Chapter 6

As the temperature rose and the cold season came to an end, lush green grass sprouted everywhere. The snow on the peaks melted, converging into streams, and various trees began to bear fruit.

The villagers were no longer hungry; they hunted, fished, and foraged for wild fruits, selling their catches and harvests at the town market to exchange for money or food.

Every three months, supplies were airdropped to the base. On this day, Justine was eating lab-grown fruit, which lacked any flavor. She handed some to Sandor, but he scorned it, saying, "This isn’t fruit; it tastes terrible. Tomorrow I’ll bring you some orange berries."

"Don’t wait until tomorrow; let’s go pick them today," Justine said, craving something sweet.

Sandor considered the route and calculated the time. "It’s two hours on foot, plus some waterway travel."

"Then let’s drive," she said, fingers curling around the car keys in her jacket pocket. "Want to learn to drive?"

Sandor’s eyes lit up instantly; he nodded vigorously. "Then you owe me a good meal tonight."

"No problem!"

Justine was tired of the endless stew and wanted to try something homemade. She tossed the keys to Sandor and strode out confidently; he caught them with both hands, a smile spreading across his face.

The military all-terrain vehicle wasn’t much different from other cars, just with a more complex dashboard. Justine sat in the passenger seat, teaching Sandor to drive as they circled within the base, then headed out the main gate.

Sandor’s face was bright with joy the whole way, while Justine rested her hand outside the window, feeling the breeze.

The road was empty, and the vehicle sped through the terrain, the thrill of speed invigorating them. Sandor pressed a button, switching the radio to Meris’ channel. Justine was surprised: "You know the frequency channels?"

A harsh static crackled, then clear music filled the cabin—a fast-paced song. "Of course. I’m not a wild man," he replied.

Justine laughed aloud. Sandor puffed up his cheeks and glanced at her sideways—city folks were really annoying. Her laughter only grew louder.

She whistled along to the music, delighted. It had been ages since she’d heard a song, a heavenly sound. Surprisingly, Sandor’s singing surpassed the original; his voice was rich and smooth, with clear enunciation.

Suddenly, Sandor’s neck was grasped, and a kiss landed on his cheek. The vehicle swerved awkwardly forward. He glared at her. "That’s dangerous."

"Who told you you’re so handsome? You attract wolves easily."

Justine wore a mischievous grin. Sandor was annoyed. "Still, you can’t be touching me like that out here."

"Oh, then cover the vehicle with the tarp, so you can’t see me touching you," she teased.

Sandor’s face flushed. "You rogue."

Though he said it, his eyes held no reproach—only shyness. Justine stopped teasing him. "Don’t be nervous. I’m no beast. Hey, look ahead! Slow down! We’re going to crash."

Sandor panicked but couldn’t slow the car. She jumped over and took the controls from him.

Making a sharp turn, Sandor wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing close. Feeling her momentary stiffness, he quickly let go. "Sorry, I’m not good yet."

"That’s normal. Even geniuses need practice."

They crossed a shallow stream and soon stopped outside a wild berry grove.

Justine followed Sandor inside but everywhere were burrs clinging to their pants. She jumped onto Sandor’s back, asking him to carry her.

As Sandor supported her, he playfully scratched her thigh. She squirmed, and he suddenly broke into a run. Clinging tightly, she shouted, "You’re bouncing me to death! Stop! Stop!"

Sandor laughed and came to a halt. "Here we are."

Before them stood a dense fruit tree, its branches bent low under the weight of golden and crimson berries that looked delicious.

Justine leapt up, grabbed a branch, and plucked a berry, instantly captivated. "Sandor, take them all."

"Yes, ma’am."

Sandor pulled a large cloth from his chest pocket and handed it to Justine. He climbed the tree, breaking branches while she caught the berries below with precision.

They picked many orange berries. On the way back, Sandor still carried Justine, who held the bundle in her hands.

The walk was smooth, and Sandor didn’t tire.

They returned to the base under the evening glow. Justine tossed a few branches to the troops, who shouted thanks to their commander before eagerly devouring the fruit.

Sandor rolled up his sleeves and washed many berries for Justine to eat, then busied himself in the kitchen. When his lips touched something cool, he opened his mouth to eat.

"Commander, there’s a smoky smell here. I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready."

Justine stayed, sitting nearby eating fruit and watching him work. "You know a lot."

Sandor teased, "Country folks cook their own meals. You city folks all have servants, right?"

"That’s nonsense. Many in the city are poor; who can afford servants?"

"Commander, why did you come here?"

"Made some enemies. Otherwise, would a star pupil like me be here?"

Justine appeared carefree, but Sandor comforted her. "Housing prices outside are high. Here, you get a multi-talented servant like me—what a bargain."

She smiled. "Don’t boast yet. I’ll judge after tasting."

Sandor stood at the kitchen counter, chopping swiftly; the light haloed his short spiky hair, softening his features.

Justine wandered around, found a bottle of wine, and chilled it.

A sumptuous dinner was set on the balcony. She opened the wine and poured two glasses.

Night had fallen; the balcony light was on, and street lamps below illuminated the area well—almost romantic.

Justine nodded approvingly after each bite. "Your cooking is so good."

Sandor smiled at her praise, watching her eat, ignoring her sharp, cold demeanor. She was still young—just graduated a year ago.

With hunger sated, he began to appreciate the finesse of food.

He baked a type of bread—grayish, rustic—with walnuts inside, giving it a unique chewiness. Justine asked, "How did you learn to make Babka bread?"

Sandor said, "It’s a recipe passed down through our family for generations."

Justine ate two slices. "Make Babka bread when you have time; I love it."

"Yes, ma’am."

When Sandor took the bread home, his family was astonished. This bread was reserved for special occasions; fine flour was expensive.

His father tasted a slice and said, "Temperature’s high; lower it next time."

Sandor noted it for improvement.

Carlos and Tali were delighted. They found some orange berry jam, spread it on the bread, and their faces lit up with enjoyment.

Sandor asked his parents, "Do you have more orange berry jam? I want to bring some for the commander."

"Yes."

His mother fetched a jar; the jam’s color was beautiful in the glass.

The next morning, Justine tasted it and felt all previous bread was wasted.

She gave Sandor ten courtyard coins to have his family make more jam.

Here, one courtyard coin could buy three fish or one leg of meat; prices were low.

Five days later, Sandor brought many jars of jam and a serving of risotto his mother made. Justine was tempted by the aroma and marveled that though poor, their food was far from bad.

The beef stew, however, had been cooked hastily.

After this, Justine couldn’t stomach the stew anymore. When recruitment was low, she formally recruited Sandor through video tests and physical exams, officially getting him into the base and provided with special meals.

Sandor’s military uniform was new; his boots polished to a shine by his father. The whole family was so excited that night they couldn’t sleep.

News of Sandor’s acceptance was kept secret for a while but eventually spread among the villagers.

Once he was seen driving a military vehicle to the town, the secret was out. Sandor’s parents told others he had joined the base.

That night, their home was packed with people asking how he got accepted.

The consensus: Sandor passed the exam. Villagers who asked the guards received the same answer.

But Sandor was illiterate—how did he pass? His father said the priest who used to live with them taught him.

People believed it, praising Sandor’s success. Only the family that lost their cow looked on with envy and malice.

"I think Sandor sold himself to get that uniform. That blond devil took a fancy to him."

Sandor’s family paled and glared fiercely at the accuser.

"Jealousy breeds slander. Leave now; we don’t welcome you!"

But the man didn’t leave. Instead, he rummaged about and triumphantly pulled out a piece of bread.

"Look at this—walnut bread!"

Chaos erupted. The crowd surged forward. Sandor’s parents held their two young children tightly.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. The villagers turned, seeing Sandor standing with a gun, expressionless, aimed at them.

"Anyone else tries to grab [the bread], I’ll shoot."

Sandor stood tall in his crisp uniform, every button fastened, his hair shorter and spiked.

His boots pounded the ground, echoing in the villagers’ hearts.

The ringleader sneered at Sandor: "You serve the commander as her lover? You think no one knows your dirty deeds? I know all. You only got in by selling yourself!"

Another shot fired, hitting the man’s right ear. Blood spattered as he screamed.

Sandor’s voice was cold: "This is a warning. Next time, you’ll be arrested for theft."

The villagers dispersed, fearful but resentful, saying Sandor had no heart, just like the other soldiers.

When everyone left, Sandor told his parents to pack. That night, he drove his family to town.

He had spent all their savings on an old house there. From now on, he’d have a steady salary and wouldn’t let his family go hungry. Besides, there were jobs in town.

Since he brought back food, the family had prepared for this day.

Once settled, Sandor promised to visit monthly. His parents, younger brother, and sister hugged him in turn, urging him to take care and not worry—they were safe in town.

Without delay, Sandor drove back alone under the quiet night. His headlights illuminated far ahead. The cool breeze brushed his face, soothing.

Returning to the ever-bright base, he passed the gate and tossed a pack of cigarettes to two guards, who let him in without logging his night out.

In the mirror, the guards divided the cigarettes and soon lit one. Cigarettes were a luxury here; to buy them, one had to travel five hours to the town.

Usually, no one wanted to spend a whole day just for cigarettes.

Sandor got out of the car, carrying a beautifully packaged dessert.

He knocked and entered the room, surprising Justine by pulling the dessert from behind him.

She sat in a chair, eyes bright, dropping her book and running to take it.

Inside the box was a palm-sized fruit tart.

The crisp crust was edged with white cream and topped with a vibrant assortment of fresh fruits.

Sandor pulled out a spoon from his pocket; Justine whistled and went to the balcony to savor it.

After the first bite, she gasped with delight.

Sandor chuckled, grabbed a towel, and went to shower.

After his family moved to town, Sandor no longer went out much, staying mostly within the base.

Villagers noticing his empty house didn’t mind—they no longer interacted.

Neighbors soon realized Sandor’s family had left, thinking they were laying low, until someone spotted them in town.

The news spread like wildfire—Sandor’s family had moved to town, living better than even the village chief.

They whispered privately: "So what if Sandor sold himself? His family’s living well, and he has a bright future."

Many handsome young men lived in the village, but envy grew.

Especially the family that lost their cow and suffered an ear injury.

They bathed their son, Toran, carefully. His handsome face showed no sign of injury.

No one knew which noble lineage the village descended from; there were almost no ugly people—young men and women were remarkably attractive.

Toran, thoroughly cleaned, resisted attempts to seduce the commander.

But his family used Sandor as an example to lecture him.

Cleanliness wasn’t enough; standing beside Sandor, he’d be outshone.

Toran’s mother meticulously trimmed his hair.

Except for the youngest sibling, who watched curiously, Toran’s sister sewed a shirt, the eldest sister adjusted pants, and his older brother cleaned his fingernails.

Toran’s father returned with a pair of leather boots.

The whole family pitched in. Toran felt helpless. Seeing himself in the mirror for the first time, he was stunned.

That day, the base’s surroundings were bustling, crowded with villagers.

Suddenly, a loud knock sounded. Ax’s voice called out, "Commander, there’s a situation outside."

Justine rose from Sandor, going to dress, but he seized the opportunity to pin her down, playfully attacking for several minutes.

Justine bumped her knee and grumbled while heading out. Sandor followed, expression unreadable but eyes twinkling.

That smile vanished when he saw the crowd—only clean, young men.

Sandor dragged a chair; Justine sat as Ax’s voice grew stern.

"What’s going on here? Gathering to cause trouble? Village chief, come out!"

The chief appeared, shouting, "Commander, don’t misunderstand! We’re not causing trouble."

Ax asked, "Then why are you gathering?"

"We just want the commander to choose; our children all look good."

Ax’s face darkened. A beauty contest, really?

Justine scanned them, admitting the genes were impressive—each more handsome than the last—and smiled.

Sandor glanced down, eyes flicking. Justine’s smile faded when she caught his grunt.

If there were only a few handsome men, the soldiers would whistle and tease, but this crowd was clearly trying to curry favor with Justine. They were not happy about that and tried to take advantage.

Justine merely observed, not intending to recruit anyone.

"Ax, send them home. If they do it again, shoot them all."

The soldiers raised their guns. The villagers were scared and disappointed.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the crowd.

"Commander! Commander, look at Toran! Just one glance!"

The crowd parted to reveal a young man pushed forward.

Toran staggered two steps, a gun barrel pressed to his forehead, his face pale. He looked at the seated Justine, surprised to see someone so young.

Rumors had painted her as a middle-aged woman.

Sandor tensed, fingers tightening. Toran was extraordinarily handsome. His father kept him hidden, rarely letting him appear.

Today, Toran wore a clean white shirt embroidered with purple flowers on the left chest, slim black pants highlighting his long legs, and spotless leather boots.

His black hair was soft, and his violet eyes gentle. One look was enough to captivate and hold attention.

Toran smiled at Justine, who rubbed her forehead, pondering which female officer could be bribed.

Sandor recognized her contemplative look and withdrew the hostility from his gaze.

Justine did not favor those needing protection; she preferred the strong.

She stood. "Lower your guns."

The barrel at Toran’s forehead retracted. Justine sized him up and said to Ax, "Give his family some money and have them sign an agreement."

"Yes, ma’am."

"What does this mean? Commander! Commander! Toran! Toran!"

Toran was held by two soldiers and taken inside, glancing back at his family with panic in his eyes.

Ax produced a contract, pressed Toran’s father’s finger to sign on a screen. Once confirmed, a large bag of courtyard coins dropped.

The villagers were uncertain—this was forced selling of their son. Many protected their sons, only wanting them to have a future, not to sell them.

The devil, truly a devil.

Toran’s family was stunned and horrified. How could this be?