My name is Varré. I am but an ordinary battlefield medic, a man who has lived his life amidst the constant churn of war. This was my first time stepping onto a true field of slaughter.
The conflict between the Golden Order and the Carian Royal Family is ceaseless. In the most grand of their campaigns, the casualties on both sides were catastrophic. I… I had never seen such a sight.
Countless wounded lay upon the earth, wailing and weeping in agony. The number of lives I could truly save was, in the end, a mere pittance. Most of them…
My captain told me to use the Misericorde in my hand to end their suffering. They were beyond saving. Rather than allowing them to endure such profound, lingering torment, it was better to let them pass—at the very least, they might find peace in death.
I did as I was told.
That was the first time I had ever taken a life. The sensation was… sickening. Among those I "granted release," some begged me to save them, others pleaded for a swift end because the pain was simply too much to bear. Some asked me to bring their belongings to their families, while others had simply gone numb, staring into nothingness.
For the first time, I understood the true weight of war.
Before this, I had only received training as a battlefield medic. I had never touched the reality of war or walked its grounds. Now, perhaps, I understood the purpose of people like us.
To pray for the living, to heal the wounded, and to bring sleep to the lost.
Until… I saw Him.
Blood swirled about His form. An aura of black and red radiated from Him, a presence so heavy it made the very soul shudder.
Yet, for some reason, facing that terrifying pressure and His indifferent gaze, I felt neither fear nor rage. Instead, I felt a strange, inexplicable yearning.
I did not know what that yearning was. Before I could comprehend it, my captain dragged me away from the battlefield.
Only after that powerhouse had departed did we return to the field. I swear, it was the first time I had ever witnessed such a… deathly silent battlefield. No wails, no groans of pain, not even the faint sound of ragged breathing. There was only the thick scent of blood and the howling of the wind.
Was this… was this what I truly yearned for?
"Stay sharp, everyone! Those bastards from the Storm Dynasty could pop out at any moment and put an arrow in your backsides!"
In a camp north of Fort Gael, a fully armed warrior barked at the sentries on watch.
"Sir!" the men shouted in unison before dispersing to continue their patrols.
Satisfied, the warrior nodded and headed straight for the largest, most well-furnished tent in the center of the camp.
"Tch, look at that… the high-and-mighty gets to enjoy the hearth, fine wine, and women, while the brothers are out here suffering in the cold!"
"Quiet down. If one of his lapdogs hears you, you're finished."
"Dammit..."
The soldier who had spat on the ground lowered his voice. He took out a slip of paper, rolled some dried, shredded Herba into it, and lit it.
As a medicinal herb with a wide range of uses, Herba could be used to craft various boluses, medicines, and even food. Some variants were used specifically to restore stamina. Smoking the shredded leaves provided a slight stimulant effect; the only downside was the increased fatigue once the effect wore off, though it wasn't addictive.
"Do you think the Storm Dynasty will actually attack?"
"Probably not. There's been no movement for so long. If they wanted to hit us, they would've done it ages ago. Besides… how could a bunch of stragglers like us even stand against them?"
The other soldier chuckled self-deprecatingly. He wasn't wrong.
They were survivors of the Kouler Dynasty, formerly stationed at the Caelid Gate. After their outposts fell, the high command of the Kouler Dynasty had briefly rallied a force for a counterattack.
However, they were utterly routed when they faced Engvall—one of the "Wings of the Storm King."
Even the strongest warrior among them hadn't lasted thirty exchanges against Engvall, and that was while being supported by three others. Consequently, their King had immediately chosen flight and retreat, abandoning all northern territories to huddle in their southern lands.
Now that the Storm Dynasty's expansion had paused, the nobility seemed to have forgotten the threat entirely. They went back to their lives of luxury, leaving only these soldiers on the front lines to face the potential storm.
They called themselves the Kouler Dynasty, but the glory of the past was long gone. The royals and nobles had forgotten the honor of the Caelid warrior, caring only for their own pleasure while ignoring the plight of their subordinates.
Generals with actual talent only gave lip service to the crown; in reality, they were harboring their own schemes, waiting for a new master to serve. Those who held rank through nepotism were merely ornamental, caring nothing for the men they led.
Their current commander was exactly that kind of man.
How could such a dynasty have a future?
The soldier's eyes dimmed at the thought. He shook his head slowly, let out a heavy sigh, and gripped his spear and tower shield, returning his gaze to the surrounding woods.
Suddenly, he noticed something felt… off.
The patrol squad they had sent out seemed to have… stopped moving?
His pupils shrank. He spun around to ring the alarm bell beside him, but a sharp whistling sound cut through the air.
With a sharp pain in the back of his neck, his consciousness plunged into total darkness.
"The quality of these men doesn't even come close to the soldiers of Caria or the Golden Order," a voice whispered.
"This place is far from the heart of the Caelid power struggles. Add to that the long silence from the Storm Dynasty, and a ruling class that has grown fat on trade taxes and customs duties for years..."
"Given the long period of peace combined with the exploitation from above, the fact that these soldiers have even this much alertness is actually quite impressive."
Faide, having studied the reports provided by Kazim, offered an explanation to his subordinate.
"I see… then it seems this mission shouldn't encounter any surprises."
"Stay cautious regardless. This is the Sovereign's first foothold in Caelid."
"Understood."
The two men finished their exchange and carefully removed the clapper from the alarm bell. After disabling it, they leaped down, moving like two ghosts through the outer sentry posts.
Dozens of similar shadows—nearly a hundred in total—were weaving through the woods and the perimeter of the camp.
In short order, every sentry, both hidden and visible, was neutralized. Under Kazim's command, two squads remained behind to take over the patrol routes and guard posts. The rest followed him directly into the camp. Their goal was to seize the high-ranking officers as quickly as possible—either to recruit them or assassinate them.
However, "recruitment" was only a temporary measure. Kazim felt certain the Sovereign would have no use for the incompetent hacks leading this camp. Unless there were individuals with genuine talent among them, he had no intention of letting them live.
As for the common soldiers… as long as they were sensible, the Mohgwyn Dynasty was willing to accept them as subjects, or even warriors.
"Hmm?"
A soldier, hearing a faint whistle of air, turned his head in confusion. Seeing nothing, he scratched his head and turned back.
The moment he turned, he lost consciousness. Similar scenes played out in every corner of the camp, particularly around the sleeping quarters.
Before long, the camp belonged to Kazim's men. The perimeter guards and sentries had been dealt with; only those resting in the central tents remained.
"Lord Kazim, the numbers seem a bit off," Faide said softly as he approached his commander.
"Oh? In what way?"
"The number of men we've neutralized, including those outside, is only about a hundred and fifty. For a fortress of this size… shouldn't there be more?"
"Ah, I see your confusion." Kazim nodded. "During the day, most of the personnel stay here in the camp to stay alert. Because of the terrain of Fort Gael, they only really need to worry about a frontal assault. At night, the majority return to the fort itself to rest."
"Aside from those resting, the rest are stationed on the fortress walls. This camp is simply the largest of the external staging areas."
"I see. My mistake then," Faide acknowledged.
"Let's move. The most valuable person here is the commander. His name is Solius, the son of a high-ranking minister in the Kouler Dynasty. He was sent here to 'garnish' his reputation and earn the King's favor. In truth, he is a total incompetent."
"Understood."
Inside the main tent, Solius was currently lost in a world of indulgence.
Just as he was about to bury his face in the snowy-white chest of the woman before him, the guards at the entrance suddenly threw open the flaps and marched in.
Startled, Solius flared with rage. "What do you think you're doing?! Get out! Now!"
The woman, also startled, saw it was the soldiers under Solius's command. She rolled her eyes and began slowly adjusting her silk garments.
"Honestly… no manners at all..."
Solius frowned at the woman's comment and turned back to the guards, who hadn't moved an inch.
"Didn't you hear me?! Out! I am the Gen—Gen—!"
His bravado vanished instantly as Faide stepped out from the shadows behind the guards. Cold sweat beaded on Solius's forehead, and his face turned ghostly pale.
"Who—who are you?!"
"Exactly as Lord Kazim said. A complete hack," Faide remarked. "You couldn't even sense the deathly aura or the smell of blood from the guards standing right in front of you."
Faide gave the guard a light shove. The corpse, no longer supported, slumped to the floor, blood pooling slowly from a wound in its back. Faide calmly wiped the blood from his blade.
The woman nearby went pale and remained perfectly silent, shrinking into a corner and doing her best to become invisible. Faide spared her a single glance before looking back at Solius.
"I am the son of Minister Tagmureal of the Kouler Dynasty! What do you people want?!" Solius blustered, his voice trembling with fear.
Before Faide could respond, Kazim stepped into the tent.
"The Mohgwyn Dynasty sends its regards to the Kouler Dynasty. I've come to borrow your services."
Solius let out a visible sigh of relief. They wanted to "borrow his services," not "borrow his head." That meant, at the very least, his life was safe for now.
As for resisting… if these people had managed to slaughter their way here, he wasn't so stupid as to try. He wasn't even sure if there were any other living souls left in the camp.
Thinking of this, Solius shot a vicious, calculating look at the woman in the corner.
The woman seemed to realize what he was thinking, and her face went even whiter.
If Solius was the only survivor, then once the Mohgwyn Dynasty was finished with him and he returned to the Kouler Dynasty, he could say whatever he wanted. He could paint himself as a hero who resisted to the bitter end. Dead men tell no tales, and no one back home would believe the words of the "Blood Dynasty."
Therefore… this woman could not be allowed to live.
Solius began to plot how to eliminate this liability.
To his surprise, Kazim walked straight up to the woman. He tilted her chin up, inspecting her face from side to side.
A spark of hope lit up the woman's eyes, and she forced a fawning, seductive smile.
"An adult—"
"You are a clever woman," Kazim interrupted. "You didn't scream when we entered. So, I will give you a chance. A chance to master your own destiny. I imagine you have no desire to remain a mere accessory—a creature who lives only by the whim of others, with no rights of your own."
The woman blinked, stunned. She looked down at her own hands, then up at Solius, who was trembling nearby. After a long silence, she gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"A wise choice," Kazim said, a thin smile playing on his lips.
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