Chapter 0 — That Night, the Stars Bloomed Upon the Blade
War always begins with a smell. The damp scent of earth soaked in blood. The metallic tang of rust seeping from open wounds. The stench of sweat baked into worn boots, and burnt flesh clinging to the air. And above all, the lingering trace no living man can escape—the scent of death.
It arrives before reason,and lingers long after victory or defeat.
The raiders from the West crossed the border. Fortresses in the North burned to the ground. The North cried for vengeance, the Emperor in the Center declared war in the name of order, the South pledged loyalty, and the East waited for its chance.
It all began as a war for the nation and its order. Years have passed, reasons fade, and it became easier not to ask why.
I first picked up a sword in that stench of war—and even now, drenched in it, I still wield one swinging it.
Leaders change, flags rise and fall, but this stench—this dreadful, familiar smell—remains. That's the only face of war I've come to know.
I don't know how it began, or who's right and who's wrong. I just fight so that I can live for another day, to see the sun tomorrow. And the reason my comrades scream and charge beside me— is bitterly the same.
We kill to survive, we endure so we won't be killed. That's all there is to war for us.
"Squad Leader! The barricade's collapsing!" "Hold the line! If that wall breaks, we're all dead!" "Cavalry incoming! Are reinforcements even coming?!" "Just a little longer! We'll all make it through—together!"
Under the Blue Chain Legion of the Twelve Hearts Division of the Central Army, our unit—Fourth Squad was always sent to the filthiest, most hopeless corners of the battlefield.
We were called the frontline, but in truth, we were just expendable. No one remembered us,but somehow,we always survived.
"Hah… guess we made it out alive again." "If you hadn't made that call back there, we'd be dead for sure." "Yeah, if not for the squad leader, we'd be corpses by now. Well for the higher-ups they would've just used us as meat shields." "No. We survived because you all held your ground." "Hey, that spear technique you used—where'd you learn that?" "Learned? I just swung the damn thing. Those idiots ran into it themselves." "Still looked pretty good. Teach me sometime!" "Hmm… maybe. But favors don't come free, you know?" "Oh come on! It wasn't even a real technique!"
We had no proper tactics, no formal training—but we learned from each other how to survive.
"By the way, Squad Leader, you are younger than us, right?" "Yeah, but you talk like some grizzled old veteran." "Feels like you've lived three wars already." "'Old Man Squad Leader' suits you better!"
And somehow, we began to rely on each other.
"Hey, did you hear? The kid's been seeing someone." "Oh? Who is it this time? That waitress from the mess hall? Or the widow at the flower shop?" "Ah, come on! Not this again!" "Enough chatter. Check your gear—it's getting dark soon."
In this madness called war, we clung to the last fragments of our humanity.
But war, as it always does, takes everything without warning.
That night—past midnight—in the same ravine we crossed a hundred times, they were waiting for us.
"Ambu—! Enemy attack!" "AAAAH!!" "Fall bac—!"
Ah... It's that smell again. The one so familiar it's lost all meaning—the scent of death.
My comrades fell screaming, one by one, and before I could even react, a spear tore through my gut,throwing me into the mud.
That night,the stars bloomed upon the blade.
Under a black sky, amid the corpses of my brothers, the stars rained down like silent witnesses.
The cold bit deep. The air reeked of iron and blood, and Death pressed close.
I laughed weakly. "Heh… guess this is it. Still, I lasted longer than I thought…"
The taste of blood silenced the rest of my words. And then—from somewhere deep,not in my mind,but in my heart—a voice spoke.
{Do you truly wish to die?]
It was a whisper, soft and quiet—but it pierced through me like the sharpest of blades. Someone no something was watching. The same thing that had seen the depths of my soul. And in that question, I found my answer.
It was regret.
Once, I also had a dream. To be a proper knight. To end the war. To be remembered as a hero. But poverty, despair, and endless survival turned me into nothing more than a cog obeying orders.
And when I looked up at those who actually achieved their dream and stood high above me -- their swords gleaming, their words righteous, their presence blinding— I could only look away.
Not because their light hurt my eyes, but because I believed I had no right to face it.
Most of all—I wanted to protect my comrades. Those who pulled me out of the pit I'd buried myself in. Those who endured beside me. And now, as they fell screaming, I could do nothing.
I wanted to survive..no live—with them. And now that smallest of wishes had slipped away, I hated myself I hated my impotent self.
All of it—the blood, the rage, the grief—boiled within me.
"…I wanted to be a hero…I wanted to live…I wanted to protect them…I wanted to dream…"
And then—the world grew silent. The stench of blood gave way to a strange scent, like the fog after rain.
{Do you wish to die here?}
I forced my head up,and through the haze and blood,I saw them.
A black-haired man draped in robes, his smile carrying the scent of murder. And beside him—a silver-haired knight in shining armor, eyes calm, bearing the dignity that reminds me of a lion.
Maybe they were illusions. Maybe my dying mind was showing me ghosts. But one thing was certain—I wasn't dead yet.
{If you wish to live, move your body.} [If you cannot move, then move your will.]
The world twisted.And that night—something was born within me.
The will of one who survives upon the edge of death. A faint spark of belief. A small, yet unmistakable awakening.
That night,the stars bloomed upon the blade. And I—took that very star into my soul.