The fog and rain seemed to meld with the coppery stench of green Orc blood and human sweat. The sound of ragged breaths, the drizzle on leaves, and the moans of dying soldiers filled the once-silent valley. But within that chaos, there was a strange island of calm—a small infantry formation that had managed to hold, centered around a female soldier with a rusted sword and a gaze of steel.
Elera stood panting heavily. Each breath felt like drawing shards of glass into her lungs. The arm that had blocked the Orc's axe throbbed with pain, and she was sure a muscle was torn. But more worrying was the burning sensation in her core, where her Aether Core resided. It felt like forged iron, hot and unstable.
But she didn't show a hint of that pain.
Her eyes, now a deep brown—not Valerius's cold grey—remained sharp, scanning the surroundings. The remaining Orcs, confused by this unexpected resistance, began to retreat slowly, slipping back into the mist.
"Don't pursue!" Elera's voice was hoarse, but it cut clearly through the air. "Hold the formation! They could be luring us into a trap."
The soldiers, still riding on adrenaline, immediately obeyed. They formed a defensive circle, shields and swords ready, wary eyes watching the seemingly living fog.
Herand, standing beside Elera, looked at her with an expression mixed with gratitude, awe, and disbelief.
"El...how did you...?" He couldn't finish his sentence.
Elera bent down, picking up a larger, sturdier Orc sword from the ground and discarding her rusted one. "I almost died, Herand. Sometimes, on the brink of death, we see things more clearly." It was the half-truth she had prepared. The real truth—that she was an Emperor from another world—was too insane to voice.
Trainer Aldric approached with heavy steps. His usually angry face was now filled with deep bewilderment. Blood flowed from a wound on his shoulder, but he ignored it. He stopped in front of Elera, his eyes sweeping over her smaller frame as if trying to solve a puzzle.
"Soldier," he finally hissed, his voice rough. "Who... what did you just do?"
Elera met his gaze directly. "What had to be done, Trainer. We held. Or would you have preferred to see this company slaughtered like animals?"
A few soldiers nearby snorted, nodding slowly. A rumble of long-suppressed discontent with Aldric's poor leadership surfaced.
Aldric stiffened. "You think because you managed to hack down a few Orcs, you can be insolent? You're still—"
"She saved our lives, Trainer!" a young soldier with a wounded forehead shouted from the ranks. His voice echoed in the damp silence.
"Even the nobles ran or died!" added another soldier, his voice trembling with emotion.
Aldric looked around, seeing the gazes of his subordinates. Gazes that were once full of fear now held challenge and... hope? He understood. His authority, built on fear, had cracked. And that crack started with this small female soldier.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "We can't stay here," he said, his voice lower, more practical. "They'll return in greater numbers. We must retreat to the secondary defensive position."
"Wait," Elera interrupted. Her eyes were still fixed on the fog. "A fighting retreat. Layered formation. One squad falls back while covering, the other squads provide cover. If we just turn and run, they'll butcher us from behind."
Aldric's mouth hung open for a moment. He wanted to argue, but his long-buried military instinct knew Elera was right. He gave a short, grudging nod. "Do as she says! You hear? Squads one and two, fall back ten paces first! Squads three and four, cover!"
Slowly, methodically, the remaining company—about a hundred men from the original two hundred—began to retreat from the valley of death. Elera walked at the very rear, her eyes never leaving the shadows in the fog. Every few steps, she gave a short command.
They were like a herd of deer being led by a cunning old wolf.
•••
The journey back to the main camp took hours. The sun was beginning to set, piercing the grey clouds with pale orange rays that highlighted the exhaustion and despair on every soldier's face. The main camp, protected by crude wooden palisades and a simple trench, looked like a pathetic paradise.
As they passed through the gate, the guards only glanced with hollow eyes. Defeat was common. Groups returning with half their number were a daily sight.
But something different was in the air.
An officer (Captain) in a blue robe—the color of the noble mage syndicate affiliated with the military; The Miracle Eye—stood in front of the commander's tent, his face sour. He was Mage Lian, the only one of the three noble mages to escape the valley massacre, albeit with a torn robe and a smudged face.
Aldric immediately reported, bowing low. "Lord Lian. Company 7 has returned."
Lian didn't answer immediately. His sharp eyes swept over the ranks of weary soldiers, stopping on Elera, who stood straight despite her obvious fatigue. "Aldric. Report. How is it that a cannon fodder company like yours survived, while two Crest Mages, who were supposed to be the backbone of the assault, died miserably?"
Aldric grew nervous. "We... we were lucky, my Lord. And... a few soldiers showed initiative."
"Initiative?" Lian pressed, stepping closer. "Infantry showing 'initiative'? Don't make me laugh. Or are you hiding something?" His eyes returned to Elera. "You, soldier. Step forward."
Elera's heart beat fast, but her face remained neutral. She stepped forward, standing before Mage Lian. She could feel the energy radiating from this man—different from the Orcs' raw energy, it felt refined, structured, yet brimming with arrogance.
"Your name," Lian commanded.
"Elera, my Lord."
"Tell me what happened in the valley. The complete truth."
Elera took a breath. She couldn't tell the whole truth. But she also couldn't lie openly. She chose a middle path—an edited truth.
"We were ambushed, my Lord. The noble mages... were targeted first. Our formation broke. I... I heard shouts, saw arrows coming. I shouted warnings to the others. We formed a makeshift defensive formation. We were lucky; the fog was thick and the Orcs weren't well-coordinated. They retreated after we put up resistance."
Lian snorted, disbelieving. "You, a First Soldier, a Spark-level mage with a cohesive attribute, shouted and suddenly the chaotic troops became organized? Don't insult me." He raised his hand, and a small, swirling ball of blue wind formed above his palm. "Are you hiding something? A forbidden artifact? Or perhaps you colluded with the enemy?"
The atmosphere grew tense instantly. Herand and a few other soldiers made muffled sounds of protest.
Elera felt a freezing fear down her spine. In her old world, an officer making such an accusation usually already had a conviction in mind, and the punishment was often swift and cruel. But she also saw uncertainty in Lian's eyes.
With a calm she didn't know she possessed, Elera answered. "The only thing I'm hiding, my Lord, is the pain from the Void Drain that nearly took my life yesterday. If you need a scapegoat for today's tactical failure, I am but a lowly soldier. But ask the other soldiers, did they see me collude with the Orcs, or merely try to save the lives of my fellow humans?"
She did not bow. Her gaze met Lian's.
Silence fell over the area. The other soldiers held their breath. Aldric looked like he wanted to sink into the ground.
Lian observed her for a long time. The wind in his hand spun faster. Elera could feel an invisible pressure trying to press down on her, a mental probe. She stood straight, remembering she was an Emperor who had once faced traitors with 'wind blades' of far greater pressure. The pressure from this wounded mage was nothing.
Finally, the wind ball in Lian's hand extinguished. He let out a cold snort. "Quite bold for trash. Perhaps you were just lucky. Or perhaps desperation made you temporarily sane." He turned his face away, speaking to Aldric. "This soldier... keep an eye on her. Report to me if her behavior is suspicious. Now, take your filthy troops and get out of my sight."
He turned and entered his tent, leaving behind a tense silence.
Aldric sighed in relief, then looked at Elera with a complex expression—angry, but also... impressed? "You... you almost got us all punished for treason, you madwoman!"
Elera just turned around, walking towards the infantry tent area. "He had no proof. And he needed a scapegoat to cover for his nobles' incompetence. Challenging him directly was the only way to make him doubt."
Herand hurried after her. "El, you're insane! Defying Mage Lian like that? He's an Aegis-level mage with a Flux attribute; he can command the wind like blades!"
"We all nearly died today, Herand," Elera replied wearily, the pain in her body now surging forward. She stopped in front of her leaky tent. "I need rest, and food. Can you get my rations?"
Herand nodded, still stunned. "Sure... of course."
•••
That night, inside the dark, damp tent, Elera sat cross-legged. She had devoured a watery soup and a piece of hard bread, fueling her exhausted body. But what she needed more was to understand the chaos inside her.
She focused on the sensation in her core—the Aether Core. It felt like cracked glass loosely bound together, emitting an uncomfortable warmth. This was Void Drain Level 2, just as Herand had suspected.
'A weak body,' she thought with frustration. But she quickly dismissed the thought. Weakness was a fact. Dwelling on it was a waste of energy.
Instead, she tried to recall the sensation when she had forced the energy out, creating the small explosion in the earth. She had pulled on something—Aether from the air—forced it through her aching core, and pushed it out. It wasn't elegant or efficient. But it had worked.
She tried again. Closing her eyes, she tried to "feel" the energy around her. At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, she began to sense it—like a fine dew on her skin, particles of energy drifting in the air.
Aether.
She tried to pull it, to suck it in. A sharp pain immediately lanced from her core, forcing her to stop.
'No. Not like that,' an instinctual voice whispered. 'It's like lighting a campfire. Not dousing it with oil.'
She tried a different approach. Instead of pulling, she made herself receptive. She let the Aether seep in on its own, slowly, like a sponge absorbing water. The process was agonizingly slow, almost imperceptible. But after several minutes, she felt the uncomfortable warmth in her core lessen slightly. The pain receded a little.
Natural recovery, she realized. This was the "Aether Meditation" mentioned in the system she intuitively understood. She couldn't force it. She had to let it flow.
As she sat in silence, her tent flap opened. Herand entered, carrying two more bowls of soup and a small piece of salted meat.
"Thought you might still be hungry," he said, placing the bowl beside her. He sat down, watching the cross-legged Elera. "Are you... meditating?"
"Trying to," Elera replied shortly, opening her eyes. She took the bowl and began eating ravenously. This body needed fuel.
"El," Herand began, his voice serious. "What really happened to you? This is more than just 'seeing death.' Your skill... the way you led... that's not something learned in two weeks of training."
Elera stopped eating, looking into her bowl. She knew this question would come. She couldn't keep evading forever.
"Have you heard of people... changing after deep trauma?" she started, choosing her words carefully. "It's like a veil is lifted, and you see everything clearly. Tactics, formations, how people move... it all suddenly makes sense. Like... instinct."
Herand frowned. "I've heard of soldiers gaining 'battlefield insight.' But they usually just become better soldiers, not... not like seasoned commanders."
"Maybe I always had it, Herand," Elera said, looking directly at him. "Maybe I was just too afraid to show it. Or maybe, like you said, nearly dying awakened something." She sighed. "Does it matter? What matters is, we survived today. And tomorrow, we might face the same. Isn't it better to have someone who can lead us to survive, than to just follow someone leading us to a slaughter?"
Herand was silent for a long time, processing her words. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Yeah. You're right." He looked at Elera with a newfound conviction. "The others... they're talking about you. They say you're some kind of... good luck charm."
Elera almost choked on her soup. A luck charm? She was the most unfortunate person in two worlds. But she understood. They needed a symbol. A beacon of hope, and she had inadvertently filled that role.
"Don't say that out loud," she warned. "Mage Lian is already suspicious. If he hears rumors of this, he won't hesitate to get rid of me."
Herand nodded, understanding the danger. "But we can't pretend nothing happened, El. The men will follow you. You won their loyalty today. More than Aldric or anyone ever had."
It was a responsibility she didn't want, but couldn't avoid. She remembered her army from her old world—their unshakable loyalty. But that was built over years, with victories and rewards. This... this was different. It was born from pure desperation.
"I'm not promising anything, Herand," she said softly. "I'm just a soldier, same as you. Just as weak, just as scared. But I promise this: as long as I can stand, I will use what I know to make sure as many of us as possible survive. That's all."
To Herand, that simple promise sounded nobler than any commander's speech.
"That's more than enough," Herand murmured.
The night grew late. Herand finally left, leaving Elera alone with her thoughts. She lay on her thin bedroll, staring into the dark ceiling of the tent.
She was Elera now. Truly. Valerius was a ghost, a memory, a foundation. But she couldn't live in the past. This world was harsh, and she had taken her first, dangerous step.
She had drawn the attention of an enemy within her own ranks. She had gained a risky measure of loyalty. And she had a broken body that needed mending.
But for the first time since waking in this world, she felt no longer adrift. She had taken control, however small.
She closed her eyes, not to sleep, but to plan. Tomorrow, she would begin. She would study this Aether system like she had studied the art of war. She would train this weak body to its limits. And she would turn this group of desperate soldiers into a unit that could survive.
.....