Thud.
The sound was heavy, metallic, and wet—like iron boots treading through the floor of a slaughterhouse. Thud. Thud. Thud. In the absolute darkness of Reine's mind, the footsteps began to multiply, overlapping into a rhythmic, mechanical drone that vibrated through the very earth beneath him. It wasn't just a sound; it was a weight, pressing down on his chest until he couldn't breathe.
Suddenly, the vision snapped like a dry twig.
Reine's eyes flew open. He found himself twisted into an awfully uncomfortable position inside a lousy, falling-apart tent that smelled of damp canvas, old socks, and the lingering scent of iron. Outside, a loud, aggressive wind lashed against the fabric, whistling through the gaps in the stitching like a physical threat.
"Sir... siiiir..." No reply. "SIIIIIIIIIIIR!!"
Argol was shaking Reine with enough aggression to dislocate a shoulder.
"No... not yet..." Reine groaned, his voice muffled as he pulled a thin, lumpy pillow over his ears to drown out the world. "Five more minutes of non-existence, please."
"Sigh. I guess I'll have to eat all this hot food by myself," Argol muttered, loud enough to ensure it reached Reine's ears.
Argol turned around to grab the warming pot, but his hands met empty air. In the blink of an eye, Reine was already standing—fully dressed, boots laced, and sliding his stubborn, grey sword into his waist belt with a sharp clack. Argol blinked, his jaw dropping. He looked at the bedroll where Reine had been a "sloth" mere seconds ago, then back at the "Specialist." The bed wasn't just empty; it was perfectly tidied, the blankets smoothed out with military precision.
Argol's face twisted into pure terror. "H-hey! How did you even do that?! You were literally snoring a second ago! Is... is that a Vortex ability? Instant bed-making?!"
"What are you waiting for, Argol?" Reine said, his face suddenly illuminated by the dim lantern light, wearing a look of pure, unhinged joy at the prospect of a hot meal. "The food won't wait for us. Let's move."
"DON'T TURN THIS AGAINST ME! EXPLAIN THE BED!" Argol shouted in disbelief.
"SHUT UP!" a dozen voices yelled simultaneously from the surrounding tents. Argol apologized sincerely, bowing to the shadows in embarrassment as he scrambled to follow Reine out into the gloomy, biting night.
The Road to the Flatlands
The air outside was heavy, thick with the fresh, metallic scent of impending rain. Reine looked up at the black, oppressive clouds and let out a tired, long-suffering sigh.
"Do we really have to do this? Look at the weather... it's so boring and edgy," Reine implied, gesturing to the bleak landscape.
Argol gave him an over-exaggeratedly terrified look, as if Reine had just insulted a god. Reine matched it with an over-exaggeratedly serious face, holding the gaze until Argol looked away. Unwillingly, Reine followed as they began their trek toward the unknown.
"How are we even going to get there? We don't even know the way, and I can't see two feet in front of my nose," Reine noted.
"With this!" Argol lifted his right arm with a flourish.
Reine looked at him dumbfounded, tilting his head. "Your arm is going to guide us?"
"THIS!" Argol yelled, pointing to the Aether-Glass Navigator strapped to his forearm. Reine nodded back with intense, mock gravity. "This device is a magical mana-tech map, sir. Even if you were stuck in the middle of a dense, lightless jungle, you just point at the location on this holographic display and it shows precise directions by tracking the ley-line fluctuations."
"I've never seen anything like that in Herlem," Reine admitted, his curiosity piqued. "Where did the Commander even get it?"
"You didn't know?" Argol's chest puffed out with pride, nearly tripling in size. "This was designed by the great Mioli Reinhart, the legendary Grandmaster Mage. It's an elite artifact. Since the Erlj Technocracy stopped supplying our kingdom with them, they're incredibly valuable."
This guy is surprisingly smart about these things, Reine thought, recalculating his earlier assessment of Argol being "slow."
They eventually reached their first resting location—a vast, plain flatland where the grass grew tall and the wind blew unobstructed.
"This is where we're going to rest for today," Argol said, expertly popping up the tent.
"Isn't this place a little too... exposed?" Reine asked, eyeing the flat horizon. But then, his nose twitched. He smelled it—the rich, aromatic scent of Groy, a heavy curry-like fragrance that could never be mistaken. He turned to see Argol already heating a pot over a small, shielded flame.
"Did you really make this?"
"Yeah. My mom used to make this for me every time I accomplished something," Argol said, a smile appearing on his face that looked almost fake—a mask to cover something deeper. "It's the best food for traveling. And the pot is imbued with ice magic on the outer rim, so the ingredients won't spoil for ten days."
They sat cross-legged under the piercing, indifferent moon, eating the warm Groy in silence.
"Argol," Reine said quietly. "What's your goal? I asked before, but the Commander interrupted us with her usual yelling."
"Oh, yeah. It's—"
Argol was cut off again, this time by a small, sunset-colored fox that trotted out of the high grass. It looked like a living flame against the dark greenery.
"It looks like it smelled the food," Argol whispered, his face softening with an admiring glow. Reine offered a small piece of meat. The fox yipped, snuggling its warm head against Reine's thigh. Argol frowned, checking his monocle. "Sir, be careful. If that's a mana-beast, it could be dangerous."
But the fox just curled up and fell asleep beside Reine, its tail twitching. Soon, the warmth of the food and the exhaustion of the day took hold, and the two boys drifted off into a restless sleep.
The Death Knell
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
The dream returned. But this time, it didn't snap away when Reine opened his eyes.
The heavy, mechanical thud of metal on wet grass grew louder, vibrating through Reine's skull. His eyes snapped open. He looked out the tent flap and his heart stopped. The vision wasn't a memory anymore—it was a death knell. Through the thick morning fog, he saw them: at least a hundred and fifty men, a shimmering wall of gold-veined alloy fanning out across the plain in a perfect pincer movement.
Reine reached out, gripping Argol's shoulder and shaking him with violent urgency. "Argol, wake up. We're in trouble. Deep, deep trouble."
The little sunset fox bolted upright, its fur bristling like a needle-cushion. Beside him, Argol let out a long, slow yawn. "Trouble?" he mumbled, rubbing his bleary eyes. "Is the Commander mad again? Did we oversleep the drill?"
"Look outside, you idiot," Reine hissed.
When Argol finally crawled out of the tent, his face didn't just turn pale—it turned ghostly, a shade of grey that matched the morning mist. "One hundred and fifty... majority swordsmen, but there are magicians in the backline. Look at those robes."
Argol's voice trembled as he adjusted his monocle, the Aether-Glass Navigator flickering wildly as it scanned the approaching heat signatures.
Then, he saw the man in front.
He was a giant, at least 6'6", encased in heavy plate armor that looked like it belonged on a siege engine rather than a man. He carried a massive, curved saber, the tip of which was lazily dragging through the mud, leaving a deep, jagged trench in its wake.
"Sir... that man. He's Advanced rank," Argol whispered, his expression darkening with genuine terror. "The others... at least twenty of them are Intermediate. Even ten of you and ten of me wouldn't be able to kill that freak. Is that even a human?"
"We're not going to rush in like idiots," Reine growled, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the fox. "I have a plan. But we have to move now."
The Ghost Camp
The enemy reached the campsite minutes later. The giant commander came to a halt, the screech of his saber against a stray stone piercing the morning air.
"Commander, there's a tent here! It's still warm!" a soldier shouted, pointing his spear.
"Okla! Bokla!" the giant roared, his voice sounding like boulders grinding together. "Check the tent. The rest of you, sweep the area! Nobody leaves this field alive! If they breathe, they die!"
Two soldiers, twins with identical gold-veined daggers and jagged scars across their lips, stepped forward with evil, synchronized grins. They tore into the tent with practiced cruelty, only to find it empty of life. Moments later, they emerged, holding up a small tuft of orange fur.
"Sir," Okla reported, his grin widening. "It seems two people were sleeping here. An animal, too. They must have sensed us and bolted, leaving their gear behind in a panic."
The giant commander grunted, a sound of pure, arrogant dismissal. "They couldn't have gone far in this fog. Find them. I want their heads on my belt by sunrise."
"Of course, sir," Bokla said, his eyes darting toward the nearby treeline. "The Kla brothers never lose a scent. They're as good as dead."
Deep in the shadows of the forest, twenty feet above the forest floor, Reine and Argol held their breath. They were perched on a thick oak branch, hidden by the dense, "edgy" canopy that Reine had complained about earlier.
Below them, the sunset fox darted through the underbrush, its violet-tinted tail acting as a perfect, taunting lure to draw the trackers away from the main path.
"There! The beast!" Okla's voice rasped from the bushes.
The two brothers broke into the clearing, their armor clanking as they chased the fox right into the center of Reine's trap. They stopped directly beneath the branch, their heads scanning the ground for tracks, completely unaware of the two "Specialists" hovering mere feet above their heads.
Reine's hand tightened on the hilt of Aurelian. The sword felt cold and heavy, seemingly sensing the blood that was about to be spilled. He looked at Argol and gave a sharp, silent nod.
The Kla brothers had found their prey—but they hadn't realized they were the ones in the cage.