Sashay stepped forward toward the front line once more.
This was the eleventh time he had experienced this moment.
Each time he died upon the battlefield, time returned him to this exact point, as if the world itself had been wound backward by an unseen hand. Again and again he awoke here, just before everything began.
**
The war between the two kingdoms raged as it always had.
Sashay, a lowly infantryman, possessed little choice in the matter. When orders came, he could only bow his head, salute, and march forward to kill or be killed. No one ever shared strategies with men like him, nor did they offer explanations about the army's plans.
To them, he was insignificant.
His reputation was poor, perhaps the worst in the entire battalion. Many called him the weakest soldier among them. A piece of trash from the bottom ranks, a man who carried neither talent nor worth.
But Sashay never allowed those words to weigh heavily upon him.
There was no use in anger, and even less in sorrow.
So he trained.
Day after day, he continued to practice with the sword. He believed that one day, effort would overcome the absence of talent. Strength, he told himself, could be earned.
He still had a dream.
And more importantly, he had a promise yet to fulfill.
Those dreams and promises were the reason he now stood in an army that did not even belong to the land of his birth. For their sake, he swung his sword in battles that were never truly his.
In most battles, Sashay remained in the middle or rear of the formation. His only goal was simple.
Survive.
Yet on that particular day, things unfolded differently.
A squad leader known for his harsh temper and his disdain for weak or idle soldiers happened to notice Sashay lingering within the safer ranks of the formation.
The man frowned and shouted loudly.
"Hey! You there! Move to the front. Don't hide behind us like a coward!"
"Yes, sir!"
Sashay had no choice but to obey. Refusing an order would mean dismissal from the army, or worse, suspicion of being a spy from the enemy kingdom.
So he stepped forward.
As he passed the squad leader who had given the command, Sashay faintly overheard a conversation between the man and another soldier beside him.
"How much do you want to bet he lasts more than five minutes?" one of them said.
"Five minutes? That's too generous. He'll be dead in no time." the other scoffed.
"Hahaha!"
They did not even bother lowering their voices. Their laughter rang openly behind him.
Sashay said nothing, though inwardly he cursed them.
Damn bastards…
Maybe I should poison their food when we return to camp.
Still, he continued walking forward.
With every step, the sounds of battle grew louder.
Steel clashed against steel. Wood struck shields with heavy cracks. Shouts, curses, and cries of pain echoed across the field like a violent storm.
Sashay's legs trembled as he advanced.
Fear lingered in his chest, but it was not his first time stepping onto a battlefield. He had survived several battles before through little more than caution and luck.
Yet this time was different.
For the very first time in his life,
Sashay had been placed on the front line.
The front line was a different world.
There was no longer any safe distance, no wall of bodies standing between him and death. Here, the enemy was close enough to see clearly. Faces twisted with rage. Eyes wide with fear. Steel raised high beneath the pale sky.
The two armies collided like opposing tides.
The first clash came suddenly.
Shields slammed together with a dull thunder, and blades began to rise and fall without rhythm or mercy. Men shouted orders that were instantly swallowed by the chaos.
Sashay tightened his grip around the short gladius in his hand. His buckler trembled slightly as he raised it in front of his chest.
Stay calm.
That was the only thought he forced into his mind.
An enemy soldier rushed toward him, roaring as he swung a heavy sword downward. Sashay instinctively lifted his shield. The impact struck the buckler with a violent clang that ran through his arm like lightning.
The force nearly pushed him off balance.
He stumbled half a step backward, heart pounding wildly, yet his body moved before fear could claim him completely. His gladius darted forward in a short, desperate thrust.
The blade scraped against the enemy's armor, leaving nothing more than a shallow mark.
The man snarled and raised his sword again.
Sashay retreated quickly, narrowly avoiding the descending strike. The sword bit into the earth beside his foot, sending dirt scattering across the grass.
Around him, the battle raged without pause.
Men fell.
Others stepped over the fallen without hesitation.
The smell of iron thickened in the air.
"Well, well… what do we have here? It's not often one finds such a young fish wandering onto the battlefield."
The voice came suddenly, cutting through the clash of steel around him.
Sashay turned his head toward the speaker.
Before him stood a man of rather heavy build, broad and thick through the waist. In his hands he carried a spear whose long shaft rested comfortably against his shoulder. A worn leather helmet covered his head, and the armor he wore seemed poorly fitted, barely managing to contain the large belly that pressed against its edges.
Yet despite the man's ungainly appearance, there was something unsettling about him.
Sashay immediately adjusted his stance, lowering his center of gravity while raising his buckler slightly.
The man's gaze lingered on him in a way that felt deeply unpleasant, almost as if he were examining prey rather than facing another soldier.
The stranger chuckled softly before speaking again.
"My name is Phil, the man who's about to kill you." he said with casual confidence.
Without another word, Phil suddenly moved.
Despite his large frame, his speed was startling. His boots struck the ground in rapid strides as he rushed straight toward Sashay. In only a brief moment, he had already closed the distance between them.
The spear in his hand lowered, its sharp point aimed directly at Sashay's chest.
The spear shot forward like a striking serpent.
Sashay barely had time to raise his buckler.
Clang!
The point of the spear glanced off the rim of his shield, the force of the impact sending a violent tremor through his arm. Before he could regain his balance, Phil twisted the shaft of the weapon and thrust again.
The second strike came faster.
Sashay stepped back and tried to parry with his gladius, but the spear's reach made the effort clumsy. The steel tip brushed past his guard and tore through the cloth at his shoulder.
Pain flared sharply.
Phil grinned.
"Well now, you're slower than you look." he muttered.
He pressed forward without hesitation.
The spear moved in quick, ruthless arcs. Thrust after thrust drove toward Sashay with frightening precision. Each attack forced him backward across the grass, his boots scraping against the soil as he struggled to keep his footing.
Sashay tried to retaliate once, swinging his gladius toward Phil's arm, but the spear withdrew just out of reach before snapping forward again.
Whoosh!
The blade of air passed dangerously close to his throat.
Another strike followed.
And another.
Phil's movements were swift, controlled, and merciless. Whatever his appearance suggested, he was no ordinary soldier.
Sashay's breathing grew heavier. His arms felt slower with each passing moment. The difference between them was painfully clear.
Then it happened.
Phil feinted a thrust toward Sashay's chest.
Instinctively, Sashay lifted his buckler to block.
But the spear changed direction in the same instant.
The steel tip slipped beneath his guard.
A dull, wet sound followed.
The spear drove into his side.
For a moment, Sashay did not even understand what had happened. His body froze as the cold sensation spread through his chest.
Then the pain arrived.
His legs weakened instantly.
Phil pulled the spear free with a sharp motion, and Sashay collapsed onto one knee. The gladius slipped from his hand and fell into the grass.
Blood began to stain the ground beneath him.
Phil watched him quietly, breathing only slightly heavier than before.
"Hm, I expected a little more." he said with mild disappointment.
Sashay tried to remain upright, but his vision had already begun to blur. The sounds of the battlefield grew distant, as though they belonged to another world.
His strength was fading quickly.
He fell forward onto the grass, his body barely responding to his will.
The sky above him stretched wide and pale.
So this… is how it ends.
His breathing slowed.
Have I dreamed too high?
The question drifted slowly through Sashay's fading thoughts.
Or is talent truly everything?
Why does God write each person's fate so differently?
Why must mine be written like this?
I still have promises to keep… dreams I have yet to fulfill.
Was I simply never meant to become strong?
Such thoughts circled endlessly in his mind as the pain in his body dulled and the darkness crept steadily closer. His senses were fading, the world slipping away from him piece by piece.
Then, suddenly, a voice spoke.
—Are you tired of the fate God has given you?—
The words did not come from the battlefield. They did not pass through his ears like ordinary sound.
Instead, Sashay heard them from somewhere deeper.
From within himself.
His fading consciousness stirred.
Hm? What… was that voice?
—Do you resent God now?—
The voice returned, calm and patient.
—For making you weak like this… for giving you no talent at all?—
Sashay fell silent.
Even in his dying state, the question lingered heavily in his mind. For a moment, he did not answer.
Before he could gather his thoughts, the voice spoke once more.
—Do you want power?—
The question came so suddenly that Sashay answered without thinking.
"Yes…"
His voice was faint, barely more than a whisper.
"…I want power."
A rough chuckle echoed nearby.
"Hm? Hallucinating before you die?" Fine. I'll give you some mercy." Phil's voice muttered.
Phil stepped forward and lifted his spear.
Without hesitation, he drove the weapon downward into Sashay's head.
Blood splattered across the grass.
The movement of Sashay's chest stopped instantly. His body lay still, lifeless upon the battlefield.
And then—
Darkness swallowed everything.
Sashay found himself drifting within a vast and silent void. There was no ground beneath his feet, no sky above him, no sound nor movement anywhere.
Only endless blackness.
So… this is death.
The thought passed quietly through his mind.
It feels… cold.
And lonely.
He stood there, alone within the emptiness, uncertain how much time had passed.
Then something changed.
A sudden light burst into existence.
It shone so brightly that Sashay was forced to shut his eyes. For several moments he could see nothing but white brilliance.
Gradually, the light softened.
Sashay opened his eyes once more.
The first thing he saw was a woman standing before him.
She held an unusually long pipe tobacco in her right hand, its slender stem curling elegantly between her fingers as thin wisps of smoke drifted slowly into the still air.
**
Thank you for reading this novel, new chapters will be uploaded daily unless the apocalypse arrives or I somehow end up homeless. Don't forget to take this novel to your collection and give power stone and two. Your support means everything.