
A face old for its years in the way particular to soldiers, but reasonably handsome.
And an easygoing quality showing through here and there besides.
The light that occasionally surfaced in his eyes was the glow of mana.
'Commoner-born and has mastered mana to a decent standard. At this rate he could become a low-grade knight before long?'
Putting it all together, it wasn't a bad impression.
At minimum, that type didn't enforce nothing but rules and precedent.
It didn't look as though he'd be driven into a death trap and told to come back with merit.
"What brings you to the Special Duty Corps?"
"I have come because there is a soldier I wish to introduce."
"Oh, is the one behind you by any chance Decurion Delam?"
"Are you acquainted?"
"This is our first meeting. But with an achievement like that, there's no way word doesn't get around, sir. As it happens I was in the middle of wondering how to lure him into the Special Duty Corps... don't tell me?"
"Just so. He says he hopes for the Special Duty Corps."
"Ohh!"
The vice-commander approached, brightening.
Only the elite of each unit could enter the Special Duty Corps.
Honor came with it accordingly — but put another way, that also meant it was handed missions that anyone but elites would find hard to stomach.
Its considerably low rate of coming back alive was the proof.
But there was one method for raising that rate.
Namely the existence of a skilled comrade!
So he'd been agonizing over how to lure Delam in, and what do you know.
The prey had walked in on its own two feet.
"Might I examine your body a moment?"
"Please do."
Given permission, the vice-commander felt along Delam's body.
The hand prodding his arms, waist and legs was careful.
And then it soon flushed with astonishment.
Because Delam's physique was assembled so precisely and so efficiently that there was nothing to call it but truly remarkable.
Muscle was muscle, but agility and endurance in particular.
It was set up around those two without a single margin of error.
The ideal form any Special Duty man could wish for, you might say.
Then was there anything more to deliberate on?
The vice-commander put out his hand at once, briskly.
"Welcome to the corps, Delam."
"Thank you, sir."
"You're affable in character too, which I like very much! Do you know what kind of missions our Special Duty Corps carries out?"
"I know it's the best in the kingdom, sir."
"Hahahaha!"
Having laughed in good humor, the vice-commander went on.
"Our missions are five, broadly. Search, sweep, reconnaissance, infiltration, covert entry... which of these would you like to do?"
"I can't tell well just from the names, sir. But I'd like to do dangerous work, and at the same time missions that are worth doing."
"Wise. High risk, high return is precisely the reason the Special Duty Corps exists. Personally, since it's an advantage that your body hasn't finished growing, I'd recommend reconnaissance and covert entry."
"I'll bear it in mind, sir."
"Come, follow me. I'll show you the tents......"
Delam went around the vicinity with the vice-commander.
Being a unit where the elite gathered, the quality of the facilities was considerable.
There were tents, a mess, and even a place for entertainment.
It wasn't remotely comparable to the line unit.
What stood out in particular was the supply.
The equipment of the Special Duty men they occasionally passed, who saluted, was inferior to a knight's — but only by one grade.
The training ground was the same.
Unlike the line unit's, which had been empty because nobody knew whether they'd die today or tomorrow, the training ground here was packed with men.
Men swinging their own chosen weapons.
The hunger to rise was plain on their faces.
"Well! Impressive, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. It feels like a dream that I'll be living here."
"Hahaha! I hope that thought lasts a good long while."
The vice-commander said it mischievously.
But Delam, listening, felt nothing much.
Because in fact this wasn't his first time coming here.
Precisely speaking, it was familiar past the point of making him want to vomit.
There had been a time when Delam had lived as a Special Duty man too.
In this very place.
The memories weren't especially good.
Since nobody enjoys being handled like a piece on a board.
But even so, the reason Delam had come here again—
'Because it's the finest elite track a common soldier can ride.'
The Sword Master Roel.
Rubian belonged to the knight order led by such a great knight.
And Rubian herself was already an intermediate knight and the eldest daughter of one of the five great houses, which made her a person of considerable standing in this place.
And yet even that Rubian could not speak down carelessly to the Special Duty Corps' vice-commander — not even its commander, its vice-commander.
The most powerful evidence was mana.
The vice-commander had mastered a mana formula despite being commoner-born.
The possibility that someone else had taught him one was exceedingly low, which meant the kingdom had separately bestowed a mana formula on him.
Which is to say, a post that important.
'First target... let's set it at something like youngest-ever Special Duty Corps commander. For a start, I just have to look like a standout in the corps' training, don't I?'
What suits youngest-ever is shortest-ever.
He'd go ahead and finish the training in roughly the shortest time on record.