Magnus: Finally, we arrived at the camp. They handed us standard-issue iron swords and assigned us to the 38th Battalion. Looking at the soldiers around me, one thing became clear: their spirits were already broken. They were hollow shells, men who had seen too much death. In my eyes, such people are the easiest to lead—or to manipulate.
As we settled in, a small group approached us.
"Hey there. You two the new recruits?"
A young man with messy black hair and a lean, muscular build stepped forward. His eyes had the sharpness of a veteran. "I'm Legend. Good to meet you."
Behind him stood a small girl with snowy white hair and a quiet demeanor. "I... I'm Prina. Nice to meet you."
Next was a burly, slightly heavyset fellow who looked like he could take a hit. "Name's Gron."
And finally, a girl who stood out from the rest. She looked about eighteen, with striking crimson hair and skin as pale as porcelain. Her eyes were piercingly cold. "I'm Alya," she said shortly.
"The woman standing by the bonfire over there is our 2nd Lieutenant," Legend added, gesturing toward a stern-looking officer. "She leads this squad. Don't mind the others; they aren't big on small talk."
"I'm Magnus," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. I gestured to the armored figure beside me. "And this is Rina. She's not much of a talker either."
The Night Watch
Night fell swiftly over the camp. I sat by the fire, listening to the rhythmic crackle of the wood, pretending not to notice the Lieutenant watching me from a higher vantage point. I was deep in thought about gold. In any world, money is the ultimate lubricant for the gears of power. As the saying goes: "If money can't solve a problem, more money will."
My solitude was interrupted by Legend. Up close, I noticed his body was honed by years of brutal training. Damn it, I just wanted some peace, I thought. Don't talk to me, don't talk to me...
"I have a favor to ask," Legend said, stopping right in front of me.
"A favor? We met barely an hour ago. Isn't it a bit early for favors?" I sighed. "Fine, what is it?"
"Fight me."
I blinked. Fight him? Is he insane? I was just sitting here, minding my own business, and he wants to swing swords? "May I ask why?"
"You're new," Legend replied bluntly. "My master taught me to always size up the people you need to watch out for. I hate 'observing'—especially in the middle of a war. A duel is faster."
I understood his logic. In his shoes, I might have done the same if I still had a shred of "righteousness" left in me. Besides, this was the perfect stage to show that watchful Lieutenant a glimpse of what I was capable of.
"Fine. I accept."
Magnus vs. Legend
If this were a training academy, we would be using wooden practice swords. But this was a war zone. There was no wood, only cold, jagged iron. We agreed on a simple rule: The first one to draw blood loses.
The squad gathered around, the firelight casting long, dancing shadows on the ground. Legend took his stance, his grip on the hilt tightening.
The duel began.
Legend didn't hesitate. He lunged forward with explosive speed, his blade whistling through the air in a horizontal arc—a strike meant to test my reflexes.