TUK 01

Chapter 1

The greenness of the plains. Upon it lay a field of corpses.
Yellow dandelions that had once been in full bloom had turned into red spider lilies.
It was a stage crafted by war.

Soldiers wearing emblems of red and blue trampled the green plains, crossing between gates of life and gates of death.

“Die! You Azrion bastards!!”
“You think we’ll just drop dead for you?! You filthy Roden pigeons!!”

Men who had never seen one another before clashed with sharpened blades, spitting slurs to belittle the symbols of each other’s nations.

“Help!! Aaagh!!”

The cracking sound of death burst forth.
Those who passed through the gate of death screamed songs of their demise, while those who crossed the gate of life danced frenziedly with blood-stained swords.

And soon enough, they too vomited blood and were cut down by their enemies, joining the symphony of death.
Perhaps it was only the natural result of fulfilling one’s role on this stage called a battlefield.

“I’m going to die.”

That was what Lian Cade thought.
Even as he cut off the breath of Roden Empire soldiers pushing his allies toward death, the word death began to fill his mind.

It was like reminding himself again of what role he played on the stage of war.

His helmet had been knocked off by an enemy’s club.
Black hair, matted with blood in places, fluttered in the wind. Blood dripping from his forehead glued itself to his handsome face.

It was a picture that could only symbolize the situation of one forced to think of death. His eyes told the same story.

The blue armor of his allies—their national symbol—was being slowly pressed into the dirt by the red armor of the enemy.

“I’m going to die.”

The word that filled his head slipped out of his mouth.

And yet, the black-moon-like shine in his eyes seemed somehow distant from death—as though he had no intention of welcoming it.

Swish—

He wiped the blood and sweat off his hands onto the lion-emblazoned gambeson of blue leather, then gripped his sword once more.
He charged toward the red tide of enemies surging his way.

Even at a glance, the enemies far outnumbered them—thousands at least, all wearing red leather gambesons marked with the eagle emblem.
By contrast, only three companies remained on Lian’s side—five hundred men in all wearing blue leather with the lion emblem.

Even if each company was full of experienced fighters, they could not hope to win against enemies who overwhelmed them by numbers—especially on an open plain.

There was no escape.
They had already been surrounded in a circle, the formation shrinking, slowly eating away at their lives.

“I’m going to die.”

He dodged spears and swords flying at him, stabbing and slashing at necks, but the weight of death only pressed harder on his entire body.

“I’m going to die.”

Around him, his allies’ necks were severed, hearts pierced, bodies rolling lifeless across the ground.
He spared them a fleeting glance of mourning.

“I’m going to die.”

His body was torn and battered, pushed backward.
There was no path forward.
The fear on the faces of his comrades back-to-back with him proved it.

“Huff… Huff.”

His breath caught in his throat—no, he was already keeping himself alive on ragged breaths.
It was only now that the final sigh of lungs realizing death escaped him.

His arms drooped so low it was hard even to lift them, as though the souls of those he’d slain were clinging to his blade and dragging it down.
Of course, it was just a feeling—merely the exhaustion of relentless battle.

“You stubborn bastard… huff, huff.”
“This one’s insane… huff! If you’re gonna die, at least die cleanly!”

The Roden soldiers too were exhausted, spitting curses as they caught their breath.
Yet the red walls surrounding him on all sides did not change.
It was despair.

“You’re the last one left, Azrion dog. Don’t think you’ll die easy…”

Just as one of the enemies spat out,
there were no allies around him.

He alone had survived.

No longer.

“Lieutenant! At least you should retreat!!”
“Damn it!! How are we supposed to stop that?! It’s a death sentence!!”
“I’ll kill every last imperial bastard and rise to glory!! Come on, Roden chicks!!”

The first squad leader Wilson, who had yelled at them to retreat when they first met the enemy—
Second squad leader Hans, who had barked complaints—
Third squad leader Ronald, who swore he’d live and be promoted—
all gone.

‘I knew this would happen, but I didn’t think I’d be the last one left.’

Death had always been his fate.
Now it had arrived, the reaper choosing him to close the gate of death.

“I’ll follow soon. Let me take a few more imperials with me. Forgive me.”

Lian murmured a final will, hoping it would reach the subordinates who had gone before him.
He steadied his breath, preparing for the last stand—

Step.

A single footstep drew his gaze.

“Tsk. We wasted too much time dealing with just five hundred.
I’ll clean up here. The rest of you, chase down the retreating Azrion forces.”

A low voice rippled through the air as the encirclement opened.
At his command, the soldiers, pale-faced, began to scatter.

The man who appeared out of nowhere stared silently at the utterly exhausted Lian.

Step.

A tall red-haired man closed the distance.

From gauntlets to shoulders and chest, his armor was plated like a crustacean, unlike any imperial armor Lian had seen before.
The shortsword in his hand gleamed as though it was forged from something beyond ordinary steel.

“I am Jerard, commander of the Shadow Unit under Marquis Bueno Arzen.
You held out well. Consider yourself praised.”

His low, resonant voice carried such pressure it chilled the spine.
The sharp gaze looking down at him only added to that power.

‘Why is a Shadow here?’

Lian stared at Jerard with an indifferent expression, trying not to miss any reaction as he steadied his breath.
But Jerard could not know what those eyes meant.

“Defect. At your level, the marquis would gladly take you in.”

Thus Jerard offered him a chance.
Lian tilted his head.

At his feet lay plenty of imperial corpses.
It was no exaggeration to say three in ten of them had fallen by Lian’s blade.

And yet the man who had seen this was inviting him to switch sides.
Lian could not understand it.

“You think I’ll lose?”

A stray question slipped out, born of confusion and lack of any intent to defect—
a provocation tossed carelessly.

“…”

Jerard’s brows twitched, killing intent flashing in his eyes.
He felt not only insulted himself but as though his lord Marquis Arzen had been insulted as well.

Bang!

Jerard stomped the ground and lunged at Lian instead of answering.
With pressure that crushed the earth, his footwork was quick and light.

‘Ah.’

Lian lost sight of him.
By the time Jerard came back into view, his blade tip was flying straight for Lian’s heart.

He could not dodge.
That was his instant conclusion.

Then they would die together.

With the resolve of mutual destruction, Lian swung his sword at Jerard’s neck.

It was the best move he could make—but the angle was poor.
Even if the lower part of his blade struck the neck, it wouldn’t deliver enough force to cut.

Of course, all of it was meaningless thought.

Pugghhk!!

Jerard’s blade tore through his gambeson, pierced flesh, scraped bone, and impaled Lian’s heart.

“Gkhhh!!”

He was dying.
His heart burst blood as it beat.
There was no surviving this.

Thud.

Jerard shoved Lian aside to pull his blade free.

Blood poured from Lian’s heart like a spring onto the ground.

“Arrogance. That is why you die.”

Jerard spoke in a flat tone, bidding farewell as he turned to rejoin his troops.

“…”

Lian lay on the plain like any other corpse, staining the ground red.
It was his exit from the stage of death.

There was no more blood left to spill.
Even the fire-like pain dulled gradually.

Only a faint remaining consciousness registered death.

It was almost laughable—
that even as death was absolute, some formless will clung to the body, refusing to let go.

‘Regret?’

Perhaps.

After all, he had never achieved his dream.

“Ellen… Father…”

They said that at the moment of death, your life flashed before your eyes.
Lian thought of his father.

Not his blood father.

“Lian. You were actually the only child who survived the witch’s hut.
I was the one who took you from there.”

Was it on his eighth birthday?

The infamous witch who had driven a thousand newborns to their deaths.
He alone had survived her lair.

And the man who had raised him confessed, saying he had taken him in as his own.

“You’ll surely become the most handsome man in Azrion.
That’s why I took you in! Hah!”

Perhaps embarrassed, he had ended his confession with such playful words at their modest birthday table.

‘Well, I’d suspected it. We didn’t look alike at all. Still, it was a shock.’

Was that when it began?

“Take up the sword.
That’s the only way you’ll survive.”

Ellen had begun training him in earnest.

Though born a commoner, Ellen had shown enough talent with the blade to be given the surname Cade and join the knights—
but he’d been injured in the rescue of Lian, damaging his aura and forced into retirement.

At fifteen—

“How about becoming a knight? Well… you’re not ready yet, but it’s good to have a dream.”

He’d tossed the suggestion like a pebble, wanting Lian to inherit his dream.

Despite his rough looks and sturdy frame, Ellen was kind and simple, always looking after others.
His hope for Lian was no mere pebble—it was heavy and real.

“I will.”

Lian had joined that dream, enlisting and following in his footsteps.
But this is how it ended.

“Cough—!”

Now he truly felt like he was dying.
His sight faded, a white world blocking the sky.
All sensation slipped away.

This was it.

He had miraculously survived to chase his dream, but this was the end.

Consciousness faded.

And yet.

He only thought it had.

[You shall be freed from the time granted to death…]

What was that voice?

A whisper brushed past his ear like the wind.

Was it a trick of the reaper? A mere hallucination?

‘Then why…’

His faint consciousness still remained.

And then—sounds tickled his ears.

Squirm, squirm.
Creak… crack.

A strange sound.

His vision was still blocked in darkness; it was terrifying.
He imagined maggots devouring his body until only bones were left before his soul could depart.

But sensation followed the sound.

The pierced heart—
and the cuts and stabs all over his body—it felt as if someone were tickling them.

He could not understand why dead nerves were awakening, making him feel so vividly alive again.

Before long—
the veil of darkness slowly lifted.
His sight brightened as though announcing his entrance onto a new stage.

Even a flock of crows circling the blue sky came into view.

“I’m alive?”

He was breathing.
His heart was beating.

All his senses had returned.

So the words burst out of him.

Swish—

He rose.

The torn leather and iron plates had not mended, but his flesh, muscles, and nerves were whole, unscarred.

It was closer to bizarre than miraculous.
Was this even real?

“What?! Over there!! A survivor!”
“Damn it! An Azrion worm! He must’ve been playing dead!”
“Vermin like you—we’ll kill you all, empire or kingdom alike!!”

Those voices reached his ears at once.

‘I don’t know what’s going on—’

But first, he would have to live.

Resolving himself, Lian picked up the sword lying on the ground and gripped it once more.

The thirst for life remained.