Yoki stood tall, victorious, his axes dripping with blood.
The battlefield trembled under the weight of his presence.
Rolsten knelt on the ground, his body shaking.One arm lost, blood flowing freely, every breath a struggle.
His chest heaved, his legs trembling, and yet his mind raced.
I have to do something… he thought, though his body barely obeyed. Pain seared through him with every heartbeat.
Beside him, Uzair coughed, blood spilling from his mouth.
He pushed himself up weakly, gripping his sword for support, swaying under the weight of his injuries.
He could barely remain standing.
Yoki's voice rang out, cruel and mocking.
"Oh? You still have strength to rise after my first strike? So… you are worthy of being a captain. Normal soldiers would have died instantly."
Uzair trembled beside him, barely able to stay upright, yet refusing to collapse completely. Together, they were still a thorn in Yoki's side, even if just barely.
Despite his weakened state, a faint, bitter laugh escaped him—not of joy, but of defiance.
I can't lose I have to do something Rolsten is down and injured.
Rolsten's gaze swept across the battlefield.
There, huddled behind rubble, were Roxy's parents, their faces pale with fear.
His chest tightened. I need to do something…
He tried to rise, but his body refused, trembling violently, soaked in blood.
Pain shot through his side, his missing arm throbbing with every heartbeat.
Move… body… move… move… move… he forced himself to think.
This is the last time… the last time I have to push… I have to complete the mission he entrusted to me.
He clenched his teeth, gritting through the agony.
He don't have many people to rely on…
With a guttural roar, Rolsten pushed himself upright, the world tilting around him.
Every step was agony, but he forced his legs forward, inch by inch.
His axe arm was gone, but his sword in his other hand became an extension of his will.
On the other side, Uzair was barely holding Yoki's massive axe at bay, sweat and blood streaming down his face.
His strength was waning.
Suddenly—Rolsten was there, a blur of movement.
His sword flashed through the air as he collided with Yoki, the force of the strike echoing like thunder.
Yoki staggered for a fraction of a second, eyes wide.
"So… you have not died yet," he said, voice low, tinged with both surprise and amusement.
Rolsten's lips twisted into a grim, bloodied smile.
"I'm not done yet!"
Steel clashed violently.
Rolsten swung with all his remaining strength, his movements sharp and desperate, each strike fueled by pain, anger, and the lives depending on him.
Yoki, massive and relentless, parried easily, countering with brutal precision.
Rolsten dodged, rolled, and lunged again—but Yoki's dominance was clear.
In the midst of the fight, Rolsten's eyes flicked to Uzair.
"Go! Take them! Get Roxy's parents out of here!"
Uzair froze, hesitant, fear and exhaustion clouding his movements.
Rolsten's voice was low but firm, carrying the weight of command and desperation.
"Go!"
Uzair didn't hesitate this time.
Without another word, he scooped up Roxy's parents, their hands clutching his shoulders as he carried them to safety.
Rolsten turned back to Yoki, his body screaming in pain, his one arm a useless weight at his side.
And yet, his eyes burned with unyielding determination.
Yoki's lips curved into a faint smile, dark and approving.
"So… you're sacrificing yourself for them," he said, eyes glinting.
"I admire that."
Then, with a sudden burst, Yoki moved faster—faster than he ever had before.
The air itself seemed to tear around him.
Rolsten's body trembled under the sheer speed of the assault, but he forced himself forward.
Steel clashed violently.
Rolsten lunged, forcing Yoki to shift, dodge, and parry at impossible speed.
Sparks flew as their blades collided again and again.
Yoki's massive sword cut through Rolsten's chest, a deep, tearing wound—but Rolsten didn't flinch.
He gritted his teeth through the pain, forcing his body forward, attacking relentlessly despite the blood soaking his armor.
Again and again, he struck.
Again and again, Yoki parried—but something was changing.
A strange, intense light flickered in Rolsten's eyes, burning with determination, pain, and something almost unworldly.
It didn't fade.
It grew, a silent signal that he refused to die—not here, not now.
Yoki's grin widened, admiration creeping into his tone.
"Oh… I admire you. Truly. You are the greatest warrior I've ever fought."
He pressed forward, faster and faster, each strike brought Rolsten to his limit.
Rolsten staggered, blood streaming from his wounds, but he moved, always moving, driven by the mission, by the lives he swore to protect.
Then—a brutal strike caught him.
Yoki's blade slashed across Rolsten's left hand, cutting deep.
Pain exploded through him. His sword slipped from his grasp, clattering against the stone floor.
Rolsten's knees buckled slightly, his vision blurred, but the strange light in his eyes burned brighter, fiercer.
He did not stop.
Even without his sword in hand, even with blood pouring and agony screaming through his body, Rolsten rose, refusing to yield.
Yoki's eyes narrowed, curiosity and respect mixing with surprise.
This… this isn't normal.
Rolsten steadied himself, with a injured arm.
Yet his stance spoke louder than any weapon—he was still ready, still dangerous, still a force that refused to die.
The light in Rolsten's eyes flickered, dimming with each agonizing breath.
Kneeling on the blood-soaked ground, his body battered and torn, he heard a voice—not from the present, but from the past.
The battlefield around him blurred.
Before him stood a Captain(seventeen-year-old), young and determined, clad in his training uniform.
Across from him, a younger Rolsten, smiling faintly, stepped forward.
"Captain… why don't I become your comrade instead of just your teacher?" young Rolsten asked, his voice earnest, brimming with longing.
The young Captain looked up, puzzled but intrigued.
"Why?"
"You have no friends… in the real world, you need comrades to rely on. Let me be one of them," Rolsten replied, eyes shining.
The young Captain shook his head gently.
"But… I need you as my teacher. You can guide me better that way."
"No," Rolsten said firmly, smiling.
"I want to be your comrade. I want to fight beside you, not just teach you."
The young Captain's lips curved into a small laugh.
"Alright… but stop smiling like that. You're looking… strange."
Rolsten chuckled softly, and for a fleeting moment, both of them laughed together, a warm, bright memory amidst the pain and blood of the present.
The vision shattered.
Rolsten's eyes snapped open.
His body trembled violently, drenched in blood, one arm lost, the other badly injured.
He tried to move—but his body refused.
Knees pressed into the ground, chest heaving, Rolsten's mind burned with resolve.
He had a mission.
He had people relying on him. He could not—would not—let weakness take him down now.
"You… you are strong, Rolsten," Yoki said, eyes narrowing, a mix of respect and exasperation in his tone.
"For your bravery… I won't kill that Captain, nor the two others. Consider it your reward."
Rolsten's lips curved into a faint, proud smile.
He had done it—he had protected those he cared about, fulfilled his mission.
But his body had reached its limit. Slowly, painfully, he sank to his knees.
The light in his eyes dimmed, fading like a dying ember.
Time seemed to pause.
For a brief second, the world grew quiet—the roar of the battlefield, the screams, the clashing steel—all faded into silence.
Rolsten let out a shallow breath, whispering to himself, "Don't be sad, Captain"
Then, with the faintest smile still lingering, he fell forward, lifeless, his body finally at rest.
Yoki paused for a moment, staring at the fallen warrior.
"Rest well, Rolsten," he murmured before disappearing into the chaos of the city.
The world seemed to hold its breath—a fleeting silence marking the passing of a true soldier.