A hand full of sword calluses reached into the icy cold river water, and the rushing current almost prevented Kaler from scooping up water to wash his face.
The end of August, the peak of the rainy season, and the rising water level was about to climb up the bank. Kaler simply buried his face directly into the flowing water.
A piercing chill instantly surged to his forehead; he shivered all over, and only then did he quickly lift his head from the river.
Gazing at his fragmented reflection in the ripples, Kaler was unsure of his own expression at that moment.
Was it a smile or a bitter smile? In the water, both were fragmented.
For some reason, Kaler felt a bit homesick.
The battlefield was not what he imagined.
Not only was it different from what his father had told him, but even different from what his brother-in-law had said.
His father spoke of knights who charged freely and bravely, using their hot blood to defeat all formidable foes.
