As Cedar regrouped with the others, Lance approached him, a mixture of respect and weariness etched on his face.
In his hand, he held out eight medals. Seven were identical, but one stood out—shinier, with an intricate wolf pattern etched into the metal. It marked the Imperium officer Cedar had slain.
These small metal tokens were more than just decoration; they were the official recognition of each enemy killed in battle. A measure of success and proof of combat effectiveness.
Both sides collected these medals from their fallen foes, exchanging them as trophies or as validation of their victories. They could be traded for rewards or added to one's military merit file, and for most soldiers, the accumulation of medals was the standard path to promotion—each one a step closer to higher rank.
But for Cedar, the medals meant little.
They were just another tool, another means to an end. His bloody work on the battlefield was a part of a much larger plan, a goal that had little to do with rank or glory.
"Well done," Lance said, his voice tinged with admiration. "You've earned these."
Cedar nodded, offering a brief thanks before stowing the medals in his bag. As he did, he mentally tallied the day's spoils. Between the enemy's gear and these medals, this battle had proven more lucrative than most.
Once his things were gathered, Cedar rejoined the others. Word had spread quickly—forces were retreating to the capital. The front lines were collapsing, and with each defeat, the Union's focus was turning inward, tightening around the capital.
Cedar glanced over the battlefield one last time. Bodies littered the ground, a grim reminder of the price of survival. Without a word, he fell in line with the soldiers, each step heavy with the weight of the day's battle and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
After regrouping, the division set up a temporary camp.
Unlike civilians, who could evacuate quickly by airship or teleportation gates, the soldiers were responsible for transporting supplies and military equipment—a critical task that required slow, methodical movement over land. Anything left behind or captured could tip the balance of the war.
Ivan had already moved out with another team, escorting high-priority weapons like the grand magic cannons to the capital. They focused on getting the heaviest, most dangerous artillery to safety, ensuring the Imperium couldn't seize such powerful assets.
Cedar chose not to consume the mana core he had taken from the Imperium officer's body. Using it could send him into a brief coma, and with no reliable ally nearby to guard him, he wasn't about to take such a risk in the middle of camp.
Even Len had to wait for him to wake up before he could explain the effects of draining the Magloth life force last time.
In the camp, Cedar set up his small station, only to be greeted by an unexpected figure—a large, muscular man with short red hair and olive skin. Bishop Howser Blaine of the Church of the Light had arrived.
A skilled healer, Howser's abilities surpassed those of basic potions. His presence was a relief, especially in the wake of such brutal battles.
As he moved from soldier to soldier, healing wounds and restoring strength, Cedar felt a flicker of recognition. Howser wasn't just a healer; he was someone from Cedar's past.
It had been years since they last met. Cedar remembered Howser from childhood, back when he was an orphan at the Church in Brighthelm. They had spent their early years playing together, their lives intertwined for a brief time before Cedar's grandfather had enrolled him in a boarding school for the children of soldiers.
The school had provided stability for Cedar after the loss of his parents—his mother, a nurse, and his father, a soldier. After his grandfather passed away, Cedar had stayed, relying on the benefits offered to war orphans and eventually enrolling in the military mage training camp.
Howser spotted Cedar across the camp, his face lighting up with recognition. He offered a discreet wave, signaling that he wanted to catch up once he had finished attending to the wounded.
Cedar nodded, a small sense of relief washing over him at the sight of a familiar face amidst the chaos.
Once the initial wave of wounded soldiers had been treated, Cedar noticed Howser heading toward a quieter part of the camp. Cedar followed, stepping into the dim light cast by a small lantern. Howser turned, smiling warmly.
"Cedar," he greeted, his voice calm but with a weight of experience behind it, as he stepped forward to hug him. "It's been a long time."
Cedar returned the hug, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It has, Howser. I didn't expect to see you here."
Howser shrugged. "The Church is doing what it can. They've sent healers to support the Union forces. This war is demanding everything we have." He studied Cedar for a moment, a mixture of pride and concern in his eyes. "It's strange to think that we used to play together in Brighthelm. And now... here we are—both in the middle of a war."
Cedar chuckled softly, though there was a bitterness in his voice. "We've come a long way, haven't we?"
Howser's expression softened. "Your grandfather would have been proud, Cedar. He always believed you'd grow into something strong." He paused, then added, "I'm here for a few more days. If you need anything—guidance, healing, or just someone to talk to—I'm around."
For a moment, the weight of the battle and the path Cedar had chosen seemed to lift. In this brief exchange, the past didn't feel so far removed. Despite the chaos of war, connections like this still held meaning.
Cedar gave Howser a grateful nod. "I'll take you up on that, Howser. It's good to know someone familiar is here."
Howser smiled and rested a hand on Cedar's shoulder. "Take care, Cedar. And remember—there's always a way forward, no matter how dark things may seem."
As Cedar watched Howser's figure disappear into the shadows of the camp, a rare calm settled over him.
The chaos of war, the ever-present tension, seemed to fade for a moment, leaving Cedar grounded and momentarily at peace. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever challenges lay ahead on the long journey to the capital.
In the days that followed, Cedar made a point to visit Howser regularly. The healer's presence was a quiet reprieve amidst the madness. Cedar needed to maintain the ruse of fake injuries—his miraculous recovery, thanks to Len's enhancements, had to remain hidden.
If anyone noticed that he bounced back from every wound without a scratch, it would raise suspicion. And doubt was the last thing Cedar could afford in the Union's ranks.
During their private talks, they covered everything from the war's mounting intensity to their personal histories, with Cedar finding rare moments of reflection. The conversations with Howser, a familiar face in the chaos, allowed him to relax, even if just for a while.
They spoke of the future, of the Union's strategy, and of Cedar's uncertain path. It was a fleeting opportunity to connect with someone who shared his past—something Cedar didn't take for granted.
The Union, as Cedar knew well, was an alliance of three nations: Otreau, Claules, and Edrea. The land they fought to defend, with its critical cities and trade centers, was within Otreau's borders.
Even if the Imperium managed to capture the capital, it wouldn't mean the end of the Union. The forces would retreat to other member nations or allied territories, regrouping and continuing the fight.
However, the damage to the economy would be immense, and Cedar couldn't help but chuckle bitterly at the thought.
If the war could truly end so easily, it wouldn't have been known as the Hundred Year War.