Deep in the night, the Sekigaharan's main forward base never truly slept.
Heavy footsteps thudded along the fortified corridors. The distant rumbling of engines vibrated faintly through the walls as military wagons rolled through the base. Every few minutes, another patrol of Martial Apprentices rushed past the infirmary, their voices muffled behind thick iron doors.
Yet inside one particular room, everything was quiet.
Mikan lay alone upon a narrow bed.
Her orange hair sprawled messily across the pillow as she slept deeply, completely unaware of the figure standing beside her.
The man stared down at her in silence.
His broad shoulders nearly blocked out the faint lantern light behind him.
For several long seconds, he simply hovered over the sleeping girl.
"..."
His eyes slowly drifted downward.
Mikan's right leg had been heavily bandaged from thigh to calf. Despite the emergency treatment, dark patches of dried blood still stained the cloth where several high-caliber rounds had torn through her flesh.
The Nochus gunfire had done a number on her.
The man let out the faintest sigh.
Carefully, he reached forward.
His palm gently hovered against the side of her injured leg.
A soft warmth spread from his fingertips.
WHUM...
An almost invisible current entered her flesh.
The damaged muscle beneath the bandages twitched.
Tiny ruptured blood vessels began closing.
Inflammation slowly faded.
Fragments of damage that should have taken weeks—even months—to properly recover from rapidly began repairing themselves beneath the surface.
Mikan shifted slightly in her sleep.
"Mmm..."
The man's hand immediately froze.
Her brows furrowed.
"...Mom..."
"..."
The man's face stiffened as he slowly removed his hand.
Mikan rolled onto her side and continued sleeping peacefully.
The man stared at her for another second.
Then silently turned around and vanished without making even the slightest sound.
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.
.
"Ugh..."
Mikan's eyes slowly fluttered open as morning light streamed through the narrow armored window above her bed, forcing her to squint while her vision adjusted. She remained there for several seconds, staring groggily at an unfamiliar ceiling as she tried to figure out where the hell she was.
The room smelled faintly of medicine and disinfectant, while somewhere beyond the thick walls came the muffled sounds of footsteps, distant voices, and the occasional rumbling of heavy machinery.
Then yesterday came rushing back to her.
The Nochus army had torn through their warparty with frightening ease. She remembered the deafening cracks firearms and ranged techniques echoing through the jungle, explosions shredding through trees and flesh alike while the surviving Kinzoku Apprentices desperately retreated toward the camp.
By that point, their formation had practically collapsed. Several of them were wounded, others were helping carry those who could barely move, and Mikan herself had been forcing her damaged leg forward despite every step sending another lance of pain through her thigh as she was supported by two loyal comrades.
They had gotten lucky.
Very lucky.
The Nochus firearms were absurdly loud, and apparently their battle had occurred much closer to the inner regions than Mikan had initially realized. The constant barrage had carried far enough through the jungle to alert another Sekigaharan warparty operating nearby, and just when Mikan had begun wondering whether the Nochus would simply chase them down until none of them were left, she had heard the unmistakable call of a Sekigaharan war horn answering the gunfire.
For some reason, the Nochus kingdom gave them a few minutes of a head start before going all out and chasing them.
She could still vaguely remember unfamiliar clan banners appearing between the trees as dozens of Martial Apprentices rushed toward them. Half of the newcomers surged past the retreating Kinzoku fighters to confront whatever Nochus forces were still pursuing them, while the rest immediately moved to secure the wounded. Someone had grabbed Mikan off her comrdes and simply carried her despite her insisting that she could still walk, and she vaguely remembered being annoyed enough to argue with him even as her vision began swimming.
After that...
Mikan frowned.
She couldn't remember anything.
She must have passed out sometime during the retreat.
Looking around the quiet infirmary again, she released a long breath and sank slightly into the pillow. Whatever had happened afterward, the other Sekigaharans had gotten them out safely. Considering how badly things had gone against Nochus, simply waking up somewhere secure was already more than she could have asked for.
She couldn't help but feel useless.
As the strongest Martial Apprentice of the Kinzoku, she could only amount to that?
Mikan shifted beneath the blanket as her expression changed.
Wait.
Her leg.
She immediately pushed herself upright and grabbed her right thigh, already bracing for the sharp agony that had accompanied practically every movement yesterday. Several high-caliber rounds had torn through the muscle, and even with a Martial Apprentice's body and proper treatment, she had expected the injury to bother her for weeks.
Yet as she carefully bent her knee, all she felt was a faint stiffness.
"...Huh?"
Mikan stared at her bandaged leg.
She bent it again.
Nothing.
Slowly, suspiciously, she swung both feet over the side of the bed and planted them against the floor. She shifted some weight onto her injured leg, then a little more, until she was standing completely upright.
Still nothing.
"What the hell...?"
She experimentally bounced on the leg before lifting it into a cautious kick, her foot slicing through the air without the explosion of pain she had been expecting.
WOOSH.
Mikan blinked.
Then looked toward the empty medicine tray beside her bed.
"...Those potions really pack a punch."
Apparently someone had continued treating her after she lost consciousness, because there was no way the medicines they had been carrying yesterday could have done this. Her injuries weren't completely gone, but this was already enough that she could probably fight if she needed to.
Mikan's eyebrows slowly furrowed.
Were the medicines of the other Sekigaharan clans really that much better than Kinzoku's?
She stared at the tray for another moment before her expression gradually soured.
"...Are our potions just shit?"
That couldn't be right.
Could it?
Mikan suddenly felt strangely offended on behalf of the entire clan.
She quickly changed into a fresh black dougi with a flower crest that someone had left folded beside her bed, tightened Portia around her waist, then stepped outside.
CLANK.
The heavy door swung open.
And Mikan froze.
"...Woah."
Mikan slowly stepped into the morning air.
The smell of smoke, oil, medicine, blood, and cooked meat mixed together into the strange scent of a functioning war camp. It was nothing like the scattered temporary camps the Kinzoku had established when they first entered the Severian Plateau.
Those had been little more than places to sleep between expeditions, meant to be abandoned the moment the clan moved deeper into the dungeon.
This place was different.
This was a fortress.
Mikan stopped just outside the infirmary as she finally got a proper look around. Hundreds of Martial Apprentices moved through the enormous forward base, most wearing the colors and crests of clans from all across Sekigahara. Soldiers pushed heavy crates of ammunition and supplies along reinforced pathways while engineers shouted instructions from scaffolding built against the walls. Armored wagons rumbled between warehouses, steam hissed from strange military machinery, and enormous cranes groaned beneath the weight of metal plates being hauled toward unfinished sections of the fortifications.
Dozens of clan banners fluttered overhead.
Shinken. Mizunori. Oni. Kaze. Kinzoku.
Some she recognized immediately, while others belonged to clans she had only ever heard about. Yet here they were all crammed together within the same fortress, their Martial Apprentices sharing training grounds, eating areas, supply depots, and defensive positions as though the usual rivalries between their families had temporarily ceased to matter.
Or at least mattered less than usual.
"Huh..."
Mikan slowly walked forward, unable to keep herself from looking around.
Even this early in the morning, the base was completely alive. Squads of Martial Apprentices were constantly leaving through the fortified gates while others returned from missions covered in mud, blood, and whatever strange substances they had encountered deeper within the dungeon. Wounded fighters were immediately directed toward the infirmaries, intelligence officers intercepted returning scouts before they had even properly rested, and fresh teams stood ready to replace those coming back.
Judging from the exhausted faces she saw, Mikan doubted the place had ever truly gone quiet during the night.
It was strange.
Only a short while ago, the Sekigaharan clans had entered the Severian Plateau largely as independent forces. Everyone had wanted their own territory, their own resources, and their own achievements to bring home. Cooperation existed, of course, but nobody wanted to share more than they had to when every clan was competing for prestige and wealth.
Then the other nations had started punching them in the face.
Internal politics was one thing, but there's one thing she learned during her time a noble—it's that the Sekigaharan will rather die in battle than to be taught a lesson by other Nations.
Mikan's expression soured slightly at the thought.
Their encounter with the Nochus Kingdom had certainly taught Kinzoku that lesson.
Fortunately, the gunfire from their battle had attracted the attention of another Sekigaharan warparty already operating near the inner regions. After rescuing the retreating Kinzoku forces, the other clan had taken over reconnaissance in the area while Mikan and the wounded were escorted toward the main Sekigaharan force.
Apparently, Kinzoku wasn't the only clan that had been forced into such a predicament.
The deeper Sekigahara pushed toward the dungeon core, the more resistance everyone encountered as the other powerful nations started to border their territory.
Foreign warparties became stronger, territories more fiercely contested, and even the dungeon itself seemed increasingly determined to kill them. Smaller clan forces that had initially been comfortable operating independently were gradually merging together, sharing intelligence and manpower as the campaign became far more dangerous than many of their nobles had expected.
The result was standing right in front of her.
Sekigahara had gathered its strongest surviving forces and built an actual military foothold near the core.
And judging by the sheer amount of metal surrounding her, they had spared absolutely no expense doing it.
The outer wall alone was absurd.
Mikan craned her neck toward the massive fortification surrounding the base. Nearly a full meter of tempered Ferendil Iron stood between them and the wilderness beyond, the esoteric metal specifically chosen for its ability to endure tremendous Apprentice-level force. Reinforced firing platforms had been constructed along the top, and several heavy cannons already protruded through protected openings while crews worked around them.
She stared at it for several seconds.
"How long was I asleep...?"
"Lady Mikan!"
The familiar voice immediately pulled her attention away from the wall.
Mikan turned just as several people wearing Kinzoku colors hurried toward her, and the tension she hadn't realized she was carrying loosened slightly when she recognized their faces.
"You guys made it."
Five Martial Apprentices gathered around her, each looking considerably worse than when they had first entered the Severian Plateau. Their uniforms were torn and stained, weapons bore fresh damage, and one of the men had his left arm secured tightly against his chest. Still, they were standing.
They were alive.
Three of them were of Noble birth, but none of their pride remained.
Mikan smiled at first.
Then she looked behind them.
Her smile slowly faded.
"...Where is everyone else?"
The five exchanged glances before one of the older Apprentices answered.
"Sent back to the rear camp."
Mikan frowned. "All of them?"
"Everyone who wasn't cleared to continue operating this close to the core. Command reassessed us after we arrived last night. Injuries, combat condition, performance, overall combat grade..." He gestured vaguely around them. "The works."
Mikan looked from one face to another before glancing around the fortress again.
"So this is it?"
"For our group?" He nodded. "Pretty much."
Mikan's lips pressed together.
Five.
Six if she counted herself.
Their expedition had entered the Plateau with an army of 1000, yet after everything they had encountered on the way here, this was all that remained at the forward base. The others weren't necessarily dead—thankfully—but they had either been injured too severely or simply hadn't been deemed strong enough to continue advancing with the main force.
For a moment, humiliation prickled at her.
Then Mikan actually looked around.
Kinzoku wasn't special.
She saw another clan unit walking across the courtyard with barely a dozen members remaining despite remembering that same clan entering the Plateau with several times that number. Another group had so many bandages between them that they looked as though they had collectively picked a fight with a meat grinder. Even among the larger clans, many of the people who remained bore fresh scars, damaged armor, and the obvious exhaustion of Martial Artists who had already fought several battles just to reach this place.
The Severian Plateau had been filtering them from the moment they entered.
Those who couldn't keep up were sent backward.
Those who were injured were removed from the front.
Those who were unlucky...
Mikan's gaze lingered briefly on a group carrying several covered stretchers toward another section of the base.
Well.
They didn't come back at all.
What remained near the core were the Martial Apprentices who had survived that process.
And once Mikan started paying attention to them properly, she realized just how ridiculous the concentration of strength around her was.
Powerful presences were everywhere.
She spotted high-grade Apprentices eating breakfast beside an ammunition depot as casually as farmers resting after a day's work. Another group practiced in an open yard, every clash of their fists producing enough force to make nearby soldiers glance over in annoyance. Compared to the other martial artists, they were the only ones carrying weaponry.
There had to be more than a hundred high-grade Martial Apprentices gathered here.
More than a hundred.
Mikan whistled softly.
No wonder Sekigahara had managed to expand so quickly after consolidating its forces.
This wasn't simply another clan warparty anymore.
Some of the strongest Martial Apprentices in the entire Confederacy were being gathered into one place.
And apparently...
Kinzoku had only managed to scrape together six of them.
Mikan's mouth twisted.
Well, when she put it like that, it sounded pretty pathetic.
"So what are we doing here now? Any orders?" she asked, turning back toward the others.
One of the Kinzoku Apprentices scratched his cheek.
"Defense."
Mikan stared at him.
"...Defense?"
"Command assigned us to the fortress defense force for now."
Her eyebrow twitched. "What kind of defense?"
"The... defending kind?"
"I know what defense means."
The man wisely took a step backward as he laughed nervously.
Mikan folded her arms as she glanced toward the enormous Ferendil wall surrounding them. It wasn't that guarding the forward base was unimportant. This place was the heart of Sekigahara's entire operation near the dungeon core. Losing it would be disastrous, and somebody obviously needed to remain behind whenever the offensive forces deployed.
But still...
They had come all this way.
They had survived the Nochus.
They had lost most of their original expedition force before even reaching the core.
And now the six Kinzoku Apprentices strong enough to remain were being told to sit behind a wall while everyone else went out and earned military merit?
Mikan's lips pressed into a thin line.
She didn't like that at all.
"Lady Mikan?"
A deep voice came from behind her.
Mikan turned.
For a split second, every muscle in her body tightened.
A massive man was walking toward them.
He stood well above most Martial Apprentices in the courtyard, possessing the kind of enormous frame that immediately reminded her of someone else. Broad shoulders. Thick arms. Heavy footsteps. For just an instant, Mikan's mind flashed back to dark iron plates and that ridiculous greatsword.
The Kabuto guy?
Her hand almost moved toward Portia before the approaching man stepped fully into view.
Mikan blinked.
No.
Definitely not him.
This man wasn't wearing armor at all. A loose purple dougi covered his enormous frame, tied simply around the waist, while his black hair had been neatly pulled back behind his head. He looked young despite his size, perhaps somewhere in his twenties, with a handsome face that seemed almost bizarrely friendly compared to the intimidating body underneath it.
The man stopped a comfortable distance away and offered her an easy smile.
"Lady Mikan Furutsu, I presume?"
Mikan studied him for a moment before nodding. "Who're you?"
"Good. That would've been embarrassing otherwise." He placed a huge fist lightly against his chest. "Yoshimoto Seishin. It seems we're rivals in this war, hm?"
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I have stockpiled a few chapters. Will release them daily until they run out. I am beat. Thanks for reading!