Basecamp – Vahlrund Empire – Night
From atop the hill, the sight was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.
Tens of thousands of Vahlrund soldiers were arrayed across the wide plains, row after row, black-and-red banners fluttering in the night wind.
Campfires at each tent reflected light onto the ground, forming a sea of slowly shifting orange dots—like a battlefield awaiting orders.
Inside the largest command tent, the atmosphere was different. Oil lamps glinted off finely layered armor.
A tall, stern man sat at the head of a small table, studying a map of the Lifreya kingdom. Trade routes, mines, forests, and strategic resource points were carefully marked.
"We will seize the mining territory in the Veyrin Mountains. Minerals, timber, and all other resources there—everything will belong to the Empire," the commander said in a deep voice.
A young aide looked at the map, pointing to the route toward the palace.
"Additionally, the fifth prince—Adrian von Lifreania—is a potential target. But… we have no report from the mercenaries we sent earlier."
The commander straightened, eyes narrowing.
"No news could mean failure. They may have been captured, or worse… eliminated before they could strike."
A pause followed. Another officer sitting at the table stiffened, voice filled with shock.
"How is that possible? They are an elite unit. Elite…! And now… no word at all?"
"No trace. No report. Seems… they truly failed," another aide added, tone mixing confusion and fear.
The commander exhaled heavily.
"This… is surprising. Our elite mercenaries almost never fail. If they've been stopped, it means Lifreya's defenses are far stronger than we estimated."
Another officer chimed in, "If this leaks to the troops… morale could collapse. We can't let news of this failure spread."
The commander fixed everyone at the table with a sharp gaze.
"Forget the kidnapping attempt. Our focus now is to seize the resources and control the main trade routes. The fifth prince is just a temporary distraction. This time, we cannot allow even a single opportunity."
Another aide opened a notebook, marking the positions of reserve troops and artillery.
"Every unit is ready and awaiting orders. This strategy must be precise, fast, and clean. No improvisation."
The commander's gaze remained serious.
"This is no longer about surprise. Our Empire needs these resources. Lifreya has enjoyed nature's bounty for too long without calculation. Now, it's our turn."
The campfires outside cast shadows of the troops onto the map, growing clearer.
From the commander's viewpoint, each marching line looked like a precise needle, ready to pierce Lifreya's defenses and claim their target.
Lifreya Kingdom – Night
In the palace command hall, crystal lamps reflected golden light across stone walls, casting slowly shifting shadows like waves of an approaching war.
The attempted assassination of Prince Adrian—fortunately unsuccessful—shook the heart of the palace.
It was not mere worry; it was a serious alarm: the enemy was not playing. They had sent elite mercenaries, and there were no results.
Every question and speculation about the opponent's capabilities now dominated conversations at every command table.
"The latest from our scouts," said a general, unrolling a map, "our target is clear. The opponent is the Vahlrund Empire. Their numbers… are greater than expected."
At the Lifreya central camp
Kyle Noctis stood beside a map, eyes fixed on the formations of troops on high alert.
Nearby, a young man with a sturdy posture and neatly kept brown hair approached—Darian Ardhen, son of a Duke from the Ardhen region.
Darian appeared relaxed, smiling, gesturing lightly, as if enjoying the quiet night in the forest.
"Don't worry, Kyle," he said jokingly, glancing occasionally at Aurelis preparing among the troops.
"Judging by their spirit, this big battle will be quite a spectacle."
Yet beneath the friendly demeanor, Darian's aura was different. Few noticed, but his strength far exceeded Kyle's. His rank was higher, battle experience more seasoned—he was not just a relaxed Duke's son but a renowned knight recognized across the kingdom.
All his casual gestures were a mask, hiding vigilance and readiness.
Kyle looked at him with respect.
"I'm sure young men like him—and you—will make a difference. Just… don't be careless."
Darian smiled faintly, returning Kyle's salute casually, as if the tension of war was part of a game.
Yet anyone who had fought him knew that friendly smile was deceiving—in battle, he was a force few could match.
On the other side, Aurelis Noctis looked different from the previous party. Usually relaxed and disinterested, now an aura of blazing focus radiated from him.
His right hand clenched, eyes shining with nearly blinding concentration.
This was his first major battle since being accepted as a kingdom Knight, and his enthusiasm burned like a soldier thirsty for action.
Aurelis smiled faintly, a grin filled with anticipation.
"Just wait until tomorrow morning. Hopefully, the enemy realizes they've entered the lion's den."
Among the guard camps
Outside the central camp, among troops clad in full-plate armor covering their entire bodies, figures moved in the darkness.
Helmets reflected the campfire glow, making them look like living metal statues.
Among them—Zen.
He stood rigid, observing, blending with the soldiers.
Of course—Zen was not required to join the war or be a kingdom Knight.
He was not yet seventeen, and worse—he could not use mana at all.
Passing the official knight examination? Almost impossible.
Tonight, Zen only wanted a brief walk through the camp, to see what was actually happening.
No pressure, no obligations—just observing up close while sneaking unnoticed.
He bowed his head, checking the slightly loose helmet straps.
"Hmm… a bit stuffy. But tolerable."
As he stepped between soldiers, Zen leaned toward one of his companions.
"Hey, did you see that sword? Must weigh half a ton. You sure you can run if a magic explodes suddenly?"
His companion stared blankly, no reply.
Zen then patted another guard on the shoulder, who was standing watch seriously.
"Hey, hey… don't take it too seriously. The war starts tomorrow. Better save your energy now."
The soldier swallowed, trembling slightly.
"But… if Lord Ardhen sees me relaxing… I… no, we could all be finished."
Other soldiers began trembling too.
Zen flinched.
"Eh?" A flash of memory struck his mind—Darian Ardhen. His brother's friend.
The one who often came to their house.
The one who always pushed him to train.
The one… who often beat him for being lazy and lacking knightly spirit.
Suddenly, Zen trembled, gripping his own shoulder as if to hold back the shadow of a terrifying past.
"Ah… right, right… I remember… Ardhen… oh, this… could be trouble."
In another tent, a few returning scouts watched Zen from afar, whispering to one another with lips trembling to hold back laughter.
"Is that… a soldier or… a clown?"
——
Morning came without ceremony. Inside a simple tent, Zen slowly opened his eyes, still encased in the fullplate armor he had worn since the night before. He yawned, then lifted a hand slightly. Particles in the air gathered, forming water molecules that flowed gently into his helmet, washing his face without the need to remove it.
"…so I can actually sleep inside something like this," he muttered flatly.
Outside, the atmosphere had already changed. The sound of footsteps, clashing metal, and short commands filled the air. The Kingdom of Lifreya's forces were on the move. Final preparations were completed with minimal words—everyone knew this was not a day for hesitation.
The formation began to advance. They moved through a long, silent forest, accompanied only by the uniform rhythm of marching feet and restrained breaths. Time seemed to slow—until at last, the trees parted.
A vast grassland stretched before them.
And there—
the Vahlrund Empire's army was waiting.
Around fifty thousands of soldiers stood in tight formation, black-and-red banners waving beneath the morning sky. Their ranks were dense, oppressive—like a tidal wave ready to swallow everything.
At the front line of Lifreya's army, one figure stepped forward.
Darian Ardhen.
He raised a hand slightly. Mana gathered in his throat, amplifying his voice until it echoed across the battlefield.
"Soldiers of the Vahlrund Empire," he spoke calmly, yet firmly. "You have trespassed upon Lifreya's territory and threatened our people. Withdraw now, and we may still consider this a mistake that can be forgiven."
For a moment—silence.
Then—
laughter erupted from the imperial ranks.
"Are you serious?" one of their commanders stepped forward, a mocking grin on his face. "With numbers that small, you still dare speak as if you have a choice?"
Several knights behind him laughed as well, their auras heavy and oppressive. Clearly—this was no ordinary force.
"We didn't come here to retreat," he continued. "We came to take what should have been ours."
Darian stared at them without a change in expression.
"…I see."
He lowered his hand slowly.
Behind him, Lifreya's army stood ready. Swords drawn. Shields raised. Breath held.
"In that case," Darian said coldly, "there's nothing left to discuss."
On the other side, the imperial commander grinned wide.
"Charge!!"
And in an instant—
the two waves collided.
Metal crashed against metal. The ground trembled beneath the steps of thousands. Magic exploded through the air, painting the sky in violent light.
War—
had finally begun.
—
Elsewhere, Zen simply moved along with the flow.
Amid the clash of blades and the cries of war, he walked casually among the soldiers, swinging his sword just enough—not too fast, not too strong. Enough to look… normal.
One slash.
An imperial soldier fell.
A slight shift in step.
Another attack came—deflected at a nearly lazy angle, followed by a light push just enough to bring the opponent down.
Nothing flashy.
Nothing excessive.
Like an ordinary soldier… who just happened to be lucky enough to survive.
But—
minutes passed.
Zen began to observe.
His gaze swept across the battlefield.
Lifreya's lines… were being pushed back.
Little by little.
Not because they were weak.
But because of—
numbers.
And quality.
At the front lines, clashes between knights created far heavier pressure. Auras collided, the ground cracking beneath their feet.
Kyle was still holding.
But—
not alone.
In the distance, several of Lifreya's knight commanders were starting to struggle. Their attacks slowed, their defenses opening for a fraction too long.
And on the enemy side—
the imperial commander was still smiling.
Relaxed.
As if this was only a matter of time.
"…one-sided," Zen murmured softly.
A blade came for his neck.
Without looking, Zen tilted his body slightly.
The edge passed just beside his helmet.
His hand moved.
A single push to the opponent's chest.
thud.
The soldier was sent flying back, his breath knocked out instantly.
Zen paused for a moment.
His eyes swept the battlefield again.
Analysis complete.
"…yeah, if this keeps up, they'll lose."
He let out a small breath.
Then—
gripped his sword a little tighter.
"Alright."
His steps changed.
They still looked the same.
But—
the rhythm was different.
An imperial soldier charged from the front.
Zen stepped forward instead of back.
His sword moved faster.
clang—shk.
The attack was deflected, then slipped straight into a gap in the armor with precision so subtle it was almost invisible.
One down.
Another came from the side.
Zen pivoted half a step, his shoulder nearly brushing past, then drove his elbow into the opponent's helmet.
thak.
The body staggered—
finished with a clean slash.
No pause.
No wasted motion.
It still looked like an ordinary fight.
But—
the efficiency… was different.
One by one, enemies that approached fell faster.
Cleaner.
More… precise.
A nearby soldier glanced at him.
"…huh?"
He saw nothing extraordinary.
No overwhelming aura.
No magic.
And yet—
for some reason…
every enemy that approached that man… never lasted long.
Zen moved again.
Slipping through gaps in the battle.
Not standing out.
Not drawing attention.
And yet, slowly—
a small path began to open on the battlefield.
And without anyone realizing it—
the balance…
was beginning to shift.
Amid the chaos of the battlefield—
clashing steel, shouted commands, and the relentless roar of magic—
a faint vibration… appeared in Zen's hand.
…drrrrzt!
He stopped.
His gaze dropped to his palm.
A signal.
Small. Subtle.
But—
there was no mistaking it.
It was an emergency marker he had personally planted.
For only one person.
His little sister.
"…Sigh."
A quiet breath escaped him.
No panic.
No haste.
And yet—
the atmosphere around him… changed.
The air grew heavier.
The soldiers nearby slowed… then unconsciously stopped.
As if something unseen… was pressing down on them.
Zen slightly raised his hand.
The particles around him trembled.
Connecting.
Merging.
In an instant—
voices echoed within his consciousness.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
A single network.
"—Master?"
"—Do you have orders?"
"—We're ready."
Without expression, Zen spoke.
His voice was flat.
Too flat.
"…You all may begin."
A fraction of silence.
Then—
"Target: the Vahlrund Empire forces."
No explanation.
No emotion.
And yet—
behind those simple words…
something was different.
The members of De Numina fell silent.
They recognized that voice.
And they knew—
that wasn't his usual tone.
"…Understood."
"Order received."
"All units—move."
The connection cut off.
Instantly.
Zen lowered his hand.
The sky above the battlefield still burned with magic.
But to him—
none of it mattered anymore.
"…Luna."
He took one step forward—and vanished.
No light. No sound. No trace.
—
The capital of Lifreya.
After the incident at the Count's residence, the royal palace would have summoned his family for questioning.
It was standard procedure.
And once it was over—
they should have been on their way home by now.
Yet—
the signal…
remained in the capital.
Unmoving.
Not shifting even slightly.
Zen appeared atop a rooftop, silent, unmoving. His gaze swept below.
"...A barrier?"
An invisible dome enveloped the heart of the capital.
Zen could see it clearly—far too clearly—while to ordinary eyes, it likely didn't exist at all.
The city, which should have been lively… had turned into chaos. Screams and cries filled the air, wrapped in the stench of fresh blood.
Hundreds or maybe thousand of people. Armed. Their movements were rough, unrefined—yet far too coordinated to be mere coincidence.
Bandits.
Not ordinary bandits. Artifact hunters. He recognized their pattern.
It seemed the barrier was created by an artifact—one designed to repel anything from the outside. The city's remaining forces, along with the royal knights, were completely unable to enter.
This had been planned from the very beginning.
This bandits… looks different.
Far too brutal.
In the main street, civilians and nobles were being held hostage. Some knelt, crying, begging. No one listened.
A man stood among them.
Laughing.
Loud. Unrestrained. Insane.
"HAHAHAHA! Run? Where do you think you're going?!"
One motion.
Slash.
Blood sprayed. Someone collapsed, motionless.
The laughter… only grew wider.
Zen watched without expression.
But—
his gaze stopped.
At one point.
…
A small body lying on the ground.
Not moving.
Clothes he recognized.
Hair he knew.
"…Luna."
Beside her, a man drenched in blood still gripped his weapon—yet his body could no longer stand.
And nearby—
a woman knelt.
Her hands trembled as she held the two of them close.
"Wake up… please… wake up…"
Her voice broke.
Shattered.
Hopeless.
Zen did not move. He did not shout, did not run—yet something in his face changed.
His hand rose slightly. The particles in the air responded. In an instant, a mask formed and took shape over his face—expressionless, without identity.
Crack.
Behind him, space itself seemed to fracture, and a pair of black wings emerged—not feathers, but fragments of shadow, pulsing faintly.
His body slowly lifted into the air.
Below him, the screams, cries, and laughter of the bandits continued—yet they felt increasingly distant. Zen looked to the sky.
The bright blue sky of the capital suddenly changed. Dark clouds gathered rapidly, swallowing the sunlight until the day dimmed into something like a forced dusk.
Then—
the sound appeared.
A hymn.
Soft, beautiful, like a church choir—yet cold and hollow. It echoed from the sky, filling the entire capital.
Everything stopped.
Civilians. Nobles. Merchants. Even the bandits.
All eyes turned upward.
To a single point in the sky.
Zen.
Floating in silence, black wings spread behind him.
"…what is that…" someone whispered, trembling.
No one answered.
Because no one understood.
Zen lowered his gaze. Slowly, his eyes fell to the street—to the small body lying there.
"…Luna."
The air around him changed. An invisible pressure spread, making it hard to breathe. The hymn grew quieter… and then stopped.
Zen opened his mouth.
"MEMENTO—"
His voice echoed across the entire city.
"…VANITAS."
—
At that moment, beneath a darkened sky, the people of the capital witnessed something beyond their understanding.
Not mere magic.
Not mere power.
But—
judgment.
A moment that would one day be remembered…
as
The Day of Reckoning.