The full moon rose slowly, as if reluctant to witness what lay beneath it.
At its highest point, it hung in the night sky—vast, pale, and impossibly beautiful. A silent observer to the horror below.
Then, cutting through the stillness—
A horn sounded.
Long.
Low.
Final.
It echoed across the battlefield like a funeral bell.
The signal to retreat.
The order spread quickly, carried by messengers, shouted commands, and the collective instinct of soldiers who no longer needed to be told twice.
Fall back.
Return to camp.
Survive.
Just a day ago, the same armies had been ordered to push forward—break the enemy lines, seize ground, and expand the battlefield to deploy more troops.
Victory had seemed within reach.
Now?
They were running from the very air itself.
Because as the sun had set and the temperature dropped, the battlefield had changed.
The blood fog thickened.
What had once been a choking haze became something far worse.
Heavy.
Dense.
Suffocating.
It no longer simply obscured vision.
It filled lungs.
Men began to cough.
Then choke.
Then collapse.
Some clawed at their throats as if trying to tear the air back into their bodies.
Others fell silently.
Drowning—
Without water.
Without warning.
Without mercy.
Fighting under such conditions was impossible.
No army could endure it.
So the retreat was called.
And no one argued.
By the time Arin and Tom reached the base camp, the full extent of the day's carnage revealed itself.
They descended from what could only be described as a continent of corpses.
The battlefield had risen.
Layer upon layer of bodies had reshaped the valley into something unrecognizable.
If someone had told Arin it was a landmass formed entirely of the dead, he would have believed them.
And now—
That land was moving.
Because the soldiers returning to camp…
Barely looked human anymore.
Everything was red.
Armor.
Clothing.
Hair.
Skin.
All stained with the same deep crimson.
The metallic smell of iron clung to them like a second skin.
The mist followed them too, drifting lazily through the air.
It stuck to their bodies like snow clings to a traveler riding through a storm—settling, melting, and soaking into every layer.
Arin glanced around.
If someone had told him this was an army returning from hell itself…
He wouldn't have questioned it.
The entire force looked defeated.
Not because they had lost.
But because they had seen too much.
Arin swallowed.
Is this what all future battles will be like?
The thought made his stomach twist.
Because if it was…
Then war itself had become something else entirely.
Something absurd.
Something monstrous.
They hadn't retreated because the enemy was stronger.
The goblins had been faltering.
If anything, they had been dying faster than the humans.
But that didn't matter.
Because the battlefield itself had turned against them.
And drowning—
Even for soldiers who could resurrect—
Was not something anyone wanted to experience twice.
Let's just say…
There would be no shortage of work for therapists in the future.
"Grandpa…"
Arin's voice sounded tired as he stepped into their section of the camp.
"I don't suppose there's a shower available?"
He ran a hand through his hair.
It came away red.
Not tinted.
Not stained.
Red.
"If there is," he added weakly, "I call dibs. I am not sleeping like this."
Karl, who stood nearby, looked just as bad.
Perhaps worse.
"Best you'll get is a wet cloth," he said bluntly.
Arin froze.
"What?"
Karl shrugged.
"Water's scarce."
He pointed toward the edge of camp.
"The rivers running through here?"
Arin already knew the answer.
"They're red too."
Karl nodded.
"Boiling it doesn't help."
Arin stared at him.
"…You're joking."
"I wish."
For a moment, silence hung between them.
Then Arin groaned and collapsed near the campfire.
"Great."
He grabbed a stick and poked at the flames, trying to coax more heat from the dying embers.
"Just great."
The firelight flickered across his face as he held his hands out, trying to dry the blood clinging to his skin.
"I can't wait until we're strong enough to clean ourselves with a snap of our fingers."
Teun chuckled from nearby.
"I think you'll be waiting a while for that."
Arin glanced up.
"Right now," Teun continued, "we're just letting our bodies adapt to mana."
He crossed his arms.
"The real growth comes later."
Arin pouted slightly, sitting in front of the fire like a soaked dog.
Teun smirked.
Not that he looked much better himself.
"Hey," Tom said suddenly.
He looked hesitant.
"I heard someone drowned."
Arin looked up.
Tom rubbed the back of his neck.
"That's why we retreated… right?"
He glanced down.
"We lost track of the front lines when the fog got thick."
There was a hint of embarrassment in his voice.
As a ranger, tracking was supposed to be his strength.
Losing sight of the battlefield felt like failure.
Karl sighed.
"I don't know for certain."
Then he shrugged.
"But it's likely."
He stared into the fire.
"We were making good progress."
"The only reason to stop… is if people can't endure it anymore."
His expression hardened slightly.
"And drowning on land?"
He shook his head.
"That's a bad way to go."
Tom winced.
"Yeah…"
Then—
"Oh, so it's true."
A voice appeared behind him.
Tom didn't even react.
He was too exhausted.
Which made it easy for Johnny to smack him lightly on the head.
"Oi! That's bad form."
Tom groaned.
"Not now…"
Johnny grinned.
"I'm just saying—I'm already waiting for that one to show up online."
Karl raised an eyebrow.
"Online?"
"Yes."
Johnny's eyes lit up.
"There's this website—government-backed, by the way—that records unique battlefield deaths."
Arin blinked.
"…What?"
"It's educational!" Johnny said defensively.
"Shows people what not to do."
He leaned in slightly.
"Basically 'dumb ways to die,' but they can't call it that."
Arin snorted.
"Of course they can't."
"They animate it too," Johnny continued, clearly enjoying himself.
"Full breakdown of how it happened."
He grinned.
"And I'm pretty sure 'drowning on land' qualifies."
Karl looked mildly impressed.
"…I see."
Teun leaned forward.
"Well?"
Johnny blinked.
"Well, what?"
"Don't keep us waiting."
Teun grinned.
"What's the stupidest death you've seen?"
Johnny rubbed his chin.
"That's a tough one."
He thought for a moment.
"There was this messenger during the early campaigns…"
He shrugged.
"But that one got removed. Political pressure."
"Figures," Karl muttered.
Johnny snapped his fingers.
"Oh! I got one."
He grinned.
"A kid who didn't know how to stand behind a horse."
Arin winced.
"…Oh no."
Johnny nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah. Got kicked."
"Knocked unconscious."
"And then fell face-first into a manure pit."
There was a brief pause.
"…He drowned."
Silence.
Then—
Laughter erupted around the fire.
It wasn't because it was funny.
Not really.
But because after a day like this…
They needed something.
Anything.
To remind them they were still human.
Elsewhere in the camp, the mood was far less relaxed.
Commander Eloi sat at a long table surrounded by nearly eighty other legion commanders.
The air inside the tent was thick—not with fog, but with tension.
They had gathered to decide their next move.
And so far?
They had nothing.
Arguments had been made.
Suggestions offered.
All dismissed.
Because none of them solved the real problem.
Finally, Eloi exhaled sharply.
"For the last time…"
His voice cut through the murmurs.
"Does anyone have a better idea than waiting for the fog to clear?"
Silence.
No one met his gaze.
Eloi clenched his jaw.
Of course.
He had ended up leading the operation.
Not because he wanted to—
But because his legion had achieved the highest kill count during the last offensive.
A hollow victory.
One that now placed the burden of leadership squarely on his shoulders.
"…Fine."
He stood up slowly.
"Then we wait."
His voice was firm.
"And we send more reports to Central Command."
He looked around the table.
"Maybe they'll come up with something."
No one argued.
Because there was nothing to argue.
"Dismissed."
Chairs scraped softly as commanders began to rise.
Eloi paused at the tent entrance and looked back.
Dozens of men.
All stained red.
All exhausted.
"…Clean yourselves," he added.
"Or no one will recognize you when we return to battle."
A few weak chuckles followed.
Then he stepped outside.
The cold night air hit him immediately.
Eloi looked up.
The full moon still hung in the sky.
Calm.
Untouched.
As if none of this mattered.
He exhaled slowly.
Then walked toward his tent.
Tomorrow would come.
For now, though—
Even a commander needed sleep.