Grimm: Ch. 4

---Grimm's POV---

Bang!

Smack!

I felt the brutal impact as Gunther wielded his spear, using the butt of the shaft like a club. Each strike echoed through my skull as he delivered swift and forceful blows across our faces.

My brother was knocked to the ground beside me, and I fell flat on my back, the taste of copper flooding my mouth as a molar loosened.

"Stop dawdling and get to work!"

"Do you want me dead?!"

He glared angrily at Gabriel.

Another heavy blow smashed into my gut.

"Ugh!"

The pain was too much—I heaved and threw up on the ground. A molar fell from my mouth to the dirt, and I lay there struggling, my temples pounding from the pain.

"Everything I've taught you, wasted! How dare you lose focus on the battlefield! You've truly disappointed me, Grimm."

Spittle flew from his mouth as he berated us. "Do you two even realize who keeps you alive and fed?! If I die, you two will die here as well!"

"The next wave is coming!" A scout's warning interrupted our exchange.

The hooves got louder and louder, drowning out all other sounds. Around us, warriors scrambled to ready their weapons.

I watched as Gabriel wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his defiant gaze fixed on Gunther.

"What's with that look?!" Gunther seemed frustrated by the silent challenge, but the battlefield left no time for further arguments.

Turning away, he began reloading his crossbow.

"If you've got complaints, I could abandon you both right now! Get up and fight properly, or die!" With those parting words, he refocused on the battle.

"Hmph! Shirley... bringing me these two troublemakers," I heard him mutter as he continued shooting at the enemy.

There was something in his voice—not quite regret, but a complexity I couldn't quite understand yet.

Gabriel shakily rose to his feet, pulling a broken tooth from his mouth. Despite the pain that made sweat bead on his forehead, he remained silent, handing Gunther a fresh quiver of arrows.

I clutched my stomach, stumbling back to the trench and resumed reloading my crossbow. The approaching cavalry emerged from the dust like demons from hell, their armor glinting in the harsh sunlight.

Swish!

Swish!

Swish!

With every ounce of my strength, I drew the bowstring.

Each motion sent waves of agony through my stomach, and my fingers, already blistered, left smears of blood on the wood.

Three arrows were loosed in rapid succession.

One struck a knight's right eye, piercing through the back of his skull. The knight screamed and fell from his horse.

"Well done, Grimm! But aim for the horses' legs when dealing with those armored knights!" Gunther's voice carried a hint of pride as he took aim and fired at the enemy, trying to set an example for us younger fighters.

"Like this! They'll topple from their horses and get trampled into pulp, hahahaha!"

I watched as his arrow struck an armored knight's horse in the leg. The horse let out a scream and went down hard, throwing its rider to the ground in a mess of blood and gore.

His laughter rang out across the battlefield.

Thanks to my previous education and lifestyle, I couldn't share Gunther's savage glee. Yet, on the battlefield, hesitation could mean death.

I continued shooting arrow after arrow.

The warhorses neighed wildly. Past the thorny barricade lay freedom, and despite losing dozens of riders, the cavalry pressed forward, heading straight for the defensive stakes.

The ground trembled beneath their charge.

Switching to a spear, I delivered a powerful thrust, piercing through a knight's waist. My small stature became an advantage as I ducked under a swinging blade.

Gunther moved like lightning, delivering the finishing blow that sent the soldier crumpling to the ground. The panicked horse ran amok, colliding with friendly cavalry and spreading chaos through their ranks.

After killing my target, my eyes burned red as I stabbed at the knight's exposed neck, finishing him off quickly. Blood sprayed across my face, hot and sticky.

Kill or be killed. Any mercy on the battlefield could result in harm to the people I cared about. I refused to give my enemies the chance to hurt those I wanted to protect.

As the blood splattered my face, I was suddenly overcome with cold chills. My hands trembled as if they could no longer grip my spear. Yet I knew my grip was firm, my mind sharp.

This was the adrenaline coursing through my veins, heightening every sensation. It was my first time killing an enemy up close.

"Well done, Grimm," Gunther praised again, having dispatched two dismounted knights.

He then speared another rider, who tumbled to the ground, clutching his bleeding waist and screaming in pain.

"Hey, Gabriel! Stop standing around and finish him off with your sword! Your little brother has already taken the first step."

"Uh..." Gabriel stood frozen for a moment, his sword trembling in his grip.

I watched as my brother, shaken but resolute, moved quicker than before. He understood when it was time to switch to his spear, the weapon moving like an extension of his body.

His eyes met mine briefly, and I saw something change in them.

Watching me brave the fight seemed to inspire him to push past his fear. He refused to fall behind. He was the elder brother, after all.

"Ahhhhh!!"

Gripping his sword tightly, he stabbed the fallen knight through the throat. Blood sprayed as tears welled in his eyes, but his gaze grew increasingly steadfast.

The battlefield was forging him into something new, just as it was forging me.

He would no longer hide behind me. If he couldn't protect his brother, how could he call himself an older sibling?

---Third POV---

Half a month passed since that battle.

Midor's forces had abandoned their city and retreated, their once-proud army reduced to scattered bands of fleeing soldiers.

The fleeing army avoided prolonged combat, sparing Gunther's mercenary corps from significant losses.

The cowardly commander of Midor paid a hefty price to break through the blockade and escape westward with a hundred riders. But they didn't expect Tali's forces to ambush them with two hundred heavy cavalry, decapitating the commander and scattering the remnants like leaves in the wind.

With their employer victorious, his unit received full payment and bonuses.

Recently, battles had been scarce. War's spoils were immense for common folk, and the soldiers spent their earnings freely.

The camp rang with laughter and song as men indulged in gambling, drinking, feasting, and the company of women who followed the army.

---Grimm's POV---

On a sunny day, I trained in swordsmanship with Gunther, sweat pouring down my face as I struggled to keep up with his attacks.

Parrying alone drained my strength, leaving my arms sore and my breath heavy. It seemed I couldn't block another strike.

"Stop just blocking! Strike back, hahahaha!"

With a sudden step forward, he struck with a horizontal slash, the force of it sending my sword spinning from my grip. His kick caught me in the chest, sending me to the ground. His sword rested against my throat.

"Is that all you've got, kid?"

"Huff... huff... again!"

Despite my aching limbs, I got up, refusing to admit defeat.

"Hahaha! What a stubborn brat!"

"He's just like his brother."

"Yeah, both of them are tough. They survived the battlefield..."

Nearby, idle mercenaries sat on the grassy field, drinking and eating as they watched our practice. The scene brought smiles to their weathered faces, reminding them of their younger days.

---

"Ha!"

"Clang!"

I launched a full-force thrust, watching Gunther's shoulders for any tell. But he effortlessly parried it.

The recoil left my grip tingling, my wrists aching from the impact.

After several exchanges, he feinted. When I finally caught on and tried to back away, it was too late.

Damn it, fell for it again!

Straining to twist my sword in defense, I used my arm to brace against the onslaught.

He followed up with a powerful knee strike, nearly disarming me. The impact tore a split in my palm, leaving both hands numb. Blood sprayed from the wound as the unrelenting force of the knee lifted me into the air, sending me sprawling onto the grass.

My weapon was kicked away, and his blade pressed against my neck. Another bout ended with me defeated.

"Ah, my knee hurts! Not bad reflexes, kid, but you're still too slow. Hahaha," Gunther laughed nonchalantly, his demeanor as relaxed as ever. "Still too green. Your stance is all wrong."

Seeing his casual attitude, I felt indignant. How could I, after all this training, still fail to land a single hit?

"Again!!" I roared, pounding the ground as I grabbed my sword to resume. I could still fight!

"No, that's enough for now. I need to check on your brother's progress too," he replied, turning away to call out for Gabriel.

"Hey! Gabriel! Get over here for some sparring!"

"Let's see how your sword skills have improved."

Clang!

Cling!

Bang!

I sat on a wooden stump, tending to the wounds on my hands while observing their match. Blood dripped between my fingers as I wrapped a crude bandage around my palm.

Compared to before, I had made considerable progress—my minor injuries were now manageable.

"The kid can barely lift that thing!" one mercenary yelled from the sidelines.

"He'll get himself killed before his first battle," another added with a sneer.

Gabriel's swordsmanship was still at a beginner's level. Many of his movements were unpolished, full of openings. Gunther was clearly holding back much more against him than he had against me.

At least he's showing some restraint, I thought, watching my brother struggle with the oversized blade.

"Come on!"

"Let's go! Let's go!"

"Is that all you've got?" Gunther taunted relentlessly, throwing Gabriel off his rhythm.

With a swift knee strike, he subdued him with ease. Gabriel collapsed, struggling to stand.

"This isn't dancing, you know!!"

"Ugh!" Gabriel groaned as he tried to get up. Blood trickled from several shallow cuts, staining the grass beneath him.

"Teaching a six-year-old swordsmanship is pointless, Gunther!" a man watching nearby commented. "What could a little kid possibly achieve with that sword?"

"He can't just freeload off us. We're mercenaries!" Gunther replied matter-of-factly, resting his sword on his shoulder. "Everyone has to pull their own weight!"

"Still... Gabriel, you should try using a sword that suits your size better," another man suggested.

"No!" Gabriel yelled, shakily standing again with his oversized weapon.

"Aren't you a stubborn brat!" Gunther remarked, preparing for another round. "There aren't any child-sized swords in a mercenary group, you know!"

"Come at me!!" Gabriel roared, using every ounce of strength to swing his blade.

Clang!

The attack was effortlessly blocked again.

"Nope! That's not good enough! Your footwork isn't solid!" Gunther said, blocking easily while offering casual instruction. "Use your waist more!"

"Come on! Give it all you've got!" he and the spectators egged Gabriel on. "Fight like you're trying to kill him!"

"Watch this!!" Gunther's expression shifted, and his sword suddenly moved.

Gabriel couldn't keep up.

Slash! Slash! Slash!

In an instant, he was covered in shallow cuts, blood oozing from multiple wounds.

I jumped off the stump in alarm. This is going too far!

Perhaps angered for real, his eyes flickered briefly. Ducking under Gunther's large sword, he slipped in close. Then, he thrust his blade upward.

Gunther wasn't quick enough to dodge completely. Gabriel's sword grazed his cheek, leaving a shallow wound. Blood welled up from the cut, trickling down his face. Stunned, he froze for a moment before fury overtook him.

"A kid... managed to wound me?!"

Before Gabriel could react, Gunther slapped him hard, sending him flying. The blade slashed across Gabriel's forehead, leaving a deep gash. He followed up with a punch to Gabriel's face, knocking him down again.

"You little brat!!"

Gabriel collapsed and passed out.

"!"

"Hey… hey, Gunther!?"

The onlookers quickly noticed something was wrong and rushed to check on Gabriel. Despite my aching legs, I immediately ran over and gently shook my brother.

"Gabriel! Wake up!"

"Hey!"

"You've gone too far, using such force against a kid!" the crowd shouted at Gunther, glaring at him in disapproval.

"Even for us, this is too much," one veteran mercenary growled.

"…"

Gunther touched the wound on his cheek, staying silent.

"Lift him carefully!"

"This is bad; the cut's so deep you can see the bone."

Two men carefully carried him away to avoid causing further harm.

"Don't you have the decency of an adult, Gunther!?"

Though the mercenaries were battle-hardened veterans, their fierce gazes now carried a trace of humanity. I barely knew them—they rarely interacted with me—but I appreciated their help nonetheless.

"Tch… I didn't mean to go that hard!" Gunther muttered, forcing a stiff smile as if to brush it off. But his awkward demeanor betrayed a flicker of guilt.

"…"

I shot him a glance, then ran into the tent.

Inside, the two soldiers stripped Gabriel of his bloodstained clothes and started dressing his wounds.

"Tonight, you'll need to take care of your brother. If you need help, call us."

"Alright, thank you."

"Make sure to fetch some water—he'll likely want to drink a lot when he wakes up," one of them advised before they left the tent, giving me a few final instructions.

"Got it!"

As they walked out, the two soldiers chatted quietly.

"Those two kids sure have it rough…"

"Yeah. For such little ones, Gunther sure hits hard…" they muttered as they disappeared into the night.

"…"

I gazed at Gabriel, now lying motionless on the grass bedding. The wound on his forehead—it came from this...?

I sighed helplessly. In this world, even children had to learn to endure... Life had to go on. I turned and headed off to fetch water.

Because he was unconscious, Gabriel missed dinner.

Meanwhile, Gunther and the others carried on as usual, eating and drinking like nothing had happened.

I filled a bowl with meat and a ladle of hot soup, placing them inside the tent for Gabriel. Then I sat by myself, eating quietly.

Around me, the other mercenaries laughed, drank, and chatted, bragging about their exploits—how many enemies they'd killed, how much treasure they'd looted, or their escapades with famous courtesans.

They even fantasized about the grand businesses they'd start and the wealth they'd amass with their stolen riches.

But the joy, anger, and dreams of adults were worlds apart from a child's reality. For me, merely surviving each day took all my strength. Those grand ambitions they spoke of—I had neither the capacity to imagine them nor the desire to.