"Today!.."
"We stand… and we fight!"
A loud voice rang out, filled with a daring charm that stirred the fighting spirit of all who heard it.
The voice spread far and wide, and Ikark felt his head hum.
At that moment, he was clad in armor and held a weapon. To top it off, he stood at the forefront of war. In the distance, he could see a swarm like a dark army of ants charging toward them.
He just couldn't fathom how he got here.
He… a normal worker on Earth. He had a family, a wife and two kids, a life . He was earning well and had even been promised a promotion. But all of a sudden, he slept… and woke up in this world.
A kingdom at war.
Very soon, his kingdom or rather, the kingdom of the original owner of this body, lost the war.
And he became a war slave… experiencing some of the most inhumane things one human could do to another. There were no human rights here… or maybe there were, but he never experienced them as a war slave.
Yes, a slave to this new kingdom.
He was tortured. He was belittled. In fact, pets lived better lives than he did.
But unlike the stories he had heard
Transmigration didn't work that way.
He had no golden finger. No system. No old grandpa in a ring.
Nothing.
Except himself.
This wasn't some random parallel world, but a medieval fantasy world filled with knights and terrifying beasts.
And he…
Was just a normal human.
No—
A war slave.
"In this place, we stand!.."
"And you shall defend it with your life, with your blood, your sweat, and your very soul!"
"Nothing, whether living or dead shall pass through this line!"
"The enemy may be stronger! They may have Awakened Knights! They may be more powerful!"
"But we… will not yield!"
"Not without a battle! Not without a war!"
"Most of us will die… but we will die knowing we stood and fought!"
"Behind us are our homes… our lives… our people… our kingdom!"
"We are their first… and their last line of defense!"
"You are not fighting for yourselves, comrades…"
"…but for your families! For your friends! For your loved ones! And for this kingdom!"
"Our ancestors built this land with their sweat…"
"…and we shall defend it with our BLOOD!"
"AWOOOOO!!!"
The army roared in response, the sound creating vibrations that shook the ground and scattered small rocks.
The magnitude of hundreds of thousands of soldiers shouting at once was a sight to behold.
But Ikark hated it.
His legs wobbled, his face drenched in sweat.
Being at the war front was intense.
Modern war could never compare to this…
This was war with the human body.
With men and their horses charging side by side.
In modern warfare, it was nukes and jets…
But here?
Nothing.
Just your body in armor, an overweight helmet, a weapon in your hand—
And you… praying to whichever god you believed in.
As you charged toward your death
Flesh against flesh.
Metal against metal.
"I can't…"
Ikark muttered, gripping the spear tightly.
He barely had enough armor to cover his body.
A ray of sunlight cascaded down on him, his armor shining with a dull silver glow.
His frame was anything but small. They had been carefully fed and prepared for war months ago. No one would believe he was a war slave.
Ikark gulped.
His body felt heavy.
This was war.
At any moment, they would charge forward, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands clashing at the center.
Weapons would roar like beasts, drawing blood. Bodies would be pushed to their limits.
Adrenaline would surge.
Fight or flight.
But he didn't know how to fight.
And he wasn't the only one.
Those at the front, the remaining soldiers were all war slaves.
Survivors captured by the winning kingdom.
They had only one purpose:
To act as cannon fodder.
To wear down the enemy.
They didn't know how to fight.
They knew nothing.
They were just dead men walking, charging toward a certain end.
Ikark looked left and right.
Young men.
Sweat dripping down their faces.
Legs shaking.
Hands gripping weapons tightly.
They were just like him.
Witnessing their own future deaths.
The first line in war was almost guaranteed to die.
"Soldiers!.. What do we say… as we charge to our deaths?!"
The commander's voice thundered, carrying immense power that shook their eardrums.
This was definitely not a normal human.
This was one of the knights he had heard about.
"GLORY THROUGH BLOOD!!!"
The real soldiers not the cannon fodder like Ikark roared in unison.
A terrifying presence descended.
This was no act.
This was the war cry of souls ready to die—
For their kingdom.
For their loved ones.
For their families.
Ikark couldn't comprehend it.
Why would they still fight?
Why would they charge into death knowing the enemy was stronger?
"Why couldn't they just give up…?" Ikark muttered, gritting his teeth.
Was this the "male ego" people talked about?
What was this madness?
Because they refused to yield…
Because these insane people wouldn't surrender…
He would die and 99% of them would die with him too.
What foolishness.
"Hahaha!.. We shall drink their blood as wine and feast upon their flesh!"
"I am glad… the war spirit still burns within you, comrades!"
"Raise your heads high!"
"For each of you deserves medals of honor… when we return!"
The commander laughed wildly as Ikark finally saw him.
His shadow loomed over them.
He was nearly eight feet tall, his muscles bulging like forged steel.
In his hand was a massive axe larger than most men's bodies.
"Damn… fuck all of you…"
Ikark muttered, feeling lost.
He was no warrior.
He wasn't even part of the army in his past life.
He was just a normal man.
A man who had already suffered enough.
Tortured.
Broken.
Was that not enough?
After enduring the life of a slave…
Now he had to die in a war? And to top it off ,for a kingdom that wasn't even his?
What a load of bullshit.
There was no returning from this war.
They were all going to die.