Heart pounding like a war drum, Arthur sprinted toward the Unit 7 base. Images of his past life as Reshi bombarded his mind, splintered memories of battlefield carnage, the stench of rotting corpses, and the endless gurgling screams of dying men. But then a new image started replacing them. His memories of Arthur, the hours of ceaseless training until he collapsed from exhaustion. His pathetic attempts to wield a sword. The beatings, hatred and enmity he'd learned to live with from everyone else. They all gathered within his chest, igniting it with a spiteful flame of ambition.
When he arrived at the Unit 7 building, the soldiers were already assembled. Their standard-issue swords gleamed in the fading sunlight, and tension crackled in the air like static.
Officer Mara's voice tore through the gathering dread like a whip crack. "GET ARMED NOW, CADET!"
Arthur didn't hesitate. He bolted inside, adrenaline surging, his body moving faster than his thoughts. The armor station loomed ahead, and he dove into the routine with practiced precision. First came the tight black nanotech bodysuit, designed to absorb and dissipate impacts. It clung to his skin like a second layer of flesh, hugging tightly. Then came the armor. Aresium plates—light but unyielding, forged from an ore only found in Pandora. One by one he clicked them into place as he suited up. The final piece was the helmet, sealing him entirely. Despite the armour's focus on lightness and mobility, it still felt clunky and alien to him.
'Why the hell don't we train with this already on? Seems like an obvious oversight,' Arthur thought bitterly as he grabbed his sword, leaving the scabbard behind. He had no illusions about needing it again once the battle began.
Making his way outside, he joined the line of soldiers, slotting in next to Noah. Even through Noah's helmet, Arthur could see the barely restrained panic. The slight tremor in his hands, the way his breathing came in shallow bursts. This was Noah's first battle. Unlike Arthur, whose memories of Reshi had hardened him slightly to fighting, Noah had never seen war, only trained for it. And training could never be a replacement for the real thing.
Officer Mara's voice rang out over the assembled soldiers, cutting through the chaos. "SOLDIERS!" Her tone was ironclad and reassuring in its strength. "TODAY THE ENEMY LAUNCHES A FULL-SCALE ASSAULT ON OUR BASE. AND TODAY, THEY WILL FAIL. WE WILL SHOW THESE REBELS THE MIGHT OF THE EMPIRE!"
The rest of the unit roared their approval, fists raised in defiance. All except Noah and Arthur. The collars around their necks were a constant, suffocating reminder that they weren't here by choice. They were criminals, punished to die in battle.
"FOLLOW ME!" Mara shouted, leading them toward the battlefield.
Outside the city walls, Arthur was finally able to observe the strength of the Empire's forces. Fifty thousand soldiers stood arrayed in battle formations, their ranks an ocean of steel and resolve. Among them, only a fraction—barely a hundred—were Mageknights like Unit 7. Arthur's gaze flickered toward those elite warriors, their glowing weapons and auras marking them as something otherworldly. A shiver ran down his spine.
'If only I could have awakened my damn trial early.'Arthur shoved the thought aside. Now wasn't the time for self-reflection. Despite being in a MageKnight unit, Arthur was practically a well-equipped dun soldier for all intents and purposes.
In the distance, the enemy emerged. A Broiling cloud of dust heralded their approach, and as they drew closer, he could slowly make them out. Rebels. Yet the term in itself was misleading. These weren't a ragged or desperate force. In fact, the sheer numbers of the 'rebels' overwhelmed their own, and he could feel a faint an unmistakable thrum of power from their many Mageknights.
Arthur stood rigid in formation as the march began, his heart hammering in his chest. His sword felt heavier than it should have, its hilt slick in his sweating palm. The row of soldiers in front of him blocked his view of the enemy's charge, leaving him to imagine the oncoming horde.
Were they close?
Were they seconds away?
Has the fighting already begun?
He didn't have to wonder for long.
The battlefield erupted into chaos as the two armies collided with the fury of two gods. The sound of steel crashing against steel filled the air, mingling with guttural screams and the thunder of thousands of boots on churned earth.
For a moment there was nothing, then the line ahead broke apart and Arthur's world exploded into brutal, unrelenting violence.
An enemy soldier lunged at him, spear thrusting forward in a deadly move. Arthur sidestepped, instincts honed through endless drills taking over. With a sharp motion, he grabbed the shaft of the spear, yanking it backward. The rebel stumbled forward, off balance. Taking advantage, Arthur swung his sword in a brutal downward arc, cleaving through the man's upper torso. Blood sprayed across his armor, hot and sticky.
Another soldier charged, thrusting their spear with more desperation than skill. The weapon failed to penetrate Arthur's armor, but the force of the blow made him grunt in pain. Snarling in a bestial manner he deflected the next strike, stepping in close. His blade pierced the soldier's gut, causing the man's guts to spill out in his own hands, as he fell to the floor, screaming.
Minutes bled into hours.
Arthur fought like a machine, every movement automatic, every strike calculated for survival.
He lost track of time as the monotony of killing consumed him. A pattern emerged: slash, block, parry, thrust. Over and over, like the rhythm of a terrible dance. The screams blurred together, the faces of the dying became indistinct. His muscles burned, his arms trembling as exhaustion set in. He wasn't a good swordsman. In fact he was far from it, relying on his years of combat experience as Reshi to keep him alive.
The battle continued to drag on relentlessly. More than once, Arthur slipped on corpses and mud, narrowly resulting in his death as his rudimentary skills were constantly tested. Each kill became harder, his sword heavier and his breath more ragged. Yet Arthur kept fighting, kept killing, refusing to allow himself to stop for even a moment.
It was either that, or die. Such was the brutality of war.
Arthur's luck soon ran out as he turned to his next enemy. A MageKnight with two dun soldiers at his side. They advanced on Arthur collectively, their faces split into a malicious grin. The MageKnight was dressed in the same armour as him, except instead of black, the enemy's was white and red, in the colours of the rebellion''s flag.
Arthur found himself forced on the defence, exhaustedly trying to block and parry the onslaught of attack. Yet his enemies were relentless, hammering down on him mercilessly. The two spearmen protected the MageKnight, forcing Arthur to defend each time the MageKnight came in to attack.
However, for some reason, the Mageknight didn't use magic. He only fought with a sword, like Arthur. But even that small advantage never mattered. It wasn't long before Arthur's defence was crumbling, his armour cracking as cuts formed all over his body. There was just nothing he could do against three people at once.
Then luck shone through. As one of the soldiers advanced he suddenly stopped in his tracks as a spear pierced him from the back, jutting out of his chest.
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, caused by the soldiers dying screams, Arthur surged forward in a desperate attempt to catch the enemy Mageknight off guard.
He began striking with as much force and power as he could muster, each blow containing very little skill. The soldier quickly recovered, deflecting another blow to the side. But Arthur was prepared for it. He stepped forward as his sword was deflected. Then he slammed his fist into the opponent's helmet.
The blow did nothing to harm the soldier, but it did catch him off guard causing him to stumble back. Arthur surged forward, his teeth gritted. Instead of trying to stab the soldier he tackled him to the ground. It was obvious the enemy was a better swordsman than him.
But he wasn't a better warrior.
Both of their swords clattered away as they rolled in the mud amongst thousands of other soldiers. Arthur's training as Reshi clicked in, and almost immediately he shifted his weight, getting ontop of the enemy. Then Arthur took off his helmet, raising it high in both hands and bringing it crashing down onto the enemy's own helmet. Then he did it again, and again, and again, until his enemy's helmet broke and shattered under the repeating blows.
But Arthur didn't stop.
Screaming, he continued hammering down his helmet, feeling the sickening crunch as the enemy's skull slowly relented. His enemy's desperate struggle became weaker, until he was still. Lifeless, his skull smashed into pieces of bone, blood and brain.
Breathing heavily, Arthur staggered up right. His helmet was a mess, no more than rubbish. Discarding it he searched around for his sword, but amidst the chaos of the war it was nowhere to be seen.
But he did find the sword of the MageKnight he had just killed. 'It'll have to do I guess.'
The battle slowly melded together in his mind, as he fully immersed himself into the fighting once more. His life returned to slash, parry block and dodge. Sometimes he ran, trying to avoid any impossible battles. But he couldn't continue forever.
Exhausted Arthur stumbled back.
'Need…to…rest' he thought doggedly. 'Too…tired.'
"Haaah"
Around him he could see that they were slowly being pushed back, the enemy taking ground one step at a time.
To his utter misfortune, another Mageknight appeared amidst the throng of fighting. Unlike the others, this soldier was well-trained, their red-and-white armor shining with power. The knight raised a hand, and the ground beneath Arthur trembled. Rocks and debris shot upward, forming a compact boulder that hovered ominously above the Mageknight's outstretched palm. Then, with a flick of their wrist, the boulder ignited, flames roaring across its surface.
'Fuck me.'
Arthur turned and ran. He zigzagged, desperate to make himself a harder target. Behind him, the fiery projectile roared like a comet, closing the distance. The explosion threw him through the air, the impact shattering the ground and sending debris flying.
When Arthur woke, the world was spinning. His head throbbed, his ears rang with a high-pitched whine. He staggered slowly to his feet, vision swimming. The battlefield stretched before him, a ruined landscape of corpses and churned earth. The fighting had lessened, both armies beginning to pull back as night fell.
The opposing forces Mageknights' had raised a trench, forcing the battle into a stalemate. By creating the Trench, they had saved themselves the risk of retreating, instead entrenching themselves in a position that was dangerously close to the military base.
Arthur stumbled toward his own lines, head pounding, legs dragging. If he didn't reach safety by nightfall, he'd be caught in the crossfire of magic artillery.
Somehow, he made it back to the Empire's side. Barely in time.
He collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving, his mind swirling with fragmented memories of the slaughter. Blurred memories flashed through his mind.
The crunch of bone as he had hammered down the helmet.
The gurgle of dying men.
The heat of fire and blood.
Arthur found himself in his old living room. The lights were warm and inviting. There was food on the stove—eggs, meat, toast. But the house was empty.
Relief washed over him. He didn't want to see his family. Not like this. Not now. The battle had left him feeling dirty, not in the sense of mud, blood and sweat. No, it was a filth that clung to his soul instead, something that couldn't disappear with a shower.
He couldn't taste the food, probably because this was all a dream. But every mouthful felt warm and relaxing, soothing him. So by the time he had finished eating, he almost felt human again.
Arthur opened his eyes. It was a purposeful movement as he consciously left the dream. Getting up from the ground he looked around. No one paid any mind to him, instead focusing on their own rest and recovery as night fell.
"Haaahh. Guess I should make my way back."
It took him a while, but he found his way back to the unit 7 building. He wasn't surprised to see that not one member of the unit had died. After all, this was a Mageknight unit, and so they could only really be killed by encountering another MageKnight of a higher rank. And that wasn't going to be likely.
Ignoring them all, Arthur made his way to his bunk. Slowly taking off his ruined armor. That blast had damaged it immensely. There were parts missing, cracked
With a sigh, Arthur took off his armour, changing in front of the crew. He was too tired to find somewhere else to get changed. They all were, no one had energy left for propriety. The battle had damaged it immensely. There were parts fused with the nano bodysuit from the heat of the meteor. Most of his armour was ruined and missing, cuts and cracks almost completely covering it. Ignoring his comrades, he climbed into his bunk, exhaustion dragging him into unconsciousness immediately.
In the distance, the rumble of artillery shook the ground as the next phase of the war began.
Noah, watching Arthur through the corner of his eyes, felt a pang of something he didn't understand. Respect? Pity? Awe? Arthur, battered and bloodied, had stumbled back from hell itself, and gone to sleep.
Noah hated Arthur. He hated all nobles. Yet he couldn't help but feel that Arthur commanded a sort of grudging respect. He had a habit of proving everyone wrong, and half the time not even realising that he had. He had magical talent. He worked hard. He never disobeyed, nor fooled around, almost insanely dedicated to training.
Noah wasn't the only one to have spotted Arthur on the abandoned training ground, performing extra training doggedly.
And now, again. He had stumbled in like some sort of demon, hours after the rest of them. His red eyes were tired and worn. His white hair was dirty with mud and sweat. His armour shattered, burned, and was missing in various places. The standard issue sword, nowhere to be seen. Yet he was alive, proving everyone wrong again. Instead of breaking down and collapsing into tears like everyone had expected. He had gone to sleep, uncaring about the artillery that was exploding nearby.
'This boy just won't die,' Noah thought.
And then, like Arthur, he closed his eyes, letting sleep take him. Preparing to repeat the same thing tomorrow, all over again.