Shouts and commands rang through the chaos.
"Forward! Go forward!"
"Hold the formation!"
"Die, you bastard!"
Such cries were common in cramped and desperate moments, and none were more desperate than war itself. The battlefield had become the stage for a brutal conflict between two kingdoms that had failed to reach a peaceful accord. Kings spoke of diplomacy in distant halls, yet it was the soldiers who bled beneath the open sky.
The armies clashed upon a vast stretch of grassland that rolled endlessly toward the horizon. Steel met steel as men collided in violent struggle. Blades flashed in hands, arrows whistled through the air, and the earth trembled beneath the roar of battle.
Amid the clash stood a squad leader, holding back an advancing enemy while barking orders to his men. His eyes caught sight of a soldier lingering behind the line, standing stiff and uncertain.
"Hey! You there! Move to the front. Don't hide behind us like a coward!" he shouted.
"Yes, sir!"
The young soldier who had been quietly observing the battlefield gave a small nod the moment he heard his leader's command. Without protest, he stepped forward and began moving toward the front line.
Yet there was little confidence in the way he walked.
His movements were stiff and uncertain, as though each step required a measure of courage he did not fully possess.
Dust and smoke drifted across the field while the distant clash of steel echoed through the air. Amid that chaos, the young soldier's hesitant advance did not go unnoticed.
One of the men standing nearby glanced at him, then turned toward the squad leader who had just given the order.
Frowning slightly, he spoke.
"Who is that? Why does he look like that?" he asked.
"Hm?" The squad leader glanced briefly in the direction of the advancing figure while parrying a strike.
"Oh, him. His name is Sashay. A failed soldier."
"A failed soldier?" the man repeated, disbelief clear in his voice. "What do you mean by that?"
"He has no talent for the sword."
The squad leader spoke casually even as he deflected another blow, his words slipping between the clang of steel.
"Then why is he here? Why would someone like that join the army? Isn't this just suicide?" the soldier pressed.
"To be honest, I don't know either." the squad leader replied with a shrug.
To become stronger.
That was the answer Sashay gave within the quiet of his own mind after catching fragments of the two men's conversation.
He did not turn to look at them. There was no need.
Sashay understood well enough the place he held in the army.
At present, his rank was nothing more than that of a lowly infantryman, he had little say in the matters that decided life and death. When orders were given, all he could do was bow his head, offer a salute, and march forward into battle, prepared either to kill or to be killed.
Men of his rank were never told of strategy, nor entrusted with knowledge of the army's plans. Such things belonged to officers and commanders.
To them, he was insignificant.
His reputation was poor, perhaps the worst in the entire battalion. Many called him the weakest soldier among them. A piece of trash from the bottom ranks, a man who carried neither talent nor worth.
Sashay paid little heed to the words of others. In his heart, he held firmly to a quiet belief: that one day the wheel of life would turn.
For now, he might be weak. A man without talent, overlooked and easily forgotten among the countless soldiers who filled the ranks of the army. Yet Sashay believed that fate was not something fixed forever.
Effort, he believed, carried more weight than talent.
Even a man born without gifts could, through relentless effort, one day stand shoulder to shoulder with those who had once seemed far above him.
That belief was the reason he endured everything he did.
The training.
The battlefield.
The constant brush with death.
All of it was for the sake of a dream.
A dream he had carried within himself for many years.
It was not something he ever spoke of to others. The words had never left his mouth, yet the dream remained clear in his mind, something he refused to forget no matter how difficult the days became.
Whenever Sashay stepped onto the battlefield, he held to two simple objectives.
First, to gain experience and grow stronger.
Second, to survive.
Those two goals had guided every battle he had fought until now. Unlike the reckless soldiers who charged headlong into crowds of enemies like madmen hungry for glory, Sashay fought with caution.
He faced his opponents one at a time, measuring each encounter carefully against his own modest abilities.
After all, he knew better than anyone that his strength was, at best, merely average.
Grant me your blessing, O Lord… as always.
The prayer passed quietly through Sashay's mind, a habit he repeated each day before stepping into battle.
Even as he prayed, his feet did not stop moving.
Step by step, he continued forward.
With every pace he took, the sounds of war grew louder. Steel rang against steel in harsh collisions, shields splintered beneath heavy strikes, and the shouts of soldiers blended with curses and dying screams. The noise rolled across the battlefield like a violent storm that never seemed to end.
Sashay felt his legs tremble slightly as he advanced.
It was always like this.
The front line was a place beyond reason.
A different world entirely.
There was no longer any safe distance, no wall of bodies standing between him and death. Here, the enemy was close enough to see clearly. Faces twisted with rage. Eyes wide with fear. Steel raised high beneath the pale sky.
The two armies collided like opposing tides.
Shields slammed together with a dull thunder, and blades began to rise and fall without rhythm or mercy. Men shouted orders that were instantly swallowed by the chaos.
Witnessing the chaos unfolding before him, Sashay instinctively tightened his grip around the short gladius in his hand.
The familiar weight of the blade offered a small measure of reassurance.
With a steady motion, he raised his buckler before his chest. The shield trembled slightly, whether from the strain of his arm or the tension coiling within him, even he could not tell.
Still, he held it firmly.
Ahead of him, the battle raged without mercy. Steel flashed beneath the dim sky, and men clashed like waves colliding upon a restless shore.
Sashay drew in a slow breath.
Stay calm.
That was the only thought he forced into his mind.
An enemy soldier rushed toward him.
In the next instant, a sudden thrust shot toward his body. Sashay did not even see the weapon clearly, nor did he have time to understand what was coming for him. Yet instinct moved his body before his mind could catch up.
He raised his buckler.
Clang!
The impact struck the small shield with a violent force that sent a sharp tremor through his arm, like a bolt of lightning racing through his bones.
The force nearly pushed him off balance.
He stumbled half a step backward, heart pounding wildly, yet his body moved before fear could claim him completely. His gladius darted forward in a short, desperate thrust.
The blade scraped against the enemy's armor, leaving nothing more than a shallow mark.
The man snarled and raised his sword again.
Sashay retreated quickly, narrowly avoiding the descending strike. The sword bit into the earth beside his foot, sending dirt scattering across the grass.
Around him, the battle raged without pause.
Men fell.
Others stepped over the fallen without hesitation.
The smell of iron thickened in the air.
"Well, well… what do we have here? It's not often one finds such a young fish wandering onto the battlefield."
The voice came suddenly, cutting through the clash of steel around him.
Sashay turned his head toward the speaker.
Before him stood a man of rather heavy build, broad and thick through the waist. In his hands he carried a spear whose long shaft rested comfortably against his shoulder. A worn leather helmet covered his head, and the armor he wore seemed poorly fitted, barely managing to contain the large belly that pressed against its edges.
Yet despite the man's ungainly appearance, there was something unsettling about him.
Sashay immediately adjusted his stance, lowering his center of gravity while raising his buckler slightly.
The man's gaze lingered on him in a way that felt deeply unpleasant, almost as if he were examining prey rather than facing another soldier.
The stranger chuckled softly before speaking again.
"My name is Phil, the man who's about to kill you." he said with casual confidence.
Without another word, Phil suddenly moved.
Despite his large frame, his speed was startling. His boots struck the ground in rapid strides as he rushed straight toward Sashay. In only a brief moment, he had already closed the distance between them.
The spear in his hand lowered, its sharp point aimed directly at Sashay's chest.
The spear shot forward like a striking serpent.
Sashay barely had time to raise his buckler.
Clang!
The point of the spear glanced off the rim of his shield, the force of the impact sending a violent tremor through his arm. Before he could regain his balance, Phil twisted the shaft of the weapon and thrust again.
The second strike came faster.
Sashay stepped back and tried to parry with his gladius, but the spear's reach made the effort clumsy. The steel tip brushed past his guard and tore through the cloth at his shoulder.
Pain flared sharply.
Phil grinned.
"Well now, you're slower than you look." he muttered.
He pressed forward without hesitation.
The spear moved in quick, ruthless arcs. Thrust after thrust drove toward Sashay with frightening precision. Each attack forced him backward across the grass, his boots scraping against the soil as he struggled to keep his footing.
Sashay tried to retaliate once, swinging his gladius toward Phil's arm, but the spear withdrew just out of reach before snapping forward again.
Whoosh!
The blade of air passed dangerously close to his throat.
Another strike followed.
And another.
Phil's movements were swift, controlled, and merciless. Whatever his appearance suggested, he was no ordinary soldier.
Sashay's breathing grew heavier. His arms felt slower with each passing moment. The difference between them was painfully clear.
Then it happened.
Phil feinted a thrust toward Sashay's chest.
Instinctively, Sashay lifted his buckler to block.
But the spear changed direction in the same instant.
The steel tip slipped beneath his guard.
A dull, wet sound followed.
The spear drove into his side.
For a moment, Sashay did not even understand what had happened. His body froze as the cold sensation spread through his chest.
Then the pain arrived.
His legs weakened instantly.
Phil pulled the spear free with a sharp motion, and Sashay collapsed onto one knee. The gladius slipped from his hand and fell into the grass.
Blood began to stain the ground beneath him.
Phil watched him quietly, breathing only slightly heavier than before.
"Hm, I expected a little more." he said with mild disappointment.
Sashay tried to remain upright, but his vision had already begun to blur. The sounds of the battlefield grew distant, as though they belonged to another world.
His strength was fading quickly.
He fell forward onto the grass, his body barely responding to his will.
The sky above him stretched wide and pale.
So this… is how it ends.
His breathing slowed.
Have I dreamed too high?
The question drifted slowly through Sashay's fading thoughts.
Or is talent truly everything?
Why does God write each person's fate so differently?
Why must mine be written like this?
Why has God never granted me His blessing, even though I have prayed to Him every day?
Was I simply never meant to become strong?
For a fleeting moment, bitterness crept into his thoughts.
Is a wretched man like me not even allowed to desire strength?
Is that why you refuse to bless me, O God?
Such thoughts circled endlessly in his mind as the pain in his body dulled and the darkness crept steadily closer. His senses were fading, the world slipping away from him piece by piece.
Then, suddenly, a voice spoke.
—Are you tired of the fate God has given you?—
The words did not come from the battlefield. They did not pass through his ears like ordinary sound.
Instead, Sashay heard them from somewhere deeper.
From within himself.
His fading consciousness stirred.
Hm? What… was that voice?
—Do you resent God now?—
The voice returned, calm and patient.
—For making you weak like this… for giving you no talent at all?—
Sashay fell silent.
Even in his dying state, the question lingered heavily in his mind. For a moment, he did not answer.
Before he could gather his thoughts, the voice spoke once more.
—Do you want power?—
The question came so suddenly that Sashay answered without thinking.
"Yes…"
His voice was faint, barely more than a whisper.
"…I want power."
A rough chuckle echoed nearby.
"Hm? Hallucinating before you die? Fine. I'll give you some mercy." Phil's voice muttered.
Phil stepped forward and lifted his spear.
Without hesitation, he drove the weapon downward into Sashay's head.
Blood splattered across the grass.
The movement of Sashay's chest stopped instantly. His body lay still, lifeless upon the battlefield.
And then—
Darkness swallowed everything.
Sashay found himself drifting within a vast and silent void. There was no ground beneath his feet, no sky above him, no sound nor movement anywhere.
Only endless blackness.
So… this is death.
The thought passed quietly through his mind.
It feels… cold.
And lonely.
He stood there, alone within the emptiness, uncertain how much time had passed.
Then something changed.
A sudden light burst into existence.
It shone so brightly that Sashay was forced to shut his eyes. For several moments he could see nothing but white brilliance.
Gradually, the light softened.
Sashay opened his eyes once more.
The first thing he saw was a woman standing before him.
She held an unusually long pipe tobacco in her right hand, its slender stem curling elegantly between her fingers as thin wisps of smoke drifted slowly into the still air.
**
Thank you for reading this novel, new chapters will be uploaded daily unless the apocalypse arrives or I somehow end up homeless. Don't forget to take this novel to your collection and give power stone and two. Your support means everything.