Morning came without ceremony.
A dull gray light crept over the Rhevan Plains, revealing a land scarred by years of war. Trampled grass lay flattened into the mud. Broken spears and rusted shields jutted from the ground like gravestones. The air smelled of wet earth and old blood.
Arden woke before the horn.
Sleep had been shallow. His body rested, but his mind had not. The memory of the system still burned behind his eyes, silent now, watching.
Around him, the camp stirred. Men rose quietly, fastening armor with stiff fingers. No one joked. No one spoke of victory.
They all knew what today was.
The horn finally sounded.
Once.
Twice.
Long.
Battle assembly.
Arden joined his unit as they formed ranks. Infantry. Third line. Not the first to die, but close enough to see it happen.
The officers rode before them, pointing toward the rising hills ahead. Banners fluttered in the distance. Enemy colors. Close enough now to be real.
"This is a holding engagement," a captain shouted. "We take ground or we die on it. No retreat."
No retreat meant contribution.
It also meant bodies.
The line began to move.
The march toward the battlefield felt different from the road behind them. Every step now carried weight. The sound of armor clinking was louder. Breathing was heavier.
Arden tightened his grip on his spear.
He felt the system stir.
Not visually.
Not audibly.
It was awareness.
Like something leaning forward to observe.
They crested the final rise and the battlefield opened before them.
Two armies facing each other across a shallow valley. Thousands of men. Shields raised. Weapons ready. The silence between them stretched thin.
Then the horns sounded.
The world exploded.
Arrows darkened the sky. The first volley slammed into the front lines. Men fell before they ever swung a weapon. The ground shook as infantry charged, boots pounding, voices breaking into screams.
Arden ran.
Training vanished. Thought vanished. There was only movement and noise and terror pressing in from all sides.
The first clash hit like a wall.
Shields crashed. Spears snapped. Bodies slammed together. Arden thrust forward instinctively, feeling resistance and then release as his spear struck something soft.
A man fell.
Arden did not look down.
Another enemy surged toward him. Arden raised his shield just in time. The impact numbed his arm. He stumbled, nearly losing his footing in the mud.
Someone screamed nearby. Another scream ended abruptly.
The line buckled.
"Hold," an officer roared. "Hold the line."
Arden planted his feet.
Fear clawed at his chest, sharp and suffocating. His arms burned. His lungs felt too small. This was not the controlled march. This was chaos.
A blade flashed toward him.
Arden reacted without thinking. He twisted, felt steel scrape his armor, then drove his spear forward again.
Another body fell.
Blood soaked the ground.
And then the system activated.
Contribution recorded
Combat engagement confirmed
Arden gasped as the sensation hit him. Not pain. Not pleasure.
Clarity.
Time seemed to slow just enough for him to register the battlefield as more than noise. Movements sharpened. Positions mattered.
He ducked beneath a wild swing and struck upward. The enemy soldier collapsed, clutching his throat.
Contribution increased
The system did not praise him. It did not encourage him.
It counted.
Arden fought on.
Minutes blurred together. Hours might have passed. He lost track. All he knew was motion, impact, breath.
The line surged forward. Then back. Then forward again.
At some point, Calren fell beside him, an arrow buried in his chest. Calren tried to speak. Blood filled his mouth instead.
He died without another sound.
Arden stepped over him.
There was no time to mourn.
The battle broke in the early afternoon.
Not because one side won, but because neither could continue. Bodies littered the valley. Wounded men crawled or screamed or lay silent.
The horns sounded retreat.
Arden dropped to one knee, spear slipping from his hand. His arms shook uncontrollably. His armor was dented and slick with blood that was not all his own.
He was alive.
The system pulsed again.
Engagement complete
Survival confirmed
A new layer opened in his mind.
System Rank unlocked
Rank One Legacy Holder
Total Recorded Contribution
Combat participation confirmed
Confirmed eliminations recorded
Survival bonus applied
Legacy Points gained
The exact number burned itself into him.
Not public.
Not visible to others.
But real.
Arden closed his eyes.
The world spun.
When he opened them again, he felt different. Not stronger. Not braver.
He felt anchored.
What he had done would not disappear into reports or be buried beneath a commander's name.
It was his.
The surviving soldiers regrouped near camp. Medics moved among them. Officers shouted orders. Clerks began writing already.
Casualty lists.
Arden sat on the ground, staring at his hands.
They were steady now.
He looked toward the field one last time. Toward the bodies that would be counted and forgotten.
The system remained quiet.
Waiting.
This was only the beginning.