Last Day of Battle

The fifth day of the war dawned, a heavy blanket over the plains. The Hearthwood cavalry and infantry watched as the Green Rose soldiers slowly gathered.

Alab prepared Tim for activation. He moved away from his fellow soldiers to a secluded spot, recalling Sasha's teachings.

He closed his eyes. "Imagine any two things clashing," he whispered. "From the sparks, imagine them coalescing to form Tim."

'I'll choose simply two stones... from these sparks...'

Alab opened his eyes, and Tim surprisingly appeared before him.

Tim was devoid of personality, offering no conversation. However, it understood a single instruction: to fly above Alab. It was also said to possess an understanding of measurements.

'Now, the crucial part was setting Tim's activation time.'

A timer was located on Tim's back. Alab needed to set the number of hours before Tim began recording.

The first three days of the war had been spent occupying the hills, gaining the advantage of elevation and establishing camps near the tower. Battle preparations themselves consumed several hours. Today would be a day of pure battle. Yesterday, the fourth day, with the hills already occupied, the battle lasted less than two hours. This duration was perfect for Tim's current recording capacity.

Alab set the timer for one hour. Tim ascended to its maximum height of 30 meters, where it would remain dormant for an hour before beginning its recording. From that vantage point, its view of the battle would be comparable to that from a lighthouse. Tim's size, nearly that of a tennis ball, made it virtually undetectable.

Alab, no strategist himself, simply instructed his men to carry additional weapons. If only they could replicate Lieutenant Marshal's dynamic phalanx, they would have a distinct advantage.

After an hour, the Hearthwood soldiers marched down the hills. Despite the advantage the occupied hills afforded them, they descended to pursue the enemy on the plains. This was the command from headquarters: force the enemy's retreat and bring the war to an end.

The sound of horns ripped through the air, signaling the start of the battle. Weapons of every variety were brandished. Alab, still wielding his spear, now carried a shield in his other hand.

'So this is it,' he thought. 'Let me live so that I can touch as many dead bodies as I can.' This was Alab's plan: to gather more IPs. He knew the headache it would bring, but gaining IPs was paramount. If he could glean information from the dead, then the aftermath of the battle offered the perfect opportunity. What remained unknown was the timing of his mysterious power's activation. 'Should the bodies be touched immediately after death? Is there a cooldown between activations?' These questions plagued him before the battle.

Positioned in the middle of his army's right flank, Alab sweated cold. His body felt light, and his knees trembled as he faced the enemy ranks. Despite the magical enhancements available from the Mahika Stall, he preferred the role of a bannerman, moving through the thick of the fighting. 'At least during my escape,' he reasoned, 'there's a chance someone will help me.'

The march continued, and when only a few meters separated the two forces, the soldiers rushed toward each other. As the shouts rose in a deafening roar, Alab paused, unsure of what to do. He simply shouted to release the tension that had coiled within him. Untrained in warfare, his only instinct was to strike the first enemy he encountered.

The enemy before him was a hulking Green Rose soldier wielding an axe and shield. The axe swung toward Alab instantly, and he blocked the blow with his shield.

Even with the Magic Enhancements, he realized the attack was heavy.

The enemy's relentless assault forced Alab to his knees, his shield his only defense. He struggled, unable to even lift his spear. In that moment of struggle, a memory surfaced. He wondered why he was experiencing these flashbacks in the midst of battle.

A memory of Soda appeared, recalling a day when Soda was being taught by a spear master.

"Give up the shield."

"Create distance. When using a spear, utilize its nimbleness to attack from multiple angles. Be aggressive! The spear is a long weapon. Aim for the groin, then the leg, and immediately bring it up to bear against the head. Constantly move your spear high, low, and horizontally."

Snapping back to the present, Alab dropped his shield and hopped back, creating distance. He thrust at the enemy's head, but the attack was blocked. He launched a flurry of strikes, attacking high, then low, then horizontally, and finally managed to slip past the enemy's shoulder guard.

"Argh!"

He was amazed. It was as if he knew precisely where to strike and what to do next.

'Was it muscle memory?'

Then, abruptly, the feeling vanished, leaving him unsure of his next move. The Green Rose soldier, now enraged like a wounded animal, prepared to charge.

Without his newfound spear skills, and worse, without his shield, Alab stumbled backward, tripping as he faced the oncoming enemy. He raised his spear in a desperate defense, but it was slowly being forced back by the enemy's furious assault.

In the midst of the Green Rose soldier's rampage, Arthur intervened, blocking the axe with his sword.

"Why the hell aren't you using a shield?"

Arthur had a point. Single combat was a fluid dance of offense and defense. Why would anyone drop their shield in a situation where an enemy could attack from any angle?

The Green Rose soldier grinned, his eyes locking with Arthur's.

As the Green Rose soldier prepared to strike Arthur, Alab, drawing his sword, struck the enemy from behind.

The Green Rose soldier fell. Two more enemies appeared, advancing on them. Arthur and Alab were separated, each facing a single opponent. The enemy facing Alab also held a spear and appeared nervous. Alab, still wielding his spear, found himself facing the enemy, a strange twist of fate. Both were visibly shaking, their spears held more like nervous tics than weapons. The enemy's eyes darted around, not at Alab, but at something unseen, a flicker of fear and fascination in their gaze. The enemy muttered something about "so many of them watching." Alab, meanwhile, was trying to remember anything from the scant training he received. He remembered the phrase "create distance," but his feet felt rooted to the spot.

They circled each other hesitantly. The enemy made the first move, a clumsy lunge that Alab easily sidesteps. The enemy stumbled, nearly dropping their spear. They recovered, but the near-miss seemed to amplify their nervousness.

Alab saw an opening – the enemy's spear was low – but his own hands were trembling so much he couldn't capitalize on it. He tried a thrust, but it's telegraphed and the enemy managed to parry it, though their block was awkward, almost comical. The fight devolved into a series of near misses, stumbles, and fumbled parries, a clumsy dance of fear and inexperience.

Then, something shifted. In the middle of their clumsy circling, the enemy tripped over a discarded helmet. They flailed, trying to regain their balance, leaving themselves completely open. It's a lucky break for Alab. Despite his own nervousness, a flicker of instinct took over. He lunged, not with a wild swing, but with a precise thrust, remembering the spear master's words about attacking weak points. His spear found its mark, piercing the enemy's side. The enemy cried out, more in surprise than pain, and collapsed.

Alab, still shaking, stared at his spear, surprised by his own sudden precision. He looked down at the enemy, who was gasping for breath, their eyes wide with shock. Alab's spear protruded from the enemy's side. For a brief, agonizing moment, their eyes met. Alab saw not anger or hatred in the enemy's gaze, but a strange mixture of confusion and acceptance, as if he'd finally seen whatever it was he was looking for beyond Alab.

"So I will be like you guys now," the enemy mumbled, his gaze still fixed on something unseen. "But who will be able to see me? I'd like someone... to talk to me too."

These were the last words of Gaston, the man considered delusional. He saw the ghosts, and now, he was about to join them.

A chilling sensation washed over Alab, and a series of images flashed through his mind, Gaston's memories now visible to him: a man deeply in love, about to propose to his beloved upon his return from battle; a childhood spent in an orphanage, tending graves in the cemetery; news that the orphanage was to be torn down; a decision to join the army, hoping to make a fortune by exchanging for money the last wishes of the dead to their families.

The enemy's left flank was holding strong. On one of the hills, three hooded figures chanted.

'Don't they understand?' Grand thought, his voice still absent.

'They will feel the wrath of Aries.' He couldn't disobey orders, but he knew something terrible was about to happen.

Suddenly, magic circles appeared, and lightning bolts rained down from the sky, striking the enemy's right flank.

"What was that?" someone cried. "They have magicians?!"

The enemy commander, witnessing the devastation, ordered a retreat.

Moments later, lightning struck the three hooded figures on the hill.