The idea of being sent to another world intrigued me when I first learned about it. I read through novels and manga, watched movies, saw anime. It was escapism. The concept of running away to a different reality where things were far more interesting than my regular life.
That was a foolish way of looking at the lucky life I'd lived. I had been given luxury, and yet I so easily sought to throw it away?
In the end, regardless of my desires, none of it mattered. I didn't choose to be sent to this world.
I had died. It was abrupt, no miraculous death by the legendary Truck-kun, no heroic death saving a person's life in exchange for mine, nothing interesting. I simply keeled over from a heart attack at the ripe old age of nineteen.
I'd had zero health complications, didn't eat poorly, and wasn't allergic to anything. Perhaps it was magic that had ripped me from my world. Or some cruel joke by the gods to watch a stupid kid flounder about in war.
In any case, thinking about my origins wouldn't help keep me alive, and unfortunately, unlike all the stories, I didn't receive some magical ability, or system, or cheat to help keep me alive.
No, instead I had my weapons, luck, and the somewhat trustworthy comrades by my side.
Another explosion painted the sky red as the magical bombardment on Fort Reddrin continued unabated. The thump of impact echoed across the river valley, followed by the distant crumbling of stone.
Adjusting the hood over my helmet, I idly wondered if I should hang the cloak up for this battle. I liked wearing it, it concealed my armor and weapons, kept me warm, protected me from the elements, and wasn't long enough to get in the way during combat.
But I also didn't want it to get ruined during this siege. Maybe I'd see what the squad leader wanted us to do for this fight. If we were part of the main assault, I'd probably stuff it away.
Nodding my head at that, I turned away from the rapid explosions pounding against the walls and started picking my way back toward the camp I was stationed at.
My boots squelched in the muddy riverbank, and my mismatched armor rattled with each step, the steel vambrace clinking against my chest plate, the lamellar gloves creaking as I flexed my fingers.
Almost all the information I'd gotten from the Squad of Destiny had been incorrect. We didn't total two thousand in troops. No, we had four thousand soldiers, totaling four entire battalions. Our battle group made up the largest buildup of troops in this war thus far.
With ten different camps spread out along the bank of the river that passed by the fortress, it was a stunning sight to see. Cookfires dotted the landscape like fallen stars, and the low murmur of thousands of voices blended into a constant hum, punctuated by the occasional shout or burst of laughter.
Thousands of soldiers going about their business, making last-minute preparations for the battle.
It sounded like overkill for a little fort. That is, until you realized the info on the fort had been wrong too. That would have made sense had I thought a little bit about it instead of turning into a crayon-chewing numbskull.
Two thousand men for a fort of only one hundred and fifty? A bit overkill... until you saw the actual fortification. It was a fortress city with a garrison likely closer to a thousand.
Letting out a sigh of stress, I ran a hand over my face before marching through camp, weaving past a hundred soldiers all making last-minute preparations. If I had any clue what I was talking about, the first assault would begin in an hour. That meant I had to find my squad leader and figure out what my role in this massive mess would be.
Wandering around for a bit and pestering some squad leaders here and there, I eventually found Krantz and my squad. Joining the line, I straightened my posture and noted that we had new faces. It made sense, we'd taken casualties. What that meant was we'd have complete rookies joining us during a siege.
I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity. Did the Empire want them to just die? Closing my eyes, I decided to stay silent, my jaw clenching. Odds were that I was looking at dead men, if I wasn't a dead man myself.
"Alright ladies," Krantz spoke up after he finished fiddling with his chest plate, giving it a final pat. His voice was more serious than the usual aggrandizing tone he used, and his usual cocky grin was absent. Even he knew this battle was serious. "We've got ourselves a real fortress to take on here. We're going to be part of the second wave hitting the northern wall."
He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling.
"That's both good and bad news. It means we're not the fodder getting chewed up in the first wave, but it does mean we're likely going to be one of the first groups to scale the walls with ladders. Odds are..." He gestured vaguely toward the fortress. "The first wave might get the ladders close, but I don't hold much faith in them reaching the ramparts."
This was sounding better by the second. Who didn't want to be the first guy to climb onto a wall filled with enemy soldiers?
"Our engineering corps have been working since last night to construct pavises, wooden barricades, for our approach, so keep your heads down, and you'll be just fine." He said that mostly to the four new faces in the squad, making eye contact with each of them, because the more experienced of us didn't believe that for a second. I caught myself shifting my weight from foot to foot.
"Let's see... we take the wall, then work our way west through the rampart and force our way into the gate tower." Krantz traced the path in the air with his finger. "The ultimate goal of our company is going to be capturing that gate, along with putting pressure on the defenders."
He clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and final.
"Sounds simple, right?" he finished with a confident grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
We're so dead.
—
Standing in formation, I stared in mild disbelief at the earthen platform that had been raised through magic.
The ground had risen, dirt and stone flowing upward like water frozen mid-splash, compacting into a solid stage ten feet high. I'd seen magic used for destruction plenty of times, but seeing it used for something as mundane as building a speaking platform was a first.
Approaching the platform and walking up the magically carved steps was an absolute unit of a man. Dressed in full plate metal armor that caught the light from the setting sun, with a flowing black cape and the biggest greatsword I'd ever seen strapped to his waist, was the regimental commander for this taskforce.
Each step he took rang out with the clank of metal on stone, the sound cutting through the murmur of four thousand assembled soldiers. The cape billowed behind him despite the lack of wind, and I couldn't tell if that was magic or just dramatic timing.
He was a middle-aged man with short-cut salt-and-pepper hair, a well-groomed beard, and a stare that made you think you had personally wronged him, and that he would spend the rest of his life, and potentially his unnatural life, making you pay for that slight.
Around me, soldiers straightened unconsciously. Even Krantz, who never shut up, had gone silent. I swallowed hard and kept my eyes forward, my hand instinctively tightening around my spear.
I was a relatively uninformed grunt, but in the twenty-minutes leading up to this speech, I'd heard one name echoed enough times to understand who I was looking at.
Gellart Claudius, a regimental commander of the Highserk Empire. It was a chilling thought that this man wasn't actually that high up on the totem pole.
Gellart reached the top of the platform and surveyed the assembled force before him. The murmur of voices died instantly as his gaze swept over us.
He didn't shout, but his voice carried across the field with unnatural clarity, cutting through the air like he was using a megaphone.
"Soldiers of Highserk."
The words hung in the air, heavy with authority.
"Before you stands Fort Reddrin. A Libertoan stronghold. A symbol of their resistance. A mistake they built on our road." He gestured toward the fortress with one gauntleted hand, and I swear I felt the wind pick up. "Inside those walls cower a thousand defenders. Fat merchants playing at soldier. Conscripts who thought stone would save them. And cowards, cowards who fled the field of battle and now hide behind their mothers' skirts, praying we'll simply go away."
A rumble of dark laughter rippled through the formation.
"They will not get their prayers answered."
Gellart's hand moved to rest on the pommel of his greatsword, the blade easily as tall as I was.
"The Libertoan Trade Federation thought they could strike at our Empire. Thought they could bleed our commerce and hide behind their walls when we came for recompense. They thought wrong." His voice hardened, each word striking like a hammer. "Tonight, we will teach them the cost of challenging Highserk. Tonight, we will show them what happens when you provoke the wolf and then cower in your shack."
He drew the massive greatsword in one smooth motion, the sound of steel leaving its sheath ringing out like a bell.
"In one hour, the assault begins. The first wave will soften their defenses. The second wave will break their walls. The third wave will drown them in our fury." He pointed the greatsword toward the fortress, and I felt the bloodlust radiating from four thousand soldiers like heat from a forge. "We will take that fortress. We will slaughter every man who raises a blade against us. We will tear down their banners and raise our own over their broken bodies."
Gellart's voice rose, not to a shout, but to something more raw. A promise of violence.
"And when the sun rises tomorrow, the Libertoan commanders hiding in that stone coffin will understand a simple truth: there is no wall high enough, no fortress strong enough, no prayer fervent enough to save you from Highserk's wrath."
He slammed the point of his greatsword into the earthen platform with enough force that I felt the vibration through my boots fifty yards away.
"Tonight, we feast on their fear. Tonight, we paint their walls red. Tonight, Fort Reddrin falls, and every Libertoan pig inside learns why the Northern Archipelago trembles at our name!"
His voice finally rose to a roar on the last words, and four thousand soldiers responded as one.
"HIGHSERK! HIGHSERK! HIGHSERK!"
The chant shook the ground. Spears hammered against shields in rhythm. The sound rolled across the river like thunder, and I imagined the defenders inside those walls hearing it, feeling it in their bones, knowing what was coming for them.
Gellart stood atop his platform, silhouetted against the burning fortress walls behind him, cape billowing in the wind, and I understood in that moment why Highserk was feared.
I gripped my spear tighter, adrenaline flooding my veins. My heart hammered against my ribs. Around me, my squadmates joined in the shouting, their voices raw and fierce. Krantz was grinning like a madman, his eyes wild with bloodlust. The rookies who'd looked terrified moments ago were screaming themselves hoarse. Milo was beating his shield with the pommel of his sword. Even the grizzled veterans who'd seen countless battles were caught up in it.
The aura was so infectious that even I, cynical, cautious, just-trying-to-survive me, found myself joining in the chanting.
"HIGHSERK! HIGHSERK! HIGHSERK!"
My voice joined the thunder. My spear rose with the others. The fear didn't disappear, but it transformed into something hot and primal that made my blood sing.
It was a good distraction from the simple fact that we were truly going to war, and nobody could say just how many of us would walk away alive.