SWEAT
The soldiers stood in a straight line. After the incident, everyone had passed through the exit, and surprisingly, nothing else had happened. It was oddly quiet. They all stood, drenched in sweat, hearts hammering from the heat they had endured. The commander looked at them, his face hard—there was no flicker of pity in his eyes.
They stood tall, heads straight, but the cool air that finally hit them felt like a luxury. It was a rare moment of comfort after the oppressive heat. The commander began to move, pacing slowly, then stopped before speaking.
"All out!"
The soldiers roared in unison,
"One down!"
The commander stopped, turned, and asked,
"Who?"
"Jake down!" they answered together.
The commander nodded.
"Rest…"
"Legend in peace," they murmured as one.
Diablo stood at one corner, his back slightly hunched, rolling his eyes.
'Legend what now? How was that legendary?' he muttered to himself as he straightened up. At this point, what he really needed was a cold—
The commander finally called out,
"All to the banks!"
"Yes, Commander!" they responded, marching forward and then back, stamping their feet. They saluted, bowed, and moved in unison. Diablo followed, still wondering why there were so many rows in this particular formation.
The many faces looked relieved—not to mention the fact that this was what they had all wanted: a cold bath.
They marched on until they reached the riverbank. There, the tension eased, and they were finally free to relax. The march ended, and the soldiers hurriedly began to undress. The waterfall roared as they entered the cool water.
The area resembled a dry, barren field, surrounded by trees at the edges. The waterfall was their usual spot, where they bathed after training or retreats. As the men jumped into the water without hesitation, Diablo shook his head.
"Oh, goodness," he muttered, shaking his head at their shamelessness. The soldiers didn't even bother to take turns, too eager to wash off the sweat and heat. Diablo sighed, resigned.
'Now I have to wait for these men to finish bathing,' he thought. 'Not just that, but I'll have to deal with the remnants of their sweat.' He shook his head again, then walked over toward a large stone.
On the other side of the water, the sounds of chatter and laughter filled the air. The men were already feeling relieved.
Weren't these the same men who were feeling bad just moments ago over one of their own dying?
But all in all, life still moves on.
Diablo ignored them, his focus on the stone in his hands. He quietly sat on the rock, lazily striking two stones together.
After a few strikes—
A spark.
He blew on it, then struck again.
Another spark.
He blew again, his fingers resting lightly on the hot stone, a soft hiss filling the air.
"SSSSS…"
The warmth from the stone tingled against his fingers, and he sighed softly, finding small comfort in the heat.
He chuckled, shaking his head on disbelief.
He had been looking for cold, and here he was—putting his hand on something hot.
Quietly, he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside, the cool air hitting his skin. Even with the breeze, he still felt incredibly hot, but after what they'd endured, it was the best feeling in the world. He sighed again, brushing his ink-dark hair out of his face. As he sat there, he realized just how badly he needed a cold bath.
Just how long were these men going to bathe? He stood up—maybe by now the crowd had reduced and he could sneak in.
Just as he began to make his way toward the bank, a loud, sharp beep pierced the chatter. Instantly, soldiers started leaving the water. They knew exactly what that beep meant.
"F*ck," Diablo cursed under his breath.
It seemed everyone was supposed to be at the field now. That damn beep… It doesn't matter what you're doing—once it sounds, you report.
And then it clicked. Diablo nodded slowly.
"I get it now… this commander is insane. Just what the damn freaking hell is wrong with that man's mood swings?"
This was the way it always was. That beep meant every soldier was needed on the field—always ready, no matter what.
He turned back to the rocky area, grabbed his shirt, and started to head back. It would've been better to join them in the river, even if it had been crowded. At least he could have cooled off. Now he was about to suffer again, sticky sweat returning to his skin as he pulled the shirt back on.
He walked to the other side where the soldiers were already lined up, ready to march out. He moved to the back of the line.
Some soldiers laughed nearby.
"Bro didn't even have his bath."
Another added, "Leave him. Not just a failure—a dirty being."
Diablo chuckled inwardly but quietly spoke to one of them.
"It's only fishes that get packed in a small can."
The soldier's eyes widened as realization hit. Diablo was referring to sardines—packed together in one spot, tight and uncomfortable. His words hit, and a soldier stepped forward.
"What did you—?" the soldier began, but another voice cut him off.
"Don't push it, unless you want another punishment."
The soldier held back, clearly aware that if he tried anything, both he and Diablo could be punished. Or maybe just him. And it could be worse. He gritted his teeth, jaw tight, and walked off in silence.
This boy was a temptation—the same one who caused their punishment that morning.
Diablo shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just insulted anyone, and silently followed the rest.
Despite the discomfort, he now knew he'd have to wait until midnight to take a bath.
No denying it—from the number of people he'd annoyed tonight, he was definitely going to get beaten.
"Seems like I'll be getting some exercise with a few friends, hmm," he murmured to himself with a small smile.
"Wow. What an exciting time to send a beep, Commander," he muttered.
As they marched to the field, they all stopped and saluted, standing at attention. Diablo stifled a laugh when he noticed something—one of the men had not been able to wash off the soap.
In his ears and eyes, he looked down and saw his hands twitching, itching to clean off the residue, but it was against the rules to move.
Diablo watched as tears rolled down the man's cheeks—not from pain, but from the peppery sting of soap.
"Pfffft," Diablo chuckled lowly.
Then he heard the man beside him say through gritted teeth, though his face stayed forward,
"Shut the f*ck up."
Diablo raised a brow at the words and responded softly, knowing this was the perfect moment to say it—when they were supposed to stay perfectly still.
"At least my mouth don't stink."
The man's jaw tensed.
Diablo shifted slightly, curious now. Why had the commander called them all?
He stilled.
A visitor, huh?