Embers of Restraint
Cleanup. Cleanup. Crackle. Crackle.
The flames haven't fully died out on the devastated battlefield. The forest once called the Black Pine Forest no longer resembles a forest at all. Moments ago, black trees had stood densely enough to blot out the sky—now sliced off at waist height, uprooted from the roots, or shriveled white along the paths of sword strikes. The ground wasn't mud. Well, it had been mud until just now. The filthy mire unique to the Eastern Front, a sticky tangle of magic beast blood, human blood, and damp soil that tugged at your ankles. But not anymore. Cracked, parched earth. Traces of sword slashes still glowing red with residual heat. And atop it all, embers flickering feebly.
Crackle. Crackle crackle.
The magic beasts' howls. The 7th Squad swordsmen's shouts. Rushekan's commands spat out like blood. All gone now—which made the tiny embers' sounds weirdly loud.
I stood at the center. The hem of my white clothes fluttered faintly in the heat. My sword Illyun was already back in its sheath. Quiet, as if nothing had happened. Hard to believe this was the blade that had just bisected a colossal Calamity Entity, vaporized a horde of magic beasts without a trace... and erased part of the forest from the map.
I slowly surveyed the battlefield. Vanished magic beasts. Split earth. Burning stumps. Mud shriveled white. And far off, where the Calamity Entity studded with black crystals had stood.
Nothing remained there. Not ash, not bones, not even a corpse. Just empty. As if nothing had ever been there to begin with.
'Ah.'
'Went a bit overboard.'
I had held back. Definitely. Probably. At least it wasn't uncontrolled. No rage-fueled loss of control, no intent to incinerate the whole field. Rushekan looked like he couldn't hold much longer. The 7th was on the verge of collapse, beasts about to flood the rear. One more red beam from the Calamity Entity, and the wounded would be swept away. So I drew my sword. Slashed once. Felt it might fall short, so once more. That was it.
Yet the result was this.
This body defies reason. It's not fire manipulation. Swing the sword, and the world lags behind by catching fire. Stopping it is harder. Preventing the blaze is tougher than starting one.
How did the original Ena handle this? Wait—no, she handled it and died anyway.
The thought soured my mood. Images flashed: just the sheath left behind. The protagonist weeping. Roen kneeling for the first time. The 10th Squad kids gritting their teeth on their swords.
Loved it when I read it. Cool. A masterfully crafted death.
But not now. I have zero intention of that ending.
"Well done, Commander-in-Chief."
Roen's voice came from behind. I turned.
As always, Roen stood impeccably composed. Black uniform, white sword emblem of the 1st Squad, silver-gray hair, longsword at his waist. Too pristine even in the heart of the battlefield.
But not entirely unchanged. His gaze flicked briefly across the field. Split earth. Vanished forest. Smoldering embers. My Illyun at my waist.
A short glance, but I caught it. Shock. Even Roen was shocked.
Though probably for different reasons than mine.
I said lowly, "What hardship is there in this."
My voice was quiet. Dry. And even to me, overly Commander-in-Chief-like. As if clearing a battlefield was no trouble at all. The real work was Rushekan and the 7th. I only drew at the end.
Though that sword had rather thoroughly reshaped the field.
Roen bowed deeper. "To you, perhaps. But the Eastern Front did not fall. The Calamity Entity is extinguished, and the 7th avoided total annihilation."
"Rushekan held."
I said it immediately. Not humility. Fact. No matter my strength, a collapsed front can't be undone. Someone held until I arrived. Someone lost an arm, bled out, lay dying—but didn't drop their sword. That's why a frontline remained. That's why I could clean it up.
"The 7th left the front intact. I merely tidied the rest."
Roen met my eyes. Just for a moment. That gaze deepened subtly.
Ah. Misread again.
"I'll relay that to the 7th."
No, don't bother. Rushekan would get all emotional and drag his wounds to training.
I added curtly, "Bed the wounded first."
"Especially Rushekan."
Roen's eyes shifted to Rushekan. Not far off, he was arguing with a 4th Squad swordsman. Armor torn, left shoulder soaked in blood, hands charred black like burns. Yet he leaned on his broken greatsword, refusing to sit.
"I'm fine."
"Fine people's shoulders don't show bone."
"Isn't bone supposed to be inside the body?"
"Exactly why it shouldn't show."
Stubborn bastard. Cool in a shounen manga. In reality, the type you tie down to rest.
I said, "Tie him if needed."
Roen paused. "...Understood."
Don't take it so seriously. But do it if you must.
I turned back to the battlefield. 7th survivors visible. Some knelt, swords still gripped. Others stared blankly at embers, stumps wrapped in cloth. One clutched a comrade's helmet to his chest.
No tears. No strength left for it. That was worse.
Survival doesn't mean instant sobs. Some need time for the fact to sink in. Until then, just breathe, bleed, accept you're not dead yet.
"Casualties."
Roen answered at once. "Eight confirmed."
"Two missing."
"Twenty-three severe."
Eight. Two missing. Twenty-three severe.
Short numbers. Heavy weight.
In the original, this was a triumphant scene showcasing Ena's prowess. Readers cheering the blaze, roaring at the Commander-in-Chief's entrance, comments flooding with "Ena as expected."
I would've too. Probably.
But before me now: no theatrics, just corpses. Dead men's numbers. Severed limbs. Half-burnt swords. Survivors mute beside bodies.
I said lowly, "Classify missing as survivors for now."
"Don't stop searching."
"Yes."
"Report every casualty name. No trimming."
Roen's eyes shifted. "Record as-is in the Geomgye Headquarters report?"
"Yes."
I gazed at the smoldering field. "Don't bury it under 'glory.'"
Silence fell.
Roen didn't reply. Couldn't, maybe. Then slowly bowed. "Understood. We'll record who died where, who saved whom and got hurt, what calls held the line—everything."
Wasn't thinking that far, but fine.
"Do it."
Package death pretty, and the next comes easier. Call sacrifice honor, and folks toss lives lightly. That road led to the original Ena. Commander-in-Chief reduced to a sheath.
Not mine.
Roen spoke again. "5th Squad detected residual magic."
"The Calamity Entity wasn't just a high-rank magic beast."
"Likely controlled externally, and a observation medium."
As expected.
I narrowed my eyes. This wasn't a beast rampage. A setup: flood beasts, wear down 7th, deploy Calamity Entity, draw me out.
Original too. There, Ena took a minor arm wound. First foreshadow of her death.
I glanced at my wrist. Clean.
Good.
But not fully safe. I drew, unleashed Baekil, scorched the field. Might've handed them data instead of wounds.
"How much did they get."
"Stable records unlikely."
"Too quick incineration."
I eyed the field. Yeah. Fast. Thorough burn.
"Fragments possible, but incomplete intel."
"Hunt those fragments."
"8th and 9th already moving."
Competent. Truly.
I nodded. "Pursuit's yours."
"I'm heading to HQ."
Roen looked at me. "You're not pursuing personally?"
There it was. That question.
Original Ena would've plunged deep into the forest alone, silently tracking foes. Cool for readers.
Not now. Solo chase. Dark woods. Invisible enemy. Trap that just tried reeling me in.
Death flag. Hard pass.
I said curtly, "It's a trap."
Roen's eyes sharpened. "You saw it that way too."
Yeah. Transmigrator survival instincts.
"Already stepped out once."
I said. "No second time."
Roen bowed promptly. "Understood. 8th: flank pursuit. 9th: check for internal collaborators."
"Do it."
Then I walked to Rushekan. He'd been sat down. 4th won, apparently. He tried rising as I approached.
"Sit."
"Commander-in-Chief, I..."
"Sit."
Second time, he sat grudgingly. I looked down at him.
"You're alive."
Rushekan forced a grin through blood-streaked face. "Yes."
"Barely."
"That's enough."
"But the 7th didn't hold the front to the end."
Here we go again. Why's everyone in this world so eager to die.
I said lowly, "The front held. Because you survived."
His eyes wavered.
"Dead swords don't block the next front."
Pause. That line landed well.
Rushekan fell silent long. Then bowed slowly. "I'll remember."
I eyed his broken greatsword. "We'll reforge the blade."
He said.
"Lighter."
"Commander-in-Chief. 7th blades must be heavy."
"Too heavy. You were slow."
Rushekan shut up. Nearby 4th swordsman nodded faintly.
"Forge unbreakable. Not death-trap heavy."
"Yes."
Good. One corrected. Probably.
I turned. "Withdraw. Wounded first. No bodies left behind."
Roen bowed. "Never."
Crackle. Crackle.
Embers popped faintly over the field. I thought, listening.
One flag. Shattered.
More coming. Shounen manga rolls that way.
Fine. Crush as they come.
For my ironclad survival.
And if possible, those fools too.