Stand and Die

"Crouch and live, crouch and live." Arthur's words began. The temperature in the meeting room dropped once more. A thin layer of frost crept further along the rim of the teacup set before me. On the surface of the cold tea, a faint circle etched itself.

Arthur wasn't consciously unleashing his power. Quite the opposite—he was suppressing it. His back was straight, his hands properly placed on the table, his gaze unwavering. Yet the chill seeped out anyway. It was the way uncontainable emotions leaked from him: cold, just like Arthur himself.

I looked at him. Captain of the 2nd Unit, Arthur. He was the one who had pushed orthodoxy to its limits, reaching the realm of monsters. The angle at which he gripped his sword. The distance between his feet. The line an enemy's blade would take. The momentary gap in rhythm when two attacked together. The narrowest point where three charging foes would hinder each other. Arthur saw those things. And he froze them.

The more opponents there were, the colder his sword gleamed. Two charging in? He split them apart. Three? He ensured they couldn't touch one another. Saying he excelled at one against many wasn't just about strength. He sculpted the battlefield. Swords charging as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one? He turned them into solitary blades, each alone in the end.

And such a man was now opposing me right here.

"Speak."

I said it as gently as I could. Arthur's eyes were still as a frozen lake. But I didn't think nothing flowed beneath. Water runs under ice too. You just can't see it.

"The Sword Clan's swords exist to cut down enemies," Arthur said immediately. No beating around the bush.

"When the front lines crumble, the strongest sword must charge in first." His voice was low and clear.

"When the enemy commander reveals itself, it falls to a captain to sever its head without hesitation."

"Indeed."

"When a unit wavers, a captain presses forward to break the enemy's core rather than looking back."

He never once averted his gaze.

"That's how the Sword Clan has endured until now."

The meeting room fell silent. Priscilla set down her teacup and watched Arthur. Erigallum wasn't smiling. Yu sat like a shadow as always, but I could tell his eyes were on Arthur. Roën remained motionless behind my right shoulder. Only the scribe's pen nib slowly scraped across the paper.

"Yet the recent directives undermine that way."

Frost gathered at Arthur's fingertips. Thin, but visible.

"Retreat drills."

"Survival rate evaluations."

"Penalties for captains breaking through alone."

"Expanded authority for vice-captains."

"Reclassification of command violations."

Short phrases landed one by one on the table.

"They may all seem necessary," Arthur said. "But on the battlefield, things that seem necessary can dull your blade."

He didn't look at his teacup. Didn't glance at the frost forming on it. He just looked at me.

"The moment a swordsman calculates his path back first, the step he must take slows. The instant he prioritizes his unit's survival, the neck he must sever lags a beat. While he debates the bounds of orders, the enemy seals ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠its gaps."

"..."

Irrefutable truth.

"And a blade a beat too late can't save anyone."

That wasn't wrong either. If it were, this would be easy. Arthur wasn't stubborn for the sake of it. Nor was he rebelling to protect his position. He was voicing the form ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the Sword Clan he truly believed in. And that belief was stained with blood. Blood from old battlefields. Blood of survivors. Blood of comrades who never returned. Only someone who had seen that blood could speak like this.

"I don't think you're intentionally weakening the Sword Clan, Commander-in-Chief."

Arthur's voice lowered slightly.

"But you're blurring the established laws."

That deepened the silence in the room. In the Sword Clan, saying the Commander-in-Chief muddied the atmosphere wasn't a light accusation. Especially not from Arthur. The 2nd Unit Captain. The highest among captains excluding me.

"Right now, the Sword Clan is learning how to return alive."

He continued.

"Learning how to retreat. Learning how to survive and save others."

His eyes deepened just a fraction.

"While learning all that, won't the Sword Clan forget how to kill enemies?"

A vice-captain's breath hitched faintly. The scribe's pen paused. Roën's gaze flicked there, then back. I kept watching Arthur.

"You're not wrong."

At my words, the air in the room trembled ever so slightly. Priscilla's eyes shifted. Erigallum's faint smile vanished completely. Yu showed no reaction. Neither did Arthur. But the line of frost on his teacup halted, if only briefly.

"A hesitating blade is a late blade."

I spoke slowly.

"A late blade saves no one."

I looked at Arthur's hands. They lay undisturbed on the table. How many front lines had that bastard sword in his grip sealed? How many enemy necks had it severed? And how many comrades' deaths had he witnessed before marching to the next battlefield?

"You know that better than anyone."

Arthur didn't reply. His silence was affirmation.

"I know you have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the right to worry about the Sword Clan's edge."

I continued.

"You're guarding against its blades dulling. Yes. That vigilance is no light thing."

His eyes met mine. Cold, straight, unflinching. I didn't flinch from them either.

"But Arthur."

My voice was low.

"I'm not trying to blunt the edge. I'm trying to see where it points."

Arthur's gaze shifted, ever so subtly. Few in this room could catch that change. Roën would have. Serka might have, if she were here.

"I haven't told you to cut less."

I said.

"I've told you to cut and return."

The frost on the teacup spread a bit more.

"Nor does it mean abandon your resolve to die."

I looked straight at Arthur.

"It means don't mistake death for achievement."

Crack.

A tiny sound. From the teacup before me. Not a wide spread of thin ice. Rather, one side of the forming circle had cracked.

Arthur said nothing for a long while. His back remained straight. His hands undisturbed. His gaze never left me. Outwardly, nothing had changed. But everyone in the room knew. Something had been touched. Something Arthur had buried deep under the ice for so long. Something covered over with words like orthodoxy, orders, and battle honors, never spoken aloud. It had cracked, thin as it was.

"Death."

Arthur said lowly.

"Don't mistake it for achievement."

His voice was still low. But strangely, sharper than at first.

"Is that what you just said?"

"Yes."

I didn't deny it.

"That's what I said."

The room didn't stir. Priscilla lowered her eyes. Erigallum's fingers halted on the table. Yu's shadow lay quietly under his chair. Roën breathed shallower. The frost at Arthur's fingertips cracked without forming a circle.

"Those words."

Arthur said.

"Why say them now?"

Huh. What's gotten into him?

I didn't answer. Not yet.

Arthur looked at me. His eyes were cold and clear, but the emotions inside were no longer fully hidden.

"Distinguish breakthrough from desertion."

He said slowly.

"Cut, protect, return. Don't mistake death for achievement."

One sentence at a time. He pulled my words back out and laid them on the table.

"They're right."

The room grew quieter. Not opposition. Not denial. Acknowledging them made them heavier.

"Your words are right, Commander-in-Chief."

Arthur's voice sank lower.

"So I ask."

His gaze pierced me.

"The day I became captain. You said it."

Hundreds of years ago, at least. In that instant, the air in the room changed. Priscilla lifted her head faintly. Erigallum's smile erased completely. Roën's hand paused over the documents. No one knew exactly what Arthur would say next. But they knew it wouldn't be light.

"Don't crouch and live. Stand and die."

Words any Sword Clan swordsman had heard at least once. Words any heading to battle had murmured in their mouth. The original Commander-in-Chief's words from the story. A phrase floating like the clan's creed. And one buried under countless deaths.

I knew that phrase. I hadn't said it. But I couldn't claim ignorance. I sat here now. I bore the Commander-in-Chief's name. This seat offered no escape from its shadow.

"We believed those words."

Arthur said. The chill from his fingertips spread further.

"My close friend, 2nd Unit Vice-Captain Raymont, believed them too."

The name dropped. The air grew heavier.

"In the western snowfields, when the left flank collapsed, he didn't crouch."

Arthur's voice was cold.

"He stood. And charged alone to slay the command entity."

He paused, ever so briefly. That short silence choked those who knew what came next.

"And he died."

The words were low. But they reached every corner of the room.

"That day's report read like this."

Arthur's hand pressed the table.

"2nd Unit Vice-Captain Raymont: breakthrough success, then death."

Success. The word froze in the room. Arthur repeated it.

"Success."

This time, almost chewing it.

"We called that death a success."

His voice trembled faintly for the first time. No, not trembled—more like something pressed down too long cracking from within his throat.

"You said the same, Commander-in-Chief."

The room held its breath. Arthur's eyes fixed on me. Cold, but burning beneath.

"Didn't you praise such noble sacrifices?!"

BAM!

The words cleaved the room. Too short for a shout. But heavier than any roar. Rage. Accusation. Loss. And regret turned inward. Priscilla closed her eyes. Erigallum said nothing. Yu's gaze fixed on Arthur from the shadows. Roën gripped the documents tighter. I watched Arthur. He wasn't done. He couldn't be. Once ice cracks, it splits deeper.

"You don't know."

Arthur's voice lowered. The initial composure lingered. But the ice within had fractured.

"The emptiness when a front line held for hours is summarized in your few seconds."

The entire room froze. Rude words. Unsayable to the Commander-in-Chief. Yet no one here could fully deny them.

I was strong. Too strong. While lines shook on the verge of collapse, wounded piled up, swords snapped, and vice-captains recalculated retreat lines, the Sword Clan endured. One hour. Two. Three. With blood, sweat, shattered shields, and gritted-teeth orders. Then I arrived. My black sheath moved. White-hot flames spread over the field. What was called the front line moments ago resolved in an instant. Salvation. Undeniably salvation. But those saved couldn't always rejoice fully. The line they'd held for hours became "time bought until the Commander-in-Chief arrived." The gaps they'd filled with blood became "provisional lines before her arrival."

That was what Arthur voiced. Too late. Too cold. But with blood on his tongue.

"We endured."

Arthur said.

"Rebuilt collapsed flanks, picked up fallen swords, blocked with our bodies when shields broke."

The chill at his fingertips no longer formed rings. It was lines now. Like cracked ice, long-buried emotions spreading across the table.

"Then you arrived, Commander-in-Chief."

His gaze nailed me.

"A few seconds."

He said lowly.

"Hours of holding ended in seconds."

The silence after stretched long.

"We survived."

Arthur drew the words out slowly.

"So we should have been grateful. Rejoiced. Shed tears and shouted."

His lips hardened.

"You don't know the emptiness left behind."

The room's chill grew heavier.

"Nor the self-loathing that hits when hours of work reduce to just buying time until you arrive."

I said nothing. Couldn't. No—shouldn't, not now. What Arthur spat wasn't mere rebellion. It was the Sword Clan's long-buried emotions. Emptiness cloaked in gratitude and awe under the Commander-in-Chief's symbol. Void unspoken because they'd been saved. Rage shamed because they'd survived. All rising now through Arthur's mouth.

"And now you tell us to return."

Cold light gathered in his eyes.

"You, who said standing to die is right."

And again.

"Answer me, Commander-in-Chief."

This time, no one moved. The scribe's pen stopped. Roën said nothing. Priscilla's hand hovered over her teacup. Erigallum's hands had dropped below the table. Yu sat shadowy, but his silence was that of one listening intently.

I looked at Arthur. I could reprimand him. Call it insolence to the Commander-in-Chief. Point out he'd overstepped the meeting's order. But I didn't. Not just because it was aimed at me. Because it wasn't only for me. Arthur stabbed me. Stabbed the whole Sword Clan. And himself too. Even himself, who couldn't tear the word "success" from Raymont's report.

I opened my mouth slowly.

"I don't."

The air sank deeper.

I continued.

"I don't know that emptiness you speak of. I won't claim I do."

Priscilla raised her head. Erigallum smiled no more. Yu didn't stir. Roën's breath shallowed.

"But Arthur, I do know one thing."

The surface of my cold teacup rippled. The thin ice from Arthur's chill hadn't fully melted.

"That we can't treat that emptiness as a given anymore."

Arthur's gaze deepened.

"The structure where you fill hours with blood just to wait for my seconds. Where your endurance becomes a provisional line until I arrive."

"..."

"That it's not right."

I looked at him.

"I know that."

The silence was heavy. But different from before. I didn't excuse it. Didn't claim to understand those feelings. I could say I wasn't the one who spoke those words. But that meant nothing here. What Arthur lost wouldn't return by questioning the phrase's source. The words the clan believed in lay atop too much blood already. And I sat in the Commander-in-Chief's seat now. So the responsibility was mine.

"The Sword Clan I want."

I said slowly.

"Isn't one that endures until I arrive."

The frost at Arthur's fingertips halted.

"It's one that can end it even without me."

At that, Roën's eyes lowered briefly.

"So your anger isn't wrong."

I told Arthur.

"That emptiness, those questions, those deaths. None can be discarded here today."

Arthur said nothing.

"It's late."

I said. The room quieted.

"But because it's late."

I paused, then continued very lowly.

"We can't delay further."

The words settled slowly in the room. I voiced the old phrase myself.

"Better to stand and die than crouch and live."

The phrase was cold. Like gripping another's sword. Heavy, unfamiliar, unpleasant. But I couldn't drop it.

"If those words pushed anyone to death."

I looked at Arthur.

"I won't deny that responsibility."

Arthur's eyes shook for the first time. Slightly. But clearly.

"But now, I'll say it differently."

All eyes in the room turned to me. Visible blades. Invisible ones. All awaiting my words.

"Become a sword that doesn't just endure until I arrive—but one that finishes even without me."

"What does that..."

"That's the new Sword Clan I'll build."

No one replied immediately. Arthur's chill no longer spread. Nor had it vanished entirely. It lingered at his fingertips. Like an unmelted past. But it no longer raged as before. Roën would have seen it. Arthur wasn't convinced. But he was seeing anew where his anger should point. From blades stabbing the Commander-in-Chief. To the standard changing the clan. Very slowly. Very painfully.

"I will obey the order."

Arthur said. His voice low. Still direct.

"But I can't say I'm convinced yet."

I nodded.

"That's fine."

"I'll confirm it on the battlefield."

"Do."

I said gently.

"Confirm it with your sword."

Then, a bit lower.

"But Arthur."

"Yes."

"Don't pass that emptiness you spoke of to the next generation."

The frost remaining at his fingertips stopped.

"Make it your standard."

Arthur looked at me for a long time. Ice still in his eyes. But beneath it, something moved. Just a little. But clearly.

Finally, he bowed his head.

"I obey."

With Arthur's words... 'Did it somehow end...' The tedious meeting concluded.