Enlistment procedures were simpler than expected.
Thanks to the influence of the Nordelheim ducal family, my background and records weren't scrutinized closely.
That damn duke who said he'd help me threw me straight to the front lines.
Is this his idea of help, fuck?
The place I arrived was the Edberg Trench Line.
It was the area swarming with the most monsters even in the north.
Still, it was fortunate in a way.
Because this was also a place where Aura Energy techniques were officially taught.
"Hold your breath. Then pull it up again. Grip your heart, lungs, spine—everything like you're clutching it."
"...Is this even something a person should be doing?"
"It is, so just do it. Or you'll die."
Training in Aura Energy was pure agony.
I repeated meditation and extreme cardio like a madman.
Muscles tearing, ligaments snapping—I didn't stop.
From what I'd heard, it started with sensing the energy flowing inside your body.
Some vague, pie-in-the-sky bullshit—I had no clue.
But orders were orders.
I trained until I was on the brink of death.
Not the pain of bones breaking, but the feeling of them crumbling from the inside.
Blood vessels boiling, eyes burning away.
But it was effective.
Balthazar's blood wasn't for nothing—I had talent.
In just one month at the training camp, I mastered the basics of Aura Energy.
When you think "do it or die," shit just works.
"You're the only rookie to graduate the training camp in a month."
"Thank you."
"It's no exaggeration to call you the greatest talent since the camp was founded."
"You're too kind."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
After completing training camp, I was immediately deployed to the front lines.
The battlefield reeked of shit.
After months without washing, covered in monster blood and sweat, that's the smell you get.
I didn't want to know, but I realized I probably smelled the same after just two weeks on deployment.
Why does one slip of the tongue have to cost so much?
Fucking hell.
"Hey, rookie! Don't lag behind!"
It was the squad leader.
His armor was torn to shreds, he was missing about three teeth, and curses poured from his gravelly voice nonstop.
And yet, he was three times stronger than me.
"You fucking idiot! Run! That's a perfect alley to die in!"
"I'm fucking running right now!"
I swallowed my irritation and ran.
This was the Northern Frontline.
Want to die? Just stand still quietly.
My first month, I fumbled even killing a single monster.
These were leagues beyond the ones I'd faced outside the front.
One-third of my fellow trainees from camp died without lasting two weeks.
They dropped one by one from all sorts of causes.
Brains chewed out, limbs torn off, hearts ripped and eaten.
I lost count of how many times I puked at the gruesome sight of their bodies.
I clawed for survival with the mindset that I wouldn't end up like that.
The more fierce battles I fought with monsters, the stronger my Aura Energy grew.
After three months, I could break through monster hordes alongside the assault squad.
By five months, I could buy time against high-rank Great Beasts.
"I'll hold it off!"
"You trying to commit suicide?! Shut up and run!"
"No way. That bastard's mine."
"Fuck...!"
And after a year, I pierced the core weak point of the high-rank Great Beast Razhel and took it down solo.
A greenhorn soldier, deployed less than a year, subjugating a high-rank Great Beast.
Most dismissed it as rumor, some as luck.
"Bet the newbie just ran away and barely survived."
"Kid's got some luck, huh."
But clear achievements were undeniable proof to some.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
A medal ceremony was held.
Soldiers who'd survived the Northern Frontline gathered in one place. Most had half their faces caved in or missing a limb or two.
Yet they all stood stiffly in crisp uniforms.
My name was called.
"Ian, 13th Forward Infantry Battalion."
Valdir Nordelheim, supreme commander of the Northern Frontline, pinned the medal on me.
The Northern Ironblood Medal.
A gold-embossed honor given only to those who successfully subjugate high-rank Great Beasts.
"Good work. Can you keep fighting?"
"I live to serve."
His gaze brushed my face, then he turned away.
Most eyes in the room held suspicion over awe.
Even with the medal, the applause was sparse.
The surviving soldiers started seeing me less as a comrade and more as something alien.
'Is this help... or poison?'
The thought flickered briefly, then vanished.
Surviving without dying was enough.
"That's the soldier who took down Razhel? Looks more like a gigolo than a grunt."
"Ian, the name. Graduated training camp in a month, first year on deployment."
"Dig into his background. Could be a Southern spy."
"Already checked. This Ian... well, actually..."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"You're the rumored soldier who survived the Razhel subjugation battle."
His voice was soft enough to drown in the soldiers' laughter, yet it carried an overwhelming presence.
Soldiers instinctively reaching for weapons felt his pressure that keenly.
The knight in full plate armor showed no skin.
But that voice hinted at gender.
The knight removed the helmet covering her face.
Silver-white short hair cascaded down like a waterfall.
Ice-cold eyes met mine.
A chilling beauty stood there.
Irena Krauze.
One of the Empire's three Aura users.
Commander of the Imperial Knight Order's 1st Division.
The living legend of the monster frontlines.
And—
"Skinnier than I expected. You eating properly?"
—the main culprit behind the impending collapse of the Northern Frontline.
"Starve in this line of work, and something eats you dead. You the knight commander holding the line?"
Irena nodded.
Then asked abruptly.
"Aura Energy—how far have you gotten?"
"Up to around my heart."
"Full-body circulation's still out, then. Whatever."
She paused, then sneered.
"You come here to die?"
"No. To survive."
"Quirky. Fine. Join the unit I formed."
"...Unit?"
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Just like that, I ended up in a brand-new special task force—neither regular knights nor army.
The official reason for its creation: tactical diversification on the Northern Frontline.
In truth, it was just Irena Krauze's handpicked combat squad.
No discipline, weird lineup.
Three elite soldiers, two assassins, one mysterious wanderer, and me.
"You the new guy? Name?"
"Ian. No family name."
"Right, Ian. Heard you're some suicidal maniac who lost his mind."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Crim, the woman leading this task force, asked cautiously, gauging my mood.
"Dumped by your fiancée, ran off to die against a Great Beast?"
"Bullshit."
"What? Not true?"
"Not even close."
Joining the task force didn't magically pave a path to promotion or anything.
If anything, the hellish days got worse than in the regular army.
When the knights handled high-rank Great Beasts, we sealed off their rear.
Special task force? More like knight errand boys.
"Block those bastards from circling back!"
"Let even one slip, and the subjugation fails!"
"Ian, you dimwit! One's breaking through over there!"
We'd plunge past the Northern Frontline into the heart of monster swarms, mowing them down.
Then back for training, then more mowing.
Veterans died off one by one, slots filled by new blood.
And I kept getting stronger.
Three years later, I could beat regular knights one out of five times.
Regular knights were all monsters sporting Northern Ironblood Medals.
Some even had platinum ones.
That's the level needed to stand against grand Great Beasts.
"Ian, that last one was solid."
"Academy dropout pulling this off already."
"Thanks. Still a ways to go."
I replied, eyeing Irena Krauze.
She trained swordsmanship wrapped in Aura.
Right arm bothering her—she gripped the sword left-handed, unlike usual.
Symptoms already starting.
To prevent the Northern Frontline's collapse, I had to surpass that woman.
"No way you're aiming for Captain Irena?"
"Hahaha! Dream on. Captain graduated top of the academy—a real monster."
"Won't know till I try."
"Yeah, yeah. Can't stop youthful vigor. I'll cheer you on."
Have to.
And with that, I'd survive this godforsaken dark fantasy world no matter what.
I vowed it, gripping my sword again.