The immediate threat was gone, yet the village reeled. Night pressed in heavy, torches guttering in the wind, Fog curling with the metallic tang of blood.
Roderick stood at the center of it all—blood seeping from his side, his frame rigid as if carved from the same stone as the broken fortress looming behind them. He did not sway, for a pair of steady hands anchored him: a purple-haired woman, crouched at his flank, binding cloth tight against the wound. Her movements were swift, practiced, neither tender nor careless.
"Alright, the fights are over!" Roderick's voice cracked across the gathering like steel on steel. "All who can bear arms, proceed to the hall! The old and children—make for the broken fortress! We don't know what will happen next."
The woman's hands pressed firmly into his ribs, yet Roderick did not wince. He gave orders as though the pain were someone else's burden.
Beside him, the two women guards—shields splintered, armor dented, but eyes unwavering—straightened as he barked:
"You two. Guide them."
They bowed, moving quickly to rally the hesitant crowd.
Among the crowd moved two women—black-haired woman who was with lyssa, now together the silver haired woman, probably her sister working side by side. They bent low to scoop up a crying child, carrying her toward the waiting caravan before turning back to steady a trembling elder by the shoulder.
It was the women who carried the weight of the village now. They lifted children, hauled bundles, and guided the frightened toward safety. Their hands were raw, their eyes rimmed red, yet they did not falter.
The men among them were scarce—either too young to wield more than a wooden spear, or too old and battered, like Roderick, who stood bleeding but unbowed.
Families clung together in hurried goodbyes. Mothers whispered promises their throats could scarcely form. Small hands were tugged along, blankets dragging in the dirt as little feet stumbled to keep pace.
The air itself seemed to mourn with them, every farewell thick with the weight of uncertainty.
The scout worg riders had been repelled, but fear remained—etched into faces, a scar pressed into the very marrow of the village.
Aexl's gaze snagged on one such scene. A mother bent to her daughter, hands trembling as much as her voice.
"So… he's gonna help us, right? The blue-haired man. He killed one of those orcs… plus he has a wand."
The mother hesitated, forcing softness she didn't feel.
"I don't know, dear. All we can do now is hope your father comes back soon… and beats those orcs again."
"When Papa comes back, he won't have food," the girl whispered, looking at Aexl. "There's no wheat left."
Silence. The mother pulled her close but found no answer.
"It's okay," the girl murmured. "I think… we need a miracle more than wheat anyway."
Aexl exhaled slowly. The sight clawed at him—he had seen this before. Different faces, different lands, but the aftermath never changed: wounds bound in haste, leaders standing tall despite blood loss, children begging for miracles while larders lay bare.
His hand curled into a fist. As his mind drifts
He clenched his fists, but said nothing.
Then—a hand pressed against his back. Firm, soft… unmistakably womanly.
Lyssa.
"Thank you for saving us," she said, her voice steady despite the strain. "We owe you one, General."
Behind her stood the purple-haired woman with golden frame glasses—the same one who had patched Roderick's wounds. Young, yet carrying a mature aura that steadied those around her.
Lyssa's gaze returned to him then to the Villagers. As she spoke low voice but with pride
"It isn't the Eldenthyr way to toss our burdens onto someone else's shoulders. But what you did… It gave hope to the villagers. To be honest, we were desperate—trading our last supply for a fragment of faith.the fight you step up and win to you a victory. To us, it was proof we're not alone. Even the smallest spark… was a chance to hope again."
She drew in a deep breath, then smiled—tired, but radiant.
"We'll get by. This isn't the first time the gods tossed us into the fire." She paused, almost reciting an old saying. "We do what we've always done—survive."
Aexl as she looked at her found himself smiling back.
Why not? A beautiful girl with that smile… If this were Earth, she'd already be in my bed.
He shook the thought away, replying instead, "I'm happy to help. To be honest… I'm willing to. I was a soldier in my world. It's in my blood to protect those who are oppressed."
His voice softened, almost unsure.
"But… regarding your situation… Why not flee? Hide somewhere. Return when the coast is clear."
Lyssa's eyes flicked toward the purple-haired woman before fixing back on him. Her lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile.
"That would've been nice," she admitted, glancing at the village around them. "But our ancestors were once the longest rulers of this world, but came a time where they watched everything crumble. And ever since, our Ancestor has been running for too long. Every time we fled, we left pieces of something bigger behind. A kingdom. A family. A future."
She straightened as she took a step forward, her gaze sharp towards the villagers. In Aexl's eyes, for a heartbeat, she looked like a warrior standing bold against whatever grotesque fate their world conjured. And for reasons he couldn't name… he felt as though she was waiting for him to be the one she could finally speak this truth to.
"My parents fought to protect what little was left. Now, my sister and I… it's our turn." Her voice lowered, reverent. "To abandon this place now would be to abandon everyone who already gave everything to keep it standing."
She exhaled, shoulders heavy.
"If Eldenthyr is meant to fall, then we'll fall with it. Together."
Aexl turned away, unable to hold her gaze any longer. The more he looked at her, the more he felt the weight pressing in—a weight he knew too well.
His eyes drifted toward the villagers ahead. But he wasn't really seeing them.
He was frozen. Eyes blank. Somewhere else entirely.
It was the same tableau he'd witnessed a thousand times: the raw aftermath of conflict, the desperate scramble for survival, the gnawing fear of what tomorrow might bring.
Then suddenly—
his mind slipped. Consciousness unmoored.
What…?
Why now? Why here?
Jungle sounds. Explosions.
PTSD? Not Again?
I'm young again right? Different world? Still chasing me.. huh?
Where are my pills…?
His vision blurred, the ground tilting beneath him. Everything was changing.
The jungle sounds of this world bled away, swallowed by something harsher, crueler. In their place surged a jarring symphony of memory: damp leaves crushed under boots, the acrid sting of gun oil clinging to his fingers, the crackle of a radio drowning in static, and the copper bite of blood thick on his tongue after a blast.
It was his first incursion. A foreign jungle, suffocating and wet. Faces returned in brutal clarity—villagers hollow-eyed, clutching children as if frail arms could hold back war itself. Their pleas still echoed in him, desperate, unending.
He remembered the clash within the squad:
"Fortify here. Use their homes as a forward base." The commander's voice, cold, practical.
Aexl's own words, younger, sharper, defiant:
"No—we protect the people. We march forward, take the hill, make it the fort. Fewer of us die, and the villagers keep what little they still have."
The arguments bled into shouting. Then a fist seized his collar, dragging him into the mud.
"Young cubs don't get to bark orders," the commander growled, eyes hard as steel. "You think this is about saving a few huts? About running hills like some training drill?"
He shoved Aexl down, boots grinding into the earth.
"This is war. We hold where I say. We bleed where I say. And if men die, then that's the story that gets written. That's the mark that gets remembered."
His voice snapped into a roar, cutting through the squad:
"Move your asses! On my command, or I'll bury you with the rest!"
Then—voices, Screams, explosion
Through the storm, a mother's cry split the night. Her words seared into him like fire on flesh:
"Take our lives instead! If we lose this place… we're already dead!"
The memory is fractured. Gunfire shredded the air. Screams ripped through the canopy. Flames swallowed the huts. An explosion split heaven and earth apart.
And then silence.
Dead villagers. Dead soldiers. Dead enemies.
survivor rose above it—his commander, standing on a podium weeks later, medals glinting under the sun. Delivering a speech over the graves,political and Dramatize. A salute to the fallen, lips mouthing honor, while the faces Aexl remembered rotted in the dirt.
Aexl blinked. His knees buckled, and for a moment the ground swayed beneath him. Then—
"General Ae? General Ae… are you okay?"
The voice pulled him back. Familiar. Soft.
He lifted his head. Lyssa was there, bowing almost kneeling as she offered her hand to help him stand up. Her eyes searched his face, worry breaking through her usual resolve.
"A-Are you okay?" she asked again, this time more gently.
Aexl gripped her hands before he even realized it. The warmth hands anchored him. Around them, the villagers stared in uneasy silence, no doubt shaken by what they'd just witnessed.
PTSD wasn't a joke. And here—no pills, no reprieve. Just the weight of memory clawing at him, and something wet sliding down his cheeks.
Aexl wiped quickly at his eyes, turning his head aside.
"Yeah… sorry," he muttered. "I just—remembered something."
Lyssa's face puzzled, brows trying to think what had happen.
"I'm sorry… was it something I said?"
"No, no. It's not you," Aexl said quickly, shaking his head. "It's just… memories. Flashing back."
"Memories?" she echoed softly.
"Past experiences," he answered, forcing his gaze upward, only to catch sight of the two moons above this alien sky. Another reminder he was no longer on Earth.
Lyssa tilted her head, eyes lingered on him. Then she noticed.
"You're… crying."
"What? No. No, no." Aexl shook his head again, too fast, too defensive. "It's just—the wind. Got something in my eye."
But his voice cracked.
Lyssa didn't press him. Instead, she smiled faintly, though her gaze held quiet understanding.
"Must be one hell of a wind," she said softly. "And I hope… in those memories, it wasn't all sadness. I heard you shouting—something like 'no, no, fallback'? I don't know what you recalled."
Aexl's throat tightened.
Lyssa gave him a sidelong glance. "I only hope… whatever you saw back then, the result was the same as what you did here today. That you won, in the end."
Aexl nodded slowly.
"Yeah. We won."
He paused. His voice dipped low.
"But—"
Lyssa's eyes flicked back to him, sharp and curious.
"But what?" she asked.
Aexl exhaled, eyes narrowing.
"…We had won. Technically."
Lyssa tilted her head. "Technically?" Her gaze sharpened. "Isn't war… isn't it simply about who lives and who dies? The winner's the one still standing."
Her words cut sharper than she realized.
Aexl's mind replied in silence.
Yeah. We won. But the cost… the cost hollowed it out. A victory carved in graves, not glory.
He deflected. Changed the subject.
"Do you have something to eat in that big building of yours?"
Lyssa blinked, then gave a small, apologetic smile. "Ah—you must be hungry. Sorry. Yes, we have warm stew… but no wheat."
"…Wheat?" Aexl echoed, almost amused.
Lyssa turned, hair flipping lightly with the motion. A faint scent drifted past him, something herbal, earthy. She gestured for him to follow. "Come. Let's warm you up with what we have. We'll need your bravado again soon, if more scouts come. Roderick already sent Dobi to watch, but who knows…"
Aexl nodded absently, memory and present colliding again. His hand slid into his coat and pulled free the Ephone. The screen pulsed alive in his palm.
[Tactical]
[Map]
He tapped. Blue light flared, projecting a holographic image into the night. Lyssa and the purple-haired woman froze, eyes wide, watching the strange device paint glowing lines in the air.
Names blinked red at the forest's edge.
[ Enemy Scouts Detected — Estimated Count: 5 ]
[ Units: Worg Riders ]
[ Threat Proximity: Immediate — Within 11 Hours ]
[ Update: Main Host — Marching via Cliff of Echo, ETA: 3 Days ]
Markers pulsed over the village. The villagers nearby shrank back, their awe dampened by exhaustion. No cheers. Just silence.
Then—the Ephone buzzed. A small mail icon pulsed.
He tapped.
[ Congratulations — Mission Complete ]
[ Reward: Eldenthyr Territory Gained ]
— All achievements of Eldenthyr now reflect to you.
[ New Ability: General of Eldenthyr — Valkyrie Warrior (Lv.1) ]
— Female warriors under your command: Attack, Accuracy, Defense +100%
— Gain: Berserker Ability — the more they bleed, the more dangerous they become.
— Mounted Warriors: Charge Attack when mounted.
[ Strength of a General (Lv.1) ] — Wield any weapon with ease.
[ Stamina of a General (Lv.1) ] — Unlimited endurance During Battle
Aexl stared.
"…So that's why the cleaver felt light. After the fight".
Lyssa's eyes narrowed at his shifting expression. She stepped closer, whispering: "What did you find? Some spell to protect us?"
Aexl didn't answer right away. His gaze fell instead to the villagers—thin arms, quiet faces, mothers clutching children tighter as they passed beneath the moons.
Finally, he nodded.
"I think… we'll be safe tonight. Rest, for now." He glanced at the Ephone clock. 9:11 p.m. "Tomorrow morning, we'll need to meet them head on."
Lyssa frowned. "Who? The scouts? Isn't the one you took down… A while ago."
Aexl shook his head. "No. That was just a stray party. The real scouts are still out there."
Her face tightened, worry breaking through her calm.
Aexl tapped the "Worg Riders" marker, setting a bell icon to alarm him on any movement. The projection dimmed, fading into nothing. He slipped the Ephone back into his coat.
"No need to worry, at least for now" he said at last, forcing a faint smile. "You're right. Let's call it a spell for now. We'll eat, then talk later."
Aexl followed Lyssa up the carved stone steps that wound their way into the hillside, each one worn smooth by generations of feet. Her steps were light, his heavier, the words she'd spoken still settling in his chest.
He wasn't just a soldier anymore. Not here.
On Earth,this would be just another mission given by the top brass, as he became a weapon. A tool. A man who fought, who bled, who obeyed. But here—here as he pictured what happened earlier, maybe a different kind of battle. A battle not just for survival, but for something greater: for a home, for a future, for a people clinging to hope. Or maybe shift to his interest as
He thought of the generals he had studied, the ones who didn't merely fight but led. Men who inspired, who built, who protected. Men whose names carved history as much as their victories.
Perhaps… in this world, he could finally scratch that itch. That deep-seated hunger to be more than a warrior. To be a general.
They reached the top. Aexl paused, gaze sweeping wide.
Down below, the villagers moved like shadows beneath the twin moons. To the east and west, the mountain ridges curved inward, like a giant's arms embracing the village. At the gate, walls lay shattered, stone crumbling where defenses once stood. At the mountain's foot loomed the broken fortress—half ruin, half reminder of what had been lost.
Beyond the open field stretched the dark forest, thick and endless. Somewhere in its depths lay the worg rider he had butchered earlier. And farther still… more of them waited.
Aexl drew in a deep breath, the cold night air burning his lungs.
This isn't Earth anymore.
He felt it then—a pull deep in his chest, a spark of purpose that quickened his blood. Amidst this world of ruin and quiet determination, he saw it clearly.
A chance.
To forge something lasting. To lead not only with a weapon, but with vision.
To become not just a soldier, but a conqueror.