It was Sven's first time on the battlefield.
There were countless discomforts. From the moment he woke up in the morning until he tried to sleep, everything was different from life in the territory.
The bigger problem was that he couldn't even rest comfortably after lying down on his cot.
Clang, clang, clang.
A loud bell rang out.
Sven, who had been playing tag with a beautiful, unnamed maiden of Abra in his dream, instinctively sat up.
The hazy scenery of his dream shattered, and before he knew it, he was staring at a worn-out tent and the armor he had prepped the night before.
Chewing over the maiden's face and figure from his dream, Sven grabbed the sword leaning beside him.
Someone shouted from outside.
"It's a night raid!"
He stepped off his cot.
Blood surged, and his body entered combat mode. There was no time to put on equipment.
He immediately flung open the entrance and stepped outside.
It was a battlefield.
A foreboding energy of a kill-or-be-killed war surrounded him.
"Sir!"
His adjutant came running. His hair was a mess, as if he had gotten up in a hurry.
"What's with your hair?"
"Now's not the time to worry about my hair, sir."
"That's pretty funny."
"Now's not the time to be laughing either."
"When is it ever, damn it. What the hell were the sentries doing? They should've woken us up so we could prepare."
Everything had seemed great when they'd ambushed and smashed Kurui's encampment.
After celebrating their victory, the Allied Army resumed their march.
Their next target was Okua, the new leader who had unified the orcs.
But the moment they set out, hell began.
"Those damn bastards…"
The orcs didn't let the Allied Army rest.
They launched several scattered attacks a day. Sometimes the numbers were small, sometimes large.
As both situations mixed, their response became muddled.
Always being on high alert wore them down, and the pace of the Allied Army slowed.
"What the hell is the Empire doing?"
Sven, sword in hand, began to curse as a habit while running.
"If they called the Allied Army, they should've prepared properly. And didn't they say the ten strongest had joined? And that one… the one the Commander-in-Chief dotes on…"
He trailed off, thinking of the prince of Briol.
He had once been caught by that boy, and during a duel, was thoroughly beaten.
Still, he was only an eighteen-year-old boy, clearly younger than him.
"That damn black-armored brat, what the hell is he doing!"
Grumbling nonstop, Sven ran toward the supply unit, where a battle had already broken out.
"Hey!"
As Sven shouted, an orc rushed at him.
He tensed his entire body.
The first time he faced an orc, he hadn't been able to move.
Their grotesque appearance, immense strength, and unfamiliar combat style overwhelmed him. Several knights who fought beside him had died screaming.
Sven had survived thanks to the help of those around him.
Because his father was Wolf Gane.
"Damn it…"
Gradually, he adapted to war.
He learned the enemy's patterns and came to understand what he needed to do.
Now, in the face of an orc, he no longer froze. He could swing his sword.
If only he'd been like this earlier.
"Ukuru durutiti akumekum!"
"Shut the hell up!"
Sven parried the axe and slashed at the orc's abdomen. The orc dodged. Using his momentum, he continued his attacks. Wounds accumulated on the orc's body.
The orc stepped back.
Sven, as if waiting for this, moved to deliver the final blow.
'Don't just charge forward—try keeping your center of gravity back.'
Suddenly, that guy's voice flashed through his mind.
Sven's foot faltered.
At that moment, the orc swung forward fiercely, as if it had been waiting. The force was so great that the wind pressure left a cut across his nose.
If he had gone forward, his head would have been split open.
"Damn."
Yuri's advice kept stacking up—it felt like his debt was growing.
"That damn bastard…"
Yuri hadn't just tormented him—he even sent someone named Laurent after him.
He didn't think there could be two people like that prince, but he lost even more miserably.
Unlike Yuri, Laurent didn't knock him down right away. He toyed with him for the entire duel.
Laurent, who followed his prince like a loyal hound, said he was only training him on Yuri's orders.
It was humiliating.
What pissed him off most of all was that, thanks to those two annoying bastards from Briol, he actually got stronger.
Look at him now.
After finishing off one orc, Sven helped a knight of Liberda who was struggling.
"Thank you, Sir Sven!"
"It's nothing."
The young rookie Sven who could barely handle one orc was gone. In his place stood the seasoned and composed knight, shaped by war.
"Damn it, damn it…"
Then he came face-to-face with an orc carrying a banner on its back.
Among orcs, it was like a knight. They called it an Orcbal.
He was used to fighting regular orcs, but an Orcbal was different.
Tension filled the air.
The Orcbal, without even holding its weapon properly, sneered at Sven. Then, it casually started walking forward.
Just then, a knight tried to strike it from behind.
"Akuak!"
The Orcbal shouted something and twisted its waist. Its axe carried weight. The knight's skull split open and his brain matter splattered.
Blood sprayed across Sven's face.
Death came in an instant.
They weren't particularly close, but they had shared time in the Allied Army and become familiar.
Because it was a massive expedition, comrades only kept decreasing. The longer the war dragged on, the better they got to know each other—and the deeper the grief became.
"You bastard…"
Sven instinctively tried to lunge forward.
But he stopped.
Each time his emotions tried to take over, that brat from Briol's advice held his feet in place.
"Okudoku, kemetetur."
The Orcbal motioned for him to come at it.
The entire area around it was its domain.
If he rushed in recklessly, like the knight before him, he'd fall the same way—splattering blood into his comrades' eyes.
He took a step back and surveyed the area.
Not just Liberda, but the entire Allied camp was lit up.
"Is this a large-scale raid?"
"Yes. Everyone's engaged."
"No support?"
"Not yet…"
His adjutant stood by his side.
Though not highly skilled, he was capable enough to fight standard orcs while guarding Sven.
"What about the Empire?"
"No word yet."
"Those bastards. If they lured us here, they should take responsibility. Wearing those black armors, acting all important like coal miners…"
The number of Orcbals was increasing.
They were in trouble.
This time, the orc main force seemed to be targeting Liberda. Such countries usually suffered serious damage.
Maybe retreating would be better.
But his feet wouldn't move.
Off in the distance, Sven could see his father fighting valiantly. He hadn't lived righteously, but he wasn't trash enough to abandon his father and run away.
Sven gripped his sword and said to his adjutant.
"Hey."
"Yes?"
"You've gone through a lot because of me."
"Sir?"
Sven lowered his stance.
"So if I die, tell the Empire exactly what I said. That it's all their bastard fault we went through this hell, so they should all bite their tongues and drop dead. Those filthy scum whose entire bloodline deserves to rot in hell…"
"Your tongue is truly dazzling, sir."
"You just answer—"
Sven froze.
The voice was different.
He turned around and saw his adjutant frozen stiff, and beside him stood a knight Sven didn't recognize.
"Just like I heard."
"You're…"
Knights of Briol don't wear matching armor. That's why Sven initially mistook his affiliation.
But when he saw the emblem on the knight's chest, he understood.
"Briol?"
"Yes. You may call me Jared."
He stepped forward.
There was no hesitation, no fear. His demeanor made it seem like this was just another day on the job.
"The enemy is…"
An Orcbal.
But before he could even finish saying it, Jared rushed in. Axe and sword clashed several times, sending sparks flying.
A fast-paced clash unfolded, too quick to follow with the eyes.
Sven bit his lip.
In Liberda, only a handful of mid-level knights who had reached a higher realm could fight an Orcbal evenly.
But in Briol, for some reason, people his age could go toe-to-toe with an Orcbal as if it were nothing.
"Damn it…"
Sven raised his sword again.
He couldn't just stand around and watch. He was turning to act when—
"Prince! Reinforcements have arrived!"
Knights clad in a variety of armor entered Liberda's camp.
At a glance, they looked more like a band of mercenaries than a knight order, but that was exactly how one could tell they were from Briol.
And leading them was a familiar face.
A black-haired boy swaggered in, resting an oversized sword on his shoulder.
"Yuri Briol."
Sven realized he'd shouted the name out loud.
Yuri turned to look at him.
Sven, a bit flustered, added,
"Prince."
Then Yuri grinned.
"Oh, Sven. My dearest friend!"
He pointed at Sven with his finger.
"When a friend is in trouble, you don't turn away. That is the way of Briol!"
Yuri was mimicking the pompous tone of Bursen that had recently become popular among the Allied Army.
Even in a situation like this, he was brimming with confidence.
What annoyed Sven even more was the reaction around him.
"Did you hear that? He called him his friend."
"Sir Sven is friends with the Third Prince of Briol…"
"As expected of the heir to Count Abra…!"
The admiration in their gazes only irritated him further.
That bastard was just tormenting him.
"Now, let's go!"
Yuri shouted, lifting his sword off his shoulder. That was the signal—the knights of Briol scattered.
Their armor may have been mismatched, but their movement was as coordinated as the Empire's knights. And their distinctive free-flowing swordsmanship was more practical in real combat than any other order.
"Sven."
Before he knew it, Yuri had approached and slung an arm around his shoulders.
He must have just slain an orc—his sword was stained with blood.
"Did you wait long? Aren't you glad I'm here?"
"…"
He had been caught in his weak moment, beaten with a wooden sword, and humiliated in a sparring match. At first, it had demoralized him—but now, he was used to this miserable situation.
Just hanging back and playing it safe wasn't like him.
Sven put his arm around Yuri in return.
"Yes. I'm very glad. My dear friend, Prince Yuri."
"Oooh…"
Yuri widened his eyes, then burst out laughing.
"Yes, my friend, Sven!"
Sven also forced an awkward smile to match.
If you were nearby, you'd feel the awkwardness—but from a distance, to Wolf Gane, it looked like a deeply touching moment.
The son who had always caused trouble was finally shaping up, now that he'd built a friendship with the Third Prince of Briol.
Seeing such a bond formed on the battlefield reminded him of his own youth, and his heart swelled.
Thinking he should take a trip to Briol after the Allied Army disbanded, Wolf looked ahead at the Orcbal standing before him.
When his aura shifted, the Orcbal furrowed its brows and took a step back.
"For Liberda!"
Wolf's sword slashed ten times at a speed invisible to the eye.
It was a secret sword technique passed down in the Gane family.
The Orcbal, unable to comprehend what had happened, collapsed while spewing blood from its entire body.
Wolf spoke.
"No matter how much of a nuisance you are, it's useless. The Allied Army will kill your leader, Okua. You filthy scum."
The Orcbal seemed to understand the word "Okua" and mumbled something.
"Okua, ganir jogo verate…"
Before it could finish its sentence, Wolf drove his sword into its head and ended it.
Then he looked up.
With Briol's reinforcements, the tide of battle had completely turned.
Liberda, which had been overwhelmed, began to repel the orc assault with overwhelming force. Orc screams echoed in every direction.
Wolf approached Prince Yuri.
Yuri and Sven had just finished taking down an orc together.
They were in the middle of a conversation.
"…will."
"…definitely."
"…urgh…"
Wolf stepped closer.
"I will repay this debt without fail."
"I'm looking forward to it. Make sure you do."
"You can count on it."
Prince Yuri and his son were forging a strong bond of friendship to the end.
Of course, the reality of their relationship was quite different from what Wolf imagined—but to an outsider, it simply looked heartwarming.
Wolf clapped.
"Bravo!"