"This is quite the place to set up camp," Arin said, his voice tinged with disbelief as he stood beside Tom at the edge of a vast canyon that seemed to swallow light itself. The abyss stretched nearly two kilometers across, cutting through the battlefield like a scar carved into the world, continuing endlessly until it was interrupted by a dense forest some fifty kilometers wide, only to resume again on the other side as if the land had been stitched together without care for logic. Nothing about it made sense. No natural process could have created such terrain, but then again, nothing about this place was natural. The plains, the forests —they had all been shaped with intent, crafted for a purpose that no one fully understood.
Tom let out a low whistle as he scanned the horizon, his expression somewhere between awe and resignation. "Yeah… though the whole camp's just as ridiculous. All the good spots are already taken, so just be glad we got here early enough not to be stuck at the edge." There was genuine relief in his tone, and Arin couldn't blame him. Being close to the forest meant shorter travel times and at least a chance at rest between rotations. "Still," Arin muttered, his face twisting with distaste, "I'd rather not walk a hundred kilometers just to sleep in a tent packed with twenty people who smell like they've been rotting in their armor for days." He had seen those tents already—cramped, suffocating, and filled with soldiers too exhausted to care about anything but collapsing where they stood. The fact that they had to carry their own shelters into battle only made it worse.
As the two of them began setting up their small, one-person tents, Arin caught movement out of the corner of his eye and immediately recognized the figure approaching them. Commander Eloi. Without hesitation, Arin stood up. "I'll go get Grandpa—you handle this," he said quickly, already backing away before Tom could protest. "Hey—!" Tom started, but Arin was gone, sprinting through the growing maze of tents and supply lines. Tom sighed, shaking his head as he turned to face the approaching commander. "Of course he'd run…"
Meanwhile, Arin weaved through the camp until he reached the center of their unit, where the elders sat in a loose semicircle, calmly observing the younger members as they worked. The contrast between their relaxed demeanor and the looming battle was almost surreal. "Grandpa! Eloi's here—and he looks serious," Arin called out, skidding to a stop. "Did you do something to annoy him again?" Karl's expression darkened instantly. "You insolent brat, why do you assume I've done something wrong?" he snapped, though the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "Have you learned nothing about respecting your elders?" The surrounding elders chuckled at the exchange, their amusement only growing when Arin's face clearly conveyed that he didn't believe a word of it. Karl rose slightly, ready to discipline his grandson, but before he could act, Eloi arrived, Tom trailing behind him with a resigned look.
"Karl," Eloi said, his tone all business as he extended a sealed document. "I am here on the orders of Marshal Herman. Please accept these instructions. If you require supplies, report directly to me." He did not linger. The moment Karl took the document, Eloi turned and left, already moving toward his next responsibility, leaving behind a faint tension in the air. Arin stepped closer immediately, his curiosity overriding everything else. "Well? What does it say?" Karl broke the seal and read in silence for a moment before a small, knowing smile appeared on his face—one that made Arin uneasy. "We've been commissioned to clear the forest," he said simply, then added, "Inform the others. And I'll need a large supply of arrows." Arin groaned internally. Of course, it was something like that. "Are the arrow specifications still valid?" Karl asked, glancing at his wife. She shook her head, already retrieving a document from her bag. "No. They changed suppliers—different arrowheads, different balance. I updated everything." Karl accepted it with a soft smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you." That was Arin's cue to leave. The moment that familiar warmth entered their voices, he turned on his heel and walked away, muttering under his breath about not wanting to witness any more of their "puppy love."
Back at his tent, Arin wasted no time sitting down and closing his eyes, slipping into meditation. It had become second nature to him—not just a mental exercise, but a practical one. The mana absorbed during meditation helped offset both stamina and magical reserves, allowing him to fight longer and recover faster. In a battlefield like this, where exhaustion killed as surely as any weapon, that advantage was invaluable. By the time morning came, the camp had transformed completely. Along the main road leading into the forest, soldiers moved in organized streams, their families stood out dressed like rangers as they carried crates of arrows toward the front. The distant sounds of battle echoed constantly, a dull roar beneath the rustling of leaves. Progress had been slow—painfully so. The furthest units had only managed to advance two kilometers into the forest, while most remained at just one, the dense terrain and relentless resistance turning every meter into a hard-fought victory. Karl stood near a supply hub, watching as crates were stacked neatly. "We've divided into three shifts," he announced, his voice cutting through the noise. "Thirty people per shift. Six hours of combat before rotation. During that time, we push the line forward by at least three hundred meters. Understood?" A unified "Yes, sir!" followed, and within moments, the group moved out, vanishing into the forest as if swallowed by it.
Arin and Bertho moved together, assigned as a pair under the new buddy system. The elders had insisted—too many unknowns, too many risks to operate alone. As they advanced through the trees, Arin glanced around, his curiosity resurfacing. "Hey, Bertho… why didn't they just burn the forest down? Wouldn't that have been easier?" Bertho raised an eyebrow. "You really don't know?" Arin shook his head. "They tried," Bertho explained. "Before the assault even started. Didn't work. The trees are saturated with mana—normal fire won't catch. Without magical flames, they won't burn, no matter what we do." Arin clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Figures. And the shop doesn't have anything for that either, I assume?" "Nope," Bertho replied, smirking slightly. "Already checked." Arin sighed. "Thought so." Bertho paused, scanning ahead as his expression sharpened. "Give me a moment. I'll speak with the line commander. Then we get to work." "Thanks," Arin said, already stepping toward a nearby tree. "I'll meet you up there." Without waiting, he leaped upward, grabbing a branch and pulling himself into the canopy in one fluid motion, disappearing into the dense leaves almost instantly. From above, the battlefield looked different—quieter, more controlled—but the reality below remained unchanged. The war was relentless, and now, once again, he was stepping into it.