Patriot’s statement that the Messenger was a shunned branch of service was immediately confirmed by the unit's total headcount.
“Ooh, look who it is! Aren’t you the boy who just became the Captain’s foster son?”
Including the squad leader who welcomed me, there were only five people in the entire unit.
“Are there always so few people assigned to be Messengers?”
“It can’t be helped. It’s an incredibly dangerous job.”
At his bitter smile, I swallowed hard.
“Messengers also serve as scouts. Their primary mission is to head into areas where the enemy might be stationed, identify their positions, and relay that information to allies via radio.
The problem is that, unlike professional scouts, the radios used to communicate with allies make them easy targets for the enemy. It’s a role with a very high casualty rate.”
I had already braced myself for this. For someone like me who couldn't use Arts, there wasn't much of a choice anyway.
Besides, it wasn’t just Messengers whose lives were at risk.
In the original game, both Patriot, who stood at the vanguard with his shield to threaten enemies, and FrostNova, the brilliant Caster who cornered an entire nation, eventually met their deaths.
The battlefield was a place where death was dealt fairly to everyone. In my case, the probability was just a little higher.
“...As expected of the Captain’s son. I can see the resolve in your eyes.”
“It’s been a while since we’ve had such a spirited recruit.”
Fortunately, whatever they saw in me seemed to have earned their approval. It was a good start.
“First, since you’re a Messenger, you must naturally become proficient in using the radio to relay information to our allies.
The small one is for one-on-one communication with officers, and the large one is for broadcasting tactical orders to all allies.”
I wasn't sure of the underlying principles, but the device—which bore a striking resemblance to a 999K—seemed capable of relaying tactical orders even if the receiving side didn't have a communication device.
Luckily, the operation wasn't much different from the radios I knew, so I was able to master the usage easily.
Memorizing the specialized radio codes wasn't difficult either. Since the risk of eavesdropping was always present, the Guerrilla needed their own exclusive language.
It was especially necessary because of the absurd nature of the large 999K-like radio.
“What? You’re saying it broadcasts tactical orders not just to allies, but to enemies as well?”
“That’s right.”
Wait, where did the concept of communication security go? This device was a comedy just by existing.
It wasn't that they used codes because they were worried about eavesdropping; it was that the radio created an environment where they had no choice but to use codes. At this point, it was more of a loudspeaker than a radio.
To be precise, it seemed to be audible only to enemy Casters who were sensitive to Arts, but unlike the radios on Earth where frequency manipulation could prevent interception, the security here was far too lax.
The small radio, which resembled a P96K, was equally flawed. This one could only communicate with its designated pair.
The inability to broadcast information to multiple radios simultaneously from a single unit was a clear disadvantage that reduced tactical flexibility on the battlefield.
Is this what an Originium-powered radio is like? The performance gap between this and the radios from my original world made my head spin.
The only silver lining was that since it didn't use electricity, there was no need for cable laying, and I didn't have to carry a heavy battery pack like a turtle shell.
The Guerrilla had certainly won many battles by paying attention to communications—something other armies neglected—but in my eyes, it was full of deficiencies. It started with small things like these communication devices and went all the way up to questions about the command structure.
However, I was just a raw recruit who had only gotten here because I had a good foster father, despite having no abilities of my own. I lacked the experience and the standing to raise the questions I harbored.
What else could I do? I’d just have to grit my teeth, survive, build up some seniority, and slowly seek to make changes.
A regular soldier who was suspiciously knowledgeable about communication equipment and performed his duties diligently. For now, that was enough of an image to present to them.
--------------------------------
Mark, the squad leader of the Messengers, hadn't expected much when he heard the Captain’s son was being assigned to his unit.
There were several reasons. For one, the role of a Messenger was notoriously difficult.
You had to scout while remaining hidden from the enemy, but that stealth was made incredibly difficult by the equipment.
You had to be proficient in using complex communication devices,
And you had to memorize all the codes.
All while being implicitly looked down upon for not being directly involved in combat.
So, he had expected the boy to be disappointed and quickly transfer to another branch.
At first glance, the talent was definitely there. Despite being at an age where he was seeing communication equipment for the first time, he mastered the usage quickly and memorized the codes at a decent pace.
He possessed a brilliance worthy of the Captain’s son. Not stopping there, he even managed to see through the flaws in the equipment.
The boy called Earth would agonize over something for a while, then actively ask Mark if there was anything else he needed to do.
They say a motivated student makes the teacher dance. Mark taught this passionate boy with all his heart and soul.
He absorbed knowledge like a sponge soaking up water. At this point, curiosity got the better of Mark, and he asked the boy why he had come here when there were so many other good roles available.
"I thought this was the place where I could pull my own weight in the shortest amount of time."
He was a strange child. Why didn't he realize that pushing himself too hard would only lead to his own ruin?
Mark told him that even though the Captain had adopted him, no one expected a mere ten-year-old child to fulfill such expectations.
However, despite Mark’s advice, Earth only gave a thin smile. And what he said next was quite peculiar.
"Yelena will surely pull her own weight. No, she’ll show even more than that. I can’t afford to fall behind."
The Captain’s foster daughter, Yelena? Mark suspected that she would never be able to surpass Earth’s progress.
That was how quickly he was mastering the duties of a Messenger.
He might fumble in actual combat due to nerves, but for a child barely ten years old, this was magnificent growth. And it had only been a month.
"I doubt that. You have no idea how amazing Yelena is. She’s on a level I can’t even compare to."
Even at Mark’s words, the boy stood his ground and began repairing and inspecting the communication equipment.
It was good that he was mature, but he was also an inflexible child who stubbornly clung to what he believed.
In that regard, he strangely resembled the Captain, who was also quite rigid when it came to his conviction to protect the Infected.
----
It was the day that marked the second month since Mark had begun teaching Earth the duties of a Messenger.
"I wish to see how much my children have grown."
With those words, Patriot summoned the entire Guerrilla and asked them to evaluate their growth.
Mark was confident. After all, he knew that Earth had worked harder than anyone and had become very proficient as a Messenger.
He also wanted to see just how great this girl named Yelena was.
Mainly because she was the reason his student was constantly putting himself down in comparison.
Finally, the day arrived.
"Then, Father. I’ll go first."
The one who stepped forward first was Yelena. She took a short breath and stood before Patriot and the Guerrilla soldiers.
Another figure stood beside her. It was the Sarkaz Caster who had treated her and Earth before.
"As the Caster Leader, I shall spar with her."
Sparring with the Caster Leader after only two months of training? Although the current Caster Leader was reaching an age where he was looking toward retirement, he was still a seasoned Arts user.
Most people there thought that Yelena, with her meager experience and skill, would be no match for him. Mark was no exception.
"Just do as we did in our practice yesterday."
"I understand, Master."
And then, the world froze. Even those who were somewhat accustomed to the tundra where it snowed all year round trembled from the cold.
Starting from the ground, the area around Yelena slowly began to freeze over. Soon, massive icicles began to fall over the Sarkaz Caster’s head.
"Hmph!"
The Caster Leader didn't just sit there and take it. He immediately jumped back a great distance, escaping the range of the attack.
Not stopping there, he chanted an incantation. As if resonating with his words, a binding Art frequently used by the Sarkaz manifested from his staff.
Yelena tried to dodge the spell, but she wasn't as swift as the Caster Leader, and the binding Art caught one of her legs.
"It’s over."
Mark and the others present knew how strong the Caster Leader was, and they expected it to end in Yelena’s defeat as predicted.
His specialty was using binding Arts to ensnare the opponent’s body, pull them toward him, and then crush their head with his staff.
Yelena continued to rain icicles down on the Sarkaz’s head as if in a final struggle, but the seasoned Caster Leader used his quick movements to lightly dodge her attacks.
Then, as if reeling in a big catch, he pulled the binding Art toward himself. He raised his staff to deliver the finishing blow.
"You should always watch your step, Master."
However, his attempt to swing the Arts staff was restricted. His movement to plant one foot firmly to increase the power of his strike was halted; his foot had been frozen solid by an Art she had laid out in advance, leaving him unable to budge.
Even in that situation, the binding spell was still active, and Yelena was still being pulled toward the Caster Leader.
But she didn't mind. She drew a dagger from her bosom. Propelled by the force of the binding spell, Yelena approached the Caster Leader at high speed and pressed the dagger, imbued with the Arts of cold, against his neck.
The match was decided in an instant. The winner was none other than Yelena.
"No, what in the..."
It was a fight on a completely different level. What was even more surprising was that she had defeated the Caster Leader, a man whose power was significant even within the Guerrilla.
The battlefield where they fought had been turned into a smooth sheet of ice, its clear, radiant beauty resembling the stars in the night sky.
"FrostNova..."
Someone whispered. Soon, the watching crowd began to erupt in cheers.
"Whoa! The Captain’s daughter is incredible!"
"Yelena! Yelena!"
"FrostNova!!"
Patriot stomped his foot once. The heavy impact brought a momentary silence.
"Magnificent."
Patriot quietly offered praise to his foster daughter. Those beside him could tell that the giant they respected was happy for the first time in a long while.
"Whew... Captain. It seems I am now too old to lead the Casters. I shall retire at this point and hand the position of Caster Leader over to my disciple."
"It is too early to retire. I am still working as the commander of the Guerrilla, after all. You shall assist Yelena from beneath her."
"Understood."
Mark’s mind went blank. What Earth had said was not a lie. She was a genius of combat.
Her skill in handling Arts, her close-combat ability to close the distance in an instant, and her sense to predict the opponent's evasion and bind their feet.
It was a realm that an ordinary person could not dare to emulate.
And unfortunately, Mark’s disciple was just an ordinary person—albeit a bright one who could handle communication equipment well and memorize codes.
"Next is the Captain’s foster son."
"The daughter showed us that much, I wonder what he’ll show us?"
"Is there even anything to see? I heard the foster son’s role is a Messenger?"
"Eh? Really? What..."
"Isn't he just going to fiddle with some communication gear and call it a day?"
Mark bit his lip. Because there wasn't a single thing wrong with what they were saying.
All he had taught Earth was how to use and repair communication equipment, how to use scouting drones, and how to memorize codes.
With a worried heart, he looked at his disciple. He wondered if that severe self-deprecation would only worsen.
"Right... As expected of FrostNova. I can't afford to lose either. That's the only way I can stay by your side."
Mark felt a slight chill at the boy's appearance. The somewhat ghastly look on his face made Mark wonder if this was truly the Earth he knew.
"Next, Earth. Step forward."
At Patriot’s words, Earth quietly stood up and gathered his belongings. Inside his pack were only various radios and a few scouting drones.
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