The village of Ale, the last settlement on the Pedian Plain.
Despite its remote location, far from the Empire's heart, Ale was a focal point—a gateway for the monstrous hordes that surged forth like plagues to devastate the land.
It had been only twenty-four hours since Morlowe arrived at the encampment, yet the first challenges had already emerged. Though the boy had proven his mettle in the Tournament, showcasing his remarkable skills, many saw his appointment as a Major Corporal at only eighteen years old as excessive.
Leadership wasn't just about skill—so Gale had reminded him the previous day.
A brigade commander oversaw a team of twenty or more soldiers. For such a position, leadership was paramount to command respect and control on the battlefield. But Morlowe? He was fresh out of school, with only theoretical knowledge of war to rely on.
A bitter smile crossed the young man's face.
Dear Gale, I'll prove you wrong, Morlowe swore, clenching his fists.
__________
The night before.
Gale Shunmer.
Thirty-seven years of military service. Calling him a veteran felt like an understatement.
Hooked nose, narrow eyes set close together, clashing against his round face.
A crooked, sneering smile.
The few gray hairs left on his head were so fine they seemed ready to be blown away by the next gust of wind.
Despite his undeniable ugliness, every soldier in the Empire respected—and envied—him for his countless victories. A living legend.
"We'll do as His Grace commanded: we'll form a new team with this opportunity," Gale declared in his nasal tone.
"And how will we find its members?"
Richard, head of the military council, asked.
"There are squads that suffered heavy losses in the last battle."
At Gale's reply, Richard frowned deeply.
"Are you suggesting we merge the remaining members of other squads into a single unit?"
"Exactly. You could call the 42nd Squad a consolidated unit," Gale stated bluntly.
Richard locked eyes with Gale.
He won't back down…
In the end, even Richard had to relent.
"If you're willing to go this far, I won't oppose your decision."
He headed toward the door, hand already on the handle.
"You'll have your work cut out for you," he added, addressing the other councilors before leaving the room.
The moment Richard exited, Kenny—known in the division for his fiery temper—rose from his chair.
"Commander, if I may… I think making a kid fresh out of the academy a brigade captain is going too far," Kenny declared, his gaze fixed on Morlowe.
The other aides stood as well.
"He's right. Why not assign him as vice-captain of the 13th Company instead?"
"Or give him a salary boost as an incentive," another suggested.
But Gale showed no sign of yielding.
Slam!
His hand struck the table violently.
I won't take back my words.
A bronze aura erupted from his body, so dense it shattered the table beneath his fingers. His eyes burned with a fiery red light.
"I won't change my mind. Kenny, Jack, Dosen—go to the other squads and gather some soldiers. The captain of the 42nd Brigade will be Morlowe."
His gaze fell on the boy. "Morlowe, you're up for this, aren't you?"
"I am," Morlowe replied with a slight bow.
He didn't say he'd do his best or work hard to rise to the occasion.
"I am."
The situation demanded resolve.
Gale nodded, satisfied.
Morlowe lifted his head and finally spoke.
"However…"
When his voice lowered, Gale gestured for him to continue. Morlowe chuckled awkwardly before resuming.
Though he'd been at the camp for less than twenty-four hours, he'd had time to observe the soldiers.
"I have some men I want in my squad."
________________
Austin was a twenty-eight-year-old hothead who had spent eight years on the battlefield.
Though his spearwork was unpolished, his raw strength compensated for his shortcomings, allowing him to earn minor distinctions in combat.
If I keep this up, I'll be a brigade commander within a year, he thought, letting his spear fall to the ground.
"Austin, you've been issued a transfer order," a voice called out.
The news hit him like a boulder crashing down a cliff.
M-Maybe… maybe it's a promotion!
If it were anything else, the transfer wouldn't make sense.
A strange excitement made his heart race.
____________
Damn it. Serving under some greenhorn fresh out of the academy… we're just going to be cannon fodder for this kid.
The soldiers' faces betrayed their anger, annoyance, and disappointment.
Morlowe observed them, a smile playing on his lips.
Even he would've been annoyed at serving an eighteen-year-old if he were a veteran like them.
Standing still, he met their gazes with unwavering resolve. Then he began to speak.
"I know many of you have your doubts. And I know this situation is hard to accept," he said, his boyish voice only deepening their scowls.
But Morlowe pressed on. Raising his open hands, he made his plea.
"Give me ten days. Trust me for just ten days and follow me. If, by then, you're still dissatisfied, I'll personally ensure you return to your original squads."
At last, their tense faces relaxed.
Ten days… I only have to endure this for ten days, right?
Such thoughts took root in their minds. They could feign compliance until then.
Suddenly, a sharp voice rang out from the back of the group.
"Yes, sir!"
Everyone turned.
Standing alone in the last row was a boy with short black hair and broad shoulders. A fresh scar ran across his face. Beside him stood a shorter figure—a boy with messy brown hair and lively eyes framed by long lashes.
Despite being inside the camp, he was clad in heavy armor. The only one present to do so.
Frederic and Glenn. Morlowe's handpicked soldiers.
One granted by the Emperor, the other by Gale.
Without another word, Morlowe turned away, barely suppressing a laugh.
You'd better rest tonight, because starting tomorrow, you won't even have the energy to think straight.
The corners of his mouth curved into a wicked grin.
_______________
Thud-thud.
Thud-thud.
Thud-thud.
The sound of marching boots echoed through the camp's paths.
Dented armor, stained with blood.
Chests heaving with labored breaths.
But in their eyes burned a terrifying fire, matching the ferocity of their steps.
"T-That's the Ghost Squad!"
"They say they did it again!"
"That squad leader… the White Asura. Incredible. I saw him in battle two days ago. He cut an orc in half—in half, I tell you!"
"They wiped out three monster dens in just ten days."
____________
The stares.
By now, the battalion soldiers were used to the stares of their comrades.
Marching onward, the group reached a secluded area of the camp.
Only when they were alone did a youthful voice speak.
"Well done. You've done well."
Morlowe turned to face his men.
Eyes blazing with determination. Postures exuding pride.
These were the same soldiers who, just ten days ago, had worn expressions of contempt and anger.
Finally, the 42nd Squad had become a true unit.