Inside the command tent, Azpen's question caused the atmosphere to freeze.
The man in red slowly looked up from his documents.
His eyes narrowed.
"You lost men."
"I understand your frustration."
"But watch your tongue."
His voice grew colder.
"I may not be an Aura Knight, but I am the commander of this operation."
"Yes, the scouts made mistakes."
"They are already being dealt with."
"But the way you're speaking..."
His finger pointed directly at Azpen.
"You're questioning the commander of this entire campaign."
"Do not forget your place."
Azpen let out a long sigh.
"Commander?"
The word sounded more like an insult than a title.
"While you're sitting in a warm tent drawing fancy lines on maps and dreaming of victory..."
"My men are bleeding and dying."
His eyes never left the commander's face.
"We fight on the front lines."
"We bury the dead."
"We carry the wounded."
"You?"
Azpen glanced around the tent.
"I don't see a commander."
"I see a man hiding behind reports."
The commander's face turned red.
"How dare you!"
"You are nothing more than a soldier under my command!"
He slammed his fist onto the table.
"Guards!"
"Arrest him!"
Two guards rushed into the tent.
Then they froze.
Azpen slowly turned his head toward them.
Neither guard moved.
Neither guard dared to touch him.
The commander became even angrier.
"What are you waiting for?!"
"Arrest him!"
The guards looked at one another.
Still no one moved.
Azpen began walking forward.
Slow.
Calm.
Deliberate.
The commander instinctively took a step back.
For the first time, fear appeared in his eyes.
Before anything else could happen, the tent flap opened.
A middle-aged man wearing spectacles entered.
The moment he stepped inside, he saw the scene.
The furious commander.
The terrified guards.
And Azpen standing in front of them.
His gaze shifted between everyone.
The commander immediately pointed at Azpen.
"Perfect timing!"
"Look at him!"
"This brute threatened me!"
"He insulted me!"
"He should be executed!"
The middle-aged man adjusted his glasses.
Then he spoke.
"Silence."
The commander's mouth immediately shut.
The authority in that single word was obvious.
The man continued.
"The only reason you were allowed to command this operation..."
"...was because your father requested battlefield experience for you."
The commander's face paled.
The middle-aged man wasn't finished.
"We agreed."
"We hoped you would learn something."
Instead, his expression darkened.
"Because of faulty reports..."
"We lost good northern mercenaries."
"Good soldiers."
"Good men."
His voice became colder with every word.
"You come from the western provinces."
"A place where crops grow easily."
"A place where winter barely bites."
"You don't understand what it means to fight here."
The commander clenched his fists.
The middle-aged man pointed toward the exit.
"Leave."
The commander's eyes widened.
"What?"
"I said leave."
"You are relieved of command."
The commander's face twisted with rage.
"My father will hear about this!"
The middle-aged man didn't even react.
"Then tell him."
The commander glared at everyone before storming out of the tent.
The two guards quickly followed.
Silence returned.
Azpen folded his arms.
The middle-aged man rubbed his forehead.
"Every year..."
"They send us another one."
While all of that was happening, I was asleep.
Rusty rested beside me.
For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no fighting.
No screaming.
No smell of blood.
Just exhaustion.
Then—
BWOOOOOO!
A horn echoed across the camp.
My eyes snapped open.
For a moment, I thought we were under attack.
I immediately grabbed my spear.
Only after looking around did I realize everyone else was waking up too.
I walked to a nearby water barrel and splashed water onto my face.
The cold water cleared away some of the fatigue.
In the center of the camp, a small wooden platform had been erected.
Mercenaries gathered around it.
Azpen stood on top.
The moment I saw him, everyone else disappeared from my attention.
His voice carried across the camp.
"We're retreating further back."
A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd.
Azpen raised a hand.
The camp fell silent.
"Night is approaching."
"The enemy holds the advantage in darkness."
"We'll establish a stronger defensive position."
"The Mercenary Office will handle patrols."
"Healers will continue treating the wounded."
"Anyone critically injured will be transported to nearby villages and towns."
He paused before continuing.
"For now..."
"We fall back."
"Pack your belongings."
"Move out."
That was all.
No speeches.
No motivation.
Just orders.
And somehow that made people trust him more.
The camp immediately became busy.
Mercenaries packed tents.
Supplies were loaded onto carts.
The wounded were organized into groups.
As for me...
I had almost nothing to pack.
I retrieved my bow and quiver from the Mercenary Office supply tent.
The arrows inside were nearly depleted.
After checking my equipment, I returned to Rusty.
Soon the entire camp began moving.
A few hours later we reached another defensive position.
Wooden barricades had already been erected.
Thick sharpened stakes stood before them.
Barbed wire stretched between sections of the fence.
Workers and mercenaries were still reinforcing the defenses.
Behind the walls, preparations for dinner had already begun.
The smell of cooking food drifted through the evening air.
For the first time all day...
It felt like we might survive the night.