Grimm: Ch. 5

---Grimm's POV---

After eating and drinking my fill, I returned to the tent I shared with Gabriel.

He was still unconscious, lying on the grass mat. His body was covered with wounds, and even in his sleep, his brows remained tightly furrowed—it was clear the injuries were severe.

Seeing him like this made my chest ache. After all, we were brothers by blood, and despite our differences, there was a deep connection.

I scooped a cup of water from the river and gulped it down. The water was murky, with debris floating on the surface.

In times like these, no one cared about cleanliness; baths were a luxury, let alone drinking filtered water. Fortunately, I had boiled some earlier, but lacking a proper container for hot water, I had no choice but to bring the pot inside the tent.

Why boil the water? I had learned the hard way that drinking straight from the river always gave me diarrhea. Better to drink boiled corpse water than die of the shits.

Ever since Shirley left, life had become unbearably difficult for us two brothers.

Perhaps I was really cursed—a "lone star" destined to bring misfortune.

In time, many of the mercenary wives had also succumbed to war, disease, or were abandoned to starve in the wilderness.

The sky outside was not yet fully dark, but with nothing to do, I lay on my mat staring at the ceiling. Gabriel lay beside me, breathing heavily.

Concerned, I sat up to check on him. He was sweating profusely, and when I touched his face, it was scalding hot.

"He's got a fever," I muttered, my pupils contracting. I hurried outside to fetch another bucket of water.

"Hey, Grimm, where are you off to this late?" a scarred mercenary called out.

"Look at him, playing nurse to his brother," another added with a sneer.

"Don't wander too far; a wolf might carry you off! Hahaha!"

Laughter followed me as I rushed back to the tent, ignoring their taunts.

--- Third POV---

Inside the tent, Gabriel stirred. He felt unbearably hot, his face burning like fire, blood clogging deep in his nasal passages. His head was heavy, his body drenched in sweat, and his breathing labored. He was thirsty.

Two mercenaries passing by the tent began talking, unaware that he was awake and could hear them.

"How much longer are we keeping those two here?"

"You know where we found those brats, right?"

"Yeah, they were born among corpses."

"Exactly. For mercenaries like us, they're a bad omen. Misfortune follows them. Isn't Shirley's death proof of that?"

Sweat drenched Gabriel as he listened in horror. Born from corpses... misfortune...

A wave of helplessness washed over him. He glanced at the sword lying on a wooden box nearby and tried to reach for it.

--- Grimm's POV---

At that moment, I returned with the water.

"Got something to say about my brother? Say it to my face," I challenged, noticing the unfamiliar men near our tent.

"Just passing by," one stammered, backing down.

"Yeah, go check on your brother. See if he's feeling better," the other added, quickly walking off.

"Two little harbingers of doom," one muttered under their breath as they left.

I ignored them, accustomed to such remarks since childhood. I carried the water inside, only to find Gabriel struggling to reach his sword.

"Why are you moving around? The ground is cold." I hurried over to lift him back onto the mat. "Do you want your sword?" I asked, seeing his longing gaze at the weapon.

With a sigh, I handed him the sword. "Here, but stop moving around. You're burning up and covered in wounds. Do you want some water?"

Gabriel nodded weakly, clutching the sword to his chest. I helped him sit up and gave him a cup of boiled water. He drank it in small sips.

"You should eat something now that you're awake. It'll help you recover faster," I suggested.

Gabriel's voice was hoarse. "Okay..."

I brought over the leftover meat and broth. The campfires had been extinguished for the night, so reheating was impossible. Seeing that he lacked the strength to eat, I washed my hands and shredded the meat into the broth.

"Here, eat this. Once you sweat it out tonight, you'll feel better." I handed him the bowl and prepared to feed him.

"I said I can do it myself, Grimm," he rasped, taking the bowl. Though weak, he seemed slightly more alert now.

"Yeah, and I can sprout wings. Just eat."

After Gabriel ate, I helped him lie back down. He clutched his sword tightly as he drifted into sleep.

His fever was still there, so I soaked a cloth in cool water and repeatedly wiped his face and forehead.

We're all we've got in this hell. And that's enough. I didn't let myself rest until his fever broke.

Exhausted physically and mentally, I lacked the strength to enter the Trial Realm and instead found myself reliving memories from my childhood.

The floorboards creaked under his heavy steps. The stale smell of cheap alcohol and sweat filled the small apartment as a tall man approached me, holding a beer bottle in one hand. He reached out to grab me.

"It's all your fault!"

Thud!

The man kicked little me hard, sending me flying from the edge of the coffee table to the doorway. I landed far away, the taste of copper filling my mouth as my cheek pressed against the cold floor.

Helpless, three-year-old me, who could barely speak, lay on the ground sobbing.

I didn't understand why this man, my father, was beating me. I had done nothing wrong—I had only been quietly waiting for him to finish eating so I could have a few bites of leftovers.

Unable to stand, I could only lie there, trembling and looking up at him with pleading eyes, silently begging for mercy.

Why? Why does he hate me so much?

Smash!

"Ahhh! Waaaah…"

The man wasn't satisfied. He slammed the beer bottle onto my back, causing me to grimace in pain. I curled up by the doorway, clutching my head in fear, unable even to reach the doorknob to escape.

"Why are you crying?! Your mother's dead, and your grandmother died because of you too! You're a curse! One day, you'll kill me too! Damned brat!"

His furious shouts echoed through the entire building as he kicked me several more times. The impacts felt like they would shatter my ribcage.

Thump, thump, thump.

Hurried footsteps approached, followed by a knock on the door.

"Open up! What are you doing to the child again?!" a familiar voice shouted.

"Mind your own business, woman!" my father yelled back, his words slurring together.

Curled up in a trembling ball, I didn't move.

After a quick word between the man and the newcomer, I was grabbed by the neck and thrown to the side. I crashed into broken glass, the shards cutting into my hands, blood running down my fingers. My back hurt like hell, and I could feel blood there too.

Too young to brace myself, I hit the ground hard, my forehead scraped open by a large shard of glass.

Though the scar faded over time, it never fully disappeared.

As dream-me was about to crash into the jagged edge of the broken glass bottle, I woke up with a start. 

"!!!"

Cold sweat trickled down my forehead. No matter how much time passed, that memory still felt as vivid and terrifying as ever.

That was shortly after my grandmother had passed away, and I had just started living with my father. Thankfully, my aunt had arrived that day and rushed me to the hospital after I fainted; otherwise, I might never have woken up.

I turned onto my back, placing an arm over my eyes. I let out a shaky breath.

Strangely, tears welled up in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks, my breathing becoming uneven. Maybe it was because my current body was still a child's.

That useless man… All he did was complain about life and hit me. He wasn't fit to be a father!

Beside me, Gabriel shifted and seemed to be waking up. Outside, faint footsteps and murmurs indicated that the camp was beginning to stir—the dawn was approaching.

I quickly wiped my tears with my arm, haphazardly brushing them away, and got up to dress. Gabriel, still groggy, opened his eyes. Despite his weakened state the night before, he already looked much better.

His recovery was remarkable.

"Did you take care of me last night?" he asked, walking over to me.

"Yeah," I replied absentmindedly, still shaken by my dream.

His mood darkened slightly, likely remembering something that troubled him.

"Thanks... Seriously, I'm the older brother, yet I always end up relying on you to take care of me," he said awkwardly, ruffling my hair with a hint of guilt.

"It's no big deal," I replied lightly. "We're brothers, right? That's what brothers do—look out for each other."

Sitting on the grass mat, I slowly laced my boots, checking my weapons as usual. The familiar routine helped steady my hands.

"Let's go, Grimm! Time for some morning training!" Gabriel exclaimed, grabbing his sword enthusiastically. He pulled me to my feet and dashed outside.

"Hey! Slow down!" I called after him.

Hand in hand, Gabriel dragged me out of the tent. We began running across the open fields, the crisp morning air brushing away our troubles.

The sun rose steadily in the sky, casting its warm light over us as we laughed and raced through the wilds. Together, we crossed forests and streams.

With each other's companionship, even the harshest life gained a measure of richness, and even the most bitter days found splashes of bright, unforgettable color.

I was glad to have a brother.

---

"98!"

"99!"

Swish!

Swish!

"100!"

"Hah... Hah... Huff."

Blood seeped from reopened blisters as we gripped our swords.

I watched as Gabriel, drenched in sweat, leaned heavily on his sword, slumping onto a decaying tree trunk.

Like him, I had been swinging my sword and was now lying flat on the grass. Staring at the azure sky with birds circling overhead, it felt like ages since we'd last taken time to enjoy such a peaceful scene.

"It feels like when I'm swinging the sword, I don't have to think about anything," Gabriel admitted between heavy breaths.

"Yeah, it's like my mind is completely relaxed." I agreed, glancing at my hands.

Blisters had formed, and despite all our practice, the toll on our bodies was unmistakable. Sword calluses still had to be earned through real combat.

Gabriel's hands fared no better. His once smooth, childlike hands were now covered with gruesome calluses and bloodied blisters. The relentless swinging had left his palms raw and flesh torn.

A series of heavy, deliberate footsteps approached from the forest. We both looked up, tensing at the sound.

"If you only went to fetch water, that took far too long!"

"Gunther!" we exclaimed in unison.

Seeing the swords planted firmly in the ground, he immediately understood the situation. His eyes narrowed as he studied our forms, still harboring some irritation over yesterday's events.

"Take this." He casually tossed a scallop shell at Gabriel, who caught it, puzzled. "And don't waste it—medicine doesn't grow on trees."

"What is it?" Gabriel turned the shell over in his hands.

"Something to keep you fighting. Can't have you dying from infected wounds."

Perhaps feeling guilty, Gunther muttered those words before turning to leave.

"Uh...?" Gabriel blinked in surprise.

"Hmph!" Gunther, visibly awkward, glanced back briefly before walking away.

"G-Gunther!" Gabriel stood up belatedly, calling after him. He seemed like he had to say something.

Gunther stopped and turned to look at him again.

"..."

"Th-thank you..." Gabriel stammered, pouting slightly in embarrassment as he expressed his gratitude.

Gunther's demeanor softened slightly as he turned and left.

"Hurry up and get cooking!" he called out as he walked away.

Once Gunther was out of sight, Gabriel sat back down, clutching the shell with the medicine as if it were a precious treasure.

I couldn't help but chuckle. Walking over, I draped an arm around his shoulder and teased, "You're not blushing, are you, Gabriel?"

Flustered, he immediately shielded the shell, his face turning crimson as he stood up in protest.

"I'm not!!"

"Hahaha!"

"What's so funny? Careful, or I'll hit you, Grimm."

"Still, Gunther really has a rare soft spot. Let me see what kind of medicine it is! Is it really packed in a clam shell?"

Gabriel reluctantly opened the shell. Inside was a milky white ointment. It was rare to see such a substance in this primitive world—it must have been quite valuable.

"Looks like Gunther really cares about you, Gabriel. This ointment doesn't come cheap."

"Who knows," Gabriel muttered, though his actions betrayed him as he carefully applied the ointment to a wound on his nose.

"Hiss... Ow!"

The ointment stung fiercely, making him wince and tear up slightly.

"Come on, let's go make breakfast." he wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes and led the way, as we did every morning, to prepare the meal for everyone.

---Third POV---

Four months later.

"Headquarters has requested we select suitable candidates to act as spies in Midor and relay intelligence. I understand you have two kids under your care, Gunther?"

"Uh... Yes, but..."

"I only need one, not both. If I recall, they're your adopted sons, aren't they?" The burly Tali commander cut him off mid-sentence.

"They're just boys..."

"I don't want to burden children with such responsibilities either, but these are the times we live in. Don't worry, I won't assign him anything too dangerous. Children tend to lower the enemy's guard."

The burly man stood up, towering over him by at least a head. Gunther's head barely reached the man's chest.

"Hmm..." he responded reluctantly.

"Here, this isn't for free."

The man patted him on the shoulder and handed him a pouch of money.

The sight of money immediately brightened Gunther's mood. He opened the pouch and checked—it was full of silver coins. Enough to eat well for a long time.

"Ah, hahaha, you're too generous..."

"Haha, I think your foster sons have been performing quite well on the battlefield..."

The two began exchanging polite flattery. Perhaps bringing two children onto the battlefield was too conspicuous, and fate seemed to be shifting slightly as a result.

Both children were at risk of dying on the journey, but once inside Midor's capital, Weimar, there shouldn't be much danger.

Even so, on the way back, Gunther felt regret. No matter how capable a child might be, they were still just children—fragile and vulnerable.

But having already accepted the money, there was no turning back. After much deliberation, he decided that the smarter of the two, Grimm, was the better choice.

If things went south, Grimm's chances of survival might be higher. Although his sword skills had matured, he was still just a child.

Being able to swing a sword wouldn't be enough to keep him safe in this world, and Gunther could only hope for the boy's good luck.

---

"Hey! Grimm, are you there?"

Gabriel and I were at the river, having just finished bathing. We quickened our pace when we heard Gunther calling.

"Here! What's up?"

"It's been hot lately, but bathing this late? Aren't you worried about running into danger?"

"We'll be careful," Gabriel replied reluctantly.

"Good. Be more mindful next time. Grimm, come with me for a moment." Gunther gestured for me to follow him.

Gabriel and I exchanged a glance. It was unusual—normally, we were called together.

"You go rest, Gabriel. I'll be back soon."

"Okay, I'll wait for you."

Neither of us realized that we were about to be separated. We assumed it was just another small task; after all, we were sometimes asked to split duties.

However, being called out alone at night was a first. I watched Gabriel head back to the tent before following Gunther.

He took me to a hill and casually sat on a rock, looking down at the camp below. With a slightly complicated expression, he began, "Tali needs someone in Midor," Gunther said.

"They're offering good coin for eyes in the capital. Young eyes. The kind people don't look at twice." 

"Do you know why I called you out alone?"

"I don't," I replied honestly. I didn't want to think too much about it.

My memories didn't hold many details of Gabriel's childhood, as most of what I knew came from the animated adaptation.

"Because you're more suitable than your brother."

Gunther rarely looked at anyone this seriously.

"The roads to Weimar are long. Bandits, soldiers, wild animals - they won't care that you're a child." He turned to face me fully. "If you're caught as a spy... well, best not to get caught."

The late summer night's breeze felt cool on my clean skin. It was a rare comfort in this weird world. Maybe I really didn't fit in here, but somehow, my heart was at peace.

"I'll go," I said.