Hero's Fall Part II

General Arakawa’s command boomed across the Suragato–Kuchiwara lines, “All generals—advance!”

Drums thundered, horns blared. The full force of the enemy surged forward. Cavalry charged the center, infantry tightened into wedges, and archers took position behind the advancing front. The open battlefield trembled under synchronized steps.

From atop the middle ridge, Strategist Masahiro raised his fan calmly. “It’s time. Shirosawa Akira, signal General Hiryuu.”

The signal flags shot up—bright flashes in the sky.

General Hiryuu gave a single nod. “Let’s meet them head-on.”

With a thunderous roar, Hiryuu charged forward with his frontmost units. His speed and sheer presence split the battlefield, crashing into the center of the Suragato line.

Right behind, Colonel Koizumi gave a sharp shout. “Engineering unit—advance in unison!”

Ren, Nishiyama, Takeda Aoi, Maeda Mizuhara, and Shiori moved out in perfect formation, lighter armored but swift. Dust rose as they clashed with the enemy vanguard. Spears clanged, blades sparked, the sharp rhythm of combat ringing out under the open sky.

Behind them, Brigadier General Natoe surged with reserve units, tightening pressure on any exposed flanks.

The middleline generals now moved.

Lt. General Futaba Watari raised his hand. “Shield formations, forward!”

Lt. General Ryusuke Suzuki barked, “Hold firm and sweep left!”

Lt. General Inoue Kobayashi, calm but commanding, ordered his troops, “Push center, support the front—no overstepping!”

Lt. General Harada Kurosuke charged from the middle right, his voice like thunder, “Meet them with steel!”

The battlefield became a storm. Blades clashed. Dust swirled. Horses screamed. Steel met flesh. Arrows occasionally streaked from above the cliff as Tabrizu’s archers offered tight, measured cover.

Ren ducked under a blade, rolled, and struck the enemy’s knee with a clean sweep. He could feel his heart pounding—his first true open battle, and yet, he moved with instinct born of his training.

Koizumi’s voice cut through again, “Don’t break the line!”

Meanwhile, in the rear, General Shigure and General Arakawa observed from horseback. Shigure’s jaw tightened. “Damn, they’re holding better than expected.”

Arakawa’s eyes scanned the formation. “Because Masahiro made sure each general supports another. This isn’t a wall. It’s a living system.”

As the fighting intensified, the storm of war howled across the plains of Brickvia.

The sound of war was overwhelming—screams, metal, and pounding footsteps mixed into a constant roar. Dust stung Ren’s eyes. The sun above offered no comfort. It only made the blood glisten brighter on the battlefield.

He moved as instructed—close behind Koizumi’s command—but this was nothing like drills.

A Kuchiwara soldier charged toward him, axe raised.

Ren hesitated. His breath caught.

This is real. This man will kill me.

Just as the axe came down, Nishiyama lunged in from the side, deflecting the blow. “Ren! Move!”

Ren stumbled back and barely raised his short spear in time to defend himself from another attacker. His grip trembled.

Koizumi shouted from ahead, “Keep formation! Don’t stop moving!”

Around him, the engineering unit pushed forward. Takeda Aoi slammed his shield into an enemy chest. Maeda Mizuhara and Shiori moved in near-perfect sync, holding the line.

Ren tried to follow, but his footwork faltered. A soldier’s sword grazed his arm—not deep, but enough to jolt his senses.

He gasped. His vision narrowed.

I’m going to die. I’m not like them. I’m not ready.

But then—he remembered.

Mai-sensei’s voice from earlier in the park echoed in his mind.

“War is not a one-man show. You’re not alone, Ren. You just have to stay with them, step by step. That’s how we get through this.”

His breathing slowed. He looked to his left—Nishiyama parried another strike. To his right—Shiori gave him a quick glance and nodded.

They were all there.

Ren gritted his teeth. “I’m not alone.”

When the next enemy charged him, Ren ducked under the sword and drove the butt of his spear into the enemy’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He followed with a sharp sweep to the back of the knee, bringing the soldier down.

It wasn’t lethal. But it worked.

“I can do this,” Ren whispered.

And then he rose, fell back into formation, and advanced with the others—one step at a time.

Ren’s legs moved almost automatically now, not from confidence—but sheer necessity. Around him, the frontline was chaos. Koizumi barked orders as enemy after enemy surged toward their line. Arrows flew overhead, some friendly, some not.

A soldier screamed nearby—Takeda Aoi had taken a blow, but he forced himself upright and kept fighting. Mizuhara's armor was smeared with blood, but he still shielded Shiori as she jabbed forward with her spear.

Ren dodged a wild swing. His feet slipped on blood-slick soil, but his body responded—the footwork Mai-sensei had drilled into him, endlessly, day after day.

Step forward. Twist. Slide.

He wasn’t fast enough to kill, but precise enough to disrupt. He struck knees, wrists, and ankles. Enemies went down, groaning, weaponless, trampled by the rush behind them.

But inside, Ren was still fighting fear.

Every time someone fell, he flinched. When a Kuchiwara soldier bled out beside him, eyes wide and unblinking, Ren almost stopped cold.

Is this right? Is this what we must do to win?

Yet—he remembered Mai-sensei again. Her calm gaze. Her quiet strength.

“There’s no glory in blood. But there’s resolve in standing. You’ve made your choice, Ren. Keep walking.”

"I have to move forward." He told himself, pushing away the trembling.

Then—Koizumi turned briefly and called, “Ren! Eyes up! Push left! They’re flanking!”

Ren obeyed. He turned with Nishiyama, Takeda, and Mizuhara. Together, they rotated the formation. Just in time. The flank charge was met not with confusion—but with steel.

Screams rang out. Ren deflected one blow, dodged another, and countered with a swift strike to the side of the enemy’s head. A helmet flew off. The man dropped.

More footsteps. More shouting. Dust. Blades.

The noise of the battlefield was deafening.

Shouts, clashing steel, cries of pain—it all swirled around Ren like a violent storm. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and his legs felt heavier with every step.

He struck down an enemy soldier—barely older than himself. The young man crumpled to the ground, writhing. Ren's breath caught in his throat.

He hadn't aimed to kill—only to stop the charge. But the scream that followed echoed louder than any war cry.

Ren staggered backward, retreating behind a broken barricade. He leaned against it, gasping. His sword hung limp in his grip, wet with blood.

Is this what it means to fight?

He glanced around—Takeda Aoi, Nishiyama, Shiori, Mizuhara, all pressing forward with grim determination. No hesitation in their movements. No pause in their resolve.

But Ren… he couldn’t move.

His hands trembled.

The faces of those he had struck down burned in his mind—brief glimpses of pain, fear, and confusion. Not monsters. Just people. Just soldiers.

He crouched down, unable to catch his breath.

This isn’t me… I didn’t come here to become this.

But even in that moment of weakness, the sounds of his comrades still fighting rang clear. They weren’t just fighting to win—they were fighting to protect.

Protect the ground behind them.

Protect the people waiting beyond the battlefield.

Protect each other.

Ren closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and rose slowly.

His knees still shook. His heart still ached.

But he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

Not now. Not while the others still stood.

He would fight—not to destroy, but to shield.

Ren stepped back into the frontline, his breath steady, his heart no longer wavering. The chaos of battle raged around him—shouts, steel, and smoke swirling in the air.

“Ren!” Takeda Aoi called out, slashing an enemy to the ground. “You good?”

Ren nodded sharply. “I’m with you.”

Aoi gave a short grin before turning back to the fight.

Ren advanced, feet light and swift. His footwork, honed through tireless training, now danced through the battlefield. He weaved between friend and foe, striking with precision and ferocity.

Each blow landed with deadly effect—slashes to the neck, stabs to the chest, spinning sweeps to knock enemies off balance before delivering the final blow. He didn’t hesitate anymore.

“Don’t falter!” Koizumi roared nearby. “Hold your line!”

The engineering unit—Ren, Nishiyama, Takeda Aoi, Maeda Mizuhara, and Shiori—pressed forward. Though equipped with lighter armor, their movement was faster, and under Koizumi’s command, they became a flexible spearpoint.

Ren broke through enemy ranks with his footwork, moving like a blur. Where the enemy thought there was an opening, he was already gone—reappearing only to bring down another attacker.

Shiori, striking alongside him, called out, “You’re cutting through like a damn windstorm!”

Ren didn’t answer. His focus was absolute. Protecting Brickvia. Holding the line. Pushing back.

On the opposite side of the battlefield, General Arakawa narrowed his eyes as he watched the engineers cleave through the heavier Suragato troops with unnerving speed.

“…So that’s why Masahiro put the engineering unit on the frontline,” he muttered. “Not for traps. To outmaneuver our heavy-armored divisions.”

Hiryuu stood at the vanguard like a fortress, roaring with every swing of his massive blade. Behind him, Koizumi directed movements with sharp precision. Brigadier General Natoe shifted formations, reinforcing where pressure mounted.

The frontline surged forward. The enemy—already shaken from their failed flanking—began to crack.

Ren’s blades flashed. If war was inevitable, then he would fight. And if lives had to be taken to protect his comrades and homeland, then he would not waver.

He moved not for glory. Not for vengeance.

But for those still standing beside him

While the clash of steel and cries of battle echoed across the open fields near Brickvia, far from the front lines, a different kind of mission was underway. Daichi, eldest son of King Hikusa, had been entrusted with a crucial task: to secure and strengthen Brickvia’s commercial ties with the nearby Tenban Kingdom. This delegation was no mere formality—Daichi’s presence as the royal heir signaled the gravity of the situation.

The road to Tenban Castle was lined with dense forest and rolling hills, a sharp contrast to the chaos at Brickvia’s borders. As Daichi’s carriage approached the massive stone gates, the tension of the battlefield faded into the weighty calm of diplomacy. The castle’s banners fluttered in the spring breeze, bearing the symbol of Tenban Kingdom.

King Yasamizu awaited them in the grand audience chamber, an imposing yet dignified figure. His hair was streaked with silver, but his eyes remained sharp and observant. Flanked by trusted advisors and merchants, the king rose as Daichi was ushered inside.

“Prince Daichi,” Yasamizu greeted with a deep bow, his voice steady and commanding. “Your journey honors Tenban. Please, be welcome.”

Daichi inclined his head in return, his expression respectful but determined. “Your Majesty, I bring greetings from my father, King Hikusa, and carry with me a sincere desire to deepen the bonds between our kingdoms. The times are perilous, and we must stand united, especially in matters of trade and supply.”

The king gestured for Daichi to be seated at the long oak table, where a large map of the region was spread out. It detailed winding trade routes, mountain passes, river crossings, and bustling market towns.

Daichi placed his hand firmly on the map. “Brickvia has suffered damage and disruption, yet our lands remain rich with resources. Food, timber, minerals, and skilled artisans’ crafts are abundant. What we need is reliable access to your markets and ports. In return, we pledge to ensure the safety and security of all merchants traveling these routes.”

Yasamizu studied the map thoughtfully, then nodded. “Trade is the lifeblood of any kingdom, and more so in times of war. Tell me, Prince Daichi, how does your father envision this partnership? What measures will Brickvia undertake to maintain the flow of goods despite ongoing conflict?”

Daichi’s eyes met the king’s. “Our military commanders are committed to protecting these corridors. We will assign dedicated escorts, and my father has authorized an increase in patrols. Additionally, Brickvia will offer tariff reductions to Tenban merchants as incentive and goodwill.”

One of the king’s advisors, a silver-haired merchant with keen eyes, interjected. “Will these trade routes pass near the contested borders? How do you plan to mitigate the risks posed by enemy forces or bandits exploiting the chaos?”

Daichi responded with confidence. “We have established communication lines with outposts along the border, and our engineering units will maintain and repair roads and bridges swiftly. Any threat detected will be met with immediate response. We are also exploring alternate routes through the southern lowlands, less exposed to direct conflict.”

King Yasamizu tapped the table lightly. “This is promising. Tenban’s merchants often seek new markets for silk, spices, and ceramics. Brickvia’s exports will surely find eager buyers here. I will instruct our military commanders to coordinate closely with your envoys to ensure passage.”

Daichi allowed himself a small nod of relief. “Thank you, Your Majesty. This alliance will bring stability and prosperity to both our peoples. Brickvia stands ready to honor its commitments.”

The king rose, signaling the end of their formal meeting. “May this partnership grow stronger with each passing season. Your father is wise to send you personally, Prince Daichi. It shows the sincerity of Brickvia’s intentions.”

As Daichi departed the Tenban court, riding swiftly back toward Brickvia with fresh resolve, the open battlefield remained alive with tension. The armies of Brickvia and their allies were locked in a brutal contest against the Suragato-Kuchiwara alliance.

The engineering division, including Ren, Nishiyama, Takeda Aoi, Maeda Mizuhara, and Shiori, moved with precise coordination. Lightly armored and agile, they weaved between the heavier infantry, using Ren’s swift footwork to outmaneuver enemy soldiers. Ren’s heart pounded fiercely as he struck swiftly, disabling foes to protect Brickvia’s vulnerable positions.

Despite the fierce resistance, Suragato’s forces adapted, shifting their formation to avoid exposure and probing for weaknesses. But Masahiro’s strategic placement of engineering units at the front line paid off—allowing Brickvia’s forces to counter and maneuver effectively against heavier-armed troops.

Ren’s breath came in ragged bursts as he darted through the chaos of the battlefield. His light armor barely slowed him, but the weight of each movement pressed on his mind. Ahead, enemy soldiers surged like a dark wave, intent on breaking through Brickvia’s defenses.

Using the footwork drills taught by Mai Sensei, Ren weaved between attackers, delivering swift, disabling strikes. His hands moved like lightning—targeting joints, tendons, and muscles to immobilize rather than kill when possible. Yet the relentless tide forced him into harder choices; to protect Brickvia, he had to kill.

The clang of steel and the cries of warriors surrounded him. Dust and smoke filled the air, stinging his eyes, but he forced himself to stay focused. Every enemy that fell was one less threat to the city he had sworn to defend.

A sharp pain flared in his side—Takeda Aoi was nearby, fighting fiercely to keep the line from collapsing. Nishiyama shouted orders, coordinating the engineering units to reinforce weak spots and keep the formation steady.

Arakawa’s voice echoed from the rear, “Press forward! Don’t let them regroup!”

Ren’s heart wrenched as he thought of all they had lost, the cost of war weighing heavily on him. Yet he steeled himself, channeling that sorrow into determination. With each step, he vowed to protect Brickvia — no matter the price.

The sharp call of a signal horn pierced the sky once more.

Masahiro raised his hand from the central command hill. “Shirosawa Akira—signal Tabrizu and Hayate. Open fire! again!”

Sergeant Major Akira swiftly hoisted the signal flags. Within moments, a fresh volley of arrows and bolts rained down from the cliffside and the hidden fleet beyond the shoreline. The sky darkened momentarily as the projectiles arced high, crashing down into the battlefield with terrifying precision.

On the opposing side, General Arakawa grimaced as he saw his men falling to the renewed barrage. “All units, push east!” he barked. “Out of their range—move to the eastern flank! Now!”

Suragato and Kuchiwara troops shifted, surging away from the deadly zone of fire.

In the confusion, Brickvia’s middleline struggled to hold. The formation bent under pressure, and the engineering division—unarmored and unequipped for prolonged melee—began to scatter.

“Regroup!” Nishiyama shouted, but his voice was lost in the clash.

Ren, separated from his comrades, fought to stay upright as enemy forces swarmed around him. The loose soil beneath his feet shifted with each step. He spun, dodged, and countered—but there were too many.

A harsh blow struck his shoulder, and he staggered backward. An explosion of movement and instinct took over, and he leapt away from the collapsing line. In the chaos, he was pushed, pulled—then dragged along by retreating soldiers, stumbling westward.

His breath ragged, armor scratched and dented, Ren found himself at the western flank—amid the soldiers of Lt. General Inoue Kobayashi.

The older commander stood firm, directing a regroup of defensive positions, his calm voice a beacon amidst the confusion.

Ren straightened himself, eyes burning with frustration but resolve hardening again in his chest. Though scattered and bruised, he was still standing—and Brickvia still needed him.

Ren’s chest heaved as he stood among the ranks of the western flank. Dust clung to his sweat-soaked face. The scattered engineering division was nowhere in sight—just a sea of infantry armor and the hardened voices of Kobayashi’s command echoing across the field.

Lt. General Inoue Kobayashi, composed despite the surging tension, issued calm directives. “Hold the line. Don’t break formation.”

Ren tightened his fists. He wasn’t part of this unit, but retreating now would mean letting the chaos swallow everything they had fought for. He looked at the soldiers around him—some injured, some barely holding their weapons upright—yet they stood.

He stepped forward, winded but ready. As more enemy soldiers pressed forward from the east, Ren burst into movement.

He used his unmatched footwork—pivoting, stepping light, sliding between strikes—turning himself into a blur among the armored chaos. His kicks shattered stances. His movement disrupted their rhythm. He struck with purpose—deadly, yes, but only when no other choice presented itself. His mind screamed restraint, but his body still responded with instinct to survive and protect.

A soldier lunged at Kobayashi. Ren dashed between them, knocking the attacker back with a spin-kick to the chest. Kobayashi gave a brief glance—no words, but a nod of acknowledgment.

Ren exhaled deeply. The battlefield here felt different. This was no place for fear. This was where lives depended on each other.

He steadied himself.

I have to keep moving… even if I’ve lost track of everyone. Even if this isn’t where I belong—this is still Brickvia. I will not let it fall.

He took stance again as more enemies poured in.

Ren moved swiftly to join Kobayashi’s unit on Brickvia’s west flank. The soldiers here held their ground with grim determination, but it was clear the enemy’s numbers were overwhelming. Rows of Kuchiwara and Suragato troops pressed relentlessly forward, their war cries ringing out across the battlefield.

Kobayashi, steady and authoritative, barked orders to reinforce weak points and reorganize ranks. Despite his age, his presence steadened the men around him. But even his voice could only do so much against the tide.

Still, the enemy forces kept coming. Slowly but surely, Kobayashi’s unit was being surrounded, pushed back by sheer numbers. The battle cries grew louder, the clang of weapons harsher. The ground beneath them turned trampled and churned.

Arakawa’s voice echoed in Ren’s mind.

That’s why Masahiro placed the engineering units in front — to outmaneuver and soften the heavy-armed troops.

But here, on the flank, it’s pure endurance now.

Ren glanced at Kobayashi, who showed no sign of faltering, though fatigue crept into his posture. The general’s eyes flicked briefly to Ren—an unspoken message of resolve and trust.

Despite the pressure, Ren pushed forward, his body moving with a rhythm born from countless drills and desperate battles. He knew this was not just a fight for territory, but for the very soul of Brickvia.

The enemy’s numbers swelled, and the unit’s formation strained under the weight. The western flank was slowly but surely being outnumbered.

Ren gritted his teeth. The battle was far from over.

Elsewhere within the Brickvia castle gates, dust billowed in the early evening light as Prince Daichi led a sizable formation of logistics troops through the winding streets. The sound of pounding hooves echoed off the stone buildings, mingling with distant shouts and the clamor of battle.

His face was calm but resolute, every muscle tensed with purpose. Behind him, supply wagons rumbled along, carrying essential gear and reinforcements for the troops at the front.

A messenger broke through the throng, urging his horse forward until he reached Daichi’s side, breath coming in short gasps. “Your Highness, urgent news from the battlefield,” he said, bowing sharply. “The enemy forces have pressed through the middle line. Kobayashi’s unit is holding the west flank, but they are slowly being outnumbered. Reinforcements are needed immediately.”

Daichi’s eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon where smoke and dust marked the frontlines. “How long until we arrive?” he asked, his voice steady but urgent.

“Only a few minutes, Prince. The troops are just beyond the southern approach,” the messenger replied.

Daichi nodded firmly, signaling to his officers. “Keep the formation tight. Speed and order will be our advantage.” He turned to the messenger. “Inform King Hikusa that the logistics troops are moving in full force. We will not allow the enemy to break our defenses.”

The messenger inclined his head respectfully and rode off to deliver the message.

As the column surged forward, Daichi’s mind raced through the situation. The importance of their mission weighed heavily — this was not just a battle for land, but a battle for the heart of Brickvia’s future.

“Stay alert!” Daichi commanded his troops. “We move to the frontlines to bolster our comrades. Failure is not an option.”

His men responded with disciplined urgency, their armor clinking softly as they adjusted to the rough terrain ahead.

Daichi glanced back briefly at the supply wagons and the soldiers under his command, pride and determination burning in his eyes. This was more than logistics—it was the lifeline of Brickvia’s survival.

The battlefield roared—steel clashing, men shouting, arrows shrieking through the smoke-drenched sky. Ren moved like wind between shadows, his footwork a blur of precision. Around him, the remnants of the engineering division were scattered and broken. He now fought alongside General Kobayashi’s unit, holding Brickvia’s western flank with every last breath they had left.

“Ren!” General Kobayashi’s voice cut through the chaos like thunder. “Fall back! Regroup with the central line!”

Ren parried a slash and struck back, breaking his opponent’s jaw. “I can’t leave now! They’ll break through!”

“That's an order, soldier!”

But Ren didn’t listen. He spun, struck, dodged—driven by instinct, fury, and duty. The general’s voice faded behind the noise. His heart beat like a war drum as he pressed on, cutting down another foe. For a moment, it felt like he could hold them—just a little longer.

Then came the opening.

A glint of steel in his blind spot—too late to react.

The enemy closed in behind him.

And Kobayashi saw it.

Kobayashi's knees ached. His breaths came short. But his eyes, old and sharp as ever, tracked Ren’s every move. "That boy... stubborn. Reckless. Brave. He disobeyed me. Just like I would've, back then. But now he was exposed."

Kobayashi surged forward, gritting his teeth as pain flared in his joints. The world slowed. He saw the blade aimed for Ren’s back—he saw death itself reach out its hand.

"Not today."

He threw himself between them.

Steel screamed.

His sword intercepted the fatal strike, slashing down the attacker. But the enemy’s blade had found flesh too. Blood soaked his side, warm and sudden.

He stumbled.

Everything felt heavy.

Ren turned just in time to see the general sway.

“General Kobayashi!”

Kobayashi met his eyes, panting, blood dripping down his armor.

“Stupid boy,” he murmured with a bitter smirk. “I told you to fall back…”

Ren reached for him, but he raised a hand.

“Don’t waste it. Go—get to the middle line. It’s your fight now.”

“Sir, I—”

“Tell Miyuki…” Kobayashi’s voice faltered, then steadied one last time. “Her father… will always love her. From a place… she cannot see.”

His vision blurred. The battlefield dimmed. But for one last moment, Kobayashi stood tall—not as a general, but as a father.

Then the strength left his legs.

He collapsed.

Ren froze. The old general—his protector, his mentor—lay still, eyes closed, hand resting on the sword that had saved him.

Around him, the clash of war returned. The moment shattered.

Another enemy advanced.

Ren's fists clenched.

He looked back, lips trembling—but his eyes burned with purpose.

“I’ll carry your words,” he whispered. “And your will.”

Then, with a final glance at the fallen general, Ren turned and ran.

Not far behind, the ground trembled under the rush of troops as Captain Daichi arrived. His breath steady but face tense. He rode swiftly toward the rear line where Lt. General Waruyama stood, surveying the battlefield with a grim expression.

Daichi halted and saluted sharply.

“Reporting for duty, sir!”

Waruyama didn’t look at him immediately. His voice came low and firm.

“The middle line’s breached.”

He finally turned, eyes shadowed with fatigue and fury.

“We’re trying to regroup. But Kobayashi’s unit—” he paused, jaw tightening, “—is outnumbered and pinned near the western flank.”

Daichi’s gaze snapped toward the smoke in the distance.

“Then we have to move now.”

Waruyama nodded, decisive.

“You are to link up with Lt. General Harada Kurosuke, Lt. General Ryusuke Suzuki, and Ly. General Futaba Watari. They’ve begun pushing to Kobayashi’s last known position.”

“Yes, sir,” Daichi replied instantly, his voice unwavering.

“You’re not going in blind,” Waruyama added. “You’ll bring medical and supply elements. Be prepared for extraction and reinforcement if needed.”

Daichi gave a resolute nod.

“I’m ready. We’ll reach him.”

Waruyama placed a hand on Daichi’s shoulder.

“If we’re too late… you bring him back. No matter the cost.”

Daichi’s eyes burned, but he answered without hesitation.

“I will. For Brickvia. For him.”

Waruyama turned back toward the western blaze, his voice nearly a whisper.

“Go.”

Daichi spun on his heel and raised his arm high.

“Form ranks! Western advance—move out! Prepare for recovery and contact!”

The earth groaned as boots and hooves thundered forward—Daichi leading the charge into the fire, into the place where Brickvia’s honor.

Across the battlefield, on a rocky rise overlooking the battered central line, General Arakawa sat atop his horse, eyes narrowed beneath his crested helm as a scout dashed up through the lines, dirt streaking his cheeks and armor clinking from the hard gallop.

“Report!” Arakawa barked.

The scout dropped to one knee, panting.

“Lt. General Kobayashi… has fallen, sir.”

For a moment, Arakawa said nothing. The din of distant fighting echoed like thunder behind him. He stared past the fading smoke curling over the hills, absorbing the weight of the report.

“Kobayashi…” he muttered. “That will strike Brickvia where it hurts.”

A short breath escaped him, not of joy—but of calculation.

“He was a pillar. They’ll feel this tremble through their ranks.”

Before the scout could rise, another rider galloped up from the southern path, this one draped in Kuchiwara colors, his face pale beneath his helm.

“Sir! New Brickvian forces just crossed into the second line—led by Daichi. The flanks are stirring. They’re regrouping faster than expected.”

Arakawa exhaled slowly. The news was sobering.

“So they’ve already sent reinforcements…” He turned toward his gathered officers. “We’ve pushed deep, but our own numbers have thinned. Kuchiwara's detachment is struggling to maintain formation.”

A silence lingered before Arakawa gave a single, sharp nod.

“Enough blood for one day. We’ve struck them hard—but pressing further without momentum will only waste lives.”

He raised his gauntlet high.

“Order the full retreat—southern route. Pull back with discipline. Leave no wounded behind.”

“Yes, General!” his aides shouted, spurring into motion.

As troops began falling back in organized lines, Arakawa gave the battlefield one last look, his voice quiet:

“Kobayashi’s death has bought us this moment—but it’s no victory yet.”

Then he turned, cloak whipping behind him as he led the retreating Suragato-Kuchiwara forces southward, the smoldering sky watching in silence.

Meanwhile, Daichi’s horse thundered across the battered field, dust kicking up behind his mounted troops. The distant roar of clashing steel and shouted orders faded as they reached the designated rally point—far beyond Brickvia’s outer walls, where the shattered remnants of the middleline stood firm.

Lt. Generals Harada Kurosuke, Ryusuke Suzuki, and Futaba Watari were already there, their grim faces etched with exhaustion and determination. A cluster of officers and weary soldiers gathered around them, forming a ragged but resolute defense.

As Daichi reined in his mount, a scout galloped up, breathless and urgent.

“Sir, the Kuchiwara and Suragato forces have already retreated. They are pulling back from the battlefield.”

Harada’s eyes narrowed. “A full retreat? After such losses, it seems they have lost momentum.”

Suzuki muttered, “This is our chance to regroup and hold the line.”

Futaba’s gaze hardened. “We must press our advantage and not let them recover.”

Daichi nodded solemnly, dismounting quickly. “My men are ready with fresh supplies and medics. We’ll support the defense and aid the wounded.”

Harada clapped Daichi’s shoulder firmly. “Excellent. The middle line was close to breaking before your arrival. This position is far from the safety of the walls, but it’s our last bastion before the city proper.”

The generals exchanged tense glances. Though the enemy has retreated, the battle had taken its toll.

“Prepare your troops,” Harada commanded. “Stay vigilant. The enemy may regroup for another assault.”

Daichi’s jaw tightened, steeling himself for what was to come. The fate of Brickvia depended on this fragile line holding strong.

In the distance, a lone soldier was retreating from the front — fast, but not fleeing. Wounded pride and urgency clung to his every step.

Daichi raised a hand, halting his men. He stepped forward and called out, “You there! Soldier! What’s your rank?”

The young man turned, panting, blood smeared across his uniform. He stiffened to attention. “Private Second Class, sir.”

Daichi narrowed his eyes, noting the dust and weariness in the soldier’s gaze — and something else too: sorrow.

“What’s your name, Private?” Daichi asked curtly. “And give me a full report. Now.”

“Rendo Karibata, sir,” the soldier replied, voice hoarse. “I was attached to the Engineering Division… but got separated during the breach. I regrouped with General Kobayashi’s unit on the western flank.”

Daichi’s breath caught, but he stayed composed. “Go on.”

“Kobayashi’s unit was overwhelmed,” Ren said, the words sticking like splinters. “The general gave the order to retreat toward the middle line. I stayed behind. I kept fighting. He—he saved me when I was exposed. Took the blow meant for me.”

Silence hung thick. The wind carried only the rustle of ash and grass.

“General Kobayashi fell in battle,” Ren finished, voice low. “His last words were… for his daughter. He said to tell her… he’ll always love her, from a place she doesn’t know.”

Daichi lowered his gaze. For a moment, the hardened lines of command on his face faltered.

“Thank you, Private Karibata,” he said quietly. “Lead me to his last position.”

Without another word, the two men — one grieving in silence, the other still processing what he’d witnessed — moved through the scarred earth together, toward the place where a legend had fallen.

Under the bruised sky of dusk, the field where Lt. General Kobayashi had fallen was now eerily silent. The cries of war had faded, replaced by the soft crunch of boots and the murmurs of soldiers moving with a single purpose. Daichi knelt beside the fallen general’s body, his gloved hand gently resting over the wound that had ended a lifetime of service.

Ren stood at a distance, helmet tucked under his arm, his eyes hollow yet fixed in quiet reverence. Several middle-line officers gathered nearby, offering silent salutes. No one dared speak.

Daichi finally rose to his feet and signaled to the two soldiers behind him. “Carry him gently,” he ordered, voice low but firm. “Wrap the banner over him. No part of him should touch the dirt again.”

They lifted the general with precision, draping Brickvia’s standard across his chest—the symbol he had worn in battle, now covering him in death. As they moved, soldiers along the way stood at attention, some removing helmets, others bowing their heads. A trail of respect followed the procession.

On the return path to Brickvia, Daichi walked alongside the stretcher in silence. His hands were clenched, his eyes forward, but his mind was far away—reliving each step, each word of the report Ren had given. He hadn’t said it aloud yet, but in his heart, he already knew: this loss would cut deeper than strategy or victory.

As the gates of Brickvia creaked open, a horn sounded once—not a signal of war, but of mourning.

The general had come home.

The march back to Brickvia was soaked in silence. No horns were sounded, no triumphant banners raised—only the dull rhythm of armored footsteps and the muted rattle of the wagon that bore the body of Lt. General Kobayashi beneath the shroud of the Brickvian crest.

At the head of the solemn procession, General Daisuke Hiryuu walked flanked by Lieutenant General Futaba Watari and Lieutenant General Ryusuke Suzuki. Beside them, Lieutenant General Harada Kurosuke and Lieutenant General Harada Waruyama kept their heads high, faces stone-like in their grief. Strategist Yamada Masahiro, whose mind was normally alive with movements and outcomes, looked older, worn by the heavy cost of every decision.

Trailing behind, Rear Admiral Shinomori Hayate—naval commander and veteran of a hundred seas—kept his eyes forward, his fingers twitching at his side, as though still gripping a sword he no longer needed to swing.

Colonel Koizumi Kotaro and Colonel Ogawa Himura matched strides with Major Shimura Kenji and Lieutenant Yamada Tatsumaru, their boots crunching the earth in united silence. Major General Tabrizu and Brigadier General Miyamoto Natoe held their formations tight, though their hearts clearly frayed. Among them was Sergeant Major Shirosawa Akira, he walked with his gaze lowered. His hand remained clenched at his side.

At the rear, moving as if the world bore down on his shoulders, was Lieutenant Colonel Inoue Kiyoshi—younger brother to the fallen general. He had refused an escort, choosing instead to personally accompany the cart bearing Kobayashi’s body. His eyes did not blink, did not stray from the draped form, and though no tears were shed, sorrow radiated from him like heat from smoldering ash.

As the company passed through Brickvia’s outer gates, the crowd parted without a word. No shouts. No cheers. Only heads bowed in reverence.

At the central square, Lieutenant General Waruyama halted the column and stepped forward, his voice somber and slow.

“Let Brickvia remember,” he declared, “that this man did not fall… he stood, until the end, for all of us. He bought us time. He gave us hope. And now he returns not only as a general—but as the soul of our nation’s resistance.”

He turned to the officers. “Return to your quarters. Tomorrow, we bury a pillar of this kingdom. But today—we stand still, and remember.”

None saluted. None moved.

For a moment, silence bound them. The ranks of Brickvia’s mightiest stood shoulder to shoulder, not in strength—but in mourning.

Then slowly, one by one, they turned away… leaving behind a hero, and carrying with them a silence far louder than war.

The following day, the sun had barely risen up above Brickvia’s stone towers when Ren stood before the house of General Kobayashi.

He had faced blades and bloodshed. But now, standing at the threshold of sorrow, his legs felt heavier than armor.

The door opened before he could knock. Miyuki, draped in black, her eyes rimmed red but dry, met his gaze. Her face bore the calm of someone who had cried until tears had nothing more to give.

She recognized the uniform. She did not recognize him.

“You served with my father?” she asked, voice brittle.

Ren bowed his head deeply. “Private Second Class Ren Karibata. I was with… General Kobayashi until the end.”

Silence stretched between them like a drawn blade. Then she stepped aside.

Inside, incense burned in a quiet corner. A portrait of the general—smiling, young, proud—rested on a small altar surrounded by white flowers.

Ren struggled to lift his eyes to it.

“I saw him fall,” he said softly. “He stayed behind to cover our retreat… because we wouldn’t have made it otherwise.”

Miyuki’s fingers tightened over the cloth of her sleeves. “Did he suffer?”

Ren’s breath caught. His voice trembled—but he forced the words out.

“No. He fought to the last moment… even after taking a strike. He… he was still standing.” His fists clenched. “Still commanding.”

Miyuki turned to him, eyes sharp now, fierce through the grief. “Did he… say anything?”

Ren nodded. He looked away—ashamed that the memory burned so vividly. “Before he pushed me to run… he told me to find you. He said…”

He swallowed hard. Then met her gaze.

“Tell Miyuki… I’ll always love her. Even from a place she’ll never know.”

The words broke something in her.

Miyuki sank to her knees before the altar, silent tears flowing now at last. Her shoulders trembled, but she made no sound. She simply bowed her head, hands clasped, lips moving in prayer.

Ren stood frozen.

He had delivered the words. But he felt no relief—only a greater weight pressing on his chest.

Then a gentle voice came from behind.

“You did right by him.”

It was Daichi, stepping into the room with quiet authority. He placed a hand on Ren’s shoulder.

“You delivered a soldier’s promise,” he said. “And a father’s final message.”

Miyuki turned, looking up at Daichi. Her pain softened for a moment. She rose slowly… and let herself lean into his arms.

Ren blinked.

Only then did the truth strike him.

“You’re his… son-in-law?”

Daichi gave a faint nod, eyes locked on the altar. “And now… I must carry what he left behind.”

Daichi held Miyuki close, his strong arms a steady refuge amid the storm of grief.

Her shoulders shook, exhausted from days of sorrow, and she clung to him as if letting go meant losing her last thread of connection.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” Daichi whispered, voice low but firm. “We’ll get through this—together.”

Miyuki looked up, her tear-streaked face softening. “It’s so hard... losing him.”

Daichi nodded. “He was more than a general to us all. To me—he was family.”

She rested her head against his chest. “Thank you for being here.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. “Always. You’re not alone.”

Nearby, Ren stood quietly, watching the fragile moment. The weight of what Kobayashi meant to this family settled deeper in his chest.

He realized that beyond the battles and tactics, this was what war took—the bonds, the lives, the hearts left broken.

And now, he must carry the memory—not just of a general, but of a man’s love for his daughter.

The sun had dipped low behind Brickvia’s western hills. Soldiers stood in solemn silence, their weapons sheathed, their heads lowered. Inside Lt. General Kobayashi's house, the air was heavy with mourning.

Footsteps echoed gently across the stone path as a royal carriage came to a slow halt. From it stepped King Hikusa, regal in his deep-blue formal attire, his expression carved with grief. Beside him was Queen Kurenai, graceful yet visibly shaken.

Behind them followed their children: Princess Fumi, poised and respectful, her gaze veiled with sorrow; her husband, Brigadier General Miyamoto Natoe, dressed in civilian clothing out of reverence, walked at her side with quiet dignity. Prince Hyoma, still a teenager but growing into the weight of his lineage, clutched the hilt of a ceremonial sword but kept his eyes downcast. And little Princess Hikari, not yet old enough to understand the full weight of loss, held her mother’s hand tightly, blinking at the hushed atmosphere.

King Hikusa entered the hall where Kobayashi’s body lay in state. Miyuki rose slowly, bowing with trembling hands. Daichi stood by her side, eyes locked with his father’s.

Hikusa approached the casket and placed a hand gently on the edge, closing his eyes for a moment of silent farewell. When he spoke, his voice was low but firm.

“General Kobayashi... you were more than a commander. You were my old friend. My kin.” He paused, the words catching slightly in his throat. “You gave everything—your strength, your wisdom... and your daughter, to our family. Brickvia stands today because of you.”

Miyuki broke into tears, muffling her sobs into Daichi’s shoulder. Even Queen Kurenai’s composure faltered as she stepped forward, embracing her daughter-in-law softly.

Ren watched the scene from the side of the room, rooted in place. The truth was undeniable now—Kobayashi’s legacy was entwined not only with Brickvia’s military history, but with its very royal bloodline. And the weight of his loss was not just strategic—it was deeply, painfully human.

Later that night, as the mourners began to leave and the Kobayashi household dimmed to candlelight, Ren stood alone in the outer corridor, staring into the quiet garden. The distant sound of sobbing had faded, but its echo clung tightly to his chest.

He leaned his forearms on the wooden railing, eyes glazed. He couldn't count the number of enemies he had struck down—not anymore. At first, he’d kept track. Five. Nine. Fourteen. By the time it passed thirty, it all began to blur. Now? He wasn’t even sure if he could remember the face of the first man he killed.

He closed his eyes—and saw Miyuki crumpled in Daichi’s arms.

Each person he had killed, Ren thought, had someone. A wife. A son. A younger sister. An aging father waiting in a faraway village. Somewhere, someone had grieved the way Miyuki did earlier. Somewhere, a pair of knees had buckled at the news that someone wasn’t coming home.

The realization was no longer just an abstract concept. It tore through him like a blade made of guilt.

If I keep killing… someone else will keep grieving.

It wasn’t cowardice that shook in his bones. It was clarity.

And most important of all… there will be more war orphans like me.

Killing would always demand more killing. Vengeance invited retaliation. The wheel would keep spinning—until someone broke it.

And that someone had to be him.

He exhaled a trembling breath. His fists tightened.

“No more,” he whispered to the night, as if making a pact with the wind itself. “I won’t kill again. Not even if they order me to.”

If he wanted the world to change, he had to start with himself. It wouldn’t be easy. It might be impossible. But amid the blood and steel, he would forge a new way—a way to protect without taking life. A way to honor General Kobayashi… and all those who would never come home.