The aftermath of the monster wave was chaos in slow motion.
Instructors barked orders. Medics rushed between injured recruits. Veteran students helped carry corpses—both monster and human—away from the training grounds.
There had been casualties. Not among the first-years, miraculously, but three veteran students were dead and seven more critically injured.
Welcome to the frontier. Where people die on a Tuesday morning before breakfast.
Arden sat on a bench near the barracks, methodically cleaning his weapons. His pistol first—disassemble, clean, oil, reassemble. Then his sword—wipe down the blade, check for chips, apply maintenance oil to prevent rust from the azure blood.
Muscle memory from a different life. A different military.
Around him, other first-years were less composed. Some were crying. Others were vomiting. A few were just staring into space, processing the fact that they'd just survived actual combat.
Garrett was shaking so badly he couldn't hold his sword steady. Serra sat alone, as always, her expression carefully neutral but her hands trembling slightly as she cleaned her blade.
Rykard was already asleep, leaning against a wall with his three swords arranged neatly beside him.
That kid's got the right idea. Sleep when you can. You never know when the next crisis hits.
"0001."
Arden looked up.
It was Number 0002.
Up close, she was... striking. Not in the conventional sense—she wasn't soft or delicate. She had sharp features, short dark hair cut in a practical style, and eyes that were far too intense for someone who should be twelve or thirteen.
Her physique was lean and athletic now, but there was something about the way she carried herself—a maturity, a confidence—that suggested she'd grow into someone formidable in more ways than one.
But it was her posture that caught his attention. The way she stood. The way she moved.
That's not normal twelve-year-old body language. That's someone who's been in life-or-death situations. Multiple times.
"Can I help you?" Arden asked.
She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
"You fight like someone who's been to war," she said finally. "Your commands. Your weapons handling. The way you moved through the battlefield." A pause. "Where did you learn?"
Careful. She's perceptive.
"Reading. Practice. Tactical manuals from the frontier wars."
"Tactical manuals don't teach you how to reload a pistol while moving through enemy fire. Or how to give commands that keep panicked recruits from breaking." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "That's experience. Real experience."
Shit. She's too perceptive.
"I've trained extensively," Arden said carefully. "My family takes frontier defense seriously. I've been preparing for this since I was six."
It wasn't entirely a lie. Arden had trained since childhood. Just not in the way she was thinking.
She continued to study him, her expression thoughtful. Almost... nostalgic?
"My name is Elara," she said finally. "Elara Varen."
Varen. I don't recognize that name from my novel. Minor nobility? Commoner family?
"Arden Valekrest."
"I know." She paused, her eyes flickering with something complicated. "You're different from what I... from what I'd heard about the Valekrest heir."
That hesitation. Like she was going to say something else.
"Different how?"
"The stories say you were dutiful but unremarkable. That you followed tradition without innovation." Elara's gaze was steady. "But today, you did things no one expected. Combined weapons fighting. Modern tactical commands. You thought like a commander, not just a swordsman."
"Is that a problem?"
"No." Her expression softened slightly. "It's... good. Unexpected, but good. You saved lives today. Your commands, your tactics—they kept the first-years organized when they should have broken."
There was something odd in her tone. Relief? Approval? Something deeper?
"Just doing what needed to be done," Arden said.
Elara's eyes flickered again—that same strange look. Recognition? Sadness?
"That's..." She stopped herself. "That's just like you."
What the hell is going on with this girl?
Before Arden could press further, Instructor Salmosa's voice boomed across the training grounds.
"ALL FIRST-YEARS, ASSEMBLE! RANKINGS ARE BEING POSTED!"
The exhausted recruits dragged themselves to their feet and gathered around the main building entrance, where a large board had been set up.
Salmosa stood beside it with a piece of parchment.
"Listen up! Your preliminary rankings were based on initial assessment. Your ACTUAL rankings are based on performance during the entrance ceremony AND today's monster wave." He began reading from the list.
"Rank 200: Number 0198..."
He worked his way up slowly. Each name called was met with reactions—relief, disappointment, determination.
Arden waited patiently. Around him, other recruits were getting increasingly nervous.
"Rank 10: Number 0056..."
Getting closer.
"Rank 9: Number 0034—Thrain Vokker."
Thrain pumped his fist quietly.
"Rank 8: Number 0067..."
"Rank 7: Number 0045..."
"Rank 6: Number 0078..."
"Rank 5: Number 0023—Rykard Voss."
Rykard's in the top five. Makes sense. That telekinesis is devastating.
"Rank 4: Number 0012—Serra Hallik."
Serra's carefully neutral expression cracked slightly. Surprise, then cautious satisfaction.
Top four. Her ice magic and technique earned that.
"Rank 3: Number 0003—Brick Hale."
That's the blonde kid with the mace. The one who demolished the chimera with accumulated force strikes.
The boy stepped forward, tattoos visible on his forearms even at thirteen. He looked pleased but unsurprised, like he'd expected to be in the top three.
"Rank 2: Number 0002—Elara Varen."
Second place. After that performance against the chimera? She should be first.
Elara's expression didn't change. She just nodded, as if she'd expected exactly this result.
That's odd. Most people would show some emotion—satisfaction, disappointment, something. She just accepted it like she already knew.
"And Rank 1..."
The entire assembly went quiet.
"Number 0001—Arden Valekrest."
I held Rank 1.
There was a mixture of reactions. Some recruits looked relieved—better him than them. Others looked resentful. A few looked calculating, already planning how to overtake him in the next assessment.
"These rankings will be updated monthly," Salmosa continued. "Top performers receive privileges—priority equipment access, advanced training opportunities, and first selection for Integration core assignments when they become available."
Integration cores. That's what I'm really here for.
"Bottom half receives mandatory remedial training until improvement is demonstrated. Rankings are NOT fixed. Work hard, and you can climb. Get lazy, and you'll fall."
Salmosa dismissed them, and the crowd dispersed.
Arden was heading back to the barracks when Elara caught up to him.
"Rank 1," she said. "Congratulations."
"You should be Rank 1. Your performance against the chimera was far more impressive than anything I did."
Elara shook her head. "I have raw power and technique. You have something more valuable—command presence. Leadership. You kept dozens of recruits alive who should have died." She paused. "That's worth more than killing one chimera."
She's not wrong. But there's something else in her tone. Like she's making a comparison to something.
They walked in silence for a moment before Elara spoke again.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Have you ever thought about military strategy? About theories for fighting monsters more efficiently?"
That's a weirdly specific question.
"I think about it constantly. Why?"
Elara's expression was difficult to read. "Because I think someone with your mind—with your tactical thinking—could change how the frontier fights. Could develop strategies that save thousands of lives."
That's... oddly optimistic coming from someone I just met.
"Like what?" Arden asked, genuinely curious.
She was quiet for a moment, then spoke carefully. "Like identifying apex predators in monster waves. If every wave has a 'father' controlling it, killing that one creature could scatter the rest." She paused. "Or using terrain and weather against monsters instead of fighting them on equal ground. Winter, especially—the North's greatest weapon isn't swords or mana. It's the cold itself."
Those are... actually brilliant ideas. Why is she suggesting them to me?
"You've thought about this a lot," Arden observed.
"I've seen what happens when people don't think strategically. When they just throw bodies at problems until the bodies run out." Her voice was quiet. "I don't want to see that again."
Again? That's an odd word choice.
"You talk like you've experienced it," Arden said carefully.
Elara's expression closed off. "I've read histories. Studied past monster waves. The casualties are always devastating because people keep making the same mistakes." She looked at him directly. "You're different. You think differently. You could be someone who changes things."
She's putting a lot of faith in someone she just met. Or...
Or she knows something I don't.
"Why are you telling me this?" Arden asked.
Elara was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Because I believe in you. Because I think you're someone who could become..." She stopped herself. "Someone important. Someone who makes a difference."
There's something she's not saying. Something she almost said but caught herself.
"You don't even know me," Arden pointed out.
"Maybe not yet." Elara's smile was sad and complicated. "But I'd like to. If you'll let me."
Before Arden could respond, she continued.
"I have a younger sister. At Imperial Academy. She's... she's important to me. The most important person in my life." Elara's expression hardened with determination. "I came to Northern Military Academy because I need to get stronger. Strong enough to protect her. Strong enough to change things."
There's a story there. A big one.
"What's your sister's name?"
"Lyanna. Lyanna Varen." Elara's expression softened when she said the name. "She's brilliant. Talented. Everything I could hope for. But the world is dangerous, and talent isn't enough. I need to be strong enough to stand between her and everything that could hurt her."
Wait Lyanna a Heroine?
"That's a heavy burden to carry alone," Arden said.
Elara looked at him sharply, something flickering in her eyes. "Yes. It is. Which is why..." She trailed off. "Which is why I want to be stronger. Why I'll do whatever it takes."
She turned to leave, then paused.
"I owe you a debt, Arden Valekrest. For today. For keeping people alive. For..." She hesitated. "For being someone worth believing in."
She walked away before he could respond.
Arden stood there, processing everything.
What the hell was that conversation?
She talked about me like she already knows what I'm capable of. Like she's seen it before.
The way she suggested those strategies—the father monster theory, the winter dominance tactics—it was like she was reminding me of things I should already know.
And that debt she mentioned. She said it like it was something she'd been carrying for a while. But we just met.
There's something going on here. Something I'm missing.
He shook his head and headed back to the barracks.
----
Elara walked away from Arden, her heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the earlier battle.
He's different.
So different from what I remember.
She found a quiet corner near the training grounds and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.
The memories came flooding back. Not from this life. From the one before.
From the timeline where she'd stood beside Arden Valekrest and watched him become a legend.
Six years ago. No—twenty-four years ago, in another life.
She'd been eighteen. He'd been eighteen too, both of them fresh recruits at Northern Military Academy.
She'd noticed him immediately because he was strange.
Arden Valekrest, heir to a Grand Duchy, who handled a pistol like he'd been born with one but fumbled with basic sword forms like a complete novice.
"Your stance is wrong," she'd told him during their first week of training. "You're holding the sword like... I don't even know what you're holding it like. Have you never trained with a blade before?"
He'd looked embarrassed. "I've trained. Just... not extensively."
"You're from a ducal family. How is that possible?"
"Family situation. It's complicated."
But his pistol work? Flawless. He could reload while moving, fire with pinpoint accuracy, switch between targets with efficiency that even the instructors praised.
"Where did you learn to shoot like that?" she'd asked.
"Studied it extensively," he'd said, which was clearly a non-answer.
The other students had mocked him. Called him the "Gun Duke." Laughed at how he struggled with sword techniques that they'd mastered as children.
But Elara had been intrigued.
Because despite his terrible swordsmanship, Arden's tactical mind was brilliant. During group exercises, he'd give commands that turned chaotic situations into organized victories. He thought three steps ahead. He saw patterns others missed.
"You're wasted on the front lines," she'd told him after one particularly impressive tactical exercise. "You should be a strategist. A commander."
"Maybe," he'd said. "But commanders need to understand combat. I need to get better at fighting."
So she'd helped him.
Trained with him. Corrected his sword forms. Beat the "strange habits" out of him—the way he'd grip his weapon like he was holding something else, the way he'd move like he expected different physics, the way he'd use terminology that didn't quite match their military doctrine.
"Where do you even learn this stuff?" she'd asked after correcting the same mistake for the tenth time. "It's like you're fighting in a completely different style that just... doesn't exist here."
"Just picked up bad habits," he'd said. "I'll fix them."
And he had. Slowly. Painfully. Through sheer determination and endless practice.
They'd become friends. Then partners. Then something more.
She'd watched him struggle. Watched him stay up night after night, studying monster patterns, developing theories that the instructors called "revolutionary."
"If every wave has an apex predator—a 'father'—then killing it should scatter the rest," he'd explained to her once, exhausted, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. "We're wasting resources fighting the entire wave when we should be hunting the leader."
"That's brilliant," she'd said.
"It's obvious," he'd replied. "I don't understand why no one's thought of it before."
But they hadn't. His mind worked differently. Saw patterns others missed.
She'd been there when he'd developed the Winter Dominance doctrine. Watched him pull his hair out trying to figure out how to weaponize the North's brutal cold.
"We're fighting against the weather," he'd muttered, pacing in his room at two in the morning. "When we should be using it. The monsters hate the cold too. We should be driving them into it, not trying to fight in spite of it."
She'd been there when he'd coughed up blood from overwork. When he'd collapsed from exhaustion after three days without sleep, trying to solve a tactical problem that had cost them a hundred soldiers.
"I could have saved them," he'd said, tears streaming down his face. "If I'd been smarter. If I'd seen the pattern earlier. They'd still be alive."
"You can't save everyone," she'd told him, holding him while he broke down.
"Then what's the point of any of this?" he'd whispered.
But he'd kept going. Kept pushing. Kept revolutionizing how the military operated.
The titles had piled up over the years:
The Child of War
The Father of Monster Theory
The Winter Sovereign
Humanity's Greatest General
The Hero of the Northern Continent—
And she'd been there. Standing beside him. Fighting beside him.
She'd loved him. Openly, desperately, completely.
And he'd loved her back.
"I couldn't do this without you," he'd told her once, after a particularly brutal battle. "You keep me sane. Keep me human."
"Then don't push me away," she'd said. "Don't shoulder everything alone."
"I'll try," he'd promised.
But he'd still tried to protect her. Still tried to keep her out of the worst fights. Still shouldered more than any one person should.
And then the final wave had come.
The one that killed him.
She'd been there when he'd fallen, his body broken, surrounded by monster corpses.
"I'm sorry," he'd whispered, his hand in hers. "I'm sorry I couldn't... couldn't finish what we started."
"Don't," she'd sobbed. "Don't you dare apologize. You saved everyone. You held the line."
"Not everyone," he'd said. Then he'd stopped breathing.
She'd held his body and screamed until her voice gave out.
Then everything had gone white.
Elara opened her eyes, back in the present.
Back in her twelve-year-old body, with a second chance she didn't deserve.
But I have it. And I'm not wasting it.
She'd woken up as a child again, before she'd enrolled in the academy. Before she'd met Arden. Before everything.
The first thing she'd done was cry. Cried for three days straight, mourning the man she'd loved and lost.
The second thing she'd done was make a plan.
This time will be different.
This time, I'll be stronger. I'll be there from the beginning.
I'll stand beside him, not just support him. I'll shoulder what he shoulders.
I won't let him carry everything alone.
She'd trained like a demon. Pushed herself harder than ever. Enrolled in Northern Military Academy instead of waiting to meet him later.
And then she'd seen him today.
Fighting with perfect pistol and sword coordination. Giving tactical commands like a veteran. Moving with combat efficiency that had taken him YEARS to develop in the other timeline.
He's already different.
In my timeline, he was terrible at fighting when he started. He compensated with strategy and tactics, but his personal combat skills were his weakness for years.
But this Arden... he fights like he's been doing it for decades.
He has none of those strange habits I had to beat out of him. He holds his sword correctly. He moves efficiently.
What changed?
She didn't know. But it filled her with hope and confusion in equal measure.
Maybe he won't have to suffer like he did before.
Maybe he won't need to spend years learning to fight while his tactical genius is wasted.
Maybe this timeline will be better.
But it also meant she couldn't rely on her memories completely. This Arden was different. Better at combat. But would he still develop those revolutionary theories? Would he still become the man she'd known?
I have to make sure he does. I have to guide him—subtly—toward the discoveries that saved thousands of lives.
That's why she'd suggested the strategies. The father monster theory. The winter dominance doctrine.
Planting seeds. Reminding him—even if he didn't know he needed reminding.
This time, Arden Valekrest.
This time, I'll be strong enough from the start.
Strong enough to stand beside the Child of War.
Strong enough to support Humanity's Greatest General.
Strong enough to save the Hero of the Northern Continent.
You won't shoulder everything alone.
I promise.
----
Arden lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling.
The barracks were quiet now. Most recruits had passed out from exhaustion.
Two days at Northern Military Academy. Survived a monster wave. Got Rank 1. And somehow picked up a mysterious girl who acts like she knows my future.
He thought about Elara's suggestions. The strategies she'd mentioned.
The Father Monster Theory—every wave has an apex predator coordinating it. Kill that, and the rest scatters.
That's... actually brilliant. I should develop that properly. Test it. Turn it into formal doctrine.
And the Winter Dominance concept—using the North's cold as a weapon instead of just enduring it. That could revolutionize frontier defense.
Why didn't I think of these when I was writing the novel?
Wait no its because i'm the author and a former soldier that I can think of and do this.
He pulled out a small notebook from his pack. Started writing.
Strategic Doctrines - Draft 1
Theory: Every monster wave operates under apex predator coordination. Hypothesis: Eliminate the "father" creature, and the wave loses cohesion.
Test conditions needed: Identify behavioral patterns. Determine command structure. Develop hunting protocols for alpha targets.
He continued writing, his military training from his past life combining with his knowledge of this world's monsters.
This could work. This could actually save thousands of lives.
But why does it feel like I'm remembering something instead of creating something new?
He shook off the thought and kept writing.
Tomorrow, training would begin in earnest. And Arden would start building the foundation for everything that came after.
One step at a time.