Chapter 13: Free Blade,
Taylor's hometown had always been cold—once the jewel of a modern republic, later a relic of the Dark Age, a hive city isolated from the stars. He could never get used to the sweltering heat of Mossenlade, the rainy seasons, or the endless greenskins roaming the land.
He sat sharpening his newly acquired long-bladed knife—a trophy from the orc war boss. The blade was well-kept, shining far brighter than his battered tactical dagger. Crafted on a forest world, it was far superior to anything issued by the Guard.
Taylor didn't intend to use it for killing, like its last two owners had. He just wanted to clear bushes more easily when running for his life.
The camp buzzed with rumors: Taylor had killed a war boss. Taylor admitted it, but knew he survived by luck and quick thinking—he predicted the rain, expected a pursuit, ordered a retreat. He didn't consider himself a hero; just someone trying to stay alive.
Freeblade arrived, more subdued than ever before. Elena wore her favorite white dress, tall and proud, with the faint scent of cuckoo tail flowers. She sat near Taylor, resting her booted feet on his sharpening stone.
Her voice trembled as she spoke, with an odd accent Taylor struggled to understand.
"How do you make a knife?"
Taylor picked up the blade. "Me? Just rub it until it's sharp, then..."
She regained her composure, her Gothic tone returning. "I mean, how did you do it?"
"My Vanguard Mech, two Squire Mechs, and even the Relic Knights commanded by my cousin hardly matched your kills—and you took down a boss!"
Taylor finally realized she was talking about Knight Titans. "Oh, is that what you call them?"
Freeblade sighed, frustrated. "So now, you are my master, right?"
Taylor shrugged. "I just wanted to stay in camp. The bet was for that."
She smiled wryly, dropping her aristocratic manner. Sitting beside Taylor, she looked almost relaxed, her dress gathering dust as she settled on the ground.
"You're less formal than I thought. Sorry about before," she said.
Taylor grinned. He didn't mind—he'd attended combat meetings in pajamas before.
"Is that all? Can I rest now? You're still my master, technically."
Freeblade sighed. "I can't command you anymore. The High King wants to make you a baron—a noble with a castle and retainers. Everyone will envy your honor... the friendship of a knight family."
Taylor raised his hands. "Stop. I'm not staying here."
Castles and servants sounded nice, but Mossenlade was full of warmongers and outdated tech. Besides, he carried the titles Astra Militarum and Emperor's Hammer—always traveling.
Freeblade understood. "I know you're not interested. You're just like me..."
Taylor frowned. "Misunderstanding me?"
She stood, looking down, her voice soft. "No. This is the first time my heart beats for something other than war. You gave me excitement beyond fighting heretics."
She kissed his cheek, leaving a red mark. Taylor was taken aback. Had this war-hardened woman just confessed?
Before he could respond, she pressed her finger to his lips.
"Enough. I know it's a dream. Let me enjoy it a while. Tomorrow, the greenskins attack. All I hope is we survive—even if not together."
Taylor hugged her gently. For a moment, he almost forgot that beneath all the armor, Freeblade was also just a girl who wanted peace.
Still, with the greenskins on the horizon, Taylor was uneasy.
He promised quietly, "I'll drive them away... I swear by the Emperor."
Elena didn't reply, just smiled. Taylor was already regretting his bravado, knowing fighting was never his goal.
Sometimes, the best weapon isn't a powersword or chainsword—it's an old Catachan blade in the hands of a survivor.