The Immortal Genius Spearman

His right cheek was so swollen that it was nearly unrecognizable, and blood was dripping steadily from his split lips.

Norman, who had once been a member of the first squad of the Makstri unit, gulped down the beer sitting on the table in front of him.

Creon, his former squad leader, remarked, “Hey, slow down. No one’s going to steal it from you.”

“Hah… I just can’t believe this. This really isn’t a dream, right?”

Norman glanced at Damian and Creon, sitting before him.

He still couldn’t wrap his head around seeing these familiar faces again.

Damian turned to Sandrun and said, “Sandrun told me you were here, so I came to find you. But is this place your usual spot?”

Damian swept his gaze around the tavern.

The atmosphere was lively. Another brawl had already started in the ring where Norman had just fought, and the crowd was just as loud and raucous.

Norman scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“Well, what can I say… I was just trying to maintain my combat instincts. This was the only way I could think of.”

“Why the need to keep your combat instincts sharp?”

“I was hoping… maybe I’d get a chance to join your unit someday, Damian.”

“Hmm, that won’t be easy.”

Truthfully, it was almost impossible for anyone other than squad leaders from Makstri to be accepted into the Caion unit.

The training required to join the Caion unit was infamous for being brutal, and surviving it made its members exceptionally strong.

But Makstri was different. The soldiers there had undergone only the bare minimum of training in harsh conditions.

From Damian’s perspective, he had simply done his best with the limited resources available, but their skills didn’t match up to the Caion unit’s level.

“Alright, let’s do this then.”

Damian walked over to the bar, grabbed some paper and a pen, and quickly scribbled something down before handing the note to Sandrun.

“You and the others should go too.”

“…What’s this?” Sandrun asked.

“A recommendation letter.”

“This… this is a recommendation letter?!” Creon, startled, looked at the paper in Damian’s hand.

It looked hastily written, just a few lines of a letter addressed to someone.

“Leon…hark?”

“Yeah, take this to Instructor Leonhark at the Caion unit in Valphate.”

“So, we’re joining your unit?” Norman asked, his eyes lighting up with hope.

The others nearby, also filled with excitement, looked at Damian with eager expressions.

But Damian quickly cut through their anticipation.

“No, it’s just a test.”

“A test…?” Norman echoed.

“Yeah. If you can endure the training that Instructor leonhark puts you through, I’ll use my authority to let you join.”

Everyone around the table was taken aback by Damian’s response.

Creon, looking displeased, grumbled, “But Damian, I thought me and Sandrun already passed?”

“Who said you passed? I said you’d be tested before I made my decision.”

“Oh… I see,” Creon sighed, looking disappointed.

Sandrun clicked his tongue at him.

“Stop whining and sit down, cueball.”

“You little… Wanna go a round in that ring?”

“If I can use a sword, sure.”

“You’re nothing but a weakling without your sword, aren’t you?”

As the two began bickering again, Damian sighed quietly.

“Both of you, rest up until your injuries heal, then leave immediately. And stop fighting. If I’m not there, one of you might end up dead.”

“If anyone dies, it’ll be him,” Creon shot back.

“My sword has no eyes,” Sandrun replied coolly.

Despite Damian’s attempts to mediate, the tension between the two refused to die down.

Watching them, Damian couldn’t help but chuckle.

“But it’s good to see you all again,” Damian said, raising his beer mug for a toast.

They clinked their glasses together, celebrating their reunion.

—

The cold darkness of the early morning had settled in.

Those who had worked until sunset were now asleep, as if dead, in their cramped quarters.

In the corner of one such room—

“Huff, huff…!”

Paul was doing push-ups with just his thumbs and forefingers. He then lifted his legs into the air.

“Ugh…”

His body, once bent from exhaustion, slowly straightened out into a full handstand.

His fingertips were red with pooled blood, trembling from the effort, but Paul remained calm, maintaining his breathing.

By the time sweat had pooled beneath him, he lowered his legs and stood up, breathing heavily.

“Hooo…”

Since arriving in this hellhole, Paul hadn’t taken a single day off.

The workload was brutal.

The lashes were harsh.

But Paul had never once regretted his decision.

‘Two more weeks…’

Two weeks left until he could finally leave this wretched place. When his sentence ended, the label of “criminal” that had haunted him for so long would be gone.

Of course, his crimes wouldn’t simply disappear just because his sentence was over, but at least he could go where he wanted.

However…

“…Can I really face him?”

Paul had recently overheard news of him.

News that Damian had defeated the Rose Knight Order, one of the Empire’s most elite forces.

The story was so famous that even the prison guards and other inmates had been talking about it nonstop.

The Caion unit.

It had become one of the top ten most renowned military units in the entire Baroque Kingdom.

And the rumors about its captain were even more outlandish. Some said he could wield aura, others claimed he was from a prestigious noble family.

But since no one knew Damian’s true identity, the rumors were just that—rumors.

Still, knowing who Damian really was filled Paul with a sense of pride.

At the same time, he couldn’t help but worry whether he could even stand before such a legendary figure anymore.

“Let’s do a bit more.”

Even though he only had 4-5 hours of rest after his grueling workday, Paul spent half of that time training every night.

Just in case Damian came for him.

But the next day, Paul was caught off guard by a completely unexpected visitor.

“…Is this the place?”

The coal mine labor camp.

It had taken a full week on horseback to get here from Ekena.

The camp was located deep in the southeastern region, making the distance from Valphate even farther.

“It’s been a while,” Damian muttered to himself.

Despite the distance, he had to come here.

Because the person he sought was here.

“Hold it right there, state your identity.”

As Damian approached the entrance to the labor camp, a guard blocked his path, barking orders at him.

Damian pulled out his identification badge.

“I’m Sergeant Damian of the Caion unit.”

“Ca-Caion unit?!”

“The Caion unit’s sergeant?!”

The guards’ eyes widened in shock.

They had even heard the recent rumors about the Caion unit, now one of the most talked-about forces in the kingdom.

Damian nodded.

“I’m here to see the person in charge. Can you guide me?”

“Of course!” one of the guards replied eagerly, leading Damian inside the labor camp.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

As they entered the camp, the sight of prisoners swinging pickaxes, digging at the walls and ground, greeted them.

“Don’t slack off! If you don’t finish your work by dinner, you won’t get any food!”

Crack!

“Argh!”

The shouts of guards and the sound of lashes accompanied by prisoners’ cries filled the air.

Amid the noise, Damian followed the guard to one of the barracks.

“Sergeant Zikli, Sergeant Damian from the Caion unit is here to see you.”

“…Caion unit?”

A voice filled with surprise came from inside the barracks, and a middle-aged man with a stout build and a slightly curled mustache stepped out.

Zikli eyed the guard.

“Sergeant Damian of the Caion unit? The unit commander?”

“This is him.”

The guard stepped aside, allowing Zikli to see Damian.

“You’re the commander of the Caion unit?” Zikli asked.

“I’m Sergeant Damian. What’s your rank?”

“…I’m also a sergeant,” Zikli replied after a brief hesitation.

“Good, Sergeant Zikli. I’m here to see a prisoner named Paul. Can I meet him?”

“Paul?”

Zikli blinked and looked at the guard beside him.

The guard scratched his head in confusion before quickly remembering.

“Oh, right, that gloomy guy. You know him too, Sergeant Zikli. The one with the burn scars on his face.”

“Ahh!” Zikli exclaimed, as if recalling something.

Given the large number of prisoners, Zikli didn’t remember most of them, but Paul had left an impression.

“Now that I think about it, his sentence is almost up… But why are you looking for him?”

“I’m here to take him with me.”

“Take him…? What do you mean by that?”

Zikli frowned, his confusion growing.

Even though this was the Caion unit, he was in charge of the labor camp, and no one had informed him about this beforehand. Now this man had suddenly appeared, making unexpected demands.

Seeing Zikli’s discomfort, Damian pulled out a document and handed it to him.

“This is part of a direct order from the Legion Commander to expand the unit. I’d appreciate your cooperation.”

“…Bring Paul here,” Zikli ordered the guard, albeit with a somewhat displeased expression.

It wasn’t as though he could refuse; after all, the document bore the signature of the Legion Commander. No one wanted to get involved in unnecessary complications over a mere prisoner.

As the guard left to fetch Paul, Damian crossed his arms, waiting outside the barracks.

Zikli had offered to let him wait inside, but Damian had declined.

“No, thank you. I’ll wait here.”

Damian had no desire to linger in the camp longer than necessary.

‘Gloomy, huh?’

It made sense that Paul would come across that way in a place like this.

A small smile crept onto Damian’s lips as he stood there, waiting.

‘I wonder if his skills have remained sharp…’

There was a chance that Paul’s archery abilities had dulled over time without practice.

But Damian wasn’t too worried.

Paul had been the most naturally gifted archer Damian had ever encountered, both in his past and current life.

‘A skilled archer unit is exactly what we need.’

The recent battle against the Rose Knight Order had exposed the lack of a proper archer unit in the Caion army, which had been a critical weakness.

With a well-trained archer unit, the casualties could have been significantly reduced.

And then—

“I’ve brought him.”

The guard returned, accompanied by a man with a blank expression.

He still kept his left eye and the scarred side of his face covered by his long bangs.

It was Paul.

Seeing him, Damian raised his hand in greeting.

“It’s been a while.”

“…Damian, sir?”

Paul’s expression shifted from blank to stunned.

His eyes trembled as he stared at Damian, as if unable to believe what he was seeing.

“H-how…”

Words failed him. He couldn’t even form a proper question.

Seeing Paul’s reaction, Damian smiled and said, “I’ve come to take you.”