Dorf, how are the new recruits on your end?"
"Us? About average. Still feel like kids, really. How about yours?"
"As the rumors say—diligent, sturdy. Word is they keep swinging their weapon for hours even after their shift."
"So that's why Ray wouldn't stop praising them. Are they doing fine on duty?"
"They are. Though… there are a few odd things."
"Odd? Like what?"
"Well, it's small stuff… but they refuse to accept 'gifts.'"
"…Excuse me? What kind of nonsense is that?"
"I'm serious."
"So, what about meals? They actually pay for their food?"
"They do."
"…Seriously? They really pay for their own meals?"
It had been a month since Leo started active duty.
Unlike the other guards who slacked off after their probation, Leo continued his rigorous training—earning him a reputation as a peculiar one. The label wasn't derogatory, however. Most regarded him with curiosity or admiration.
A few sour types muttered behind his back, accusing him of putting on an act—but those voices were few and largely ignored.
Recently, Leo had found himself a new hobby during breaks.
Staring off into space.
To the average observer, it might seem like he was wasting time. But in truth, it was thanks to a new skill:
– Meditation (N) / 55%
It was the first skill he'd acquired that wasn't directly related to combat. In fact, he hadn't even meant to gain it. He had simply collapsed from exhaustion, cleared his mind while resting—and a skill manifested.
The effects were subtle. Aside from a slight improvement in mental clarity, it didn't do much… yet. But Leo had high hopes.
"Maybe… this is the key to mastering martial arts."
In this world, there were beings far beyond the reach of ordinary warriors—knights, mages, and transcendents who manipulated mana through unique techniques passed down only within bloodlines or to handpicked disciples.
Leo had no such lineage.
He didn't know how long it would take to learn those arts—if it were possible at all. But if meditation could offer even the faintest path toward such power, it was worth investing in.
That's why he had put off synthesizing his newly maxed-out skills. He wanted to try combining them with Meditation once it reached 100%.
Of course, spacing out every break earned him some strange looks—and a few whispers about him losing his mind—but Leo didn't care. The progress felt real.
Though the daily routine of sitting still and emptying his thoughts was grueling, even draining, Leo pressed on.
"I'm Korean. I've endured worse."
He consoled himself with the thought.
As always, the view during his meditative state remained unchanged.
People swore at each other. The streets stank of manure. Most folk looked like they hadn't bathed in weeks.
But still, it was… peaceful.
That fragile peace shattered with a shout:
"Leo! Kyle! All guards, assemble immediately at the barracks! News from the sergeant—move it!"
"What's going on?" Leo asked, frowning.
"Don't ask—just come!" the soldier barked again.
Next to him, Kyle looked visibly unsettled.
"Something's wrong. Something's really wrong…"
Normally full of nonsense, Kyles' worried expression couldn't be brushed aside today.
The border war…?
No one said it aloud, but the looming tension had been thick in the air for weeks.
And when premonitions struck—they rarely missed.
"Is everyone here?"
"Yes, sir!"
The soldiers stood in formation, still breathless from their sprint. Their training kept their postures sharp, but their expressions were grim.
Commander Bryce didn't waste time.
"You've likely heard rumors already. Friel, Dusel, and Tran are fully engaged in a border war."
"And now, Izell has officially declared support for Friel. We're going to war."
"Prepare for deployment. Ensure your equipment is in perfect condition."
"Squad leaders, with me. Now."
The declaration hit like a thunderclap.
After the commanfer disappeared with the squad leaders, Captain Darnel addressed the remaining troops.
His speech was longer—but the message remained the same.
With one addition: any soldier who attempted to desert would face harsh punishment.
Leo stiffened.
Truth be told, the idea had crossed his mind.
He had grown stronger, learned much—but risking his life in a battlefield was another matter entirely.
But escape wasn't viable.
Not now. Not when they'd all been seen.
Even if he made it out, he'd be branded a deserter forever—always looking over his shoulder.
"If I must run… better to do it during the march, not from the Town."
For now, he had no choice but to prepare.
Step one: Provisions.
Leo immediately ran to the Town, competing with dozens of other soldiers scrambling to stock up.
He managed to buy nearly three weeks' worth of hardtack and heavily salted, smoked meat—enough to survive.
The bread was tough as stone and the meat tasted like dried earth—but it was better than starving.
Trusting army rations was foolish in this era, and Leo had no intention of relying on them.
Step two: Weapon Maintenance.
Having trained and maintained his gear for months, Leo knew exactly what to do.
He planned to carry a sword, a spear, and a shield—so each needed care.
The sword was the most work. He sharpened it to uniform sharpness with a whetstone, polished it using old clothes, and coated the blade in sheep's fat to prevent rust. He also reinforced the grip and double-checked the handle.
The spear, being mostly wood, required less attention—but he still polished and oiled the metal tip.
The shield was simple. As long as the iron rims were intact and the wood wasn't split, it was ready. He applied another thin layer of oil just to be safe.
Armor?
Hopeless.
The padded armor Leo received was a joke—threadbare, smelly, and probably older than he was.
Even after scrubbing it raw, the stench remained. He briefly considered making soap with oil and ash, but gave up.
Still, having some protection was better than none.
His boots, however, were a blessing.
Leo had bought a pair of old leather shoes months ago, back when they were still cheap.
Now, with panic setting in, prices had surged.
New recruits were stuck with linen shoes—which wouldn't last a day on the march.
"Having shoes already gives me an edge."
He reinforced his worn-out backpack, packed his food, filled a waterskin, and added:
Old bandages
Disinfectant alcohol
Boiled birch bark water
A spoonful of honey
It wasn't much—but even slight disinfection or pain relief could mean the difference between life and death.
Satisfied, Leo finally relaxed for a brief moment—just as news stirred again.
Inside Bryce's office, tension crackled like static.
"All eight squads are present."
"Good. Everyone, take a seat."
The squad leaders sat, shoulders heavy.
Bryce stood before them, eyes sharp.
"I know the sudden call to arms caught you off guard. But I also know none of you are surprised."
Heads nodded solemnly.
The guard unit—more exposed to outside information—had sensed this coming.
"The scale of this battle will be… large."
"And brutal."
"Still, we must go. But each squad may leave behind two soldiers for rear duty. Submit your list by tomorrow."
The room went quiet.
No one liked the idea of choosing who stayed behind. It would mean picking favorites. Risking resentment.
But there was no time to hesitate.
Each squad leader left the room in silence, carrying the weight of their duty.
Squad 3 Leader agonized over his list all night.
He liked his men. They liked him. He wasn't blind to their bonds.
But that bond made him fair—not biased.
He decided to choose as if he were an outsider.
"Pick the two most reasonable choices… nothing else."
By dawn, his decision was made.
Kyle and Leo would stay.
Kyle had an elderly mother and a newborn daughter. His wife had died in childbirth. If Kyle died, his family would be left destitute.
Leo, though abandoned by his father, was skilled, disciplined, and trusted. Axel had never seen him abuse his power—not once.
If someone had to watch the rear, to keep order and protect what remained—Leo was the ideal choice.
That morning, as the sun rose and soldiers began preparing for war…
Axel quietly handed the names to Bryce