The next day, I was jolted awake by a rough shake. My eyes fluttered open, and I saw Sergeant Vance standing over me. His face was haggard, and his eyes were weary. Despite being awakened, he was riddled with injuries, his usual strong presence diminished by the fatigue and strain of the battle.
"Wake up, Lucavion," he said, his voice rough. "It's noon. You've rested enough."
I sat up slowly, my body protesting every movement. The pain from my stitched wounds was still there, but it was bearable. I rubbed my eyes and tried to shake off the lingering grogginess.
Vance looked at me, his expression softening slightly. "Everything's a mess right now. You can rest for a while longer if you need to."
I shook my head, pushing myself to my feet. "No, I'm fine. What's the situation?"
He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "The Arcanis sent a new unit of knights. All Rank 4. We lost a lot of good men and women."
My heart clenched at the reminder of our fallen comrades. "What about the bodies?"
"We managed to retrieve them," Vance said quietly. "A mass funeral will be held later today. It's the least we can do to honor their sacrifice."
I nodded, the weight of the losses heavy on my shoulders. "I... I need to be there."
Vance placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. "I know you do. We all need to be there. They were more than just soldiers; they were family."
I looked at Vance, seeing the pain and exhaustion etched into his features. Despite his awakened status, he was just as affected by the losses as the rest of us. The bond we shared as a squad ran deep, and the weight of our comrades' deaths was something we all bore together.
"Thank you, Sergeant," I said quietly, appreciating his understanding.
He gave me a nod, then turned to leave. "Get yourself cleaned up. We'll gather for the funeral soon."
As he walked away, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the day ahead. The pain of my injuries was a constant reminder of the battle, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my heart for the friends I had lost.
I gathered my things and cleaned myself up as best as I could. The next few hours passed in a blur, the preparations for the funeral taking precedence over everything else. The camp was subdued, the usual bustle replaced by a somber silence.
When the time came, we gathered in a clearing, the bodies of our fallen comrades laid out before us. The atmosphere was heavy with grief, the weight of the losses palpable.
The commander of the unit, Commander Gandrel, stood at the front, his voice steady but filled with sorrow as he spoke words of remembrance.
"We honor the brave souls who fought and died alongside us," he said, his voice carrying over the gathered soldiers. "They were more than just comrades; they were our brothers and sisters. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten."
I looked at the faces of my fallen friends. Garret, Mateo, Felix, Elias, Clara—all of them had left an indelible mark on my life, and their loss was a wound that would never fully heal.
Around me, most of the soldiers were shading tears; everyone had lost a part of their squad.
And the same went for me.
But there were no tears.
'No.'
Because I knew crying would not help.
I had felt this a lot of times.
When I was sent to this place for the first time, no one in my family believed me.
I cried.
When I had slept on that cold dam, I cried.
When I was beaten because of the fact that I was a noble in the camp, I cried.
When I had killed someone for the first time, I cried.
But what did it bring?
Did that make me achieve anything? Did it push me towards my goal? I said that I would be proving myself, restoring my lost honor, and clearing my name.
Was I able to?
No, I wasn't.
I had faced countless hardships and endured unimaginable pain, and yet here I was, still at the mercy of a cruel fate. My tears had accomplished nothing.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. The faces of my fallen comrades seemed to look back at me, their expressions frozen in time. They deserved more than my tears; they deserved my resolve. They deserved my promise that I would keep fighting, not just for myself but for them as well.
Commander Gandrel finished his speech, and we all stood in silence for a moment, honoring the memory of those who had been lost. The weight of their sacrifice hung heavy in the air, a solemn reminder of the cost of war.
As the ceremony concluded, I looked at the bright sky before me.
Yeah, Lucavion. Keep going. Just keep moving forward.'
And then I looked back one last time.
'But I swear on my name. I will not forget any of you.'
For them and for my sake, I would keep moving forward.
*********
The recent upheaval in the enemy's tactics had caused significant changes within our own divisions. The devastating attack by the Arcanis Rank 4 knights had left a void that needed to be filled. Orders were soon issued, and our unit was to be restructured.
Sergeant Vance's squad had been effectively decimated, leaving only me. As a result, Vance was moved to another unit, and his rank was stripped due to the perceived failure to protect his squad. The demotion was a harsh blow, and I could see the disappointment in his eyes, but he accepted it with a stoic resolve.
I was reassigned to a new unit under a different sergeant. The transition was far from smooth.
Sergeant Lyra was in charge of the new unit. She was a stern, no-nonsense leader with a reputation for being both fair and harsh. Her eyes bore into me the first time we met, assessing my worth.
"You must be Lucavion," she said, her tone neutral. "The sole survivor of Vance's squad."
I nodded, standing at attention. "Yes, ma'am."
She studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. "You'll need to prove yourself here. We don't have room for dead weight. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," I replied, my voice steady. "I understand."
The transition into Sergeant Lyra's unit was as difficult as I had anticipated. From the moment I joined, the other soldiers made their disdain clear.
Whispers followed me wherever I went, and the glares were hard to ignore. My past identity as a noble and the circumstances that had led me here were well-known among them, and they did not hesitate to use it against me.
On the first day, during a break in training, a group of soldiers cornered me. One of them, a burly man named Roderick, took the lead. His eyes were filled with contempt as he looked me up and down.
"So, you're the cursed bastard," he sneered. "The noble who ended up here because he couldn't keep his hands to himself."
The others nodded in agreement, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility. I clenched my fists, but I didn't retort. I had learned long ago that defending myself against these accusations was pointless. They had already made up their minds about me.
Another soldier, a wiry woman named Lila, stepped forward. "He's just getting his karma. He assaulted a woman, was disowned, and now his whole squad died because of him. A fitting end for someone like him."
The words stung, but I kept my expression neutral. I knew that arguing would only make things worse. I had faced similar treatment in my previous squad, and some of them had been like this too.
"You're nothing but dead weight," Roderick continued, his voice low and threatening. "If you think you can just waltz in here and be one of us, you've got another thing coming."
I met his gaze, my voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here to fight and prove myself, just like everyone else."
Roderick scoffed, stepping closer. "Prove yourself? You couldn't even protect your own squad. What makes you think you'll do any better here?"
"..."
I was not able to reply to that.
"See, even you, yourself, know what kind of thing you are."
"….."
Since the atmosphere was becoming suffocating, and I was not welcomed there, I could only move outside.
It was night and the sky was dark.
–HOWL!
The cold night air bit into my skin as I stepped outside, the darkness swallowing me whole. I felt the weight of their words pressing down on me, their disdain like a physical force. But I couldn't afford to let it get to me. I had to keep moving forward, no matter how hard it got.
Grabbing my spear, I headed to a secluded spot away from the camp. The wind howled around me, a harsh reminder of the harsh world I was now a part of. But it was also a strange comfort, the familiar sting of the cold grounding me.
I began to train, swinging my spear in precise, practiced movements. Each thrust, parry, and slash was a way to channel my frustration, my anger, and my pain. The rhythmic motion of the weapon became a balm to my troubled mind, the exertion pushing out the dark thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me.
I lost track of time, the world narrowing down to the feel of the spear in my hands and the rush of air as it cut through the night. When my arms finally grew too tired to lift the weapon, I sat down on the cold ground, trying to catch my breath.
The physical exertion had helped, but it wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed to prove to myself that I could still grow and improve. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and began to meditate, trying to gather mana into my core.
The process was slow and frustrating, the mana resisting my attempts to control it. I could feel it slipping through my grasp, elusive and stubborn. But I couldn't give up. I had to keep trying, no matter how difficult it was.
As I struggled to focus, a voice cut through my training.
"You….."
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