Arthur and Noah walked side by side into the stillness of the night. The air was crisp, carrying the faint, metallic scent of battle.
A heavy moon hung low over the camp, its pale light reflecting off the remnants of war—splintered wood, shattered weapons, and the occasional dark stain on the dirt. For the first time in what felt like years, there was no immediate threat of violence looming over them.
The night was peaceful, the wind calm as its gentle whistle mixed with the gentle thrum of men talking. A sound much better than one of artillery fire and haunting screams.
Yet, the weight in their chests refused to lift.
Arthur adjusted the collar of his uniform, the faint redness on his neck a reminder of the prison collar that had only recently been removed. He ran his fingers over the spot absentmindedly, his thoughts distant.
For all this bluster of his collar being removed, he knew the truth. He was still a slave here. A criminal, just now with a different leash.
"So... you're really blessed by Hades, huh?" Noah's voice broke the silence, his tone light but carrying an edge of unease.
Arthur glanced at him, startled by the question. The way Noah's words hung in the air made them feel heavier than they should have.
"Apparently," Arthur replied after a pause, his lips quivering into a faint smile. "What about you? Aren't you blessed by Poseidon?"
Noah snorted, the sound harsh and humorless. "No."
Arthur stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowing. "Wait… what? What do you mean 'no'? That's not—" He cut himself off, realizing how ridiculous it would sound to say, 'That's not how it's supposed to be.'
Noah turned to face him, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "I'm blessed by Boreas," he said in a tone that sounded as if he was talking about the weather.
Arthur blinked, his mind racing. 'Boreas? That didn't make sense. Noah was supposed to be a Blessed of Poseidon—at least, that's how it had been in the novels. Boreas's blessing wasn't even supposed to be in the novel. No one had discovered what attracted the God of the North wind.' There was only one thing he thought of that could've caused this change. 'Me.'
"Boreas?" Arthur repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. "What's your affinity then?"
Noah shrugged, his expression bored. "Water, air, and ice."
'Three huh. He still has the water affinity. But in the novel he never had air, or ice. A stage 1 ice user.' Being a Stage 1 user of a higher element. No doubt Noah was going to become much stronger in the future then he would've been.
From what he remembered Elemental affinities were split into stages. The first stage gave the most broadest affinity, while each stage higher would lose its range and become vastly more powerful in return. If someone was to have a stage 1 affinity with fire, it could evolve into light, or heat in it's stage 2 affinity. While a stage 2 affinity was stronger that its stage 1 counterpart, there was less freedom in its use.
It was why having an element usually found in Stage 2 like Ice as a Stage 1 element was also another great bonus to being blessed by a deity.
"Sounds powerful" Arthur remarked after a while.
In truth he felt slightly awkward around Noah. Out of nowhere they had become close. Noah had saved his ass more times then he could count now, but he really only ever spoke with him during life threatening situations.
It sounded stupid, but now that their lives weren't in danger, he found he didn't know what to say.
"Uhh…Noah, thanks."
"Mhm"
"Mhm. Is that it?"
"What do you want me to say? That you should be very thankful and make you bow down in front of me?"
Arthur snorted. "Remember the last time you tried to do something against me?"
Noah growled. "You caught me off guard."
"Sure, sure. Whatever makes you sleep at night."
/////////////
General Thanason sat alone in his office, the dim light of an oil lamp casting long shadows across the room. His desk was cluttered with papers—battle reports, casualty lists, and the remnants of the trial's proceedings. But his eyes weren't on the documents.
Instead, he was looking inwards.
The events of the trial replayed in his mind, each moment digging deeper into his psyche like a splinter he couldn't remove. Arthur… the boy he had once written off as a coward, a failure, and worse. The boy who had dared to lay hands on his daughter.
Arthur's voice from the trial echoed in his mind. "I saved you as well."
Thanason clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The boy had spoken with such conviction, such confidence, that it had been impossible to confuse him with the little brat he used to know.
But Thanason couldn't reconcile the Arthur he'd seen today with the Arthur he'd known before. The weak, selfish brat who had tried to assault his daughter couldn't be the same man who had saved soldiers—his soldiers—on the battlefield. It defied reason. And yet, the evidence was there, staring him in the face. Arthur was a hero.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Enter," he barked, his voice harsher than he intended.
A soldier stepped in, saluting. "A letter for you, sir."
"From whom?" Thanason asked, his tone clipped.
"Officer Skelter, sir."
Thanason froze, his chest tightening. He hadn't heard Skelter's name since the battle. He had assum- well it doesn't matter now.
He gestured for the soldier to hand the letter before dismissing him.
It felt oddly heavy in his hands.
'To General Thanason
I decided to write these letters in the case of my death in the upcoming battle. I have written five. One to you. One to Officer Mara. One to my wife. And one to each of my two children.
I'm sure you know my title within the army. The Dog of the Army. I was never ashamed of that title. It was always those close to me that were ashamed of it on my behalf, but I always held it as a badge of pride. After all, it wasn't the army I followed sir. It was you. You who saved my life all those years ago when I was a young criminal, on my way to be hanged for my crimes.
It was you who spared me. Trained me, and gave me the chance to become who I am. For that, I want to say Thank You. I'd like to think I spent the rest of my life saying thank you to you. I obeyed your every order, even when I disagreed. Even when it kept me up at night, and made me ashamed to be called Father by my children. But still I did it, cause I understand you needed me to act in the best interest of the Thoracen Empire.
Make no mistake, I never hated you for that. It was my job as one of the few people you trusted in the army. It was also why I, like Officer Mara, accepted the demotion to Officer so we would be transferred to the frontlines on your behalf.
So in this part sir, I would like to say thank you, and that it has been an honour.
Now I would like to say, Fuck you sir.
A kid. I beat a kid for you, almost to death. You're wrong sir. I observed Arthur myself, and I disagree with you. And believe me sir, I tried not to disagree.
He is a good kid. He's most definitely scarred, and I can guess we're both good reasons for that. His own actions not withstanding
But he's a kind kid. Stupidly so. You know he's been rescuing the soldiers. He even saved Officer Mara, fighting off a MageKnight who had definitely reached the second awakening.
He would've died if he hadn't luckily entered the trial. He even ventures out at night, to save as much as he can. At night, under the artillery fire and fog and cold.
I'm not excusing you of what he did, and it's also not why I'm saying fuck you. I'm saying Fuck you sir, because namely I don't have the balls to do it while I'm alive. But you're a hypocrite. Arthur definitely did something wrong. But so did I. Yet you spared me without a second thought to the families I had harmed back then, but now you make a different choice when it involves you.
I'm a hypocrite also. Beating a kid with the past I have. Maybe the years of me trying to bury those times convinced me that I wasn't a kid who had done what I did.
Yet I did do it.
And I still became someone great. Greater than I thought possible. Yet I had caused irreversible damage to families. Maybe he also can be great. I've never asked you for anything while I was alive. But I ask now sir.
Not for you to take Arthur in like you did me.
Only this. Don't be a fucking hypocrite.
Thank you very much sir. In many ways, you were more of a father to me then my own ever was. I'll be waiting for you at my funeral. Don't be late.
So with much respect and gratitude. I give you my final salute.
OFFICER JAMES SKELTER.'
Thanason's hands trembled as he set the letter down.
Skelter's words hit like a hammer to the chest, breaking through the layers of anger and resentment he had carefully built to justify his actions.
James had been a man of unwavering loyalty, someone Thanason had trusted implicitly.
For him to write this… it wasn't something Thanason could ignore.
His gaze drifted to the darkened window, his reflection faintly visible against the night. He barely recognized the man staring back at him.
"What happened to you, Arthur?" he muttered, the words carrying both anger and something far more unsettling…doubt.
///////////////
Noah's slumber was abruptly interrupted by Felt. The younger soldier loomed over him, his sharp grey eyes boring into Noah like two icicles.
"What is it?" Noah groaned, his voice thick with exhaustion.
His body still felt the dull ache from overusing Boreas's blessing in the last battle, the cold lingering in his bones like a ghost.
"Get up, Noah. The General wants to see you."
Noah opened his eyes reluctantly, scowling. "That guy, again," he muttered. "Is Arthur already with him?"
Felt's lips quirked into a faint smile. "Arthur's still snoring on the bunk below you. The General asked for you. Just you."
That sent a warning bell through Noah's mind. What could he want with me?
"Suspicious," Noah muttered, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He nodded curtly at Felt and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. He had been hoping for a few quiet days now that the chaos of battle had subsided. But, of course, his tenuous peace had been shattered. 'That's what I get for being friends with the biggest problem magnet in the army.'
He trudged through the base, his muttering growing darker with every step. He passed makeshift tents, soldiers sparring, and the distant sound of drills—all reminders that the war didn't care about his fatigue. His destination loomed ahead: a newly erected structure within the base that served as the General's temporary headquarters.
After arriving, Noah was greeted by a soldier who forced him to wait outside the General's office. Wait, after being dragged out of bed. The irritation simmered in Noah's chest, making him grind his teeth.
When he was finally ushered in, his mood was already sour.
The office was plain. Spartan, even. A single large desk stood at the center, with a high-backed chair on one side where General Thanason sat like an immovable statue. The walls were barren save for a map pinned to one side, and the faint scent of ink and leather filled the room.
Thanason didn't speak immediately. His sharp yellow eyes were fixed on the papers spread across his desk, his focus like a physical weight pressing down on the room. Noah swallowed involuntarily. There was something about the General—his sheer presence—that felt insurmountable. Like staring up at a mountain that dared you to climb it.
Finally, Thanason looked up, and Noah felt the full force of his gaze. Those dull yellow eyes landed on him, heavy and unrelenting.
"Noah," the General said, his deep voice cutting through the silence.
"I've been reading your file. It's an interesting story, though not an uncommon one for rural boys like yourself."
Noah's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. His shoulders tensed, but he forced himself to stay silent. He didn't trust his own tongue to remain civil.
"It says here that you stole from a noble's house," Thanason continued, his tone clinical. "And, out of the goodness of his heart, that noble sent you to the army instead of executing you." He placed the file down and leaned forward, his sharp gaze boring into Noah's. "Why don't you tell me what really happened?"
Noah hesitated, unsure if this was a trap. But he couldn't help himself. The truth spilled out in a rush of anger.
"They stole my mother's necklace," he said, his voice low and bitter. "It was an old family heirloom that one of the noble daughters had taken a fancy to when my mother wore it. I went to take it back and got caught on the way out. The noble was going to execute me, but my mother…"
His voice faltered for a moment.
"My mother begged for mercy. So he sent me to the army instead, promising he'd do no harm to my family."
Thanason leaned back in his chair, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "Nobles can be such despicable creatures, can't they? Surrounded by technology and power, yet their ethics remain medieval."
Noah nodded slowly, unsure of where this was going. "Yeah. I know."
The General's expression darkened. "But the noble lied to you, Noah."
Noah's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "What?"
Thanason's voice dropped, the weight of his words filling the room.
"Your father. He was sent to the army with you. Your mother and little sister were forced into servitude in another household. Servitude is technically illegal in the empire, but there's a way around laws. Especially if your family are the ones that made them."
The words hit Noah like a physical blow. His eyes went wide, his breath hitching. "What are you talking about?"
Thanason's tone softened, though it didn't lose its edge. "I can't help your father now. He fought in the last battle… and he didn't survive."
Noah's legs felt weak. He stumbled back and sank to the floor, unable to process what he'd just heard. "He was here? The whole time?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
"I'm sorry, Noah," Thanason said, his voice almost sympathetic.
"But this is what I don't understand—why do you fight for Arthur? He's a noble, isn't he? Just like the one who ruined your life."
Noah let out a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. A bitter smile twisted his lips as he looked up at the General. "Arthur, huh…" He shook his head, his voice breaking with a dry laugh. "I know he was a noble. Maybe if I'd known him back then, I'd have hated him. But I didn't. The Arthur I know now…" His voice trailed off as he looked up at the ceiling, his expression unreadable. "He's not someone you can hate. Respect, maybe. But not hate."
Thanason studied him for a long moment, his gaze piercing. Then he leaned forward again, his voice low and deliberate. "I'll make you an offer, Noah. If you agree to betray Arthur—hurt him—I'll use what influence I have to free your remaining family."
The room seemed to freeze. Noah's breath caught in his throat. The offer was tempting. Too tempting. Images of his mother and little sister flashed through his mind, their faces weary but kind. 'Could it be that easy? Don't I have a responsibility towards them?'
For a moment, his resolve wavered. He looked down at his trembling hands.
'Who is Arthur to me anyway?'
They hadn't even known each other long. He could walk away, free his family, and leave it all behind.
"No," he whispered finally, his voice quiet but firm.
Thanason didn't react. He stood up, his towering frame casting a shadow over the desk. "Good," he said, almost to himself. "I don't have the power to release your family. I'm not a noble, I have little influence beyond the army. But I will tell you this: your father fought with Unit 43. On the day of the battle, they were stationed on the far-left regiment. Chances are his body will be on that side of the battlefield."
Noah raised an eyebrow, his exhaustion now mingling with suspicion. "You're going to give up that easily?"
Thanason smiled coldly, his expression inscrutable. "Perhaps."
As Noah left the office, his mind reeled with emotions—grief, anger, and an overwhelming sense of confusion.
Thanason, meanwhile, sat back down at his desk. His tired eyes stared at the letter from Skelter resting on top of the papers. He let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging.
For the first time in years, he felt something he hadn't expected: the faintest flicker of doubt. Arthur was changing, and perhaps, so should he.
He looked down, and for this first time in years felt old. Leaning forward he muttered to himself.
"Ahh, it seems I've been the idiot all along."