Beneath the shadow of towering trees, a man with a light beard moved with relentless focus. Each push-up caused his defined muscles to ripple beneath a tight, sweat-drenched brown shirt, clinging to him like second skin, a testament to his relentless discipline. Though he looked like any other commoner, his strength was anything but ordinary. Beads of sweat trickled from his forehead, vanishing into the earth as he pressed on.
"Four thousand nine hundred ninety-eight. Four thousand nine hundred ninety-nine. Five thousand."
With the final count, he stilled. Rising slowly to his feet, his shirt, soaked through, outlined every sculpted contour of his body. Steam seemed to rise from him as the forest air met his heat.
A sudden voice broke through the quiet, the desperate shout of a man in pain.
He turned sharply. A knight, battered and breathless, stumbled into view. His armor was scorched, his body on the brink of collapse. Before another word could be uttered, he crumpled to the ground.
The man rushed forward without hesitation. Dropping to his knees, he cradled the knight in his arms, eyes narrowing as he took in the bruises and dried blood that marred the soldier's face.
"Hey, what happened?" he asked, firm but concerned, lightly tapping the knight's cheek.
The knight's breaths were shallow. His lips cracked, his voice a faint rasp. "S-Sir... please... help us. Lend us your strength..." He coughed violently, his body shuddering in the man's arms.
And still, the man held him, silent, yet something deep in his eyes began to burn.
"I'm sure you know... I was once a Knight Commander," the man spoke with quiet gravity, voice laced with conflict. "I gave up war... for my family."
His eyes, sharp yet clouded by worry, searched the bruised face of the knight collapsed in his arms. But the knight, trembling and pale, weakly raised his arm, his bloodied fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword. He offered it forward.
"Sir... the allies... they're falling. A new enemy has risen. If they win this battle... we lose our territory." His voice barely clung to life, his words dragging into silence. Then, he slumped fully into unconsciousness, the sword slipping from his grasp, falling softly against the man's chest.
The man caught it reflexively, eyes narrowing with a soldier's instinct. He tapped the knight's cheek, trying to stir him. No response. But the man checked, he was still breathing. Without hesitation, he sheathed the sword and scooped the knight into his arms.
Leaving behind the clearing, he carried him through the forest, strides steady, until his modest wooden home came into view.
Inside, a woman gasped as he entered.
"D-Darling… who is that?" she asked, rushing forward, her hands instinctively checking the knight's chest for injuries, concern etched deep in her face.
He gently laid the knight onto the bed, tucking him in with surprising tenderness.
"Honey… I'll be right back," he said, his voice calm, but resolved. "Take care of him. I'm just going to take care of the enemies."
Her eyes widened, dread dawning in them.
"D-Don't tell me… you're planning to join?" she whispered, gaze dropping to the unconscious knight, worry pulling tight at her features, as if she already knew the answer.
"Honey… I'm sorry," he murmured, pulling her gently into his arms. His powerful arms wrapped around her slender frame, his broad chest a wall of strength and warmth against her trembling body. His embrace spoke of both love and farewell. "I'll come back. I promise." He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering for just a breath before he stepped back.
"Take care… Darling." Her voice was soft, but filled with emotion. Her hand rested lightly on his chest, fingers brushing against his heartbeat, then reached up to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.
"I promise, honey." He gave her a final look — one of quiet conviction — then turned, grasped the sword, and stepped out into the world beyond their door.
As he disappeared down the path, the woman stood in silence, eyes filled with unshed tears.
"Gazel, darling… please, be safe," she whispered, her words carried on the wind like a prayer only the forest could hear.
...
A new enemy appeared, the Knight Commander mounted from his horse with purpose, halting before the line of mounted bowmen. Behind him, two captains, swords at their sides, came to a stop as well.
"Ready your bows!" he commanded, his voice sharp and commanding. In unison, the archers behind him obeyed, nocking arrows and raising their bows high, aiming toward the distant enemy. Tension hung in the air as they waited — poised, silent — for their Knight Commander's signal to unleash death from above.
From afar, Rezoun narrowed his gaze as he saw the distant figures readying their bows. Without a moment's delay, he spun around and roared to his forces, "GATHER THE BODIES OF THE FALLEN ENEMIES! USE THEM AS SHIELDS! THEY'RE USING ARROWS, NOW! WE CANNOT MEET THEM HEAD-ON!"
He wasted no time, seizing two enemy corpses and crouching low behind them, bracing for the deadly volley.
Clause reacted without hesitation. He dismounted swiftly, dragged two lifeless bodies to cover himself, and dropped to one knee beside Rezoun. Behind them, the rest of the army mirrored their commanders, abandoning their horses, kneeling low, and shielding themselves with the bloodied remains of their foes.
At the enemy front, the Knight Commander raised his arm in silent command, pointing toward his targets.
The order was given.
A whistling storm of arrows tore through the sky.
They rained down with merciless precision, cutting through the air and striking with lethal force. Horses shrieked and collapsed as arrows pierced their flesh, falling in heaps. But the soldiers who had heeded Rezoun's command remained untouched, sheltered beneath the bodies of the dead.
When the deadly volley ceased, the battlefield was strewn with fallen beasts and silence. Yet 538 men remained, shielded, kneeling, and alive.
"Tsk. Did they really think these cheap tricks would save them?" The enemy Knight Commander sneered, watching from afar as the rebels used their fallen comrades as shields.
"Fire everything! Unleash all your arrows!" he barked without hesitation.
The mounted bowmen unleashed a furious storm of arrows, a violent hailstorm cutting through the air. The 538 men beneath the makeshift shields were struck repeatedly, but their numbers dwindled only slightly, still, 514 remained standing when the enemy finally exhausted their quivers.
"Damn this trickery! Unsheathe your swords! Charge!" The Knight Commander's warhorse roared as it thundered forward, leading the mounted assault.
"Attack!" Clause's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
The two armies clashed with a deafening roar — 1,003 against 514 — blades slicing through the chaos as they met head-on in brutal, relentless combat.
...
The enemy Knight Commander drew his twin swords from their sheaths, a cold grin spreading across his face as he locked eyes with Rezoun from a distance.
Rezoun met his gaze with fierce intensity, sensing the strength radiating from his opponent's very presence. As the Knight Commander advanced, Rezoun steadied himself. Slowly, he slipped off one shoe, remembering the grueling training that night in the graveyard, the technique he had painstakingly mastered.
With a subtle shift of his bare foot, Rezoun spun his body with fluid grace. His shod foot lifted cleanly off the ground while the naked one traced smooth, controlled arcs. Guiding the sword's weight with precision, he spun five flawless rotations — each movement a blend of power and finesse — before releasing the blade into motion.
The enemy Knight Commander narrowed his eyes, puzzled by Rezoun's strange movements. As the sword came flying toward him, he attempted to intercept it with both blades. But the weapon's path wasn't linear, it curved unpredictably, its speed surpassing even that of an arrow.
He managed to block it, barely. His crossed swords absorbed the impact, but the force sent him hurtling backward, his body flung through the air like a broken-winged bird. He crashed into the ground with a heavy thud, watched by both ally and enemy alike.
"What the hell was that? That power…" he muttered under his breath, slowly rising to his feet, his body trembling from the shock.
"He survived?" Rezoun murmured, disbelief flickering in his eyes as he stared across the battlefield. Still standing, he quietly bent down and slipped his shoe back on.
The two warriors locked eyes from afar, one gripping twin blades, the other holding a single sword. The tension between them crackled in the air.
Step by step, they began to close the distance, walking at first, then breaking into a sprint. Their gazes were sharp, faces carved with resolve, killing intent blazing as they charged toward their destined clash.