Chapter One: Gray Fox （two）

"Then why don't you save it, huh?" Ironhead glanced at him, this twelve-year-old blond kid who couldn't even lift a spear, hadn't killed anyone, and hadn't even been on a real battlefield, yet here he was playing the role of a little saint, asking him to release the fox.

In this military tent, Ironhead was the boss, with about a dozen grunts under him, all obedient to his commands. The reason was simple: Ironhead was the oldest and strongest, and disobedience meant getting beaten up.

However, the arrival of this little troublemaker somewhat disrupted the norm. At only twelve years old, he was the youngest soldier here. He wasn't very obedient. Ironhead enjoyed hunting birds and animals; he made a slingshot, and not a single bird he set his eyes on could escape. He was also skilled at setting traps for animals. Every time he went into the woods, he never returned empty-handed. The birds and beasts he caught always ended up as roasted meat on the fire. When he was in a good mood, he would share some with the nearby soldiers who were drooling with hunger. But the condition was that they had to dress up as monkeys or any other animals he found amusing. If he was pleased, he'd reward them with meat. With the recent cold weather and shortage of military rations, being able to eat meat and dress up as monkeys didn't seem like a bad deal.

However, the little troublemaker never dressed up as a monkey. He would simply soak the hard biscuits in hot water for a meal.

This is one of the reasons Ironhead doesn't like him. Another reason is the little ghost's background. He's different from the other soldiers here. His father is a military commander from somewhere, with a noble background. It's said that being enlisted in the army at such a young age was a directive from above, meaning there was no need for him to charge into battle; he could stay behind and do odd jobs.

Ironhead envies him. Apart from not having to go to the battlefield, he doesn't have any other privileges. So Ironhead doesn't hold back from making him unhappy. While others only need to fetch two buckets of water, he's asked to fetch four. Even though the horse stables have already been cleaned, Ironhead always makes him clean them again. His bedding in the tent is the thinnest, and he always wakes up freezing in the middle of the night. They also have a task of burying the bodies of soldiers brought back from the front lines. In the midst of battle, with bloodshed everywhere, many soldiers go out standing but come back lying down, and some can't even preserve a whole body. Ironhead takes advantage of his youth and inexperience, always assigning him the most gruesome bodies to handle, hoping to find amusement in his fear.

He never disobeys Ironhead's orders. Several times, he's had to use a cart to transport the incomplete and foul-smelling bodies to the designated burial sites in the woods by himself. Every time, his hands tremble, but he always ensures that these former comrades are buried properly. At night, Ironhead deliberately tells scary stories in the tent. He pretends not to hear, but he dare not go out to urinate at night and ends up holding it until dawn.

After all, he's only twelve years old.

He never confronts Ironhead and the others head-on, but this time, it's different because of this fox.

It was brought back by Ironhead from the woods yesterday, trapped in a cage made of iron bars, with a hemp rope tightly tied around its neck. Everyone says they've never seen a fox of this color before; they've seen white ones, red ones, black ones, but never one that's half white and half black, with a clear line from nose to tail. Its eyes are also peculiar, gray, as if shrouded in thick mist, emitting a faint light.

Someone joked that this must be a fox that jumped out of some lazy painter's canvas. The painter probably intended to paint it black but got lazy halfway through.

It curled up in the narrow iron cage, showing no response to the teasing from the outside world, only occasionally moving its fluffy tail.

This time, Ironhead didn't intend to roast it for eating. He said it was rare to catch a fox, and although its color was a bit strange, its fur was surprisingly smooth, especially its beautiful tail. He decided to present it to the lady. Some time ago, he heard the lady's maidservants saying that the lady had always wanted a beautiful and warm fox fur collar.

The lady was the third wife married by the lord, skilled in singing, dancing, and music. The lord cherished her, taking her with him even when going to war. If he could win the lady's favor, he wouldn't worry about a path to promotion.

The greedy fellows suggested that since they were only presenting the fox tail, why not slaughter it on the spot, roast its meat for eating, and then present the tail to the lady. Ironhead refused, saying that the best fur had to be obtained before the fox breathed its last. He wanted to cut off the fox's tail in front of the lady to show his sincerity.

They were discussing these matters happily, while the fox looked on with its gray eyes through the cracks in the iron cage, watching the people who had determined its fate.

"No collar, and the lady won't freeze to death," someone said from the corner.

The discussion abruptly stopped. Ironhead pushed through the crowd, looking at the boy sitting in the corner silently polishing his helmet. "Say it again?"

"Let it go, it's pitiful," he continued polishing his helmet.

A cup of cold water splashed onto his face. Ironhead threw the cup aside, glaring fiercely at him. "Say it again!"

The cup shattered into pieces, and the fox's body trembled slightly.

He wiped his face with his sleeve and said, "Let it go."

Ironhead's massive fist clenched suddenly. Everyone thought the boy who spoke out of turn was about to get punished, but Ironhead eventually loosened his fist and smirked maliciously, "Then you go ahead and save it, hehehe."

Upon hearing this, he set down his helmet, stood up, and began walking towards the cage.

A sturdy arm blocked his path, and Ironhead coldly smirked, "Do you think you can just walk over there and open the cage?"

He looked at Ironhead and asked, "Then what should I do?"

Ironhead choked for a moment, frustrated, "Beat me, and the fox is yours!"

The crowd burst into laughter. This kind of contest had no suspense at all; Ironhead could easily turn this skinny kid into minced meat with just one punch.

"Fine, I'll fight," he said firmly, staring at Ironhead, "but not here."