{Move your body.} [If you cannot move your body, then move your will.]
The moment those words struck my mind, my senses returned. The wound in my abdomen throbbed like fire, blood still poured, but—My heart was still beating. And more than that, my will was still alive.
"I… want to live."
Such a simple phrase. Yet never before had it carried such weight.
I must live .I can't die here. If I fall, their deaths will mean nothing.
And then—something inside me burst. A pulse, deep in the chest. A spark of rage, pain, and resolve ignited as one.
My fingers trembled. I reached for the fallen sword, veins writhing, muscles burning. Then—another voice came. Harsh, heavy, and somehow burning with an untamed freedom.
{Finally awake, are you? Then listen well to what I say, brat.} {The world has trampled you because you were weak. The strong walked with your body beneath their feet—and you endured it. But now, things change.} {If you desire power, seize it. If the world feels wrong, remake it. And whatever happens—protect what you believe is right.}
His words cut through the battlefield's noise—closer than any person's whisper. My eyes flared open. Blood streamed down my face, but something definitely ignited behind it.
"Haa… haa…"
With a heavy breath, I gripped the sword, trying to rise. It quivered in my hand like it had a will of its own.
Then came another voice—calm, sharp, deep as still water.
[If you've drawn your sword, then feel its weight in your hand.] [The blade you're holding is your spear that pierces your goals, it is your shield that protects your beliefs, it is your tool to prove your worth.]
"Prove… who I am..?"
Something surged through me. Not just energy—something primal. The condensation of will, instinct, and awakening.
I rose—torn, blood-soaked, trembling—but alive. And for the first time, my eyes no longer belonged to a man waiting to die.
"I'll live. No matter what."
Each step through mud and blood felt heavier than the last, but my sword no longer weighed me down. It carried everything I couldn't- regret, failure, and the faint warmth of those I couldn't protect.
"Is he… still alive?!" "What in the name of...."He's still alive? Kill him!"
The enemy forces who ambushed us screamed. Some still believing it wasn't serious, and it was my last feeble struggle before death.
'swish~~'
My first swing was rough and clumsy. It swung at an angle that wounded my enemy but didn't cut enough. My injured body was slowing me down.
"Eugh...damn this stupid body...."
My body was not keeping up to my heart's intent. The pain from the injury weighed me down, and my sight became blurry, then one of the voices hit me.
[Your movement seems like you have never learnt any swordsmanship. Your body must be unfamiliar with proper forms...then first... swing lightly]
"Huh? Lightly...?"
With his word, I calmed myself, trying to focus on the edge of my blade.
[Now!]
'Whoosh~~'
It was a simple swing, but after the blade, a trace of blood followed.
The enemy soldier who was the closest to me held his throat, gushing with blood, and fell.
"What was that?! That was different from an ordinary swing!"
With the panic of the enemies, I quickly retrieved my sword.
[Now slash vertically with your weight on the blade.]
Again, that same voice, solid with no hesitation, told me what to do, and with his instructions, my sword swung, drawing a semi-circle and cutting another enemy soldier's arm.
"Ahhhhh!!"
The third swing was—faster. And by the fourth, the steel began to flow.
[Now, cut lightly.. Let the blade flow.]
And I did. The sword cleaved through the air, and one after another, blood burst forth like red flowers.
[Once you've drawn a blade, never claim you don't know how to cut.]
The words etched themselves into me. The motion, once forced, began to move with me—The sword and I, though it wasn't perfect and rough, became one current, one rhythm.
[Remember this feeling. The sword flows with you. That flow is your path of the blade.]
Enemies surrounded me—spears, arrows, screams. But I moved. Cutting, dodging, breathing—living. Slowly, painfully—but alive.
{Hah! Now that's more like it.} [But he's far from done.]
"...Squad… leader…?" A faint voice from the ground. The youngest soldier of my squad—barely conscious, drenched in blood- rose his head from the mess.
"Kid?! You...you're alive?" I rushed to him after finishing the last of the enemy soldiers that ambushed us.
I'm here," I said, hoisting him onto my shoulder. "You'll live. I swear it."
We began our escape, we didn't have much time before the enemy forces realize the ambush squad was wiped out and start their chase. Even with my ribs shattered and lungs burning, I ran. Every breath tore through me, but I couldn't stop. I had to at least save the kid. His body grew heavier, colder, as my vision blurred.
"Shit...seems like the kid passed out. Do I need to....." I clenched my sword tighter as I saw a few soldiers beginning to chase us.
[You are still just swinging your sword, that will not..] That voice started to talk to me again; however, before he could finish, a loud cackling pushed his voice back
{Bah, who cares? This is war. Swing all you want—as long as you live. The battlefield is for the incomplete anyway.}
{Remember this, brat: the one who survives wins. Nothing else matters. Run, crawl, bleed—just breathe. That's victory.}
This other voice filled my head. Harsh. Oddly Comforting. True.
The reality was that I was injured, my stamina was running out, and with the unconscious kid on my back, I was at a huge disadvantage.
"...Survive," I muttered.
{That's it. War ain't about justice—it's about who's still breathing at the end and the choices they'll make afterwards.}
I turned. Counted the enemies. And ran towards the corner where there were the fewest of them.
"After him! Don't let him escape!"
{Good! That's the blade of survival, boy. Live first—cut later.}
One step, two—then ten. I ran through mud and corpses, clutching the fading warmth on my shoulder. Each step was agony — my legs burned, my lungs screamed.
Behind me came the thunder of footsteps and the howls of beasts in human skin.They were still coming.Relentless.Hungry.
"Haah… haah… damn it… why won't they quit—"
There wasn't even time to turn around.But I could hear it — the rasp of steel, the hiss of air.Death announcing itself, one breath at a time.
{Keep running, brat. A battlefield always eats the fool who looks back.}[But never narrow your sight. The enemy strikes from where you least expect.]
Two voices — one raw and savage like the stench of blood, the other sharp and cold as iron.Both echoing in my skull, both keeping me alive.
"Crap… can't you two just shut up?"
Even as I cursed, I listened.Their words weren't noise anymore.They were knowledge and guidence that helped me survive.
"The slope—left side. There's cover in the brush. We can hide there…"
{If you find an opening, cut someone. Run too long and they'll only enjoy the chase}
No time to think — I threw myself into the brush.Mud swallowed me whole as I rolled down the slope, vanishing from sight.A few of the pursuers stormed past, missing me entirely.
I exhaled once. The sword was still in my hand.
{Now.}
The blade flashed.A single cut — short, silent, sure.The man's throat split before he could even scream.
But that sound — the brief gasp of death — betrayed me.
"There! Over there!"
I ducked and rolled, clutching the boy tighter to my chest as we tumbled down the slope.My knees took the shock. My ribs howled in protest.But we lived through the fall.
Sweat poured like blood. My vision blurred, but the sword never left my grip.The voices were still there, cold and cruel and clear.
[They'll follow you down. Wait until they're close—then strike from below.]{Don't think. Smash them flat when they drop. Use your body if your brain won't keep up.}
I laid the boy behind a tree root and crouched low.One hand on the sword, the other scooping a fistful of dirt.
Footsteps.Three of them.One spear, one axe, one bow.
"Spread out! He fell somewhere around here! Don't let him escape!"
"…Three. Heavy armor. The archer goes first."
But before I could move—thwip!
The arrow grazed my shoulder. A flash of pain.Hot blood poured down my arm.
"Bastard's here!"
[Don't breathe. Delay the pain.]
I froze. Listened.Rustling grass, trembling soil, the metallic scent of drawn weapons.The archer was close.
I threw the dirt.It burst midair, blinding him—and I lunged.
Three steps.He didn't even have time to draw another arrow before my blade split his collarbone.The other two shouted.
"Kill him!"
The axe came down.The spear lunged.I rolled low, deflecting the shaft, twisting my blade to knock the axe off balance.
{Good! He's off center—take him!}[Left—outside your field. Incoming.]
I swung backhanded—blindly—and felt the blade bite through flesh.A scream. A wet crack.The air reeked of iron.
"You… monster!"
The axeman staggered, fear in his eyes.I charged before he could recover.
Our weapons clashed.Steel screamed.Then my knee drove into his gut, crushing his breath and pride in one blow.
Silence.At last.
"...Hah…"
I stumbled against a tree, chest heaving.When I turned—the boy was still breathing.Barely. But alive.
"Good… good… still with me…"
I lifted him again, every muscle burning, and pressed on.Through the dark. Through the rot. Through the stench of blood and smoke.
And then—I saw it.A flicker of orange in the distance.Torches. A wall.Our flag.
"Made it…"
Each step felt like it might be my last.The pain in my legs faded, replaced by a strange numbness.
And then I smelled it—not blood, not smoke, not death.Something bitter-sweet, almost clean.A scent that didn't belong here.
The moment I sensed it—a sharp hiss split the air.
"—!"
Pain exploded across my face.My vision went red.An arrow—no, a deliberate shot. Straight for my eye when I couldn't stop running.
"Ghhk—Aagh!"
I stumbled, clutching my face.Through the haze, I saw him.
A lone figure beneath the trees.Gray cloak, silver hair tied back, eyes like frost.A bow lowered in calm precision.
[That one's no ordinary soldier. His presence alone gives it away.]{Heh… what a show-off. Hits your eye and still spares you huh? You'll definitely meet him again.}
Blood poured down my cheek. But I memorized his face.Every line of it.
"You…"
He turned away, disappearing into the trees.
"…I'll remember you. I'll find you."
Then—voices."Here! Over here!""It's the Squad Leader—he's alive!"
Hands grabbed me.Lifting, shouting, relief and disbelief tangled into one noise.
Hands reached for me. The world spun. And as I fell, losing my consciousness, I laughed—weak, bloody, but still alive. I muttered:
"I survived...yeah I sur.."