A gentle spring rain had just passed, leaving the earth glistening with dew. A few larks streaked across the pale morning sky, their cries echoing faintly over the damp fields.
A small patrol of Smart Empire soldiers crept cautiously forward. Ordered to scout five miles from their main camp—situated less than ten miles from the Silver Wolf Legion—they found themselves at the very edge of enemy patrol territory. Both sides' paths could cross at any moment, and that thought alone was enough to make these poorly trained soldiers tremble.
Perhaps fate delights in irony—for the more one fears ghosts, the more swiftly they appear. As the Smart soldiers turned a small earthen mound, they came face to face with a Vanter Empire patrol. The contrast was instant and brutal: the Smart soldiers spun on their heels and fled in panic, while the Vanter patrol let out a ferocious roar and charged with drawn blades.
Among them was a towering youth wielding an enormous cleaver. His shouts split the air as he sprinted ahead, closing the distance with astonishing speed. Within moments, he caught up and cleaved down the rearmost Smart soldier with a single devastating blow.
The rest of the Smart troops turned to fight, desperation twisting their faces. Swords flashed, yet the young warrior met each strike with effortless precision, his cleaver intercepting and countering their blows. In the chaos, he felled several more before his comrades caught up, surrounding and cutting the remaining enemy soldiers to the ground.
Ray knelt beside the fallen foes, his expression grim. With careful precision, he severed their heads and tied them together with a length of rope. A grizzled veteran clapped him on the shoulder, laughing roughly.
"Not bad, lad! In three short days you've dropped more than fifty of those bastards. Ha! I've been a soldier for ten years and never seen a rookie like you. But don't throw your life away—keep your wits about you."
Ray forced a weary smile. "Uncle Orr, I don't want to be reckless. But when I see them… I lose all control. My brothers—they killed them all. Five hundred and thirty thousand men, wiped out in a single night… their faces still haunt me. I have to make them pay, even if it's only a little."
Orr's laughter faded. He sighed deeply and drew the boy into a rough embrace, murmuring under his breath,
"Gods above… if you truly exist, why do you curse this land with endless war? Look at this child—so young, and already broken by bloodshed…"
Ray tightened his grip on the rope of severed heads and followed the patrol back to camp. His voice was a low murmur, almost gentle.
"Heh… I've earned nearly two hundred gold coins now. Even if I don't make it back, Mother will live well for the rest of her days. Bitt, Ollie… don't worry. I won't abandon you. You never left me—and I'll never leave you."
Inside the Smart army's command tent, Count Carlin slammed his fist on the armrest of his gilded chair and shouted in disbelief,
"Five hundred patrols lost in three days? Impossible! Gods, the Smart Empire's glorious army truly lives up to its name—the weakest rabble on the continent!"
He ranted on, heedless of the tight-lipped silence among his senior officers.
"When I ran night raids during imperial drills, I broke through three elite camps in a single evening! Yet now, with over a hundred thousand men at my command, I can't even crush a camp of less than ten thousand? Have I grown stupid—or are my commanders simply useless? No, no… General Sharin was once one of Vanter's best, so it must be the soldiers who are worthless, isn't that right?"
Carlin's mocking laughter filled the tent, while the assembled officers sat stiff with humiliation and rage. None dared speak—after all, without Carlin's cunning misdirection, the Vanter army would have overrun them days ago. Even their earlier victories owed much to Carlin's father—the Empire's Prime Minister—whose spies had sown chaos behind enemy lines.
Stretching lazily, Carlin propped his boots on the table, ran his hand along the hip of the female mage beside him, and bit into an apple.
"Enough talk. Let's waste a few more days toying with them, then start turning up the pressure. Send word to young Karoka—tell him to march at once, and make it loud. I want every soldier stomping hard enough for the Vanter scouts to see their dust from ten miles away."
General Sharin inclined his head. "Lord Carlin, once Karoka's army arrives, shall we combine forces and strike them head-on?"
Carlin spat out a peel of apple, narrowly missing the general.
"Strike them? Are you insane? Every dead soldier costs me a hundred gold coins in compensation! Damn it, losing over a hundred patrols a day already hurts enough. No more casualties! Wait for Karoka to arrive, and then… you'll have my orders. Until then, no battles—understood?"
Before Sharin could answer, Carlin muttered under his breath,
"Who was the fool who set the compensation so high? And why publish it, leaving me no room to skim a little off the top…"
The tent fell silent. None dared reply.
When Ray and his patrol returned, they presented their grisly trophies to the quartermaster. After counting and confirming the kills, Ray collected his reward. Under supervision, the heads were burned, and he returned to his tent. There, he carefully tallied his coins, then sought out the logistics officer who handled correspondence. Paying three silver coins, he asked for his earnings to be sent to Kali Village.
Along with the gold went a short letter—dictated by Ray and written by the officer—explaining that all was well, and that the money should be divided evenly among the families of those who had joined the army. He added twenty extra gold coins for his mother; enough, he hoped, to keep her comfortable for the next twenty years.
Knowing Ray had caught the attention of General Balu, the officer sealed the parcel carefully with thick red wax and handed it to a courier. Ray watched in silence as the package disappeared into the soldier's hands. A faint sigh escaped his lips before he turned to leave.
Behind him, the officer murmured, "Another one who's seen through life and death. Thirty years I've served, and I'd wager this boy won't live out the year. Gods… what do we turn them into?"
Ray heard the words but made no sound. His hand tightened around his sword hilt. The fear in his heart still lingered—but it had dulled, numbed by resolve. At seventeen, he had already given everything for his family. Now that his mother was safe, the rest of his life belonged to his fallen brothers. His purpose was clear: Kill Carlin.
Even if fear remained, there was no retreat. If he fled, General Balu—the strictest commander in the Vanter army—would be the first to execute him.
He exhaled heavily and strode toward the central command tent. Rumor had it that reinforcements from several nearby lords had begun to arrive. Strange—when Duke Green had begged for aid, none had come. But now, with his army shattered and the Smart Empire pressing in, they appeared one after another, eager to show loyalty.
Did they not realize that if they had joined forces earlier, they might have already repelled the invaders?
Ray shook his head in quiet disbelief and entered the largest tent. Soldiers stepped aside with respect—not for his title as Balu's aide, but for his deeds. Among the Vanter army, true honor was earned only through blood.
General Balu regarded the newly arrived nobles and their troops with a heavy heart. When Duke Green had been desperate, these same lords had refused to send a single man. Worse, they had raised the price of urgently needed arms, striking him when he was already down.
Now, with the Smart army threatening the western province, they suddenly arrived in force—eighteen thousand elite soldiers among them, well-trained and battle-hardened.
Balu seethed inwardly. Damn these nobles… each of their private armies rivals the Empire's own legions. If three lords can muster eighteen thousand elite troops, what of seventeen provinces? Their combined might could overshadow the Emperor's entire army…
Outwardly, however, he smiled.
"My lords, the Empire thanks you for your timely aid. Our goal is not annihilation, but containment. We must hold the enemy here, prevent them from advancing deeper into the province, and await the arrival of reinforcements from the capital. The three imperial legions are already on their way. Once they arrive, the Smart Empire will be crushed."
The hall erupted in shouts of agreement. "Hold the line! Stand fast!"
The nobles' hearts swelled with pride. Over two hundred thousand soldiers now stood united—enough to defy even forty thousand Smart troops. Their anti-mage ballistae, a hundred in total, gleamed under the sun, promising death to any spellcaster. Victory seemed certain.
Even Balu allowed himself a faint smile. For once, defeat felt impossible.
At dawn, five thousand Silver Wolf soldiers marched out in perfect formation, their armor gleaming. At the vanguard rode a silver-ranked knight, laughing boldly.
"Come forth, warriors of the Smart Empire! Face us in open combat! Let your courage—or your cowardice—be seen!"
The Smart camp was silent. General Sharin's jaw clenched. According to knightly custom, such a challenge demanded equal engagement—but five thousand against five thousand was madness.
"Send five thousand men? Am I insane? Even a fool wouldn't do that!" he muttered bitterly.
He turned to his trembling troops and sighed. "If I had even ten thousand trained soldiers here—no, five thousand would do—I'd crush that arrogant whelp myself. A silver-ranked knight, so bold… unless—"
Then he saw it: sunlight glinting on distant gold. Two hundred elite Vanter knights were advancing behind the main force—thirty of them golden-ranked. At their head rode General Balu, his strange longblade humming softly.
Any thought of counterattack died instantly. To face two hundred Vanter elites would require six hundred of his own high-ranked knights—forces he did not possess.
Carlin, growing impatient, rose into the air with a dozen high mages, his voice booming:
"Knights of Vanter! Do not let arrogance blind you! I, Count Carlin, challenge you to single combat! Send forth your champion, if you dare. Or are Vanter mages too frightened to face me?"
Balu laughed thunderously. "Carlin, you fool! This is war, not a tournament. You want a duel? Bring your legions, and we'll settle it properly! If you're too afraid, send ten thousand men—I'll oblige you, and I won't mock your cowardice afterward! Hahaha!"
Carlin's teeth ground audibly. Balu's laughter only deepened.
"What's wrong, little count? Lost your nerve? Then crawl back to your tent!"
White battle aura flared around him, and his body lifted from the ground. The black light of his blade split the air with a thunderous hum.
Carlin surged forward in fury, but his mages seized him. An elderly archmage shouted,
"Count Carlin! Your life is worth more than this entire army! Would you squander it fighting a brute?"
Choking on rage, Carlin could only retreat, storming back to camp and kicking every soldier in his path before disappearing into his tent.
The Vanter host erupted in laughter, their voices booming like thunder across the plains.
Sharin bit his lip till it bled. Across the field, Balu's eyes met his.
"Sharin, my old friend! Care to try your luck again? Last time in the capital, I broke two of your ribs—shall I finish the job today?"
Sharin's eyes blazed with fury, but he turned away, retreating in humiliation.
The morale of the Smart army collapsed completely.
Among the cheering ranks, Ray stared at Balu in awe. To stand alone against two enemy commanders and leave them both cowering—what greater pride could a soldier know? A spark ignited in his heart. If I am ever to become a true warrior… I must become like him.
Balu lowered his sword and gave his order: "Archers, three volleys—then withdraw."
His voice carried across the field, and the Smart soldiers raised their shields in panic. Three storms of arrows darkened the sky, and when they cleared, the Vanter army was already retreating. Not a man in the Smart ranks was harmed, yet their spirit lay shattered.
Balu sighed atop his horse. "If not for their ten thousand mages, I would charge now and finish this. Ah… if only our Empire possessed such arcane power…"
Days passed. Each dawn, the Vanter army challenged; each day, the Smart army cowered behind its walls.
Carlin stood within his tent, listening to the distant roars of the Vanter warriors, his voice low and venomous:
"Laugh while you can, cursed Vanter dogs… laugh, Smart fools… enjoy it while it lasts. The lords of the three provinces must be lowering their guard by now. Yes… it's time for Karoka to march."