Back on the battlefield, the situation was dire.
The camp looked more exhausted than the soldiers living in it. Scattered fires flickered, supporting boiling pots; some were cooking food, while others heated water for those wishing to bathe. But it seemed no one had the energy for either.
A small group huddled around one of those fires. Some wore the black military uniforms of the army, while others wore civilian clothes reinforced with basic gear—a thin chainmail shirt under a tunic or a light chestplate. The only sound in the gloomy air was the crackling of wood being consumed by the flames. One man was searching for something he had lost in the mud and filth, but he failed to find it. He straightened up on the tree log he's sitting on and leaned his head back to relieve his neck the strain after hunching over for so long. He looked like a regular soldier, eyes closed, head swaying. He sighed.
" 'Oukosia is tired and on the verge of collapse'… that's the worst joke I've ever heard in my life."
He was quoting the empty promises of their commanders. Another man, with a mischievous voice, replied:
"All this, and they're supposed to be in an unprecedented state of collapse… I've sneaked into their ranks more than once. They eat the finest food, and their clothes and armor are meticulously cared for after every fight. That's why they're ready for us every time we clash..even readier than the first encounter."
The first man leveled his head to look at the speaker, scanning him thoroughly. "A mercenary, then. Who ordered you to scout?"
The mercenary was annoyingly short. His decent clothes didn't look so decent on his scrawny frame. His eyes looked like they wanted to pop out of their sockets, and his voice was even worse.
"I don't know who, but someone told me to join a scouting unit. Since I'm a mercenary, that unit paid me from their own pockets to do their tasks."
The soldier looked around at the defeated faces.
"Pfft… a mercenary with more honor than soldiers. I've never felt more ashamed to stand with our kingdom's army than I do today."
The short man said, "Hey, don't be angry. You can excuse them when you see the horrors we endure. I don't care about death as long as the money eventually goes back to my two dear daughters."
The soldier looked at the mercenary with disgust, despite his respectable clothes. "You sound logical, for a mercenary."
"You seem to have a bad idea about mercenaries, friend…" a voice said from behind.
Everyone turned. The dwarf-like man smiled. "Vandall."
Vandall, the young man in the middle of the chaos, stood tall. His black hair was wet, and his shirt was a cold, faded green. He looked down at the soldier.
"Oh, it's Vanguard's brother! I would have said I'm honored to meet you, if only you weren't…" The soldier stood up from his seat. "If only you weren't a bratty mercenary."
"Are you trying to start a fight on top of the one we're already in?" Vandall replied without hesitation.
The short man intervened. "Ahaha! You're all tired, everyone's on edge, I get it. Let's drop this.
" He walked swiftly toward Vandall, grabbed his elbow, and pulled him away.
"Did you bathe and change just to go back to fighting immediately? At least keep your body clean and light, and save your rage for the enemy."
He rubbed his head. "Or at least, that's what Canaria would have told you."
Vandall followed his short companion's lead without taking his eyes off the soldier, who was smiling in a way that provoked Vandall intensely. But there was nothing he could do about it now.
The short man made Vandall sit, then went to the pot over the fire and filled a bowl with unappetizing soup and a bit of bread. Everyone sat, and the tension slowly faded. After Vandall finished eating, he sighed and stood up quickly. He didn't have the luxury of sitting around.
"Nokio… I don't think we'll get more than one night of rest. If we don't push the enemy lines, we'll lose everything we fought for."
"What's the rush? Do you want to fight their vanguard alone? Or do you want more of that rock rain? We barely survived yesterday. Don't be reckless."
Vandall didn't want to hear any discouragement, but the soldier spoke up again, backing Nokio.
"I hate to agree with the dwarf, but he's right."
Vandall listened as the man continued. "The commanders received warnings about the 'Grace' of one of Oukosia's leaders. That Grace is called 'AS ABOVE SO BELOW.' Apparently, he can make things float high in the air. Then, when he cancels his Grace…"
The soldier felt a wave of sadness and defeat from yesterday's events. "Well… we all know how it ends when he cancels his Grace."
He finished with a heavy heart. Everyone shared his deep disappointment and shattered hopes. Everyone except the young man who broke the silence of despair.
"Fine. Go commit suicide then, if you want. We will keep fighting." He wrapped his arm around short Nokio. "Nokio and I will do it."
Nokio looked at Vandall with bright eyes, smiling. "You're full of energy, Vandall. As long as you're walking the path Canaria drew, I'm with you, partner. But… well, I don't want to die anytime soon."
With his usual frown and off-putting coldness, Vandall replied: "I'll kill you with my hands then. It's settled. I killed Landras yesterday and it's gonna be you today. Look at me, all of you. I will kill every mercenary and end this war for Oukosia."
Nokio let out an incredibly annoying laugh, causing Vandall to shove him. "I didn't know you became this funny, Vandall. I'm amazed."
The soldiers around them smiled, but some of the mercenaries understood the situation perfectly. Vandall wasn't joking.
When Nokio noticed the somber look on his friends' faces and the bitterness in Vandall's, he asked: "Seriously? You killed him?"
When Vandall didn't answer, Nokyo continued: "Did you save him from the agony of death?"
Again, no answer. Nokio smiled with deep sadness, looking at the sky with tearful eyes. "So you're gone huh, Landras."
The depressing atmosphere was expected in a camp full of men who had faced the bitterness of war repeatedly and lost those they fought beside. But the trust they gain when they find others like them—and the ambition to find a way out of this dark fate—is rare. It is as rare as meeting a quiet, soft-spoken young man who radiates bottomless hope and determination. His dark eyes look only forward.
This was what the soldier who had argued with Vandall noticed as he studied and read him. Vandall moved on to other groups, talking to his comrades. You could consider the calm look on his face as a smile. His lack of laughter and smiling caught the soldier's attention.
The soldier left his group, passing between the tents pitched here and there, until he finally found what he was looking for. A well-pitched tent made of high-quality leather.
"Sir Vice Commander!" a guard who recognized him called out from a distance.
The soldier kept walking and signaled for the guard to be quiet. When he reached him, he put a hand on his shoulder. "Keep your voice down, would you? I don't want to be cursed by the soldiers around us..not when I'm looking like them at least"
As he entered his tent, he stripped off his clothes piece by piece. "What's the point of my disguise among the soldiers if you let the whole camp hear my rank?"
The guard trembled. "I—I apologize, Sir Deputy!"
"At ease."
The guard calmed down. It appeared the man Vandall had been arguing with was no simple soldier. Not a simple soldier at all. He put on a black uniform, far more luxurious than the ragged one he had thrown on the ground. He looked at himself in the mirror with arrogance, adjusting his medals and appearance.
"Alright, let's go."
"At your command, Sir Deputy!"
The man walked out, accompanied by two guards. He drew the attention of the soldiers around him. Despite their respect for his rank, they might not respect his person. If it weren't for the chain of command and the chaos that would follow, they would have beaten him to release their anger at the leaders who led them into the heart of hell.
When they reached the intended tent—a larger one with stronger guards—he burst inside. The tent was filled with furniture and luxuries.
"Ah, finally decided to show up! Mr. Kidman," a middle-aged man sitting on a sofa said with a smile. The man standing returned the smile. "Please, sit."
By sitting on the edge of one of the sofas, the man gave off an air of informality.
"Mr. Kidman… you don't look well."
"Mr. Kidman is truly not well, Sir Commander."
The older man was right in his intuition. "Why?"
The respectable man cleared his throat. "First… we have to change our style. Yes, we are in the heart of the front, I know. Yes, we are under pressure from central command, the Authority, and the enemy. I know. The enemy has increased the pace, true. But… I don't want soldiers to die without knowing what awaits them. You, Commander, are at the head of this front and are aware of all the details coming from command. If something like this happens to my soldiers again, it will be the last thing they do under my command."
The older man couldn't even look the speaker in the face. He was overcome with shame. "Mr. Kidman… orders are orders. If you want to be angry at someone, do it when this front's mission is over."
Kidman replied, "How will I reply if I'm under a boulder or torn apart, or I don't know what might happen to me or my soldiers? How am I supposed to know anything at all, Mr. Wilhelm, if I'm not told?!"
Commander Wilhelm's face turned red with anger. He took a deep breath to reply. The shouting reached outside the tent. The soldiers outside whispered to each other. "As usual…"
Wilhelm and his right hand Kidman were used to discussing battle matters at the top of their lungs. Tension overwhelmed them. This was war; it drove men to madness.
On the opposite side, where yesterday's battlefield ended, a river stretched out, dividing the land between the two armies. The tents over there looked less exhausted than the defeated army's. They were disciplined and more organized. The food wasn't bad either. The soldiers were in a state of calm.
A large tent stood in the middle of this peace. Inside was a gathering of important figures. You could see the confidence and pride.
"The next one will be worse… I will crush that handful of fools. They will truly learn what it means to face Oukosia's rage and pride. They will truly learn what it means to stand against ' Basilisk The Fallen'."
With total confidence, a noble standing in the corner spoke, a wine glass in his hand. His clothes were beyond description in their beauty, whiteness, and detail. He had an elegant smile and short, well-groomed hair, blonde leaning toward grey. Everything about this man radiated nobility.
"Pfft, a stroke of luck," someone said mockingly.
"Shut up! I'll kill you!" the noble shouted, losing every bit of his polished image.
In the opposite corner, two people laughed, whispering between them. A handsome young man in his twenties and a slightly older woman, both equally noble and elegant. They were exchanging jokes and suppressed giggles.
"You did it, Bismarck… did you really make the idiot angry?"
"See? you seee!? I told you I'd do it!"
The man grew angrier every time he heard their muffled stifled laughter and snicker.
In this childish atmosphere, someone said to the person next to him: "I don't think anyone would believe that man over there singlehandedly destroyed a battalion yesterday, and that those other two might be even worse than him."
The man nodded his head, eyes closed in total agreement.
There was no pressure in this tent. The calm and the feeling of superiority didn't seem like they would end anytime soon.
On this side of the land… confidence came from power.
On this side of the land… power rose above everything.