Rage murmured in his sleep, his words were unclear. "Bunny girls... elf waifus... frilly maid outfits..." A faint, tired smile crossed his lips, his mind drifted in exhaustion and pain.
A shadow loomed over him, and with a few slaps to his face, the quiet was shattered.
"Are you still alive, boy?" A deep voice chuckled.
Rage's eyes snapped open, disoriented and blinked against the fading fog of sleep. "Wha...?"
[SYSTEM] Veldran Lv.57
[SYSTEM] class : Armsman
[SYSTEM] loyalty: 65%
"The queen wishes to see you," Veldran said.
Rage tried to sit up but groaned as dizziness took hold.
For a moment, the world spun.
Veldran, standing beside him, reached out, his bandaged was arm steady.
He let out a soft laugh. "Still stubborn, huh?"
His grip was firm but not rough, just enough to keep Rage from tipping over.
"Easy now," Veldran muttered, pulling Rage up. "You're not dead yet. Let's keep it that way."
Rage staggered, his body was still remembering the brutal impact from earlier. His legs nearly gave out, but the Veldran's solid grasp kept him upright.
With a grunt, Rage managed to stand, though his balance wavered.
[SYSTEM] Darius Lv.41
[SYSTEM] class : Spearman
[SYSTEM] Loyalty: 71%
Another soldier stood just outside the tent, waiting. His posture was rigid, his expression was grim yet respectful.
"We could've lost the queen if you weren't there, boy," Darius said.
Rage remained silent.
The air outside was heavy with sorrow. Faint cries of the grieving blended with the stillness of a field that had only recently claimed its dead.
As they walked, Darius muttered, "War's no game. It's about choices. The ones that let you keep your freedom, or the ones that steal it from you."
He exhaled sharply, glancing at Rage. "We chose Firekeep's freedom, not some bandit's idea of it."
His voice softened for a moment, almost thoughtful. Then he shook his head and set the thought aside. "Not much more to it than that."
Veldran walked in silence, his face was unreadable, though there was a weight in his eyes that spoke volumes.
The three men walked on, their boots pressed into the dirt. Each step carried the weight of the war they had fought.
By the time they reached the queen's chambers, her orders had already been given, the last of her soldiers departed.
The heavy door creaked open.
Rage stepped inside, flanked by General Veldran and Captain Darius.
***
Her chambers were nothing like those of a queen. They looked more like a war room turned into living space. Firelight moved across stone walls darkened by soot. Old maps covered the desk, held down by inkwells. A rack of worn axes stood by the wall, and the air smelled of iron. The only sign of comfort was the large hearth.
The sword Ignia had used in battle rested against the her throne, its blade was dull with dried blood and dirt. It had cut through many enemies that day, yet now it stood without care, just another tool of war waiting for its next use.
But Rage's gaze drifted past it, to the other sword.
It was still there, leaning against the tall bookshelf. The same sword he had seen before. Up close, he could see the fine engravings on the hilt and the worn leather grip.
He did not know why, but the sword felt different. It was not like the queen's weapon that had thundered across the field in her hands. This one was quiet and still, as if it was waiting.
"Sit," she ordered.
The soldiers guided Rage to the seat, steadying him as his legs wavered beneath him. One of them offered a brief nod before exiting the room, leaving Rage alone with the queen.
The door slammed shut.
Without ceremony, she began disassembling her armor. Buckles hissed under her calloused fingers, fortress-plates clattered to the floor until she stood with nothing.
The queen stood as a mix of strength and beauty, marked by both grace and ruin. Her form was shaped and firm. Her stance held the confidence of a fighter, not a court lady. Yet it was her scars that drew the eye most.
And there were new ones.
Dried blood marked her ribs, running from a wound that had only just begun to close. A fresh cut crossed her shoulder, raw and red. A dark bruise spread along her side, left by a heavy blow. Her knuckles were split, the skin broken from striking something with too much force.
She took a strip of linen from the table and began to wrap her wounds without a word. Her hands moved with steady skill, tightening each bandage with the ease of habit. There was no pause or sign of pain, only the calm focus of a soldier who knew suffering was part of the work.
Rage stared, silent. Then, under his breath, he muttered, "I did kinda saved you."
Ignia didn't react.
He exhaled sharply, watching as she continued tending to her wounds. "Not that I'm complaining, but should I leave now?"
No response. Just the sound of bandages tightening around flesh.
Rage was about to speak again, but a sharp pain struck his ribs before he could finish. He bent forward and coughed hard, the sound rough and deep. "Yeah. Definitely broken."
He wheezed and leaned back in the chair with a groan. "Alright, great. I'll just sit here in silence..." He stopped with a wince. "because talking hurts like hell. Perfect."
When she finished, the she walked to her throne and sat down. She crossed one leg over the other and rested her hands on the armrests. The firelight moved across her skin and the marks of battle, but her face showed no sign of fatigue. Even wounded, she looked every bit a queen.
She exhaled and rolled her shoulders.
"You have no idea what you just did back there, do you?" she said while grabbing a bottle of wine.
She bit down on the cork and pulled it free with her teeth. She tilted the bottle back, she took a long drink. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"You picked him up."
Rage frowned, still aching from battle. "The who?"
Ignia gave him a look of half amusement and half exasperation before flicking her gaze to the massive sword leaning against the throne.
"Balmung."
Rage squinted at the weapon, then back at her. "Right. And who's Balmung?"
Ignia huffed a quiet laugh. "The sword."
"Of course it is," he muttered.
"That blade has rejected warlords, kings, and champions alike," she said.
"It does not answer to the weak." She leaned forward, resting an elbow on her knee, fingers drumming idly against the scarred wood of the table. "And yet, you lifted it. No hesitation."
Rage eyed the weapon warily. "I guess I did."
Ignia's smirk widened, though something in her eyes sharpened. She reached for her sword, her fingers curled around its hilt.
"It sang a song I've never heard before." She turned the weapon.
"Balmung only answers those who carry the will to rule."
Rage raised an eyebrow. "So, like, if anyone else tries to pick it up, they just..."
"They don't," Ignia cut in. "Not unless Balmung allows it."
Rage glanced at the sword. "So, basically, it's Mjolnir."
Ignia frowned. "A what?"
"Never mind."
She smirked. "All you need to know is, Balmung doesn't choose lightly."
She held it out. "Touch it."
Rage didn't move. "...Why?"
"Touch it, rat."
Rage let out a sharp breath and shifted his weight. Pain ran through his side as he pushed himself upright. His legs trembled, but he stayed on his feet.
He sighed and placed his hand on the hilt.
[SYSTEM] item: ???
[SYSTEM] durability: ???
[SYSTEM] attack: ???
He muttered, "What is this weapon?"
Then, without warning, the blade vibrated a low hum through it.
It turned viscous, shifting from solid to fluid as it began to move on its own.
It crawled toward his left arm, climbing over his skin before reshaping into black metallic plates.
The pieces locked together and settled against his flesh, cold and smooth, as the movement stopped.
Ignia's expression shifted for a moment. Something unreadable flashed across her face before she let out a short, barking laugh. She exhaled and stared at him, a distant look in her eyes. "You looked just like..."
She stopped. Jaw clenched.
Rage frowned. "Like who?"
Ignia's smirk returned, but this time it felt practiced, too sharp, too deliberate. She pushed herself to her feet and slammed a fist into his shoulder hard enough to rattle his ribs.
"I knew you weren't just some stray." Her grin was all teeth and ambition. "Fight with us. Become one of my warriors."
Rage held her gaze.
She had dodged the question.
She turned and grabbed another bottle. She drank slowly, then burped.
"Now, are you in or not?"
"Not interested," he said, letting out a breath while flexing the gauntlet.
Ignia scoffed.
"My people don't fight for flags. We fight because this world takes. And we take back."
She tilted her head and studied him. "You've seen what it costs to survive here. Make it pay instead."
Rage exhaled sharply. He wasn't a soldier nor a hero but something about the way she said it, raw, unfiltered, real, itched at something buried deep in his chest.
She watched him for a moment, then smirked. "You're done scrubbing weapons. Once your injuries heal, you train. You either learn how to fight, or you die wishing you had."
Rage glanced at his arm, then met her gaze.
"Fine. But this weapon stays with me."
Ignia grinned. "Right, that you would."
She poured a drink, slamming it onto the table in front of him. "Drink. You fight with us now."
He stared at her bottle, then at his tankard. With a smirk, he lifted it. Their drinks met with a clash, and the fire behind them roared in approval.
He had stepped into a world where every action had weight, every choice had consequences.
He had no idea what lay ahead.
But this? This was only the beginning.
[SYSTEM] Queen Ignia : Loyalty 71%
[SYSTEM] Corruption : 12.8%