The next day, I was jolted awake by a rough shake. My eyes fluttered open, and I saw Sergeant Vance standing over . His face was haggard, and his eyes were weary. Despite being awakened, he was riddled with injuries, his usual strong presence diminished by the fatigue and strain of the battle.
"Wake up, Lucavion," he said, his voice rough. "It's noon. You've rested enough."
I sat up slowly, my body protesting every movent. The pain from my stitched wounds was still there, but it was bearable. I rubbed my eyes and tried to shake off the lingering grogginess.
Vance looked at , his expression softening slightly. "Everything's a ss right now. You can rest for a while longer if you need to."
I shook my head, pushing myself to my feet. "No, I'm fine. What's the situation?"
He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "The Arcanis sent a new unit of knights. All Rank 4. We lost a lot of good n and won."
My heart clenched at the reminder of our fallen comrades. "What about the bodies?"
"We managed to retrieve them," Vance said quietly. "A mass funeral will be held later today. It's the least we can do to honor their sacrifice."
I nodded, the weight of the losses heavy on my shoulders. "I... I need to be there."
Vance placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. "I know you do. We all need to be there. They were more than just soldiers; they were family."
I looked at Vance, seeing the pain and exhaustion etched into his features. Despite his awakened status, he was just as affected by the losses as the rest of us. The bond we shared as a squad ran deep, and the weight of our comrades' deaths was sothing we all bore together.
"Thank you, Sergeant," I said quietly, appreciating his understanding.
He gave a nod, then turned to leave. "Get yourself cleaned up. We'll gather for the funeral soon."
As he walked away, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the day ahead. The pain of my injuries was a constant reminder of the battle, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my heart for the friends I had lost.
I gathered my things and cleaned myself up as best as I could. The next few hours passed in a blur, the preparations for the funeral taking precedence over everything else. The camp was subdued, the usual bustle replaced by a somber silence.
When the ti ca, we gathered in a clearing, the bodies of our fallen comrades laid out before us. The atmosphere was heavy with grief, the weight of the losses palpable.
The commander of the unit, Commander Gandrel, stood at the front, his voice steady but filled with sorrow as he spoke words of rembrance.
"We honor the brave souls who fought and died alongside us," he said, his voice carrying over the gathered soldiers. "They were more than just comrades; they were our brothers and sisters. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten."
I looked at the faces of my fallen friends. Garret, Mateo, Felix, Elias, Clara—all of them had left an indelible mark on my life, and their loss was a wound that would never fully heal.
Around , most of the soldiers were shading tears; everyone had lost a part of their squad.
And the sa went for .
But there were no tears.
'No.'
Because I knew crying would not help.
I had felt this a lot of tis.
When I was sent to this place for the first ti, no one in my family believed .
I cried.
When I had slept on that cold dam, I cried.
When I was beaten because of the fact that I was a noble in the camp, I cried.
When I had killed soone for the first ti, I cried.
But what did it bring?
Did that make achieve anything? Did it push towards my goal? I said that I would be proving myself, restoring my lost honor, and clearing my na.
Was I able to?
No, I wasn't.
I had faced countless hardships and endured unimaginable pain, and yet here I was, still at the rcy of a cruel fate. My tears had accomplished nothing.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. The faces of my fallen comrades seed to look back at , their expressions frozen in ti. They deserved more than my tears; they deserved my resolve. They deserved my promise that I would keep fighting, not just for myself but for them as well.
Commander Gandrel finished his speech, and we all stood in silence for a mont, honoring the mory of those who had been lost. The weight of their sacrifice hung heavy in the air, a solemn reminder of the cost of war.
As the ceremony concluded, I looked at the bright sky before .
Yeah, Lucavion. Keep going. Just keep moving forward.'
And then I looked back one last ti.
'But I swear on my na. I will not forget any of you.'
For them and for my sake, I would keep moving forward.
*********
The recent upheaval in the enemy's tactics had caused significant changes within our own divisions. The devastating attack by the Arcanis Rank 4 knights had left a void that needed to be filled. Orders were soon issued, and our unit was to be restructured.
Sergeant Vance's squad had been effectively decimated, leaving only . As a result, Vance was moved to another unit, and his rank was stripped due to the perceived failure to protect his squad. The demotion was a harsh blow, and I could see the disappointnt in his eyes, but he accepted it with a stoic resolve.
I was reassigned to a new unit under a different sergeant. The transition was far from smooth.
Sergeant Lyra was in charge of the new unit. She was a stern, no-nonsense leader with a reputation for being both fair and harsh. Her eyes bore into the first ti we t, assessing my worth.
"You must be Lucavion," she said, her tone neutral. "The sole survivor of Vance's squad."
I nodded, standing at attention. "Yes, ma'am."
She studied for a mont longer, then nodded. "You'll need to prove yourself here. We don't have room for dead weight. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," I replied, my voice steady. "I understand."
The transition into Sergeant Lyra's unit was as difficult as I had anticipated. From the mont I joined, the other soldiers made their disdain clear.
Whispers followed wherever I went, and the glares were hard to ignore. My past identity as a noble and the circumstances that had led here were well-known among them, and they did not hesitate to use it against .
On the first day, during a break in training, a group of soldiers cornered . One of them, a burly man nad Roderick, took the lead. His eyes were filled with contempt as he looked up and down.
"So, you're the cursed bastard," he sneered. "The noble who ended up here because he couldn't keep his hands to himself."
The others nodded in agreent, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility. I clenched my fists, but I didn't retort. I had learned long ago that defending myself against these accusations was pointless. They had already made up their minds about .
Another soldier, a wiry woman nad Lila, stepped forward. "He's just getting his karma. He assaulted a woman, was disowned, and now his whole squad died because of him. A fitting end for soone like him."
The words stung, but I kept my expression neutral. I knew that arguing would only make things worse. I had faced similar treatnt in my previous squad, and so of them had been like this too.
"You're nothing but dead weight," Roderick continued, his voice low and threatening. "If you think you can just waltz in here and be one of us, you've got another thing coming."
I t his gaze, my voice steady despite the anger simring beneath the surface. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here to fight and prove myself, just like everyone else."
Roderick scoffed, stepping closer. "Prove yourself? You couldn't even protect your own squad. What makes you think you'll do any better here?"
"..."
I was not able to reply to that.
"See, even you, yourself, know what kind of thing you are."
"….."
Since the atmosphere was becoming suffocating, and I was not welcod there, I could only move outside.
It was night and the sky was dark.
–HOWL!
The cold night air bit into my skin as I stepped outside, the darkness swallowing whole. I felt the weight of their words pressing down on , their disdain like a physical force. But I couldn't afford to let it get to . I had to keep moving forward, no matter how hard it got.
Grabbing my spear, I headed to a secluded spot away from the camp. The wind howled around , a harsh reminder of the harsh world I was now a part of. But it was also a strange comfort, the familiar sting of the cold grounding .
I began to train, swinging my spear in precise, practiced movents. Each thrust, parry, and slash was a way to channel my frustration, my anger, and my pain. The rhythmic motion of the weapon beca a balm to my troubled mind, the exertion pushing out the dark thoughts that threatened to overwhelm .
I lost track of ti, the world narrowing down to the feel of the spear in my hands and the rush of air as it cut through the night. When my arms finally grew too tired to lift the weapon, I sat down on the cold ground, trying to catch my breath.
The physical exertion had helped, but it wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed to prove to myself that I could still grow and improve. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and began to ditate, trying to gather mana into my core.
The process was slow and frustrating, the mana resisting my attempts to control it. I could feel it slipping through my grasp, elusive and stubborn. But I couldn't give up. I had to keep trying, no matter how difficult it was.
As I struggled to focus, a voice cut through my training.
"You….."
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