The first faint light of dawn had yet to pierce the horizon, yet the forge within the garrison of the city watch was already ablaze. Each heavy hammer strike rang out like a final prayer offered to the fate about to descend, deafening in its force.
On the training grounds, sweat soaked through coarse linen uniforms as the soldiers’ shouts tore apart the stillness before dawn. In the most primitive way, they tried to drive out the fear coiled deep within their hearts. The air was thick with the scent of rust, sweat, and the grim austerity of impending war.
In a corner, a scruffy old veteran awkwardly wrote something on a yellowed sheet of parchment. Perhaps it was the first letter of his life, and also the last—a final testament.
Rosenberg, a lion that had slumbered for far too long, finally bared fangs not yet dulled by time at the very moment a blade pressed against its throat.
Nolan did not join in the frenzy of activity. What surprised him slightly was that the boy called Little Donnie was now directing a squad with surprising competence, his youthful face set with a determination far beyond his years. Though the youngest, his strength ranked just below Hank’s. Talent, after all, had never been a reasonable thing.
With time pressing, Nolan exchanged a brief word with Hank before leaving the garrison alone at a brisk pace. With a great battle imminent, strengthening himself was paramount.
***
The Adventurers’ Guild in the city was as noisy as ever, filled with the mingled odors of cheap ale, sweat, and leather. Nolan walked straight to the counter and rapped his knuckles against the surface.
A drowsy receptionist looked up and asked lazily, “What is it?”
“Registration,” Nolan said, concise.
“Oh, registering a mercenary group? Please fill out this form. You’ll need at least three members—”
“No.” Nolan cut her off. “Independent mercenary.”
The receptionist paused, then took another look at the young man in the worn militia uniform before her. A flicker of impatience passed through her half-lidded eyes, but she still asked the routine question Nolan had been waiting for. “Confirm registration as an independent mercenary?”
Before Nolan’s eyes, a translucent azure screen only he could see suddenly appeared.
【Profession detected. Confirm advancement to “Mercenary”?】
“Yes.”
Acquiring this profession was simple. It required no training or ritual; all it took was for the receptionist to ask that single question.
Before she could slowly complete the paperwork, Nolan poured all the experience he had gained from eliminating the corpse mage scout squad into this brand-new profession without hesitation. Since the mercenary class had not yet reached the level 10 experience threshold, this was the most efficient way to increase his strength.
【Mercenary level increased to 2!】
…
【Mercenary level increased to 8!】
【Total Level: 18 (Militia Lv.10, EXP: 178/5000); Mercenary Lv.8, EXP: 0/240】
Nolan clenched his fist and clearly felt his muscles tightening, growing firmer at a rapid pace. The only regret was that neither Militia nor Mercenary had reached level 15, meaning he had yet to unlock any valuable class skills.
This level of strength was still far from enough. Only when one’s total level surpassed 25 and entered the Silver rank could one truly begin to gain a foothold in this world. As for the Gold rank, it was exceedingly rare throughout the entire Elfin Kingdom.
He suppressed his thoughts. One step at a time.
With his business done, he left without the slightest hesitation.
What he did not know was that the receptionist, who had been impatient just moments ago, was now staring in stunned silence. Having seen all kinds of adventurers and mercenaries, she rubbed her eyes. Was it an illusion? After that brief moment of blankness in his gaze, the young man’s presence had suddenly grown much steadier. Could someone really achieve enlightenment just by standing there?
Nolan, already striding away, was clearly not going to give her an answer.
By the time he returned to the garrison, Hank stood at the center of the training grounds, supervising the drills. When he saw Nolan, he was slightly taken aback.
Hmm?
The boy had only gone out for a short while, yet his entire bearing had become much more grounded. That morning he had merely been a capable militia soldier; now he carried something of the seasoned veterans of the Southern Legion. What had he gone to do?
***
The next day passed quickly, and night fell once more.
Inside the command post, candlelight flickered, stretching shadows into long, thin shapes. The intelligence brought back by the scouts confirmed all of Nolan’s judgments: the undead army was steadily advancing toward Rosenberg, and its vanguard was now less than ten miles from the city walls.
“They don’t need sleep and prefer to move under the cover of night.” Nolan’s finger tapped the map. “They’ll likely launch their attack tomorrow night. To be precise, around midnight, when people are at their most exhausted.”
“Maintain constant alert.” Hank rubbed his temples. “Have everyone rest in shifts and be ready to fight at any moment. Dismissed.”
Late at night, in the shadows of the stables, Klose was skillfully saddling his warhorse, his movements as light and quiet as a practiced nightingale. Clutched in his hand was a secret letter.
It came from his father, Baron Locke, lord of Rosenberg. The contents were simple: the undead forces were overwhelming, and Rosenberg had no chance of holding out. That very afternoon, he had already fled in secret with the family’s most valuable possessions, heading to Veli City to take refuge with his younger brother, who held a military post there. At the end of the letter, he ordered Klose to find a way to slip away immediately and catch up with his party.
Father… ran?
The realization left his mind blank. Soon after, a complicated surge of fear and relief welled up within him. He had long believed that the plan of that provincial militiaman was nothing more than a madman’s delusion. Now, even his father had fled. Did that not prove his judgment correct?
“This kind of suicide mission—one more person like me won’t make a difference. I’m a noble. How could I just throw my life away like this? To stay is to be buried alongside that madman.”
Leading his horse, he crept cautiously toward the garrison gate. Once he passed through it, the world would be wide open—he could go anywhere. Yet just as he was about to succeed, a voice drifted lazily from the shadow of a haystack beside the gate.
“Deputy Klose?”
Klose’s heart skipped. Someone was here? Forcing himself to stay calm, he pretended to adjust the saddle, putting on the appearance of heading out for a night patrol.
“Going on patrol this late?” the voice continued. “How… devoted.”
Nolan.
Cold sweat broke out across Klose’s back. He was waiting for me. Hearing the mockery in Nolan’s tone, he knew his movements had already been exposed. With nothing left to hide, he gave a cold laugh. “So it’s the newly appointed Adjutant Nolan. I’m the deputy captain. My movements don’t require your approval, do they?”
Nolan ignored the provocation and brushed the bits of hay from his clothes. “With a battle imminent, it’s better to conserve your strength.”
“A battle?” Klose let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Drop the commander act. This is a mass suicide. Commoners will always be commoners, dreaming of staking everything on one reckless gamble to make a name for themselves. Any noble with real sense has already seen through your foolishness. Who would stay here and go mad with you?”
Nolan’s expression did not change. He only asked calmly, “Oh? So what you’re saying is, the nobles have already secured their own ‘way out’?”
Klose faltered. The words struck uncomfortably close, and he found himself unable to refute them.
Nolan sighed inwardly. Even with his early warning, the city lord had still fled. Just like in his previous life, nothing had changed. Perhaps this was what people called the inertia of history. Still, it was better this way. This time the escape had been secret, not like before when it caused widespread panic in the city and led to the premature collapse of the defenses.
“Y-you’re talking nonsense!” Klose snapped, realizing he had let something slip, trying to recover.
But Nolan cut him off.
“Go. I won’t stop you, and I won’t report this to Captain Hank. Because someone whose only thought is to run will only get his comrades killed if he stays on the battlefield.”
Klose had expected rage, a drawn sword, a shout to seize a deserter. Instead, there was nothing. That calmness left him completely at a loss. All the retorts and sneers he had prepared were choked back by that infuriating composure. He stood there, stunned, disbelief written across his face.
Nolan stepped closer, his expression unchanged. “The wheels of the Shiva Empire will not stop because of disagreements between you and me. You may escape this time. Perhaps next time as well. But if you lack the courage to carve out a path for yourself, the road you use to flee will one day come to an end.” Looking at Klose, who stood there with his mouth half open, he continued, “I respect your choice. I only hope that when the moment truly comes—when you have nowhere left to run—you won’t regret having personally given up your chance to live.”
With that, Nolan turned and walked back to his temporary quarters without a single glance behind.
Klose was left alone at the gate, holding his horse, standing there in a daze. The night wind swept past, carrying with it the chill of early autumn. He gripped the reins tightly, unmoving for a long time.
***
The next day, at dusk.
The dying light of the setting sun stained the sky blood-red. A carrier pigeon cut through the twilight and landed on the windowsill of the command post.
Hank removed the message tube and unfolded the slip of paper. There were only five words written on it.
The main force is approaching.
Hank drew a deep breath, crushed the paper in his hand, and strode to the doorway. Already fully armed, he looked as though he had returned to his days campaigning with the Southern Legion, radiating killing intent. With a sharp motion, he drew the longsword at his waist and raised it skyward, his roar echoing throughout the entire garrison.
“All units, prepare for battle!”
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