Something felt wrong.
Every instinct in my body screamed it.
I looked around, hoping someone else knew what that strange siren meant.
No one did.
Every mercenary wore the same expression—confusion mixed with disbelief. No one spoke. No one moved. The strange siren echoed for only a few seconds before silence swallowed the battlefield again.
The veterans were different.
Their hands had already tightened around their weapons.
Their eyes never left the direction of the nest.
They were waiting.
For something.
Several minutes passed.
I finally convinced myself that perhaps it had only been a warning.
I sat beneath a tree, its shade barely cooling my exhausted body. Rusty rested beside me, breathing heavily after the battle.
Then—
"HELP!!"
The desperate scream shattered the silence.
A lone horse burst from the forest.
The rider barely remained on the saddle.
His entire left arm was gone.
Half of the left side of his face had been ripped away—from his ear down to his jaw. Blood poured from the wound without stopping.
Before the horse even reached the camp, the man slid from the saddle and crashed onto the ground.
The white-bearded mercenary who had struck my back earlier reacted first.
He caught the dying man before his body hit the earth.
"Priest! Hurry!"
The priests rushed over, pouring healing magic into the man as they desperately tried to stop the bleeding.
The rider struggled to breathe.
His remaining hand grabbed the white-bearded man's sleeve.
"The... the lizardmen..."
"They attacked from behind..."
"They... had more cavalry... water lizards..."
His breathing became even more ragged.
"The warriors inside the nest... they were only buying time..."
"The real force... attacked our rear..."
"Our infantry... surrounded..."
"Our mages... many escaped..."
"The retreat horn... has already sounded..."
"If... if the lizardmen regroup..."
"...it's over..."
The priests continued healing him.
The old mercenary held his hand tightly.
"Stay with me."
The rider looked into his eyes.
His lips moved once more.
"I'm... sorry..."
His grip loosened.
His hand fell lifelessly onto the ground.
Silence.
The whispering began almost immediately.
Mercenaries stared at one another, unable to believe what they had just heard.
Some cursed.
Others simply stood frozen.
No one knew what to do.
Do we charge the nest again?
Do we intercept the enemy cavalry?
Where are they now?
No one had answers.
The murmurs grew louder every second.
"SILENCE!"
The white-bearded man roared.
The entire camp fell quiet.
Even the rustling leaves seemed loud.
My fingers tightened around my spear without me realizing it.
Everything we had fought for during the last hour...
All those deaths...
They had only been buying time.
The prisoners.
The cavalry.
The mercenaries who had fallen beside me...
None of it had been enough.
A cold weight settled in my chest.
The battle wasn't over.
It had only entered its worst phase.
The old man slowly lowered the messenger's lifeless hand onto the ground.
Silence spread through the camp.
No one spoke.
Even the wounded stopped groaning for a moment.
The reality of the situation settled over everyone.
The enemy had outplayed us.
My fingers tightened around my spear without me realizing it.
Everything we had fought for during the last hour...
All those deaths...
They had only been buying time.
The prisoners.
The cavalry.
The mercenaries who had fallen beside me...
None of it had been enough.
A cold weight settled in my chest.
The battle wasn't over.
It had only entered its worst phase.
Old man swept his gaze across the gathered mercenaries.
"Those who are heavily wounded..."
"Move to the left."
Some mercenaries immediately obeyed.
Others hesitated.
One mercenary, whose injuries were nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, quietly tried to slip into the wounded group.
Old man's eyes locked onto him.
"Back."
The man froze.
Without saying a word, he lowered his head and returned to the right side.
Most of those standing on the left had lost an arm, a leg, an eye, or suffered wounds too severe to continue fighting.
The priests had already exhausted most of their mana.
They could stop bleeding.
They could ease pain.
But regrowing limbs and restoring shattered bodies required time they no longer had.
Old man turned toward the priests.
"Heal whoever can still fight."
"That's enough."
The priests immediately nodded and resumed treating the wounded.
Old man then faced the mercenaries who remained.
His expression never changed.
"No speeches."
"No promises."
"No glory."
"I'm going back."
"Everyone who can still fight..."
"Follow me."
Silence.
Then a massive mercenary carrying a heavy mace stepped forward.
He let out a rough laugh.
"Old man..."
"I saw you fighting those mages."
"I'll give you that."
"But you're old."
"You can die."
"I'm not throwing my life away following an old man."
He turned toward the gathered mercenaries.
"Those who want to live..."
"Follow me instead."
A few mercenaries instinctively glanced at one another.
Before anyone could move—
A faint silver aura slowly seeped from old man's body.
The air itself seemed to grow heavy.
Everyone froze.
Even Rusty lowered his head.
Old man calm voice echoed across the camp.
"I am Azpen..."
"...of the White Tiger Knight Order."
"An Aura Knight."
His gaze settled on the large mercenary.
Then it swept across everyone else.
"I'm leading this charge."
"You will follow me."
"If anyone chooses to follow him instead..."
"I'll cut them down myself."
No one argued.
No one moved.
Only silence answered him.