The Fallen Soldiers

It had been a long battle—three grueling days of defending the empire's border. Thankfully, the Crimson Blood and Firenzan troops arrived just in time to reinforce the battlefield on the final day of the battle.

Countless knights had fallen, their lives sacrificed for the cause. The ground was drenched in blood, littered with bodies riddled with arrows and wounds carved by swords. The stench of death was suffocating.

Imman stood amidst the carnage, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield. This was the first time he had seen such a horrifying number of corpses. It was far worse than anything he had witnessed during their missions in their own world.

A gentle tap on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. Hikari stood beside him.

"Are you scared?" Hikari asked.

Imman didn't answer. Instead, he knelt down and picked up an arrow from the blood-soaked ground, turning it in his fingers as if searching for meaning in the chaos.

"How long has this war been going on?" he finally asked.

Hikari rubbed his chin, his expression darkening. "Over a year now..."

Imman exhaled heavily. So, he had truly been dragged into this war.

Hikari studied him silently. During the battle, he had kept an eye on Imman, watching in awe. His fighting skills were astonishing—lightning-fast, precise. He wielded weapons with mastery, but what shocked Hikari the most was how Imman used his own body as a weapon. He was incredibly strong.

Nearby, voices rose over the hushed murmurs of the wounded and the rustling of soldiers retrieving the fallen.

"How many soldiers died?" The knight commander's voice was heavy with exhaustion.

Imman and Hikari turned toward him, watching as he let out a deep sigh. Too many lives had been lost again. At this rate, they would run out of fighters to defend the empire. And the enemy was only growing stronger.

They needed to prepare—quickly. Another attack could come at any moment.

Around them, soldiers carefully lifted the bodies of their fallen comrades, preparing to return them to their families. The wounded were tended to, groans of pain filling the air.

Hikari patted Imman's back. "Let's go. Our job here is done."

Imman gave a silent nod and followed him, leaving behind the battlefield soaked in blood and sorrow.

.

.

.

At the capital, Ran and Rin stood among the crowd, watching as the weary troops returned from the battlefront. Their armor was dented, their bodies covered in dirt and blood. At the farthest end of the procession, soldiers carried the fallen—rows upon rows of lifeless bodies, wrapped in bloodstained cloth.

The solemn toll of the church bell echoed through the city, a mournful sound that sent chills down their spines. The people gathered along the streets wept openly, their grief heavy in the air. Some fell to their knees, others clung to one another for comfort, mourning the loved ones who would never return.

"We should leave soon," Rin murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ran's eyes remained fixed on the returning soldiers. "The dead outnumber the living," he said grimly. "That means the enemy is strong. Those who made it back… they're lucky to have survived."

They continued watching, silent and unmoving, as the remnants of the battle marched past, carrying both victory and loss on their weary shoulders.

.

.

.

Arthur watched the returning troops in silence, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. As the air filled with sorrowful murmurs and the distant toll of the church bell, he quietly distanced himself from the crowd.

Arthur Morem—guild master and black-market merchant. For a year, he had remained in the shadows, watching, waiting. He had only one goal: to investigate.

He needed to uncover the Montclairs' weakness. It was the only way he could aid the emperor.

Slipping into a narrow alley, he moved with practiced ease. The Montclairs had already identified the emperor's allies, systematically hunting them down. If they succeeded in defeating the nations under the Serolf Empire, the empire's strength would crumble. To counter this threat, the emperor's forces had dispersed, each faction assigned a crucial role.

Crimsons Blood was tasked with reinforcing the soldiers on the battlefield, conducting investigations, and, if possible, infiltrating the Montclairs or their allied nations. The Firenzans and the Barbarians guarded the eastern and western regions of the empire, while the Targaryans protected the southern borders and coastal areas. The mages held the northern front, wielding their arcane might against any approaching threats. Meanwhile, the grand generals, along with the remaining knights and soldiers, were stationed at the main borders and the capital.

As for Arthur—he had chosen to operate in secret. In the shadows, no one could track his movements.

As he strode through the dimly lit alley, a sudden impact jolted him. A young man had bumped into him.

"My apologies," the stranger muttered before continuing past him.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Something felt off.

"Hey…" he called.

The young man hesitated but did not turn around.

"Give it back."

The stranger remained still for a moment before responding in a casual tone. "What do you mean?"

Arthur smirked. "My bag."

A chuckle escaped the young man as he finally turned to face him. "Sorry, but… finders keepers."

Then, without warning, he bolted.

Arthur's smirk widened. "Interesting."

Without hesitation, he gave chase, his cloak billowing behind him as he pursued the thief through the labyrinth of dark alleys.

.

.

.

The palace servants crowded at the entrance, their faces filled with grief and fear. Some wept openly, while others stood frozen, their gazes locked on the rows of lifeless soldiers covered in burial cloth. Their bodies would be claimed by their families later, honored with a proper burial and a short ceremony to pay tribute to their sacrifice.

Jinny sprinted through the gathering, nearly shoving people aside in her desperation to see the returning troops.

"W-Where is Sir Yehuda?" she gasped, grabbing the arm of a passing knight.

The knight didn't answer. He simply averted his gaze and walked away.

Panic set in. She turned to another knight. Then another. Each time, the response was the same—silence. Some shook their heads, their expressions grim.

Jinny's chest tightened. Her breath quickened. Fear clawed at her, consuming her whole.

Then, she saw Nene standing beside Nelly, tears streaming down her face. Jinny's heart dropped. Nene's father had been among the soldiers. And now, he was gone.

"Nene!" Jinny called, rushing toward her. She grabbed her friend's trembling hands, her own shaking. "D-Did you see him? Did you see Sir Yehuda?"

Nene looked up at her, eyes red and swollen. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she struggled to speak.

"J-Jinny… S-Sir Yehuda and my father…" Her voice cracked, and she broke down again, sobbing into her hands.

Beside her, Nelly pulled her into a comforting embrace before turning to Jinny, her voice heavy with sorrow.

"Jinny… Sir Yehuda… He's dead."

Jinny's entire world stopped.

"He died protecting our borders," Nelly added softly.

The words echoed in Jinny's mind, but they didn't make sense. They couldn't be true.

Her vision blurred with tears. Her legs weakened, trembling beneath her. She collapsed to the ground, sobs wracking her body.

"N-No…" she choked out.

This couldn't be happening. He couldn't be gone.

He had promised her—he had sworn to return, to marry her after the war.

He couldn't break his promise.

"He can't!" she screamed, her voice raw with agony.

The pain was unbearable, unlike anything she had ever known. It was as if a knife had been driven straight through her heart, twisting deeper with every sob.

And no matter how hard she wished… the wound would never heal.