Bullshit.
Elric wanted to curse this old fart to death, but in the end, he held it in. If anyone in this forsaken land could give him useful information, it was this old man.
In the week he'd spent researching, he'd become familiar with Ulfric's personality. Strict appearance with a soft inside—what was called tsundere, right?
Mustering all the sweetness he could manage, Elric asked, "Grandpa, can't you think of anything else? You're the most knowledgeable person here. You definitely can help."
Hearing this, a small smile appeared on Ulfric's weathered face. "Now that I think about it, there is a place where you could get your answers."
"Where?"
"There's a temple in the middle of this land. If you successfully conquer that place, you can fulfill your wildest imagination and uncover the world's greatest unknowns."
But before Elric could get excited, Ulfric poured a bucket of cold water over his head.
"Don't get too excited, brat. It's just a legend, and a very old one at that. And you, who've been cooped up in the palace all year, might not even know how dangerous the forest is. So don't even think about going there alone."
"You evil bastard! Then why are you telling me this?" Elric's frustration boiled over. "Isn't that clearly just to tempt me?"
But before he could curse more, a knight hurriedly entered the library.
"Young lord, Lord Ronga has returned and requests permission for a visit."
North Plane
Ironcrest Empire - City of Trade
The mud was the first thing Rian noticed.
It clung to his boots, heavy and wet, sucking at every step as if the earth itself wanted to drag him down and hide him from what was coming. The morning fog had not yet lifted, but the sounds had pierced through—metal clashing against metal, men shouting hoarse commands, horses screaming somewhere beyond the grey veil.
Rian tightened his grip on his spear, the wood slick with condensation and sweat.
His hands were shaking again.
"Hold the line!" someone shouted. Captain Bereth, maybe. Or perhaps another officer—voices all sounded the same now, hoarse and strained, stripped of individuality by fear and exhaustion.
Ahead, shapes began to form inside the fog.
Shields first.
Large, polished shields bearing the crest of the Eldros Imperium—a crowned eagle grasping twin swords. Even dulled by mist, they looked too clean, too perfect compared to the dented wood and chipped paint of Ironcrest's own defense forces.
The Imperial army.
They marched in perfect step, their formation unwavering despite the uneven ground.
Rian swallowed hard. He could hear his own breathing inside his helmet—fast, shallow, painfully loud in his ears.
"Brace!"
The command rippled down the defensive line like a wave. Spears lowered in unison. Wood creaked as shields locked together. Someone beside him whispered a prayer to gods that probably weren't listening. Someone else vomited quietly into the mud.
Then the fog broke, and the Imperial forces emerged in full.
The impact was not like Rian had imagined during training.
Not a single thunderous clash of armies meeting—but many small, terrible collisions happening simultaneously. Thuds of wood on wood. Cracks of breaking shafts. Metal scraping metal with sounds that set teeth on edge. The defensive line shuddered as the first wave hit.
Rian thrust forward on instinct.
He didn't even see the man he struck—only felt the spear jar violently in his hands as the point met something softer than armor but harder than air. He yanked it back reflexively. Blood followed the tip, dark and viscous in the grey morning light.
He stared at it for half a heartbeat, his mind struggling to process what he'd just done.
Then the press of bodies swallowed the moment entirely.
Shields slammed into him from the front. He stumbled backward, boots slipping in mud already churned to slick paste. A sword glanced off his shoulder plate with a metallic ring that resonated through his bones. He shoved forward blindly, trying desperately to stay within the formation.
Training had said: Stay together. Don't break formation. The line is strength.
Reality was chaos, noise, and animal panic.
A man from his village—Tomas, who'd worked at the mill—was screaming somewhere to his left. Rian turned just in time to see him dragged down, shield ripped away by grasping hands, his body vanishing beneath armored boots that showed no mercy.
"Close ranks! Close—!"
The order cut off with a wet, choking sound as whoever was shouting took a spear through the throat.
The defensive line buckled like a ship's mast in a storm.
The Empire soldiers pushed harder, larger men encased in heavier armor. Their shields drove forward like mobile walls, methodical and unstoppable. Rian felt himself forced backward step by step, the entire formation retreating whether anyone gave the order or not.
His heel caught on something—a body, equipment, he couldn't tell.
He fell hard.
The sky spun above him—a dull white blur of cloud and fog—before impact drove all the wind from his lungs. His spear flew from his grasp, disappearing into the churning mass of combat.
He tried to get up, survival instinct screaming at him to move.
Someone slammed into him before he could rise. A shield edge struck his helmet with brutal force, sending sparks across his vision and leaving his ears ringing with a high, constant tone. He rolled instinctively, hands scrambling in the mud for purchase, for anything solid to grab.
He needed to stand.
Needed to stand or he would be trampled.
He pushed up onto one knee, gathering his remaining strength—
—and that was when he felt it.
A sudden punch beneath his ribs.
Not sharp at first. Just pressure. Confusion about what had happened.
He looked down slowly, unable to process what he was seeing.
A sword blade was buried halfway into his side, angled upward between the plates where the leather straps created weakness. The soldier holding it looked as startled as Rian felt—both of them frozen in a strange, quiet second amid the surrounding chaos, as if time had decided to pause just for them.
Then the soldier yanked the blade free with a practiced twist.
Pain arrived late—but when it did, it came all at once. Hot, flooding, stealing the strength from his arms and legs in an instant.
Rian collapsed back into the mud.
The battle moved on without him, indifferent to his fate.
Boots thundered past his head, some close enough to graze his helmet. Someone stepped on his hand; he registered it distantly but couldn't feel much anymore. The fog swallowed the fighting lines again, turning men into shadows, turning violence into ghostly impressions.
He tried to breathe deeply but couldn't manage it. Each breath was shallow, wet, wrong. Warmth spread under his armor, pooling against his back where it mixed with mud and rainwater.
He thought of home. Not in any profound way, just a simple image.
His mother hanging laundry behind their small house, sheets billowing white in summer wind.
The sound of the river nearby, constant and peaceful.
He realized, with strange clarity, that he'd never repaired the fence like he'd promised before leaving for military service.
The thought felt oddly important, as if fixing that fence might have changed everything.
The noise of battle grew distant, as if someone were slowly closing a door between him and the living world.
Above him, the fog thinned just enough to show a patch of pale sky.
He watched it, his vision narrowing at the edges.
His fingers twitched once in the mud, as if still searching for the spear he'd lost.
Then they stopped moving entirely.
The army of Ironcrest kept fighting, but Rian was no longer part of it.
Just another body in the mud, one of hundreds that would feed the earth before this day ended.
Somewhere in the chaos, a messenger ran toward the inner city, gasping out the words everyone had been dreading.
"The second wall has been breached!"
Ironcrest Empire - Inner City
Ironcrest had once been one of the smaller kingdoms existing on the North Plane, bordered by the two largest empires—the Thalrion Imperium and the Eldros Imperium—and surrounded by many other minor kingdoms struggling for relevance.
It had been quite prosperous in its prime. Located perfectly between the two great powers, it had naturally become a crucial trade hub where merchants from both empires met to exchange goods without the political complications of crossing borders.
At some point, their wealth had even surpassed the Thalrion Imperium to become the third-largest economy on the entire continent. Gold had flowed through their city like water, and their king had grown fat on taxes and tariffs.
But human greed truly knew no bounds.
To expand trade routes and accommodate larger caravans, they'd directly cleared out the ancient forest surrounding their territory, destroying natural barriers that had protected them for generations. After that, merchants simply passed through rather than stopping. Ironcrest became a path rather than a destination, a place to traverse rather than a place to stay.
Their wealth had steadily decreased over the following decades.
But even with declining fortune, this place should never have looked like it did now.
Previous luxurious buildings lay broken and scattered across the ground, reduced to rubble by artillery and siege weapons. The once-bustling streets were empty, not a single soul visible except for panicked civilians running from time to time, clutching whatever possessions they could carry.
Boom!
With a thunderous sound, another building collapsed, smashed into fragments by a massive stone launched from an Imperial catapult.
"Sir, the second wall has been breached." A soldier knelt before a burly man seated in what remained of a command post. "Without reinforcements, they'll enter the inner city directly within the hour."
The commander—a man named Theiam—let out a long sigh after hearing the desperate news. Not much reaction showed on his weathered face anymore. Two days of continuous fighting had worn away his capacity for shock or despair.
Nothing could be done now.
He stood up slowly, his armor creaking. "Come with me, soldier. You two as well, follow."
"But Commander, are we just giving up?" the soldier asked, emotion cracking through military discipline.
Theiam's movement paused. "You've misunderstood, soldier. I gave up the moment they attacked."
He turned to look at the young man. "No matter how desperately we struggle, in the end the result will lead to the same destination. We don't have the numbers, the equipment, or the strategic position to win this."
His voice grew hollow. "According to previous records of Imperial conquests, they most likely won't harm civilians during interrogation. They want this city intact for their own purposes. So it's time to stop the bloodshed."
"Then what was the meaning of our sacrifice?" The soldier's voice rose, anger replacing exhaustion. "Tell me, Commander—was it just for show? Did our lives mean nothing?"
"Yes." Theiam's answer was flat, emotionless. "Our lives don't matter in the face of our king's arrogance. In front of his refusal to negotiate, his insistence on defying an empire we could never defeat—it's all meaningless."
He looked up at the smoke-filled sky. "We're dying to protect one man's pride."
"Don't waste time. Come with me. We'll retreat with the king and try to flee to the Thalrion Imperium. Maybe they'll grant us asylum."
"No." The soldier's voice was quiet but firm. "I'm not willing to die for him anymore. If I have to die, it might as well be here with my fellow comrades. At least that death would mean something."
Theiam's movement stopped. His golden eyes focused on the soldier for a long moment before he started moving again toward the inner palace.
"What a nice feeling," he murmured, "to be able to decide how you'll die."
His hand unconsciously went to his chest, where beneath armor and cloth, a slave brand was still burned into his skin.
Shaking off all distracting thoughts, his face hardened again into the mask of command. "As you wish, soldier. May we meet in different circumstances in our next life."
"Yes, Commander. I would like to serve under you again if fate permits."
The soldier saluted once, then turned back toward the sound of battle, choosing his death on his own terms.
Theiam watched him go for just a moment. "Riice, Rile—let's move."