Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 148

The living legend of the Great Savannah: Hackapel.

Surprisingly, even within the Fenrir tribe, few knew he was still alive. In this age, only Skoll, Hati, and Varg carried that secret. Thanks to Hati, Leon’s group had learned of him, but as for outsiders who had laid eyes on him, Leon was the very first.

This man is that...!

Only after Varg had greeted him did Leon turn, his eyes going wide. It made him doubt all he had heard about Hackapel’s failing mind—for his back had been taken perfectly. If Hackapel had struck in that instant, Leon would already be dead or fatally wounded.

And his bearing was anything but ordinary. By rough measure, he stood just under two meters, his body lean and honed, his muscles not inferior even to Varg’s. His skin was taut, his frame vigorous. If he shaved the thick fur that sprouted along his body, he could be mistaken for a man in his prime.

“Hm? Did you say grandfather?” Hackapel repeated Varg’s question, confusion evident in his face before chuckling and clapping Varg once on the shoulder. “Hah! Calling an unmarried man ‘grandfather’? That’s a joke that’s gone too far, stranger. Hardly worth humoring.”

“Do you not know my name...?” Varg asked, his face grim.

“How would I, when you’ve never told me?”

“I see...”

With each exchange, Varg’s face darkened. He should be used to it by now, yet he was not. Ten years it had been.

At first, Hackapel merely struggled to recall who he was. Cruelly, as his condition worsened, every day he slipped further into the past, reliving some earlier moment.

And today, he seemed to be back in his youth, roaming the continent beside Rodrick.

“Still, you fight well. You’ve trained hard. I never thought the Fenrir would have another warrior as strong as you.”

“You flatter me, sir.”

“Hahaha, so modest, too!”

Praise that once had filled Varg with joy, no matter how many times he heard it, now cut deep into his heart, rotting it from the inside. Of course, Hackapel wasn’t aware of the pain he was causing.

Varg’s mother had died early. His father had always been busy, ceaselessly traveling the plains as Beast King, with many wives and many children. To a gifted child, a father gave less attention.

So Varg had learned loneliness before love. And to him, Hackapel had been closer than any parent.

It was you who taught me everything I know.

Those words lingered in Varg’s chest, but he knew that saying it now would mean nothing. Varg could only listen with a heavy expression until Hackapel, embarrassed, backed down.

“Ah, forgive me. Was I too chatty?”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

Watching the two, Leon narrowed his eyes. An unease crept along his spine, undeniable, almost revolting.

What is this feeling?

Hackapel and Varg. A grandfather lost in memory, a grandson grieving. It should have been bitterly tragic. So why did Leon feel something was wrong? Then he realized—with a chill that made his skin crawl.

How come...?!

El-Cid’s voice in response was dry, but certain.

—So, you finally noticed? Hackapel—that senile doggy—hasn’t once actually perceived you.

It was true. Leon had been so stunned by having his back taken that he hadn’t noticed it right away. From the moment Hackapel spoke behind him until now, not once had his eyes met Leon’s.

It wasn’t mere disregard. Hackapel’s eyes had focus, and he had even turned them toward Leon more than once. However, he had not seen.

El-Cid said grimly, —This is serious. It’s not just memory loss. His very faculty of recognition is broken. He can’t distinguish strangers at all. Hell, he can’t even register them as people. That’s not mild. That’s advanced.

What do you mean by advanced? How far?

—Terminal. If it worsens, his speech and movements will break down. Eventually, he won’t even be able to rise from bed. He’ll forget how to move his own body.

No way...

Leon groaned, words failing him.

The movement that Hackapel had shown just a moment ago clearly surpassed Varg’s. He was an Aura Master at the very peak. That such a man might soon be unable to stand? If El-Cid had not said it, Leon could only have doubted, even denied it.

Meanwhile, Hackapel was still lost in his own time, asking, “Ah! And I haven’t even asked why you came.”

Still holding Varg captive in conversation, Hackapel scratched his head. Then, without waiting for any answer, he turned his back.

“Rick must have called me. Today we hunt a drake at the Karavik Volcano, yes? Now, where did I leave my spear...”

Only then did Leon begin to understand. At a glance, Hackapel seemed normal, but his words and actions did not account for anyone else. He ignored Varg’s answers, finishing the conversation on his own.

He was living in the past. Only now did Leon fully grasp what Varg had meant.

Grinding his teeth, El-Cid snarled, —Pathetic.

Leon could not even guess his master’s pain. To see a comrade after centuries—only to find him unable to recognize his kin, babbling to ghosts.

Hackapel was lost in his own world. Taking his eyes off his grandfather for a moment, Varg looked back at Leon, his eyes bloodshot, brimming with sorrow, fury, and despair all at once.

—Leon.

When El-Cid called, Leon nodded without a moment’s hesitation.

There’s something you need to say to him, huh?

—Yeah...

Do whatever you want, then. It’s not like you ever ask for my permission anyway.

—...

For a moment, El-Cid was silent, struck by Leon’s instinctive understanding. Then he gave a short, dry laugh.

—Thank you, my insolent disciple.

Yeah, yeah.

—I’ll borrow your body for a tiny bit.

Leon offered no resistance, closing his eyes. From the Holy Sword, El-Cid’s consciousness rose to the surface. Leon’s golden eyes blazed, and a radiant cross-shaped gleam appeared in their depths.

At that very instant, the fur along Varg’s body stood on end. A tension he had not known since becoming an Aura Master seized him—the tension of standing before an overwhelming predator.

“Ugh?!”

Tracing the source of that pressure, Varg’s eyes locked on Leon, filled with disbelief. It was impossible. That same young man who had struggled to keep pace with Sirius—not even at full power, at that—now exuded an aura that made even him taut with fear.

Instinct, magnified, found the answer that reason could not.

“Who are you...?” Varg asked.

El-Cid spoke through Leon’s lips without looking his way.

“Your instincts serve you well. That other mutt wasn’t nearly as sharp.”

Though he borrowed Leon’s throat, the voice was wholly different, unmistakably someone else.

“My apologies, but I’ve little time to spare you. Stand back.”

At those words, Varg could only retreat. Reason told him that this was suspicious. Instinct told him to shut up and do as the boy before him said.

And instinct shouted louder. So, he obeyed, quietly backing away to watch.

“Pel!”

It was not Leon but El-Cid, inhabiting Leon’s body, who roared. His shout rang through the cavern like thunder, but Hackapel did not turn.

El-Cid didn’t care. He strode up behind him, who was busy rummaging through a pile of belongings, and drove his boot hard into Hackapel’s backside with a thwack!

Caught off guard, Hackapel pitched forward, tumbling onto the ground, asking, “W–who goes there?!”

“Who goes there, my ass, you idiot dog!”

As Hackapel scrambled to rise, El-Cid’s sole crashed squarely into his face, sending him sprawling again. Snarling, El-Cid’s voice rang sharp and furious.

“What’s with the racket in the middle of the night, you dumbass? Sneaking midnight snacks behind my back? How many times do I have to tell you to actually sleep when it’s time to sleep, you thick-skulled mutt?!”

“...”

“Now you won’t even answer? Do you want me to kill you myself?!”

“R-Rick? Is it really you, Brother?”

Hackapel’s unfocused eyes sharpened, and his face crumpled as if he were about to cry.

“What? You go blind, too? Can’t even recognize my face?”

Of course, Leon’s features were nothing like Rodrick’s—his build, his hair, his very features entirely different. However, Hackapel saw the golden eyes with their cross-shaped gleam, heard the caustic tone, the uncanny mimicry of the voice, and above all, felt the familiar way he was being scolded—and the memories came rushing back.

“Unbelievable. First you call me brother, now you forget me? Fine. Special training until your memory comes back. Are you happy now?”

“N–no! It’s fine, I swear!”

“Did you just refuse my kindness? You think you’re better than me?”

“N–no! Absolutely not!”

“’Absolutely not’? Have you gone mad? You dare deny what I say?”

“N-no! Brother, please!”

The barrage of absurd, unreasonable scolding left Varg’s mouth hanging open. Even Leon sighed in his consciousness, dumbstruck. So these were the conversations between the legendary Rodrick and Hackapel? The Holy King and the Beast King? Surely not.

“C–come to think of it, Rick...”

“What.”

“Weren’t we supposed to go up Karavik Volcano today? I was just looking for my spear—”

“Are you still asleep, or something?” El-Cid’s voice cut sharply. “The magma drake of Karavik—you killed it already. Drove your spear right between its eyes, skinned it, and showed it to me yourself. Forgotten already?”

“Ah! Right, yes! Of course, how could I forget...”

As if El-Cid’s words had slotted a missing piece, Hackapel tilted his head, brow furrowed in embarrassment. And it wasn’t just that.

“What about the brethren enslaved in Elune? What will we do for them?”

“We already freed them last time and sent them back to the plains. You even met your wife there; don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh? Ah... now that you say it.”

“Didn’t you have a son as well? Clung to me, begged me to be his godfather, wouldn’t let me go.”

Hackapel babbled through scattered memories, and El-Cid filled in the details, slotting the puzzle pieces together.

The fall of the giant who wielded foul sorcery. The sea serpent that ravaged the coast. The endless battles against the Evil Order that had been many times larger than now.

Each tale flowed out naturally, tangling and intertwining, enough to make a historian weep with joy if they had heard it.

“Seems I’ve done nothing but tell you old stories. Remember now?”

“Forgive me, Rick. I don’t know why my memory’s become so weak...” Hackapel muttered, face twisted with frustration, as if realizing something was wrong.

However, no reflection could bring him answers. Even with El-Cid shaking him back to himself, his mind was still anchored in the past.

After all, Rodrick belonged to yesterday. He alone was not enough to return Hackapel to the present. So, El-Cid decided to stop here.

“That’s enough.”

“Huh...?”

“Anyone would be groggy if woken like this. I won’t hold it against you. Just get some sleep.”

Hackapel blinked, eyes round. And truly, sleep tugged at him. Reassembling his fractured memories left his mind weary; if he only closed his eyes, slumber would claim him.

“N–no, I don’t want to,” Hackapel refused.

“What did you say?”

Hackapel rubbed his eyes, shaking his head fiercely, and added, “You’ll just leave us again, won’t you? Like when you fought the Demon King, or when you stormed Evil’s fortress.”

“...”

“I know you’re strong enough not to need us. But I want to go with you. We all do. Even Kasim pretends not to, but he wants to follow you, too.”

“Hah, you brats...”

El-Cid smirked faintly and rapped Hackapel on the head.

“Ow!”

“Don’t you know the saying? You never bite off more than you can chew.”

“Even if my mouth rips, I don’t care! That’s how determined I am—”

“Fine.”

“H-huh?”

And with that, El-Cid spoke words he had never spoken back then—an impossible promise.

“Next time, I’ll drag you along even if I have to beat you into it. So sleep easy.”

“Really!? You promise!?”

“Yeah.”

Hackapel knew Rodrick was no man for empty words. Beaming, he dropped where he stood, curling up. He had been at his limit anyway. Through his blurring vision, he looked up once more at the man he adored.

“Good night, Brother...”

“Yeah. Sleep tight.”

“Never... go alone... without us...”

Soon his eyelids closed, his breathing quieting until it faded into silence. El-Cid stood watching for a long while. He looked down again and again on a face aged far more than he remembered, and yet still the same.

“Idiot...”

The bitter word slipped from his lips, scattering into the cavern like a heat-haze on a summer plain.