“The Refun garrison siding with Mayard is stuck because of the landslides, right? What’s the point of guarding a place like this?”

A man slumped lazily on a tree stump lamented his own purpose in life. It wasn’t a thoughtful question, and he had already been told why they were stationed here. It was nothing more than idle complaining.

“Small groups can still pass through old roads and animal trails. This is one of them.”

A 10-man team leader Iasanto answered. His promotion from common soldier hadn’t come from exceptional skill or leadership. Among the conscripts gathered by the lord of Yarkuk, he had simply been one of the less foolish. Because of that, the inexperienced Iasanto wasn’t respected by his men, and no strict chain of command had formed within the group.

“Like hell anyone would come this way. There’s a checkpoint up ahead. If anything happens, the lord’s troops will be here in no time.”

“…Yeah. Maybe.”

Even messengers wouldn’t willingly choose to pass through a checkpoint, so the toothless fool’s reasoning wasn’t entirely wrong. The real problem was their role. If it was just deserters from Selta or lone messengers, a 10-man unit was more than enough. What they truly had to fear was an attack of a platoon or larger force. At best, Iasanto’s team was an early outpost. At worst, they were nothing more than canaries in a mine. Their “song” would be the sound of battle, serving as a warning to those behind them.

Their stamina was lacking, ,and their equipment mismatched. Even the makeshift anti-cavalry barricades blocking the narrow path looked shabby. The ones who truly mattered were stationed further ahead at the real checkpoint beyond this temporary stop.

“If we’d been assigned toward Selta, there’d at least be some perks…”

A bored soldier let his spear roll onto the ground and began chewing on dried beans with his back teeth. The way he chewed them one by one resembled a bird pecking at feed. Though, not a cute little bird, more like a grotesque one.

“Hah, don’t talk big. You were panicking the loudest when you got conscripted.”

His appearance and tone earned him ridicule from the others, laughter coming from the side. Iasanto didn’t bother defending him.

“The hell did you say?! Nobody expected our lord to betray Mayard and side with Crest!”

“Better than sticking with a declining Mayard.”

“The Selta lot were always going on about redistribution and all that nonsense.”

“Hmph. I could understand if our lord was hoarding it himself, but why should we care about feeding outsiders?”

The toothless man wasn’t particularly evil. It was only natural to prioritize family and neighbors over strangers. Everyone lived that way to some extent, and Iasanto was no exception. Their lord, too, had simply chosen what he believed would benefit Yarkuk the most.

“But it’s still betrayal.”

“If betrayal makes life better, then betray as much as you want.”

“Besides, we’re just up against Mayard’s weaklings.”

Other soldiers chimed in, agreeing with the toothless man. What concerned Iasanto wasn’t empty talk of morality that filled no stomach, it was the enemy they had turned against. He spoke the name plainly.

“…But the Highserk soldiers are with them.”

With that single sentence, the relaxed atmosphere grew heavy.

For the people of Felius, the name Highserk was both hated and feared. To stand against most of the northern nations and still survive was madness. Any rational nation would have compromised the moment the alliance formed, choosing survival over pride. But not them. Those people relied solely on their military strength and crushed everything. Iasanto couldn’t understand them.

“The Highserk troops are assigned to the Selta front, right?”

“Yeah, the Crest army will deal with them.”

“Heh… our dear 10-man team leader Iasanto is such a worrier.”

The toothless man mockingly used a title he never normally did, as if to hide his own unease. Even Iasanto couldn’t ignore such blatant provocation.

“Hey, don’t get cocky. Want me to knock out the rest of your teeth too?”

“H-hey, relax, I was just—”

The toothless man’s eyes widened in shock.

He was a coward at heart, sure, but also the type to keep up appearances. There was no way he’d react this strongly just from being pressed like that, or so Iasanto thought.

Suddenly, a sound rang out. A sharp tearing through the air whistled, and in the next instant, two soldiers standing nearby were split apart, their heads and bodies separating as if the world itself had been cut in two.

“What the?!”

Iasanto doubted his eyes, but it was undeniable reality. At the center of the blood-soaked carnage stood a monster wearing a demon mask, twisting its body as it wielded a spear.

No, not just a spear. A halberd, its blade fitted with an axe head and a hooked claw. The creature swung that heavy weapon as if it weighed nothing, mana flickering along its edge. Like a farmer harvesting wheat, it raised the halberd high.

“Ghk!”

A hastily raised short spear was severed, along with the arm holding it. The axe head didn’t stop there. It continued through, cleaving another soldier from lower abdomen to jaw. Even through armor, it was a fatal blow. It was the power of Strong Strike that defied all laws of reason.

“Uwaaaah!”

Facing death, the toothless man reached for the spear he’d dropped on the ground, but he was far too slow. The hooked blade shot forward casually, tearing into his throat.

“W-what is this, this can’t be real!”

Iasanto didn’t scream. He thrust his short spear forward from his hip, striking in desperation. Without looking away, he drove his spear forward with his whole body behind it, forcing the tip in. Casting aside all distracting thoughts, he clung to his training, but the monster had already anticipated it. It spun around, as if grateful for saving him the trouble.

“Ugh!”

The spear vanished, like a trick of magic. It was a thrust, direct and absolute. Iasanto’s instincts screamed death. He tried to force out a roar to shake off the terror, but a crushing impact to the side of his head stole even that from him. He collapsed, vision spinning as it churned across the ground. In that blurred, tilting world Iasanto saw there wasn’t just one. There were two more.

Aside from the masked soldier, two more enemies stood over them. Of the entire 10-man unit, only Iasanto remained alive, ironically spared by the sideways blow that had smashed into his skull. Even then, he wouldn’t last long. His body, pinned under a boot, was bound to the ground, while a sharp blade rested against his throat. He knew. The slightest movement, and he would be killed.

“Hey, Walm. You trying to kill them all?”

“…Sorry. Almost did it on reflex.”

“Honestly… this is why Highserk soldiers are a problem.”

They had just slaughtered his entire unit, and fresh corpses still surrounded them. And yet, the attackers casually continued their conversation, as if chatting by the roadside.

Iasanto cursed the toothless man who had died before him, and thought “What do you mean there are no Highserk soldiers here? There’s a crazy Demon Fire user right in front of me!”

With his life completely in their hands, there was nothing left for him but silent despair.

The canary of the mines, the Iasanto unit, never sang. They died in silence, and the danger they should have warned their allies about would never be known.

Translator – Lyxxna