The masked figure towards the captain, silent and unreadable.
The battlefield seemed to exhale.
The war was over… for now.
Oxel's boots pounded against the rubble-strewn courtyard as he reached the Captain, eyes wide with worry.
"Are you… are you alright?" he gasped, voice tight with concern.
"Let me take you to the doctor—now!"
The Captain shook his head, wincing as pain lanced through him, but his gaze shifted to the approaching figure.
The masked man stopped near the captain.
"Why not… reveal yourself?" the Captain asked, voice steady despite exhaustion.
"I know it's you, Hinata."
A low chuckle echoed through the courtyard.
Slowly, the masked figure lifted his hands and removed the mask.
Beneath it was a face smiling—almost ridiculous, yet unsettling.
His black hair fell in messy strands over sharp, piercing eyes. Lean and agile, his movements were calm but carried a deadly precision. Even in the ruins, he seemed both playful and dangerous, impossible to look away from.
"Oh? You got me…" Hinata said, voice light and teasing.
"And here I am, without even showing my face, and you recognize me."
The Captain's lips curved into a faint smirk despite the pain.
"It's always you," he said quietly, voice carrying familiarity and exasperation.
"You always make your entrances like this."
Oxel blinked, confusion and curiosity mingling with relief.
The Captain straightened, feeling a spark of recognition.
Among the ruins of Tukmis, with smoke and scorched stone all around, they shared a silent understanding.
The Captain's voice, steady despite the pain, carried a faint note of acknowledgement as he spoke to Oxel.
"He is… a Captain as well," he said quietly.
"Even though he wasn't at the council meeting, he is the youngest Captain in our kingdom's history also known as the 3rd strongest in the whole world."
Oxel blinked, surprise and respect mingling as he took in the young man's aura.
Hinata's calm, almost playful smile hinted at power far beyond his years—a presence that could alter a battlefield with a single move.
The courtyard, scarred and smoldering from battle, seemed to exhale around them—acknowledging both the victory and the arrival of a new, formidable force.
The Captain reached out, tugging lightly at Hinata's black hair, teasing yet firm.
"So… why you rejected the council meeting invitation?" he asked, voice calm, edged with curiosity.
"Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Let go!" Hinata exclaimed, wriggling under the grip.
"I had my own reasons, you know."
A mischievous glint danced in his eyes, black hair tousled like fire, giving him an impish air despite the battlefield around them.
Hinata tilted his head, grin widening as he leaned closer, voice teasing but sharp.
"But tell me… why did you let yourself get bested by that weak guy?"
He gestured toward Osphal, groaning and bloodied on the ground.
"I know you could have easily finished him."
The Captain's gaze sharpened, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
The captain was about to say something that….
Oxel stepped forward, concern etched across his face.
"He's injured," he said, voice tight.
"From the Yoki battle yesterday… that's why—"
"Stop making excuses, old man!" Hinata interrupted, laughter sharp and teasing.
His black hair flared in the evening light, grin wide, almost ridiculous, yet brimming with confidence.
"He lost because… he simply couldn't defeat him!"
The Captain said nothing, letting Hinata's words hang in the air.
His cold, unreadable eyes observed the young man with quiet scrutiny, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Oxel opened his mouth to argue, but Hinata's laughter and effortless presence filled the ruined courtyard.
Oxel's expression sobered, the playful moment fading as he spoke firmly. "The war isn't over yet," he said, voice steady.
"We'll need to check if the other Captains are alright… and see the full state of the battlefield."
Hinata's laughter faded into a smirk, black hair still catching the light as he glanced around the ruined courtyard.
Even in his teasing, his sharp eyes followed the ruins and the scattered troops, reading the aftermath with the same precision he brought to battle.
The Captain, still leaning against the column, said nothing, but his gaze swept across the horizon, silent calculation beneath the calm exterior.
The war has not ended completely yet…
The city barracks were in chaos. Smoke curled from broken windows, and dust hung heavy in the air.
The elder Captain and the guard commander stood with twenty-eight soldiers, surrounded by a far greater enemy force.
Despite his age, the Captain moved with surprising speed. His sword flashed through the dim light, cutting down seven enemies in seconds.
Each strike was precise, economical, and deadly. Not a single motion wasted.
The guards rallied around him, inspired by his unwavering presence.
Enemies surged forward, but the Captain twisted, dodged, and struck with almost dancing grace.
Steel clashed against steel, ringing against the barracks walls.
The guard commander shouted orders, moving alongside him, but the elder Captain carried the fight.
The air was thick with tension, bloodied blades, and the sound of armor hitting stone.
Though outnumbered, he pressed on, each movement sharp and deliberate—a master of experience over youth.
The barracks became a stage for his skill, showing that strength was not only about age, but wisdom, precision, and resolve.
"One of the soldier said with a grin, 'We can win this… our commander and the elder Captain are too strong for them!'"
They laughed, spirits high, feeling invincible in the chaos of battle.
But in the next heartbeat, a figure with a glowing sphere appeared.
Without warning, the soldier in front of the elder Captain was struck down.
He fell silently, blood pooling beneath him.
The grin vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock across the soldiers' faces.
They realized—strength alone would not save them here.
The battlefield had shifted, and the enemy had just shown how deadly they could be.
The newcomer was thin and unnervingly tall, a blood-streaked sphere hovering at his side.
He laughed, a cold sound that cut through the barracks.
"Don't get too confident," he sneered.
"I'll cut your commander down… and this old man standing before you."
He pointed slowly at the solders, eyes glittering with a ridicules smile on his face.
"you will see their end if you survive from my soldiers"
Silence crashed over the men like a wave. Fear replaced their brief bravado.
The guard commander tightened his grip on his sword, jaw hard as stone.
The elder Captain's face did not show fear—only steady resolve—but his hands twitched beneath his cloak.
Around them, the soldiers swallowed hard, the truth of the threat settling like ice.
They had thought skill and courage would be enough. Now they saw something far darker.
The elder Captain and the guard commander moved together, swords raised.
They charged at the tall figure with the blood-streaked sphere.
The enemy tilted his body, dodging both attacks with unnatural speed.
Each strike from the old Captain and the commander met only air.
Sparks flew as steel clashed and the floor shook with every blow.
The soldiers behind watched, tense, hearts pounding.
The enemy's laugh rang out, low and mocking.
"You'll have to do better than that!" he said, twirling the sphere in his hand.
The guard commander lunged again, aiming a precise strike at the enemy's side.
The enemy twisted, sidestepping, then kicked the commander's leg.
The guard commander stumbled, losing his balance, hitting the floor hard.
The enemy raised the sphere, ready to strike him down.
The elder Captain's eyes narrowed, face set in grim determination.
With a swift motion, he slammed his sword against the enemy's arm, knocking him back.
The sphere clattered to the ground, the enemy momentarily staggered.
The guard commander scrambled up, gasping, saved from certain death.
The enemy growled, furious, and advanced again, sphere glowing with red light.
The elder Captain braced himself, ready for the next strike, unwavering.
The enemy's eyes gleamed as he hurled the blood-streaked sphere toward the elder Captain.
The old Captain twisted his body just in time, the sphere smashing into the wall behind him.
He turned to face the enemy—and froze.
The figure had already drawn a sword, moving with lightning speed.
Before he could react, the enemy struck at the guard commander.
The commander couldn't dodge in time, the sword piercing his chest.
But he didn't fall.
With firm resolve, he grabbed the enemy's wrist, holding the blade in place.
The enemy struggled, trying to break free, rage flashing in his eyes.
His movements became frantic, but the commander's grip didn't falter.
The elder Captain's eyes narrowed.
In a flash, he lunged forward, sword cutting through the air.
Both of the enemy's hands were severed cleanly.
He screamed, staggering to his knees, clutching the stumps.
"It hurts! It… it hurts!" he cried, blood pouring down his arms.
The sphere clattered to the ground, forgotten.
The commander held him firmly in place, eyes fierce, unwavering.
The elder Captain stepped back, chest heaving, sword ready.
Even though he was old, his movements remained precise and deadly.
The soldiers behind watched in awe, fear and hope mixing in their hearts.
Against all odds, the two leaders had turned the fight in their favor.
The enemy stumbled, sword shaking in his hands.
He saw the elder Captain's eyes—red, burning like a monster about to strike.
Fear froze him in place, his confidence crumbling.
"You… you can't… kill me!" he stammered, voice trembling.
The Captain advanced slowly, each step deliberate, deadly.
A low, furious growl escaped his throat, echoing through the barracks.
The enemy's knees weakened, terror overtaking all thought.
With a flash, the elder Captain swung his blade.
The enemy barely had time to gasp, "No… no…"
Before he could react, the blade struck—his head fell to the ground.
The remaining soldiers, witnessing this, froze in horror.
Panic erupted. They turned and fled, leaving the city barracks in silence.
The guard commander collapsed to his knees, chest pierced, blood running freely.
Around them, victory lingered, heavy with cost—but it was theirs.
The elder Captain knelt beside the guard commander, steadying him in his arms.
"Wait! Help is coming," he urged, voice firm.
"You have to stay awake… you cannot die now!"
Around them, the soldiers formed a protective circle, eyes wide, tears streaking their faces.
"Sir! Don't leave us!" one cried, voice shaking.
"No… our commander… stay with us!" another sobbed, hands trembling as they reached toward him.
The guard commander's chest heaved, blood staining his tunic, vision already blurring.
A faint, weary smile touched his lips, pride still flickering in his eyes despite the pain.
"My time… has come," he whispered, voice trembling yet calm.
"But… I am glad… I could protect you… protect the city…"
He coughed violently, blood streaking his mouth, but he forced his gaze to meet each soldier's eyes.
"Promise me… keep… our country safe… my brave soldiers…," he murmured, every word carrying the weight of his last breath.
"goodbye…"
Then his eyes slowly closed, fading like the last light of dusk.
The soldiers gasped, grief ripping through them.
Tears fell freely, their hands shaking as they gripped their weapons.
"No, Commander! Don't leave us!" one wailed, clutching his chest.
"Sir… please… stay with us!" another sobbed, voice breaking.
The elder Captain's grip tightened around the fallen man, eyes hard, furious—but gentle.
He watched helplessly as the guard commander's last breath left him.
Silence settled over the barracks, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the quiet, heartbroken cries of the soldiers.