Drill Camp

Though the war had not yet reached the heart of Brickvia, its echoes already shaped the future. Far from the capital's marble walls, deep within the tangled forest, a forgotten ruin stirred to life—repurposed as a crucible. Here, the young and untested were forged not just in drills, but in silence, sweat, and survival. This was no ordinary camp. This was where Brickvia would learn whether its next generation could hold the line when the world began to burn.

The sky above the castle was a sheet of pale steel, clouded and breathless. The ruined stronghold stood quietly, half-swallowed by nature, hidden deep within the woods—once a noble’s retreat, now Brickvia’s most remote training ground.

Fresh recruits stood in formation in the courtyard, breath fogging in the cold morning air. Among them, Ren remained alert and observant, eyeing the layout—the narrow staircases, broken arches, and overgrown stone paths. It was a place full of history… and tactical possibilities.

The silence shattered with a barked order.

“Attention!”

The heavy wooden gates groaned open. A man in his late 30s strode forward—Lieutenant General Harada Kurosuke. Sharp eyes. Clean movements. No-nonsense energy radiating from every step.

“I’m not here to babysit you,” he said without preamble. “You’re not warriors until you can think and move as one. And right now, you're just meat with uniforms.”

He motioned to his aides, who rolled out racks of wooden weapons—short blades, spears, staves, and round shields.

“Start with the basics. Stance. Grip. Strike. Block. If your weapon betrays you, it’s because your body failed it.”

Kurosuke took a short sword and demonstrated—his motion tight, precise. Slash, twist, block, reset.

“Too loose and your blade’s gone. Too tight and your arm locks up. Combat is rhythm. You break rhythm, you die.”

Recruits were paired off. They began slow drills—striking, parrying, recovering position. Sweat soon followed. Mist lifted from the courtyard as the sound of clashing wood filled the air.

Ren glided through the drills. His footwork—refined, instinctual—drew attention. Where others stumbled, he flowed, adjusting angles, pivoting with balance.

After two hours, Kurosuke clapped his hands once. “Gather.”

Aides unrolled a large tactical map across a table, covered in diagrams drawn in dark charcoal ink.

“Now,” Kurosuke said, “let’s talk formations. These are the tools you use to shape the battlefield.”

He pointed to the first:

1. Pincer Movement:

“Attack from both flanks simultaneously. Trap them. Crumple their line inward. Simple. Devastating.”

2. Flanking Maneuver:

“Distract with a frontal force, hit hard from the side. They fall before they know where the true threat is.”

3. Wedge Formation:

“A sharp triangle drives forward to split the enemy. The tip must be the strongest—speed, pressure, break them before they react.”

4. Square Formation:

“Used when surrounded. Defenders on all sides. Shield wall tight. Rotate the outer ring to keep fighters fresh.”

5. Spear Wall:

“Anti-cavalry. Long weapons. Stationary line. Let them break themselves on your points.”

6. Encirclement:

“Full surround. Slowly constrict. Dangerous if they have a fast breakout unit, so time it well.”

7. Crescent Formation:

“Used to bait. You bend like a bow, let them enter, then snap shut from both wings.”

8. Hammer and Anvil:

“One force holds steady—‘the anvil.’ Another smashes into the enemy from behind or the side—‘the hammer.’ Brutal when done right.”

9. Reverse Pincer:

“Let the enemy encroach, then strike outward from your own center to push both their flanks apart. Rarely used—but deadly when timed right.”

10. Echelon Formation:

“A diagonal advance, with each unit slightly behind the one ahead. Excellent for applying pressure on one flank while protecting the rear.”

11. Fish Hook Formation:

“Looks like retreat at first—then bends sharply to strike the side of a chasing enemy. Best used by fast units or light cavalry.”

12. Staggered Line Formation:

“An irregular front line to absorb impact and create openings. Confuses straightforward attackers who expect symmetry.”

Kurosuke folded his arms. “These are not textbook poses. They are intent. They show how you think under pressure. They make or break commanders.”

One recruit asked, “What if terrain blocks the setup?”

“Then you shape the terrain,” Kurosuke replied. “Use walls, rivers, chokepoints, even shadows. This ruined castle isn’t just your camp—it’s your teacher.”

He stepped back and barked, “Squad assignments! Squad One, you’ll form a spear wall. Squad Two, pincer movement. Squad Three, defensive square. You’ve got ten minutes to plan before drills begin.”

Chaos erupted as squads scrambled. Ren was placed in Squad Two, designated to perform a pincer.

He scanned the terrain—arched doorways, collapsed battlements, tight stairwells. Perfect for setting traps and striking from blind angles.

As the squads took formation, Kurosuke stood above on a balcony, arms folded, watching.

His aide whispered, “That one—Ren—moves like he’s been doing this for years.”

Kurosuke’s eyes narrowed. “No… he moves like he sees the battlefield before it happens. Keep your eyes on him.”

Later that afternoon, the castle courtyard was cleared once more. The recruits had blisters on their hands, dirt streaked across their sleeves, and sore muscles from hours of holding defensive stances—but they stood at attention, breath heavy, eyes sharp.

Lt. General Harada Kurosuke wasn’t done with them yet.

“War is not just charging and swinging,” Kurosuke barked, striding in front of them. “It’s coordination. Precision. Reading the battlefield like a map, not a poem.”

He motioned to two junior officers. They brought out colored flags, wooden batons, and bundles of red and blue sashes.

“Now we test your ability to plan and move as one unit. You’ll be split into four squads. Two will defend the fortress tower. Two will assault it.”

He turned to the defenders first. “You are to maintain visibility on your flank, post scouts, and identify weak points. Use the terrain.”

Then to the attackers. “Your job: disarm the flag at the top of the tower and escape back to the base. If even one of you is caught, the mission fails. You’ll have ten minutes to plan, and twenty to execute.”

The squads broke into huddles.

Ren was assigned to the second assault squad. The squad leader, a wiry boy named Hayashi, took command quickly.

“Front team will distract at the main entrance—loud and obvious. We’ll take three around the south side, where that broken drainage path runs under the ramparts. If we time it right, they won’t even know we’re inside.”

Ren studied the drawn map Hayashi sketched in dirt with a twig. “What if they post a scout by the south breach?”

Hayashi looked up. “You’ll be ahead of us by one minute. You can clear the path or reroute if it's blocked. You move the fastest.”

Ren nodded. “Understood.”

The mock assault began.

Blue smoke popped near the main gate—distraction team. Shouts rang out. Wood clattered as defenders scrambled.

Ren dashed low through the brush, leading the flanking team. He slid through the old drainage path—narrow, slick, and crawling with roots. Above, boots scuffed stone. A defender just passed the breach—but hadn’t looked down.

Perfect timing.

Ren climbed the inner wall, crouched behind a collapsed arch. The others followed, breathless but quiet. The tower loomed ahead.

Just before they reached the final stretch, a defender spotted them. Whistles blew.

“Go now!” Hayashi hissed.

They sprinted. Ren scaled the last ladder and slapped the flag free.

Mission complete.

But retreat? That was harder.

Defenders poured in, blocking their exit. Hayashi made a split call. “East ledge—jump and roll!”

One by one, they leapt to a hay-filled cart below. Ren followed last, landing hard but safe.

When they regrouped, Kurosuke was waiting.

“Result?” he asked.

Hayashi bowed. “Flag disarmed. All attackers escaped.”

Kurosuke nodded. “Barely. You succeeded because of timing and trust. That is coordination. Leadership is more than shouting orders—it’s seeing what others miss.”

He turned to the defenders. “And you—why was there no scout at the south breach?”

A boy fumbled an answer. Kurosuke silenced him with a glare.

“Your formation is only as strong as its weakest eye.”

Then he addressed them all.

“In war, orders fail. Plans collapse. If you cannot move as one body, you die as scattered limbs.”

He gestured toward the crates.

“Reset. You switch roles. Now attackers defend—and defenders plan.”

The drill repeated. And again. Each time, Kurosuke raised the bar—no verbal commands allowed, or tighter time limits, or divided terrain. The recruits sweated, stumbled, and adapted. Slowly, they began moving not as strangers, but as one living machine.

By dusk, even Kurosuke allowed a flicker of satisfaction.

“Not terrible,” he said. “You might even survive the next lesson.”

By sunrise in the next day, the castle courtyard was already alive with movement. The recruits, some limping from the previous night’s drills, stood in loose formation. Blisters had turned to calluses. Fatigue hung in their eyes, but curiosity sparked beneath it. Something different was coming.

Lt. General Harada Kurosuke stood before them No sword, no armor—just a thick rope coiled around his shoulder.

“Yesterday,” he said, “you learned how to fight. Today, you learn how to survive when everything goes wrong.”

He kicked over a nearby barrel. It spilled dried moss, scrap cloth, twigs, a flint rock, and a battered compass.

“Warfare doesn’t care about your drills. You get separated from your unit, wounded behind enemy lines, or caught in the mountains—these skills keep you breathing.”

He pointed to the forest surrounding the abandoned castle. “There. No weapons, no food, no fire. You’ll be split into pairs. Each of you will spend the next six hours in the field. Objectives: Find clean water, build a temporary shelter, signal for help, and return without being seen.”

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“Being caught or returning late means penalty drills at midnight. Move.”

Ren was paired with a quiet recruit named Itsuki. As they disappeared into the woods, the castle’s shadow faded behind them.

Ren took the lead, scanning the undergrowth. “Water first. Moss on that tree’s thick on one side—north. That slope dips east. We follow that.”

They found a narrow stream twenty minutes in. Ren cupped the water in his hands, sniffed it, then tasted. “Clean.”

Itsuki pulled out a strip of cloth and a small stone cup he’d tucked in his boot. “Boil it with dry grass later. Just in case.”

They moved on. By noon, they had collected branches and created a makeshift lean-to between two rocks. Using the flint Kurosuke gave them, Ren sparked dry twigs to life after three dozen failed strikes.

Smoke rose.

Itsuki whooped quietly. “That’ll keep the chill off.”

“But also make us visible,” Ren reminded. He threw damp moss over the fire, letting it smolder with minimal smoke.

Signal drills came next. They used a mirror shard to reflect flashes toward the castle wall—short, controlled bursts in a standard pattern.

“Three flashes. Pause. Three again,” Ren whispered.

They waited.

No response came, but they weren’t meant to get one. This was a test of doing the right thing without feedback.

Suddenly, movement—leaves rustled, and a scout in green armor burst from behind the brush. “Got you!”

Ren and Itsuki bolted. They’d been spotted by patrols simulating enemy hunters.

The chase was swift. Ren dove through thick shrubs while Itsuki scaled a branch and waited for the scout to pass below before dropping down and tripping him. They didn't stop. They kept running until the castle appeared once more in the fading daylight.

They returned bruised, scratched, and barely ahead of the cutoff time.

Kurosuke stood at the gates.

“Observations?” he asked.

Ren breathed hard. “Water source found. Shelter held. Signal sent. Spotted once, but evaded.”

Itsuki chimed in. “Fire created. No food. No injuries.”

Kurosuke gave a grunt of approval. “Adequate. Some of you will die in real survival conditions, but at least now, you’ll die later than the rest.”

The recruits groaned. Some collapsed where they stood. But none of them spoke of quitting.

The lessons were harsh, but their minds were sharpening.

Brickvia was building soldiers—not just fighters, but survivors.

Beyond the southern ridge, beneath the heavy silence of conifer trees, a scout dismounted and dropped to one knee before a dimly lit command tent.

Lieutenant Colonel Takashi Moriyama leaned over a field table scattered with supply ledgers and territory maps. His gaze was fixed, sharp as a dagger.

“Report,” he said.

The scout unrolled a small map, tracing a finger toward a circle marked by an old, weather-worn symbol of a forgotten fortress. “An abandoned castle north of the mountain pass. Brickvia is using it as a drill camp. New recruits. Lightly guarded. No signal towers or reinforced walls. We estimate no more than fifty inside—mostly trainees.”

Moriyama raised an eyebrow, then stepped outside the tent, arms folded, eyes narrowed toward the distant forest ridge.

“No outer security? No posted scouts?”

“Minimal, sir. Just basic lookouts inside the grounds. They don’t expect trouble this deep inland.”

Moriyama’s lips curled into a small, calculating smile. “Their confidence is misplaced.”

He turned to his adjutant. “Draft a formal request to General Arakawa. I want clearance to mobilize an ambush detail. Immediate deployment. Three strike teams—infantry, arbalests, and saboteurs.”

“Yes, Sir.” The dispatch was sent through encrypted courier.

Hours had passed. Lieutenant Colonel Takashi Moriyama stood silently on a knoll overlooking the ancient castle. The mist curled low across the forest floor like a restless serpent.

His breath came steady. The soldiers beneath his command mirrored his focus—silent shadows sharpening in the dim gray.

“We move quickly,” Moriyama whispered, eyes locked on the castle outline barely visible through the trees. “No alarms. No mercy.”

He turned to his lieutenants. “First team cuts the forest trail. Without that, no reinforcements.”

“Second team secures the ridge. From there, our archers rain down hell.”

“Third team surrounds the castle from the riverbed, sealing every escape route.”

Moriyama’s voice was cold steel, precise and commanding.

“Once we strike, communications must be crushed. No messages, no warnings.”

His gaze hardened. “We crush their spirits before they even know we’re here.”

Then, a sharp whistle cut through the air. The teams melted into the darkness.

Moriyama lingered a heartbeat longer, watching the distant flicker of fires inside the castle walls—laughter, training, unprepared for what was coming.

He whispered to himself, “Let them learn fear.”

With the silent resolve of a predator, he vanished into the shadows

Dawn’s first pale light struggled through thick fog and tangled branches, painting the ancient castle in ghostly shades of gray. The crumbling walls stood silent—until the forest erupted with movement.

Arrows hissed from the ridgelines above. Shadows slipped through the underbrush like deadly whispers.

From every direction, Suragato forces closed in.

At first, the sounds were subtle—an odd stillness in the birdsong, a faint rustle in the woods where no patrol should be. But then came the unmistakable signs: the glint of steel between the trees, the unnatural shadows moving with intent, the distant hiss of arrows loosed from high ground. Lieutenant General Harada Kurosuke’s instincts flared. He stepped onto the balcony, eyes scanning the fog-laced horizon.

Kurosuke’s sharp eyes darted across the horizon as the grim truth settled like ice in his veins.

“They’ve trapped us…” His voice was low, heavy with urgency.

“They’re here to strike at Brickvia’s weakest point. This camp—our green recruits—our most vulnerable unit. An ambush.”

Inside the courtyard, recruits scrambled to ready their weapons, faces pale but determined.

The castle was no longer a training ground—it was a battleground.

Kurosuke’s mind raced as he barked orders, his voice sharp and commanding through the growing chaos.

“No reinforcements. No hope for backup. We fight with what we have.”

He moved swiftly along the walls, eyes sharp, taking in every crumbling stone and shadowed corner.

“Use the castle itself as our shield,” he ordered. “Hide in the ruins. Set traps. Strike fast and vanish. Turn this place into a deadly maze for them.”

Soldiers hurried to pile rubble, block narrow passages, and prepare chokepoints where the enemy would be forced to slow.

Kurosuke pointed toward the dense forest beyond the walls. “Hit and disappear into the woods. Use the terrain to our advantage. Every corner, every shadow is our weapon.”

He addressed the recruits close by, voice firm but steady. “Stick together. Cover one another. Use everything you’ve learned — formations, defense, and patience. Hold the line until help comes.”

Outside, the sound of enemy footsteps grew louder, precise and unyielding.

Kurosuke’s eyes burned with fierce determination.

“We will make them regret ever underestimating us.”

The battle roared to life. The sharp crack of arrows and the clash of steel echoed through the ruined castle walls as the Suragato forces pressed forward, their movements cautious but relentless.

Ren moved steadily among the recruits, working in sync with others to keep the line intact. When a group of enemy soldiers pushed through a breached archway, Ren was there, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a handful of recruits.

“Hold your ground!” he urged quietly but firmly, raising his shield to absorb the first strike. The recruits flinched, but his calm steadied them.

A recruit beside him swung clumsily, and Ren blocked the blow with his own weapon, pushing the attacker back just enough to give the recruit space.

Nearby, another team slipped through a hidden side passage, striking at the enemy’s flank before retreating into the shadows again.

Ren caught sight of a younger recruit struggling to reload his crossbow. Without hesitation, Ren stepped in, covering the recruit as he fumbled, exchanging short commands with a nod and a glance.

The enemy advanced in waves—sometimes slow, sometimes sudden—but every time, the defenders found space to regroup and fight back.

Though no one could say the tide had turned, these moments of coordinated resistance bought precious time.

Every blocked strike, every suppressed shout, every retreat into cover was a piece of the larger puzzle—an unfinished battle that depended on every recruit’s effort.

Amid the mounting chaos, Kurosuke’s face remained grim but determined. He knew their time was running out.

“Communications are cut. No one knows we’re under siege,” he said, voice steady but urgent. “We need to send a distress signal—something unmistakable.”

He pointed toward the castle’s highest tower where the emergency rocket launcher stood—a last resort.

“The signal must be clear: three short continuous bursts, three long interval bursts, three short continuous bursts. The SOS distress signal. It must be fired twice in a row. Once might be mistaken for a drill. Twice means we are in real danger.”

Without hesitation, Ren stepped forward. “I’ll get the rocket and launch the signal.”

Kurosuke nodded, locking eyes with him. “It’s a dangerous task. You’ll have to move fast and stay hidden. The enemy controls the perimeter.”

Ren’s jaw tightened. “I understand.”

With the weight of the entire camp on his shoulders, Ren disappeared into the twisting corridors and shadowed ruins.

Every heartbeat thundered as he slipped past enemy patrols, dodging arrows and evading sharp eyes.

Behind him, the sounds of battle roared louder, the fate of the camp hanging on his success.

Ren slipped through the maze of shattered walls and debris, eyes scanning for the emergency rocket launcher.

His heart pounded—not from fear, but from the need to stay sharp. Every shadow could hide an enemy, every step might trigger a deadly trap.

Suddenly, muffled voices and hurried footsteps echoed nearby. Ren froze, pressing against a crumbling pillar.

Two Suragato soldiers rounded the corner, weapons ready. Their gaze swept the ruin, searching for any sign of movement.

Ren’s breath slowed. This was the moment Kawasumi Mai’s training kicked in.

Don’t fight the chaos—flow through it.

He shifted his weight lightly on the balls of his feet, feeling the floor beneath him. His body moved with fluid precision—ducking low as an enemy swung a heavy blade, sidestepping just in time.

A quick pivot, a controlled step back, and Ren was already behind a broken wall, unseen and unscathed.

"Damn it !" The soldiers cursed, scanning again, but Ren was gone—like a whisper in the wind.

He pressed forward, every movement a careful dance between silence and survival.

The rocket launcher had to be close.

Ren moved silently, each step deliberate and light, like a shadow slipping through the ruins.

“There you are!” one of the soldiers shouted, spotting movement among the rubble and loosing an arrow without hesitation.

As the arrow was fired, Ren dropped into a low crouch, the projectile whistling past overhead.

Read it. Move. Don’t stop thinking.

He rolled forward, using momentum to spring back up behind another wall.

As the nearest soldier lunged again, Ren pivoted sharply, using his footwork to position himself perfectly.

Center of gravity. Stay light. Move with the strike—not against it.

With a swift strike, he knocked the soldier’s sword aside, then delivered a precise blow to the attacker’s ribs—enough to stagger but not kill.

Just enough to stop him. No more than necessary.

Before the second soldier could react, Ren spun, using a sweeping low kick to unbalance him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Just enough to stop them. That’s all I need to do.

Ren pressed onward through the twisting corridors and broken battlements, every sense alert. The distant clash of steel and shouted commands echoed behind him, driving him forward.

Finally, around a shattered archway, he spotted it—the emergency rocket launcher, mounted and ready but untouched.

I found it..

His fingers trembled slightly as he approached, the weight of the mission heavy on his shoulders. One wrong move could alert the enemy or ruin the signal.

He checked the mechanism quickly, recalling Kurosuke’s instructions—the precise timing of the bursts.

Three short continuous bursts, three long interval bursts, three short continuous bursts, repeated twice.

Taking a deep breath, Ren loaded the first rocket. His pulse throbbed in his ears as he ignited the firing mechanism.

Three sharp bursts shot into the sky, the rockets exploding with bright flares that cut through the dusk.

Then came the three long bursts, each one lingering like a cry for help.

Finally, the last three short bursts lit the night, completing the SOS distress signal.

The first flare illuminated the dark sky above Brickvia territory, cutting through the evening gloom like a fiery beacon.

Far away, Lieutenant Saito stood watch atop the border post, eyes fixed on the distant ruins where the signal burst.

“Did you see that?” he asked the soldier beside him.

“Looks like the emergency rocket from the drill camp,” the soldier replied, voice calm but alert.

Saito frowned, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Could be a real distress signal… or maybe just a drill.”

“Drills happen regularly around this time,” the soldier reminded him. “We’ve seen signals like that before—just routine checks.”

They watched the three short bursts flash, followed by three long bursts, then three short again. The pattern was clear and precise.

But only once.

Saito’s gaze hardened. “If it’s a real emergency, they’ll fire it twice. One time and we can’t be sure. Let’s stay alert and wait.”

Beneath the calm surface, tension tightened their muscles. Something was stirring beyond the horizon.

Back at the abandoned castle, Ren crouched beside the launcher, eyes flicking upward. The first SOS burst had vanished into the night—but no confirmation signal had come.

“They think it’s a drill,” he muttered, urgency thudding in his chest.

He loaded the second rocket, hands moving quickly. Then—three sharp bursts. Pause. Three long bursts that lingered like thunder. Pause. And finally, three more short bursts.

The flare soared and illuminated the dark sky above Brickvia once again.

On the eastern border post, Lieutenant Saito’s eyes widened.

“There it is—the second sequence,” he said sharply. “It’s not a drill.”

Without hesitation, he reached for his own launcher and fired a single white rocket into the sky. It blazed upward, unmistakable—a confirmation signal.

Moments later, across Brickvia’s territory, white rockets flared one after another. From the west. The north. The southernmost post. Each one acknowledged the same truth: the drill camp was under attack.

At Brickvia Headquarters, Lieutenant Yamada Tatsumaru burst into the command chamber, breath short.

“Sir! Multiple white rocket confirmations from all borders. Emergency SOS signal has been verified—twice.”

Lt. General Futaba Watari, seated at the strategy table, rose with grim resolve. His expression hardened.

“They’ve targeted the drill camp,” he said. “They believe it’s our weakest link.”

He strode to the command platform, raised a hand, and gave a single nod.

“Fire the large white rocket. Let every battalion commander know—this is not a simulation.”

A thunderous launch followed moments later. A massive white flare illuminated the dark sky above Brickvia, visible from every stronghold and watchtower.

The real war had just begun.

As the light dimmed, a stunning sight followed: scattered torchlights began flaring to life all across Brickvia’s vast inner territory—from fortresses to hilltop camps, from valley garrisons to silent barracks. Like fireflies responding to a silent call, entire units stood still and tall, commanders and soldiers alike gazing upward, eyes fixed on the tail of the fading rocket.

The unmistakable signal had been received.

Within moments, the landscape of Brickvia transformed into a canvas of flickering orange light. Helmets glinted, blades shimmered, and orders were whispered through ranks. Though no sound echoed beyond the torchlight's reach, a shared understanding filled the air: the kingdom had been summoned.

From high vantage points, squad leaders adjusted their grip on spears and bows, their expressions fierce. All units awaited the voice of their commanding generals—silent, prepared, and unshaken.

From a shadowed ridge east of the abandoned castle, Lt. Colonel Takashi Moriyama of the Suragato Kingdom stood beside his forward unit, his narrowed eyes reflecting the second flare that illuminated the dark sky above Brickvia.

He didn’t need confirmation.

That sequence—three short, three long, three short—the SOS signal.

“They’re calling for reinforcements,” he muttered, clenching his jaw.

Behind him, one of his officers stepped forward.

“Shall we pull back before their main force arrives, sir?”

Moriyama’s expression darkened. “No. Not yet. We crush them before help gets here. Press the advantage.”

Back at the castle ruins, Ren ran across shattered stone corridors, the echo of his boots like thunder in the smoky night. Behind him, the snarls and shouts of Suragato troops grew closer. They had seen him launch the second rocket.

“There he is! The signal came from that tower!”

Ren didn’t hesitate. The moment they turned the corner, he lunged into motion—a sweeping sidestep, a rapid feint, a glide between pillars like mist.

One soldier slashed at his shoulder.

Stay low. Let the blade pass.

Ren dropped under the arc, slid forward on one foot, and jammed his dagger upward into the man's thigh.

“Agh—my leg!” the soldier screamed, stumbling back. he enemy cried out and collapsed.

Another charged with a spear.

Wide pivot—draw him past me. Shift weight, reverse fast.

Ren spun wide, his heel scraping stone as he curved around, then reversed direction in a blur. He struck with the hilt of his dagger to the back of the soldier’s head, sending him sprawling unconscious.

“Get around him!” one soldier barked.

Two more tried to flank him.

Ren’s heart pounded. His body moved like it had in Kawasumi Mai’s training, reading space, rhythm, pressure points.

One opponent lunged high—Ren vaulted to the side, kicked off a broken wall fragment, twisted midair, and brought his blade across the attacker’s ribs. A clean wound—enough to disable, not kill.

The last man hesitated. Ren’s eyes met his, calm and focused.

The man backed off, shaking.

Ren didn’t pursue. Instead, he vanished into the shadows, already scanning for another path back to Kurosuke’s position.

The signal had been sent.

But the fight wasn’t over.

Meanwhile, The war room inside Brickvia’s main castle was alive with tension. Maps of the surrounding terrain lay spread across the central table, illuminated by flickering lanterns. Officers stood clustered, awaiting commands.

Lt. General Futaba Watari’s sharp gaze swept over the assembled high-ranking personnel. His voice cut through the charged silence.

“Sergeant Major Shirosawa Akira, relay this immediately to every border and guard post: dispatch small, agile quick-reaction units to reinforce the abandoned castle drill camp. Their arrival must be swift.”

Shirosawa nodded crisply and moved toward the communications panel.

“Major General Tabrizu, you will lead the main reinforcement force. Your archer units are the fastest and best suited for long-range support. Position your troops to provide suppressive fire and cover for Kurosuke’s defenses.”

Tabrizu gave a brief, confident bow. “Understood, sir. We will be ready to strike from distance.”

Lt. General Watari then turned to another officer. “Brigadier General Miyamoto Natoe, deploy your forces to the southern border. Your mission: cut off any attempts by Suragato to send reinforcements from that direction. No enemy support will reach the camp.”

Miyamoto saluted sharply. “I will block all southern routes, sir.”

Futaba Watari’s expression hardened, eyes flickering with resolve.

“This attack targets our weakest point. But Brickvia will not fall to surprise or haste. We will respond with precision and force.”

He paused, then looked around the room.

“Prepare your troops. Move swiftly. The fate of the camp—and our honor—depends on it.”

Back within the battered heart of the abandoned castle, Ren finally regrouped with Lieutenant General Kurosuke amidst the controlled chaos. The once quiet drill grounds were now a battlefield, illuminated by burning torches and the occasional flash of clashing steel.

Ren nodded grimly at Kurosuke, who stood firm, commanding with steely focus. Without wasting a breath, the lieutenant general raised his voice above the noise, sharp and resolute.

“We hold this castle. Save as many lives as possible—no reckless sacrifice!”

He turned toward the recruits, his tone snapping into clear orders:

“Military Engineering Unit! Begin setting up traps in the narrow corridors and entry points. Use whatever you can—collapsed beams, broken tiles, oil from the storage shed—anything that slows them down or drives them into kill zones!”

Ren immediately joined the engineers, grabbing a coil of rope and dashing toward one of the side halls. With swift hands and sharp instincts, he worked alongside the others to string tripwires, rig debris, and oil the stone floors to create slipping hazards. The training from Koizumi division now became a lifeline.

“Infantry and Cavalry recruits, form a defensive wall at the main breach points!” Kurosuke barked. “Raise your shields! Brace tight and hold the line!”

Young fighters moved with determination, locking shields and spears in place. Behind them, archer and crossbow recruits scrambled to the higher floors, aiming through broken windows and arrow slits.

“You're the main force now—long-range suppression only! Pick your targets and don’t waste a single bolt!”

Logistics recruits flanked the ranged units, hauling crates of arrows and bolts, ensuring no bow or crossbow went dry.

“Scout unit!” Kurosuke shouted next, pointing toward a group of agile recruits. “Move out—lure them into the inner halls. Guide them straight into our traps and firing lanes. Don’t engage—just outpace and misdirect!”

The scouts nodded and disappeared into the corridors like ghosts, ready to provoke and bait the enemy into the deadly maze being prepared.

Behind Kurosuke, the medic team worked with quiet urgency, tending the wounded sprawled along the inner corridor. Bandages stained red, whispered prayers muttered under breath—but still, they worked.

Within the dim hall of the crumbling corridor, the military engineering recruits worked frantically. The scent of dust and oil clung to the air. Ren crouched near a broken pillar with a bundle of ropes, nails, and sharp scrap metal beside him. His breathing was controlled, focused—there was no room for fear.

“Secure that beam tighter! If it drops too soon, we lose the element of surprise!” barked one of the senior engineering recruits, a lanky youth with soot-streaked cheeks.

“I’ve got it,” Ren said, voice calm. He fastened the rope, checking the pulley’s tension. “This one’s over the side arch. When they chase in, we pull this—” he yanked a cord—“and down it comes.”

Another recruit nearby grunted while dragging a spiked barricade into a side passage. “You really know your way around these traps, Karibata.”

“Traps are just negotiation tools,” Ren muttered, tying off the final knot. “Convince them to step in the wrong place, and they’ll pay the price.”

Laughter flickered through the air, dry and nervous. “That’s the coldest thing I’ve heard all week,” someone whispered behind him.

A shout came from down the hall—“Oil’s ready!”

“Pour it carefully,” Ren called back. “Just enough to coat the floor, not flood it. When they slip, we trigger the tripwire here—” he pointed to the low cord stretching across the floor—“and drop the crates from above.”

One of the younger recruits, face pale and hands shaking, hesitated with a jar of flammable liquid.

Ren approached him and placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Don’t freeze up now.”

“I’ve never… set a trap to hurt someone before,” the recruit whispered.

“We’re not doing this for revenge,” Ren said, locking eyes with him. “We’re doing it so we all make it out of this alive. If they get past us, more of us die. You set this right, you’re saving lives.”

The boy gave a slow nod, steeling himself.

A thud echoed from a distant hallway. Enemy footsteps. The Suragato troops were probing the perimeter.

Ren stood. “Everyone to position. Traps ready. Stay low, stay sharp. We strike when the scouts bring them in.”

He glanced upward at the unstable ceiling, a line of barrels teetering overhead. One tug of the rope and they’d come crashing down.

“We get one chance at this,” Ren murmured. “Let’s make it count.”

The trap was set.

Outside the fortress walls, the night air grew thick with tension. Lt. General Kurosuke narrowed his eyes from a high window slit, watching the flicker of torches weaving through the trees below. The Suragato troops were approaching steadily, unaware of what lay ahead.

He turned sharply. “Scout unit—move!”

A dozen young recruits in patched leather and dirt-smudged tunics bolted from cover. Silent, swift, they slipped through shadow and rubble, breaking twigs and knocking small stones in deliberate patterns.

One recruit shouted loud enough to carry: “Enemy sighted to the west! Fall back!”

From the treeline, the Suragato vanguard heard the cries and clamor—just enough to believe the enemy was fleeing.

“They’re running! After them!” a Suragato captain roared.

Moriyama’s ambush unit surged forward, chasing what they thought was a panicked retreat. Their heavy boots stomped through brush and onto the damp stones of the old path that led straight to the abandoned castle’s inner corridor.

Inside, Ren crouched behind a broken arch, watching the tension in the rope he was holding.

“They’re coming,” whispered a nearby engineer.

The scouts burst into the chamber, sweat streaking their faces, eyes wild with adrenaline. One of them gave a sharp hand signal.

Ren inhaled. “Wait for it…”

The first line of Suragato troops stormed into the trap-laden corridor. Their momentum was reckless, overconfident.

“Now.”

Ren yanked the rope.

With a deafening crack, a hidden ceiling beam gave way. Crates and debris rained down like thunder, crushing the lead soldiers beneath.

Screams erupted.

Another engineer sliced a secondary cord—spikes on ropes swept low like scythes, catching boots and shins. Soldiers stumbled. Oil-coated floors sent them slipping hard into jagged rubble.

From above, archers and crossbow recruits released a synchronized volley.

Bolts rained down from hidden alcoves.

The Suragato soldiers had nowhere to run.

They tried to retreat—only to be hemmed in by more collapsing debris and triggered barricades.

“Reload!” cried a crossbowman, the logistics recruits beside him feeding more bolts into place.

Ren darted between cover points, cutting another trap rope just as a pair of enemies regained footing.

Another crash. Another scream.

It was chaos—for the enemy.

Lt. General Kurosuke stood back, arms crossed, eyes cold.

“Let them feel what happens when they attack Brickvia’s so-called weakest.”

Somewhere else at the Eastern Border Guard Post, boots thundered across the compacted dirt as horns sounded through the thick night air. The white signal still glowed faintly above the horizon, fading into smoke. Inside the outpost barracks, the Quick Reaction Unit (QRU) had already snapped into motion.

Sergeant Major Shirosawa Akira stepped into the torch-lit yard, his commanding voice slicing through the commotion.

“Form up! Eastern QRU—light armor, high mobility. You’ve got five minutes!”

A dozen elite soldiers lined up with discipline honed from years of drills. Fast riders readied their horses while foot soldiers strapped on lightweight gear, crossbows slung on backs and short swords sheathed at their sides.

Lieutenant Saito rushed to Shirosawa, saluting sharply. “Sir, route to the abandoned castle mapped. Estimated arrival: one hour at full gallop. Terrain is narrow but passable—minimal risk of ambush if we move now.”

Shirosawa nodded grimly. “You don’t stop. You don’t sleep. You move like your own homes are under siege. The drill camp is bleeding and every second costs lives.”

He stepped forward and raised his hand toward the castle’s direction.

“Go!”

The unit launched forward, a blur of steel and determination under the dark sky. Hooves pounded the earth. The wind howled against their faces. They were the first wave—Brickvia’s swift answer to a desperate cry.

Outside the abandoned castle, Lt. Colonel Takashi Moriyama stood beside a moss-covered tree. The night air was thick with smoke and tension. The ambush, expected to be a swift and brutal display of superiority, had stalled. Guerilla traps had shredded his vanguard. Arrows from disciplined archer recruits tore through the darkness with merciless accuracy.

His jaw clenched.

“How many men did we lose in that last push?” he asked, not turning.

“Over thirty wounded, sir,” replied a bloodied sergeant, panting. “They’ve set up defensive walls and fallback traps. We couldn’t get near them.”

Moriyama’s eyes narrowed as he watched faint flashes within the castle—their movements still coordinated, still determined.

So this is the weakest unit of Brickvia? he thought bitterly. Then what’s waiting at their stronghold?

He turned to his second-in-command. “Enough of this insult. If they want to play defense…” His voice darkened, “…then we’ll crush the castle over their heads.”

His hand rose sharply, fingers slicing through the air. “Bring the demolition squads forward. I want charges placed along the northern foundations. Have the siege engineers mark weak support walls. If Kurosuke wants to hide like a rat—then he’ll be buried like one.”

The officers scattered to obey.

He stood still for a moment longer, eyes burning into the castle’s shadowed silhouette. “Let them scream for help all they want,” he muttered coldly. “Reinforcements won’t dig them out in time.”

Lieutenant General Kurosuke stood atop the central stairwell of the crumbling courtyard, eyes locked on the horizon. The moonlight revealed movement—heavy, deliberate—approaching from the north.

Then he saw it.

A massive battering ram, reinforced with iron bindings, rolling forward on thick wooden wheels. It was flanked by a cluster of Suragato engineering squads—shields raised, tools gleaming—marching with grim intent.

“They’re not trying to break in,” Kurosuke muttered, his voice tight with realization. “They’re trying to bring it all down.”

He turned sharply to his nearest officer. “Prepare for close-range combat! They want to bury us alive—we make them pay for every stone!”

Orders snapped like whips across the battlement.

“Infantry!” Kurosuke shouted. “Ready every throwing knife, kunai, hand axe—everything! Wait for the command—make it count!”

Recruits rushed into position behind the inner wall. Their hands trembled slightly, but their grip on the weapons was firm.

“Shield unit—lock formation!”

Shield-bearers stepped up, forming a solid barrier at the front line. Behind them, Kurosuke gave further orders with quick precision:

“Archers, eyes forward! Maintain pressure! Take down their engineers first!”

“Scout and cavalry units—fall behind the infantry and raise shields! You’re supporting defense now, not chasing!”

“Medics and logistics, shield up and stay behind archer lines—support when called!”

Even non-combat units knew their place in this coordinated defense. Shields raised across the tiers of the castle yard, forming a layered fortress of resolve.

“Engineering corps!” Kurosuke barked. “Deliver damage—hard—as soon as that ram breaches range!”

Without hesitation, Ren was already moving. He darted like a shadow through the stairwell rubble, joining fellow engineers as they charged toward the north tower. His breath was steady, muscles coiled like springs—he remembered Kawasumi Mai’s teachings not just with his feet, but with instinct.

The northern wall can’t fall. Not tonight.

As they reached the tower stairs, explosions of arrowfire and flame lit up the field below. The ground trembled with the battering ram’s march.

Ren gritted his teeth and whispered to the others, “We stop them here—no matter what.”

Then, with a nod, they surged into position, ready to sabotage the advancing demolition squad before the castle itself became their grave.

Ren dashed through the old stone halls of the north tower, sticking close to the shadows. Around him, other recruits from the engineering unit followed, carrying ropes, spikes, and small firepots.

Below them, the Suragato forces pushed a huge battering ram forward. Its wheels were thick, and the metal-covered head looked strong enough to smash through walls. Around it, enemy engineers marched with shields raised, protecting it from arrows.

Ren looked down from the tower window. “They’re getting too close,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”

A fellow engineer beside him, gasping for breath, nodded. “We need to slow them down—break the wheels, or set it on fire.”

Ren took a deep breath. “Let’s move.”

They split into small groups. One group stayed in the tower to set up ropes and dropping spikes. Ren led his team down the narrow stairs, exiting through a small side door hidden behind rubble. From there, they crept around the tower base, using the rocks and fallen wood for cover.

Enemy soldiers were everywhere—but most of them were focused on the front gate. That gave Ren and his team a chance.

They rushed forward, reached the edge of the road, and planted small firepots packed with pitch and oil near the ram’s wheels.

“Quick!” he whispered. “Light it!”

A spark. A hiss. Then—FWOOSH!

Flames burst outward as pitch ignited, clinging to the ram’s wheel.

One side of the battering ram jerked as a wheel cracked. The whole thing tilted.

Arrows flew. Enemy soldiers shouted. The engineers shouted to fall back.

Ren dashed, zigzagging, dodging arrows. His fast footwork saved him more than once as arrows missed by inches. He leapt over a broken log and ducked behind a wall.

The ram had stopped moving.

Ren smiled slightly, breathing hard.

We bought them time.

Back at the tower, other engineers cheered, then quickly returned to prepare for the next move. Ren stood up, wiped sweat from his face, and looked at the battlefield.

The ground trembled as the Suragato troops stormed through the broken gates, the damaged battering ram abandoned behind them. Shouts filled the air, boots thundered on stone, and the clash of steel rang out under the night sky.

“Hold your positions!” Kurosuke shouted, standing at the front with his sword drawn. “Protect the wounded and the rear units at all cost!”

Infantry recruits braced themselves behind raised shields, forming a rough barrier just ahead of the courtyard steps. At Kurosuke’s command, they hurled knives, kunai, and small hand axes all at once. The air whistled with deadly metal as the first wave of enemies fell.

“Archers!” Kurosuke called out. “Fire freely! Don’t let them reach the walls!”

From behind the shield lines, arrows and bolts rained down in steady rhythm, guided by shouted timing from squad leaders. The Suragato troops faltered under the barrage, many slipping on the blood-slick ground.

Cavalry and scout recruits stayed close, their shields up, ready to defend any hole in the line. Medics crouched behind stacks of crates, dragging the injured to safety. Logistic teams quickly reloaded quivers and handed out spare weapons. Every recruit had a role, and every hand was moving.

Near the tower base, Ren regrouped with other engineers, watching the chaos unfold.

“They’re pushing hard,” one of them muttered.

“They want to crush us before help arrives,” Ren said, gripping a short-handled hammer.

Suddenly, a second wave surged forward—larger, more organized. Suragato’s elite troops—heavily armored and wielding broad swords—began forcing the frontline back, step by step.

Kurosuke adjusted quickly. “Infantry, shift to wedge formation! Press them into the center!”

Recruits obeyed, stepping into new positions despite the pressure. The formation tightened. Despite being outnumbered, they fought with grit and teamwork. The courtyard echoed with screams, metal, and the crackle of torchlight as the night battle raged on.

And above it all, Kurosuke stood firm—watching, commanding, adjusting—as Brickvia’s young recruits fought to survive.

The dust began to settle. The air was thick with tension, smoke, and the scent of blood.

From the far side of the courtyard, more Suragato banners appeared—flapping in the night wind. Lt. Colonel Moriyama stepped forward, surrounded by rows of armored Suragato troops tightening the encirclement. Behind him, his officers gave silent signals. The enemy had surrounded the castle's defenders on all sides.

Kurosuke’s remaining force gathered near the inner steps, shields raised, archers nocking arrows but holding fire. Every soldier, from infantry to engineers, stood in grim silence—watching the enemy, waiting for what would come next.

The two commanding officers locked eyes across the bloodstained courtyard. Neither spoke. The wind carried the soft creak of drawn bows and the distant crackle of fire.

Kurosuke narrowed his eyes, breathing slowly. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t move.

Then, in a voice too soft for his troops to hear, he muttered:

“Forgive me, Yukime… maybe today is your father’s last stand.”

He stared at the enemy not with fear—but with quiet resolve. His jaw tightened. Around him, the wounded leaned on comrades, the tired stood tall, and the young clenched their weapons with trembling hands.

Moriyama remained silent as well, merely raising a hand—yet to give the final order. The standoff stretched. The night sky above Brickvia still held faint white traces of the earlier signal rockets… but no help had arrived. Not yet.

And so, in that heavy pause before the storm resumed, time seemed to freeze—two commanders, two forces, staring down fate in the heart of a burning courtyard.