Arthur was shaken awake by one of the squad members.
"Get up. It's almost time."
Groaning, Arthur pushed himself off the lumpy cot, every muscle screaming in protest. Bruises mottled his arms, legs, and torso, their deep purple hues serving as a vivid reminder of how close he'd come to dying. Again.
My life is a masochist's dream, he thought bitterly, running a hand through his matted hair.
"Ahh, for fuck's sake," he hissed, rubbing his temples as if he could chase away the exhaustion. It didn't work.
At the foot of his bunk lay his battered armor, a sad, ruined shell of what it once was. Cracks spiderwebbed across the chest plate, and streaks of rusted blood marred what little of it had remained pristine. He stared at it, shoulders sagging under the weight of its uselessness. The damn thing looked like it would crumble from the wind.
As he glared at the broken remnants, a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Here."
Arthur turned, startled. A man in his mid-twenties with piercing grey eyes and dark hair stood there, holding out a spare set of armor and a sword. His face was unreadable, but his tone carried an unexpected hint of friendliness.
"Uh… thanks?" Arthur stammered.
The man nodded curtly. "I'm Felt, second in charge here. If you need anything, you come to me." Then, without another word, Felt walked off, leaving Arthur blinking in confusion.
Since his arrival, no one in Unit 7 had spoken to him beyond orders or thinly veiled insults. Most hated him outright. Now one of them had extended an olive branch?
Arthur chuckled dryly as he donned the new armor. Maybe war really did forge bonds. The thought brought a flicker of nostalgia. He remembered Merlin—his old friend back when he was still Reshi, back before everything had gone to shit.
Shaking off the memory, he adjusted the armor. It was heavier than his old one but gave a solid feel.
Outside, the sky was a grim shade of gray, the clouds swirling like nature itself was grieving. The air reeked of rot and iron, the stench of death clinging to the barren battlefield.
Across the plain, the enemy army assembled just beyond the range of their magical artillery. Arthur's side, battered and demoralized from yesterday's massacre, barely resembled an army anymore. The ground was littered with broken bodies and shattered weapons. The dead had been left where they fell, their glassy eyes staring into the overcast sky, abandoned to the chaos.
Arthur frowned. It wasn't just the losses that gnawed at him; it was the sheer incompetence. Yesterday's battle had been a slaughter, not a strategy. No formations, no tactics. Just one desperate, bloody charge after another.
"Is there no such thing as flipping tactics in this damn world?" he muttered, kicking at a loose piece of rubble.
Before he could stew any longer, the commander's voice shattered the stillness.
"ON MY COMMAND!" The booming voice carried the force of magically enhanced authority. "MARCH!"
The army lurched forward, a slow, grim advance. The sound of thousands of boots stomping in unison shook the earth beneath them. Unit 7, bruised and bloodied, marched at the front.
Arthur's pulse quickened as the gap between the two armies closed. He adjusted his grip on his sword, sweat slicking his palms.
At the head of their formation, the commander stood tall, his armor gleaming with enchantments that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. His weapon, a spear of black metal veined with glowing white runes, exuded a crushing aura of power.
"CHAAAARGE!"
The two armies collided with a thunderous crash of steel on steel. The cacophony of screams, roars, and the sickening crunch of bones filled the air.
Arthur didn't think; he moved. His blade danced on the edge of instinct and desperation. He parried one strike and retaliated with a thrust, his movements honed by necessity more than skill.
Two enemy soldiers lunged at him with spears, their faces twisted with malicious glee. Arthur roared, charging headlong into them. His sudden aggression caught them off guard, forcing them to split apart.
Pivoting, Arthur targeted one of them, unleashing a relentless barrage of strikes. The soldier staggered, dropping his spear. Arthur didn't hesitate. His blade found the man's throat, and blood arced into the air.
The second soldier seized the opportunity, lunging at Arthur's exposed back. Acting on instinct, Arthur spun, deflecting the blow just in time. The impact numbed his arm, but a feral grin spread across his face.
"Not today," he growled.
With a swift, brutal motion, Arthur closed the gap, driving his sword down into the soldier's skull.
Minutes blurred into hours. Arthur hacked, slashed, and ducked through the chaos, his muscles screaming in protest. Nearby, Noah fought like an artist painting his masterpiece—elegant, precise, untouchable. Even surrounded, he moved with an effortless grace.
Arthur's grudging respect grew as he watched. 'Damn he can fight.' But then he saw it—a fifth soldier charging toward Noah's blind spot.
"No!" Arthur bellowed, hurling himself forward.
The spear was mid-thrust when Arthur tackled the soldier, sending them both crashing to the ground. They grappled in the dirt, Arthur's arms straining as he fought for control. With a desperate kick, he disarmed the soldier, seized his own blade, and drove it home.
Noah turned, expression unreadable, and nodded. Arthur nodded back.
From that moment on, the two fought side by side, moving with an unspoken synergy. Noah's speed and precision distracted their enemies, while Arthur delivered the killing blows. Together, they were an unstoppable force.
They fought like that for hours. Retreating a couple of times to rest as fresh soldiers were rotated into the chaos. The rest was never long enough, but with Noah now, there was some order to the chaos. The both of them combined to form an efficient killing machine.
However, nothing good ever lasts in war.
A thunderous boom echoed across the battlefield. Arthur turned just in time to see Noah collapse, an arrow embedded deep in his shoulder.
Above, a MageKnight archer hovered, her gleaming armor catching the fading light. Each arrow she loosed caused a sonic boom, ripping through soldiers and armor like paper.
"Shit," Arthur muttered, kneeling beside Noah.
"She's got some anti-mana skill," Noah hissed. "I can't move my arm."
Arthur scanned the battlefield. The commander was still fighting, his spear blazing as he held off seven MageKnights by himself in a monstrous display of strength. But the archer had him in her sights.
"NOOOO!" Arthur screamed as her arrow flew.
The commander staggered, blood gushing from his neck. But instead of falling, he smiled grimly. His body began to glow with raw mana.
With a defiant roar, he detonated himself.
The explosion turned the battlefield to ash, forcing the archer to descend.
Arthur's mind raced. The archer needed to be killed. By the looks of it she was targeting anyone dangerous, and that including any commanding officers. He couldn't allow her to cripple the army. If their commanding structure fell, then the army would descend into chaos, consumed by the rebels' superior forces.
'At that height… maybe.'
"Noah, how high can you throw me?"
"You're insane," Noah snapped.
"Do it! Use mana burst.!"
"H-how-"
"Later, I promise", Arthur interrupted, his voice firm.
Noah stared at him, then sighed. "Fine. You'd better survive, you crazy bastard."
That made him smile.
"So I can kill you myself", Noah continued.
That made him stop smiling.
The makeshift launch was chaotic. Arthur sprinted toward Noah, who channeled every ounce of mana into his legs. At the last second, Arthur jumped, and Noah kicked, the explosion of mana hurling Arthur through the air.
The archer's eyes widened as Arthur hurtled toward her. She raised her bow, but it was too late.
Arthur's sword drove through her chest, the force of the impact shattering her armor. They plummeted to the ground, Arthur pummeling her with his fists, refusing to let her get away to safety.
Then the world went black.
Arthur awoke to darkness. The air was cold, and the ground beneath him was jagged and hard. Looking down, he saw his legs. They were a broken, mangled mess.
"Fuck's sake," he groaned.
Then a voice, close and mocking, pierced the darkness. "Oh, so you're awake."
Arthur froze, his blood turning to ice.
"How… how are you still alive?" he whispered.
A soft laugh echoed. "You mean after you stabbed me like a fucking lunatic and dragged me to the ground as if you were the devil taking me to hell?"
"Uh… yeah."
"I've got two mid-grade healing potions."
Arthur's stomach sank.
"Why don't you leave?" he asked, voice tight with hope.
"Because the artillery would shoot me down. Duh."
"Fuck."
"Look", she sighed wearily. "Truce until morning. I'll give you one potion. Fair fight after that. Deal?"
Arthur's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Trying to ignore the flaring pain in his legs he asked with an untrusting tone. "Why?"
"So you don't want the healing potion? No questions asked. That's another condition."
Arthur sighed, the pain urging him to say yes. "Fine", he relented."
A vial sailed through the air. He caught it clumsily.
"Careful," she teased. "Drop it, and you're dead."
Downing the potion, Arthur felt his legs knit together. A wave of exhaustion waved over him, as the potion sapped his energy.
"What's your name?" she asked. Her voice tinged with more than a little amount of curiosity.
Arthur hesitated, then smiled.
"Reshi. My name is Reshi."