Eloi was certain he had been fighting for at least ten hours. His body had long since stopped keeping track of time, and his mind could focus on nothing except swinging his sword at the endless tide of corrupted creatures. His shield had already been torn apart after he used it to block the desperate dive of a Stage 1 hawk that had attempted to assassinate him from above. Although the shield held together long enough for his bodyguards to spear the creature to death, it had been destroyed beyond repair, forcing him to discard it and continue the battle with only his sword.
Since then, Eloi had relied almost entirely on simple sword techniques. He repeatedly swung his blade from left to right, conserving as much strength as possible while still cutting down every creature that entered his reach. Flashy techniques consumed too much stamina, something he could no longer afford after hours of uninterrupted fighting. At this point, efficiency mattered far more than elegance.
His situation was made even worse by the limitations of his armor. The massive helmet that protected his head also prevented him from eating or drinking without removing it completely, something he simply could not risk while standing on the front line. As a result, he had no practical way to replenish either his strength or his energy during the battle. Every swing of his sword steadily drained the limited reserves he still possessed.
The last hour had been especially brutal. Twice, Stage 1 creatures managed to surprise members of his personal bodyguard while attempting to force breakthroughs in the defensive line. Eloi threw himself into both fights without hesitation, determined to save the soldiers who had sworn to protect him. Unfortunately, he only managed to reach one of them in time.
The second bodyguard had already died before Eloi could fight his way through the surrounding creatures and recover the body. The man he managed to rescue was not much luckier. Both of his legs had been torn away during the attack, ensuring that he would never walk again even if he survived his injuries. It was a harsh reminder that survival did not always mean a happy ending.
Sadly, such tragedies had become almost commonplace on the battlefield. The air was constantly filled with screams of pain, desperate cries for medics, and soldiers instinctively calling out for their mothers during their final moments. Few of them had imagined that military service would one day become a nightmare like this. Training exercises and simulations could never truly prepare someone for the reality of watching friends die beside them.
What made the situation even harder to accept was how unfair it all felt. Every soldier knew this disaster had been caused by Russia deliberately triggering the secret realm to test Europe's response. Yet what had it actually cost Russia? Practically nothing.
They had needed only a single agent to activate the secret realm before quietly withdrawing from the area. After that, the corrupted creatures did all the fighting on Russia's behalf while Europe was forced to pay the price in blood. A situation that should never have become a military crisis had instead escalated into one of the largest battles since the appearance of the System. Had no one intervened, the consequences would have become even more catastrophic.
That was the part Eloi found hardest to accept. Thousands of soldiers were dying to defend their homes, not because of an invasion by a foreign army, but because someone had decided to test Europe's military capabilities. It felt absurd that so many lives could be thrown away for something so calculated and meaningless. In only a matter of days, Russia had effectively removed two of Europe's twenty-seven legions from active service without ever committing an army of its own.
As Eloi continued swinging his sword, anger slowly mixed with his exhaustion. Every corrupted creature that fell before him was another reminder of the price his soldiers were paying for someone else's political game. He could only hope that the people making those decisions truly understood the consequences of their actions, because the battlefield before him had become a graveyard for thousands who had simply answered their country's call. Regardless of how this battle ended, Europe would remember the cost of this so-called test for many years to come.
It took another hour of relentless hacking and slashing before the end finally came into sight. The endless tide of corrupted creatures gradually became thinner until only scattered monsters remained, but Eloi found no comfort in that sight. He had no way of knowing whether they had truly exterminated every creature in the depression or whether another section of the defensive line had collapsed and drawn the remaining horde away. Even so, when his sword cleaved through the final corrupted dog and its body dissolved into a wisp of black smoke, he allowed himself to believe that, at least in this part of the battlefield, the fighting was finally over.
Slowly, Eloi raised the visor of his helmet and took a deep breath of air that carried the scent of blood, mud, and scorched earth. His exhausted eyes swept across the battlefield in search of Afanasij or Selvijs, hoping one of them had a clearer overview of the situation than he did. He desperately wanted someone to tell him that the battle was over because he no longer had the strength to continue fighting. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, and he knew his soldiers were in an even worse condition after everything they had endured.
Only then did he truly take in the scene before him. The depression that had served as the focal point of the battle was now filled with the bodies of fallen soldiers, each frozen with expressions of terror, pain, or determination. The corrupted creatures had vanished upon death as they always did, leaving behind only the defenders who had sacrificed everything to stop them. It was an eerie silence after hours of constant combat, one that no amount of words could truly describe.
Eloi quietly estimated that both his own legion and the border legion would be out of action for at least three months. Legion 23 had survived, but its soldiers were exhausted beyond reason, while the border legion had endured two full days of continuous combat before the reinforcements had even arrived. The casualty reports alone would likely be horrifying once everything was counted properly. Thinking about that was enough to drain the little energy he still possessed.
Without another word, he slowly made his way toward the command tent. Every step caused the heavy suit of armor to creak loudly, making his approach impossible to miss. The once-pristine armor now looked like it had been dragged through hell itself, stained black and purple by corruption and covered in deep scratches and dents from countless blows. Even the System had already marked the equipment as corrupted, meaning it would reclaim the entire suit the moment he removed it.
When the heavily armored figure entered the tent, the atmosphere instantly became tense. For a brief moment, several officers instinctively reached for their weapons before recognizing the familiar silhouette of Legion 23's commander beneath the damaged armor. His appearance was intimidating enough that anyone unfamiliar with him could easily mistake him for one of the corrupted monsters that had just assaulted the defensive line. Only after recognizing the battered sword still hanging from his side did everyone relax.
"How is the situation here?" Eloi asked while removing his helmet. He rubbed his forehead and looked between Selvijs and Afanasij with tired eyes before continuing, "And what time is it? I honestly don't have the slightest clue anymore."
Afanasij stared at him for a moment before letting out a weary sigh. "Eloi... you don't look so good," he admitted honestly. "For your information, the fighting has only been going on for three hours since you joined the front lines. Most of your predictions about what those corrupted bastards would attempt turned out to be correct, so we managed to prepare our defenses in time, but even then they still took far too many good men with them."
Eloi slowly closed his eyes as he absorbed the report. Three hours. It had only been three hours, yet it had felt like an entire day of endless combat. Every second on the battlefield had blended together into an exhausting blur of sword swings, screams, and survival until time itself had completely lost its meaning.
"Yes..." Eloi quietly replied. "They certainly did."
There was no anger left in his voice, nor any frustration. He simply sounded tired beyond measure, like a man whose emotions had been drained alongside his stamina. Looking at the faces around him, he realized the others felt exactly the same way.
The European military had long upheld a simple motto that every officer was taught from the moment they accepted command: All officers must remain human. It was never intended as a joke or a symbolic phrase. Instead, it served as a constant reminder that commanders should never become detached from the people serving beneath them.
An officer who ordered soldiers into impossible situations had to understand exactly what those orders would cost. If someone had to be sent on what was effectively a suicide mission, then the commander was expected to carry the weight of that decision for the rest of his life. Losing that compassion meant losing the right to command others. It was considered one of the greatest failures an officer could suffer.
That philosophy had been born from centuries of painful military history. Too many commanders throughout history had viewed their soldiers as expendable resources rather than living people with families, dreams, and futures waiting for them at home. Military academies constantly reminded their officers of those mistakes so they would never repeat them. A commander who forgot the humanity of his troops was viewed as more dangerous than any enemy on the battlefield.
The countless stories from the great wars of history served as permanent warnings. Officers studied examples of battles where thousands of soldiers had been ordered to charge directly into prepared machine-gun positions for little strategic gain, sacrificing entire generations for negligible progress. Whether every historical decision had been justified or not was a matter for historians, but the lesson remained the same. A good commander never allowed casualties to become mere numbers on a report.
That was why the atmosphere inside the command tent felt so heavy despite the fact that they had successfully held the line. Every officer present knew that they had won a tactical victory. Yet none of them felt victorious. Their thoughts were occupied not by the enemies they had killed, but by the comrades who would never again answer roll call.
For a long moment, nobody spoke. The only sounds inside the tent were exhausted breathing, the rustling of maps, and the distant cries of medics still treating the wounded outside. Everyone understood that although the battle had ended, the true cost of their victory had only begun to reveal itself. There would be casualty reports to write, families to notify, equipment to replace, and entire formations that would need months before they were combat-ready again.
Eloi quietly lowered himself into the nearest chair, every movement feeling heavier than the last. His sword finally rested against the table beside him, and for the first time in hours his hands were no longer gripping its hilt. Looking around at the equally exhausted faces of Afanasij, Selvijs, and the other officers, he realized they all carried the same expression. They had protected Europe today, but the price they had paid would haunt every one of them long after the battlefield had fallen silent.