Chapter Text
The first one to notice something unusual was Sachsen.
Not surprisingly.
That could be considered the turning point where their squad leader began to show his talent.
In an otherwise unremarkable small-scale battlefield sparked by friction with Azpen at the border, Enkrid caught the attention of the enemy's Frog general for some reason and nearly lost his life.
Fortunately, the other members of the squad arrived just in time, and Sachsen was the one who carried their squad leader back to camp on his back.
Before that day, Sachsen had never deliberately paid attention to Enkrid's movements on the battlefield, nor had he ever thought of taking on the role of a babysitter or bodyguard. At most, he would cast a glance at the man from the shadows every now and then.
After all, he didn't consider himself someone who meddled in others' affairs, and back then, there was nothing particularly remarkable about Enkrid that would warrant a second look.
If anything, Enkrid was at best the most suitable squad leader the 444th Squad had encountered so far—a quiet, upright, and incorrigibly stubborn man.
It might be a shame if he died on the battlefield someday, but it wouldn't come as a surprise. Given his abilities, death was only a matter of sooner or later.
Right until that day.
For Sachsen, who had honed his combat skills using the six senses as his foundation, he was the first to notice that something had fundamentally changed about their squad leader. So sudden it was as if he had robbed the Lady Luck herself.
The first give-away was his way of fighting.
The little tricks the barbarian had taught him were nothing worth mentioning, but back then, they were barely sufficient for the squad leader. From instinctively closing his eyes and flinching in the face of danger, to remaining completely calm throughout the battle, holding his position firmly, and executing all the combat techniques he had learned in the past. On that point alone, he had done exceptionally well.
The second was his presence.
Or rather, his scent.
The most common secondary gender in the military was Alpha. This wasn't based on solid statistical data, but rather because most Omegas who chose to enlist concealed their gender, Betas were usually their first choice, while most Betas pretended to be Alphas either to prove themselves or to show off.
When they first got to know him, everyone in the squad—including Sachsen—thought their new squad leader was a Beta.
Firstly, it's because they had never picked up any scents from him. While secondy, it fit the conclusion they had all reached after observing him: the new squad leader was a somewhat peculiar fellow, and his rigid, rule-abiding personality meant he would never pretend to be something he wasn't just to show off, unlike the others.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
To be precise, their answer was completely wrong, but their reasoning had been correct.
Because Enkrid had never deliberately hidden his secondary gender. It was simply that before that day, no one had ever considered the other possibility.
But on that day, the moment Sachsen pulled him up from the battlefield and hoisted him onto his back, as he felt the man's body go completely limp from unconsciousness, a faint, almost imperceptible, unfamiliar scent drifted from behind him.
It was the scent of an Omega.
It was early autumn. A slight chill seeped into the air, mingling with the taste of iron and blood left behind after the battle. A stench thick enough to make one gag.
But that scent coming from behind him did nothing to settle that restlessness. Instead, it seemed to fan its flames.
There was no specific scent to describe, but if forced to put it into words, it was like a sudden gust of wind that swept in the stench of battle and the lingering will to fight, amplifying them endlessly.
At such close range, it was as if a voice was whispering in his ear: The battle isn't over yet. Draw your sword.
The moment that scent flooded his nostrils, Sachsen swallowed before he even realized it. A surge of killing intent welled up inside him, and his canine teeth itched.
But after a brief second, he forced himself to calm down. At the same time, in response, he did something rare—he deliberately released his own scent.
At first whiff, it might be mistaken for a faint sweetness, but as it grew thicker, a cold, metallic hint like rust would emerge.
"Damn ally cat, the hell's gotten into you?"
The barbarian standing guard nearby wrinkled his nose sharply, clearly catching Sachsen's scent and finding it quite insufferable.
But that didn't stop him from casually swinging his axe, splitting open the abdomen of an enemy soldier charging towards them. As he wrenched the weapon free, it traced a crimson arc through the air, blood and bits of flesh splattering across the ground.
The thick stench of gore and iron exploded around them.
The scent coming from behind him were thus masked, slowly fading until they finally calmed. Its last trace lingered behind Sachsen's ear, a subtle sensation, like a regretful sigh of a failed attempt.
It almost made Sachsen chuckle, but in the end, he did nothing.
If Enkrid had his own little secret he wished to keep, then Sachsen didn't mind playing along.
Because, just as Enkrid always did, aside from seeking advice on combat techniques, he never interfered in their private matters. And Sachsen was willing to return the favor, just this time.
After all, he really wasn't the kind of person who went looking for trouble.