Two years later.
Training had been brutal—living among monsters, fighting like one of them. My hair had grown out, now brushing against my chin, a reminder of time spent in endless drills.
"Hello? Pax?" Malakon's voice broke through my thoughts. "Did you not hear me?"
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you." I forced my voice to sound steady.
"We're finally going to enter the battlefield," I said, face blank, though the words felt like ash.
"Pax. Malakon. Are you listening?" Commander Fred's voice cut in, sharp as steel. His cropped brown hair and square shoulders made him look more statue than man, but his eyes carried authority.
"Yes, sir," we answered together. The difference was clear: Malakon sounded eager. I sounded empty.
"The battlefield will be fun," Fred began, his tone firm, "but it will test you. Fun doesn't come without sacrifice. Without lives."
My chest tightened. Sacrifice? My life, for their game?
Then laughter erupted. From every side—soldiers, trainees, even the commander himself—everyone was laughing. Laughing at death.
Is death… fun? I asked myself.
"Alright," Fred continued once the chuckles died down. "Don't forget your groups. You'll move as units to cover each other. Some of you will be at the front lines, some in the rear. Your positions have already been assigned."
"We're in the back, Pax," Malakon said, almost bouncing with excitement. "Isn't that great?"
"Yeah. Great," I muttered, though the word rang hollow. Being stuck in the rear meant being near Oron. Either way, our orders were clear. We marched toward Gen Vetarus territory.
Fred shouted across the camp.
"Get ready! Enemies maybe two hundred are arriving!"
I reached for my sword, but the people around me gave me strange looks.
"They won't come here," Lenrya said.
But she was wrong.
The enemy split wide and rushed toward the rear, forming a semi-circle.
Fred laughed, almost mocking. "Don't lose yourselves! Defend!"
One woman swung at Lenrya. I blocked the strike just in time and told her,
"You were wrong."
Lenrya's face changed—no more doubt, no more hesitation. She unsheathed her sword and with sheer will cut down the enemy Pax blocked.
More enemies pushed toward us. We stood our ground and fought as a group.
Some around me smiled as if enjoying it.
But me? I was still scared for my life.
Steel crashed against my blade. I was locked in a clash, unable to move, Malakon, exposed, an enemy creeping up behind him.
I couldn't break away to help. My chest twisted with panic.
Then the frontliners pulled back to support us, breaking the pressure. Relief hit me like a wave.
I shoved my opponent's leg with a kick, and as he staggered, I cut through him—clean, final.
Victory.
Oron walked up with his usual grin. "Good job."
I nodded, silent. Inside, something stirred.
Why was I… happy?
Happy about victory in battle?
Fred's voice carried over the field. "Set camp. We sleep here tonight."
Finally, exhaustion weighed me down. And Fred said "set camp and finally rest"
"Pax, wake up. You're next to watch for the night."
I opened my eyes and saw Oron standing over me. This bastard knew what he was doing.
I sat by the fire, a chair pulled close to the edge of the camp, staring out at the shadows between the trees.
I'm different from the others, I told myself. They never seem tired. But me… I'm always sleepy.
The weight of my eyelids betrayed me. The next moment I woke with a jolt—realizing I had dozed off.
Malakon was already sitting there, watching the camp in silence.
"Just go to sleep, Pax," he said softly. "I can't sleep anyway. Besides, we need you focused on the battlefield tomorrow."
I hesitated, then nodded. "Thanks."
With that, I returned to the tent and sank back into my bed.
The next morning, Commander Fred's voice thundered through the camp.
"Everyone, wake up! Today we march forward until the entire Vetarus territory is ours!"
Groans and shuffling filled the tents as people prepared. I rubbed my eyes, dressed quickly, and stepped outside. That's when I froze—standing near the command tents was Ares.
"Oh, Pax. Hello, old friend," he said with an easy smile. "I heard what you and your group did against Vetarus fighters."
I scratched the back of my neck. "Most of the credit goes to the others."
"False modesty doesn't suit you," Ares said, his eyes sharp. "You're a natural leader, Pax. There's no denying that."
Before I could respond, Fred cut in. "Ares, if you'll excuse us. Pax has his position."
I jogged back to my group, unease stirring in me.
We marched deep into Vetarus territory, swatting aside scattered resistance, until we arrived at the outside of the amazing city of Klyton where there was many enemies waiting.
"Now comes the real game," Fred announced with a grin. "One thousand enemies. Nothing we can't handle."
The front ranks rushed forward. My group, under Ares's command, circled to the flanks. Soon the fighting swallowed us whole.
Steel rang in my ears. I deflected blows, never finishing the enemies myself—always letting the others strike the killing blows.
My heart raced, my hands shook. I didn't understand what I felt. Terror? Disgust? Or something worse?
A blade suddenly slid past my guard, slicing across my side. I gasped, barely twisting in time to counter, splitting my attacker open. The world spun. Rain plastered my hair to my face. My eyelids grew heavy.
Before another enemy's strike could finish me, Oron's sword intercepted it. He glanced back at me, smirking. "I owed you."
We pressed together—backs facing, blades cutting in perfect rhythm, striking down every foe that closed in. For the first time, we fought as one.
But the victory came with scars. Blood ran from the gash under my right eye, searing into memory.
Cheers erupted too soon, soldiers roaring in triumph before the battle had even ended. I smiled despite myself, almost believing the madness.
Then I heard it—steel sinking into flesh.
I turned.
"…Oron?"