At the end of the downward slope, surrounded on both sides by dense, uneven terrain, the murmur of approaching men began to rise. The soldiers gathered at the cut-through dulled their growing unease with resignation as they waited.

“It’s getting noisy.”

As Walm muttered his complaint about the unwelcome visitors, the married couple at the core of the company nodded in agreement.

“They’ve finally arrived. They’re terrible at masking their presence.”

“Or maybe they never intended to hide at all.”

With the clash about to begin, the imperial knight made a final check.

“You’re really sure about holding back the fire magic at the start?”

“They’re not monsters. They’re not stupid enough to go all-in from the start.”

“So… probing attacks to find weak points first, then.”

If it was a horde of monsters, you could simply slaughter them until none remained, but this enemy was human, thinking and adapting to the situation. Half-hearted attacks would only invite countermeasures. Firepower showed its true value only at the right time and place. And this time, the enemy was coming to him. All Walm had to do was wait.

“If they come at us seriously from the start, don’t hesitate. Blow them away. No need to wait for our signal.”

“Understood. I’ll take my position as well. Let’s both do our best.”

Contrary to its owner’s agreement, the demon mask hanging at Walm’s waist seemed to tremble, as if mocking the whole farce. There was no need to reveal their hand too early. Blending in with the infantry stationed on the left wing, Walm fixed his gaze on the slope below.

A deep war drum echoed across Orzelika pass, announcing the advance. A familiar yet loathsome tension ran down his spine, and he suppressed his pounding heart with controlled breathing. Soon, from beyond the bend, dark specks began to appear one after another until, in the blink of an eye, they formed a marching force.

“Just knock down anyone who climbs the rampart! Don’t get greedy!”

Moiz, acting as both assistant instructor and platoon leader, raised his voice to rally his men. Whether it was because the enemy was human or because of his responsibility as a commander, his voice was still stiff.

The vanguard of the Crest kingdom’s militia advanced slowly up the slope, carrying bundles of bamboo and makeshift shields. The shaded ground, deprived of sunlight beneath the trees, was treacherous, and rushing forward could easily result in a collapse of formation. These soldiers, hardened by survival in the demonic territory, understood that well. They had clearly been baptized by the battlefield.

“No disorder, huh…”

Their discipline showed in their synchronized steps and unbroken formation. If the regular soldiers of Crest had been leading, things might have been easier, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

The impatient new recruits waited anxiously for orders. Walm, however, kept his eyes fixed on a boulder halfway down the slope. The enemy frontline passed it, then the middle of their formation reached it. A thunderous command rang out.

“Loose!”

At the instructor’s shout, the taut bowstrings snapped in unison. Most arrows were blocked by the shields the soldiers carried, but a few slipped through, announcing their success with screams. Following the archers, slingers sent small stones whistling through the air. From the elevated position, those stones gained destructive force, crashing into the formation with dull cracking sounds. Shields splintered, and the unlucky collapsed.

“Fire at will! Watch your spacing, and don’t crowd the flanks!”

Under Yogim’s command, arrows and stones were unleashed in waves down the slope. It looked impressive, and some results were visible even to the naked eye, but the enemy’s advance didn’t slow. Calmly, soldiers filled the gaps in the front lines and continued toward the rampart blocking the pass.

At the pre-determined effective range, the magic soldiers began their bombardment. The formation appeared to crumble as if gripped by an invisible giant’s hand, drawing cheers from the rampart. But the effect was not as great as it appeared, and the gaps were quickly filled.

“Don’t celebrate yet! Return fire incoming!”

Walm’s instincts as a former infantryman and magic soldier rang alarm bells. The moment he shouted his warning, a faint glow lit up the center of the enemy formation, which was a clear sign of incoming magic.

Then came the impact. Flames and dust exploded upward, and the earthen wall used as a breastwork partially collapsed.

“Aaagh?! Aaaaah!”

A soldier whose face had been burned writhed in agony.

“Calm down, and stop thrashing. You’re not going to die.”

Dropping his stance, Walm pinned the injured man down with his knee and checked the wound. The burns covered half his face, but his senses were intact. He’d be disfigured, but it wasn’t fatal.

“Evlark, take him to the back embankment.”

Behind the pass was a raised earthen platform used for holding troops and supplies, where healing mages were stationed. Walm ordered Evlark, who had been waiting in the second line along the rampart, to carry the man but no response came.

Time was precious, so Walm reached to him.

“E-eh… Ah…”

Grabbing the frozen soldier by the collar, Walm pressed his helmet against his and spoke sharply.

“Don’t freeze up. This will become a common sight soon enough. Get used to it, understood?”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

“Take him. Tell the healing mage that his eyelids are burned, but his eyes are fine.”

If Ayane had been here, the man could’ve returned to battle immediately. But with the offensive spread across all six passes of the Zerebes mountains, defensive forces had been scattered, and the field hospital had been pushed to a midpoint between them. Unless the wound was severe, treatment fell to the healers stationed here at Orzelika pass. It wasn’t the best care and scars would remain, but it was enough to return soldiers to the line by the next day.

Watching Evlark carry the wounded man down, Walm turned his focus forward again. Enemy archers had joined the counterattack alongside their magic users. They had done so likely to adjust for the elevation difference to avoid wasting arrows. Even with the advantage of the rampart’s position in the terrain, the earlier optimism had vanished. Some soldiers struck by Earth Bullets were blown down to the flat below. Others fumbled with arrows lodged deep in their shoulders, on the verge of tears as they tried to pull them free. Walm clicked his tongue.

“You think you can pull out a barbed arrowhead on your own? Use tongs. It’ll bleed like hell, so stuff cloth into the wound first.”

“Y-y-yes, sir…”

“Be glad it didn’t hit your stomach.”

“Y-yeah… haha… right…”

The imperial knight praised the man’s luck with a faint smile, but the recruit’s face only grew more strained. Flustered, he hurried down to the flat ground in search of tongs. A barbed arrowhead couldn’t be pulled out alone. If one lodged in the gut, it would drag the entrails out with it, hence it was often called gut-ripper. War was not unique to the Highserk Empire, and among the northern nations, it was practically a trade.

“…I’m not even a medic. What the hell am I doing…”

Seasoned Highserk soldiers could handle basic treatment themselves, making this kind of fuss unnecessary. Still, Walm treated this as part of field training. Without magic or skills, this might have been his role as well. He shoved that pointless “what if” aside. Though shaken at first, the soldiers gradually adapted to the storm of magic and projectiles. The number of wounded decreased as they focused on repelling the attackers.

“Earth magic! Target that spot, don’t let them build footing!”

Moise quickly identified a potential breach point and directed the archers. As a rookie platoon leader, he was performing well enough. Walm moved to cover the gaps, slapping the backs of inexperienced soldiers.

“Don’t lean over more than you have to! You’ll get speared from below or smashed from the front. Want your skull caved in?!”

Walking behind the line, he called out continuously. Many enemies had reached the edge of the rampart. Soldiers dropped fist-sized rocks and poured boiling gruel down on them. The mix of coarse grains and plant matter clung thickly, soaking into clothes and armor. Unless protected by magic or fire resistance, the attackers screamed in agony.

“Kill anyone who makes it to the top. That’s all, just keep doing that.”

No one answered, but they clung desperately to his orders. Enemy earth magic smoothed the rampart’s slope, creating footholds. On top of that, several ladders had been set in place.

“They’re here! They’re coming up!”

“We’ll be the first over!”

A soldier who slipped past the outer slope and the thrusting spears boldly shouted his claim. The first to breach always earned rewards. Not wanting to have the prize stolen, they charged in with reckless enthusiasm. Gaston reacted a moment too late, slamming his spear down, but the veteran militia easily deflected it with a shield.

“Wha?!”

As the enemy lunged at him, a halberd slipped through the crowd and pierced the man’s side.

“Ghk… aaaagh?!”

Twisting the weapon, Walm shredded the man’s insides before shoving him back down the slope. The steep incline sent him tumbling, crashing into those behind him.

“Don’t half-ass your strikes! Thrust from the hips or bring it down from overhead!”

Leaving Gaston with only brief guidance, Walm rushed off to cover the gaps left by other recruits’ mistakes. The frustration of not being able to rely on magic weighed on him, but he still couldn’t afford to reveal his hand yet. No matter how strong he was, a single imperial knight wouldn’t win a war. The enemy wasn’t that naive.

“Fill the gaps! Don’t give them an opening!”

As Moiz shouted, Evlark returned to the line. Walm’s gaze shifted to the others, and then he saw it. Two enemy soldiers were charging up the slope, targeting Moiz as he continued shouting orders.

“Moiz!!”

From beneath the shields they raised, sword tips shot forward. Moiz responded with two quick thrusts of his spear. He deflected their attacks and struck their torsos through their armor. Both enemies vanished from the rampart, their curses echoing from below.

“…Guess I worried for nothing.”

Perhaps that couple’s concerns were misplaced, nothing more than overprotectiveness for their son.

“Sir, I’m fine.”

“Yeah. looks that way.”

The exchange of blows continued for nearly half an hour until, without warning, the signal for retreat echoed out. The Crest forces withdrew like a receding tide, leaving only fresh corpses scattered along the slope.

“That’s enough! No pursuit! Lightly wounded, clean and bandage your injuries! Slack off and they’ll rot, remember that! You there, go with Yogim and collect the arrows!”

The instructor’s voice rang out one command after another. Confirming that the chief instructor was alive, Walm finally released the breath he’d been holding. They had held the line.

For a first day, it was a success. That fleeting relief lasted only until his eyes fell on the bodies lying across the rampart. There were many wounded, but fewer dead. And yet, enough corpses had piled up to overflow both hands. One recruit shook the body of a fallen friend. Unblinking eyes staring into nothing, a mouth that said nothing… and yet spoke volumes.

“Hey… you idiot… why the hell are you dead?!”

He wailed and thrashed but at least he didn’t call for a healing mage. Perhaps he had already accepted it. That soldier’s instinct, that capacity to adapt… Walm found himself acknowledging it, and bit down on his lip.

Even if the numbers were small, these were men he had spoken to. And that was the first thing that came to mind? Once again, he felt his humanity being watered down in the filth of war.

“…Don’t lean. Don’t lose balance. Don’t let your heart tilt. Hold yourself together.”

He muttered to himself like a mantra.

A chill, vague and unsettling, ran down his spine. Walm pulled off his sweat-soaked Saverlia and scratched at his scalp. If he had gone all out, could he have prevented their deaths? Would they have lived? He cut the thought off before it could take root. It was meaningless. A hollow escape at best. It was better not to get caught in it.

If he revealed his hand too soon, more would die later. What mattered now was caring for the living and engraving the dead into memory. No matter how clouded his eyes became, he couldn’t look away. The war had only just begun.

Translator – Lyxxna