The Clang of Swords in Dawn's Silence

The morning in the command office is quiet. Excessively so, for the room where the Geomgye's Commander-in-Chief resides. Faint dawn light filters down from the high ceiling. The window faces east, toward a sun not yet fully risen. The sunlight merely dusts the gray stone walls of Geomgye Headquarters with pale gold. In the distance, from the training grounds, comes the clash of sword on sword. Clang. Clang-clang. Clang. Clang-clang. The morning drill of the 2nd Squad. Textbook swordsmanship. The rigidly methodical training that those most faithful to the basics repeat every dawn, boring in its regularity. That sound is like the bell tolling the start of another day at Geomgye Headquarters.

A time when the Demon King Army hasn't yet battered the walls. When no urgent messenger has yet raced down the halls. When no one's blood has yet been tallied into numbers on a report. But this quiet doesn't mean peace.

War is already piled high on the Commander-in-Chief's desk. Casualty reports from the Eastern Front. Supply requests from the western fortress. The 5th Squad's compiled records of mana anomalies. Internal surveillance documents from the 9th Squad. Unnecessarily lengthy missives from the royal houses of various nations. Replies from the cathedral side—impeccably polite, yet containing not a single useful answer. And the operational deployments and training status for all ten squads of Geomgye.

The paper is silent. The ink is silent. But what's written inside is anything but.

Eight dead. Two missing. Twenty-three critically wounded. 7th Squad front line damaged. 4th Squad needs recovery routes reorganized. 5th Squad analyzing residual demonic energy. 8th Squad tracking may have failed. 9th Squad initiating review of internal comms network.

War doesn't end just because the sword stays sheathed. If anything, more war happens in the times without drawn blades. Not on the battlefield, but on paper. Ink flows instead of blood, signatures clash instead of strikes, and human lives are reduced to numbers in a single report.

And at the forefront of it all sits me. The Commander-in-Chief of Geomgye. Master of Baekil. In a world where Western plate armor and cloaks, holy swords and greatswords are the norm, a lone woman in Eastern garb with a black-sheathed katana at her side. My long silver-white hair is tied low, and the morning light slanting through the window illuminates only the documents on the desk, avoiding my face.

I'm staring down at the reports. My expression is nearly blank, as always—cold, quiet, unreadable. If anyone saw me, they'd think: The Commander-in-Chief is surveying the battlefield again. Calculating every variable since the Eastern Front. Weighing the Demon King Army's observation spells, the holy sword's silence, and the ten squads' long-term war prospects all at once.

It looks that way. And part of it is true.

But my mind is a bit more complicated, a bit more human, and frankly, a lot more tired.

Hah.

A tiny sigh escapes. A small sound, one no guard outside the door could hear, one that would vanish amid the distant clash of blades on the training grounds. But Roen inside the office hears it.

Roen, vice-captain of the 1st Squad. My closest aide. The man who, in the original story, carried only my empty scabbard back after my death and finally broke. Now, he's impeccably dressed in his black uniform, the white sword emblem of the 1st Squad on his left breast, standing silently across the desk.

He doesn't ask about the sigh right away. Partly out of deference to my silence, partly because he senses its weight.

To him, it's not mere fatigue. It's the burden of one front line. The holy sword's owner who hasn't appeared. Evidence that the Demon King Army tried to observe my Baekil. And the Commander-in-Chief's anguish peering even further into the future. That's how he interprets it.

Of course, my real thoughts are simpler.

Nothing to do.

No. More precisely, I don't know where to start.

Holy sword records are spread before me. Thick, archaic-looking tomes that scream importance. Leather covers worn at the edges, some stamped with red sealing wax. They smell of dust and preservatives from long storage. The scent of dried time.

But the contents are shockingly useless.

"When the stars tilt red.""The day humanity's sword ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠breaks.""The chosen one shall stand before the holy sword."

That's it. No dates. No years, no months, no specifics. When darkness is deepest? When's that? The day the Demon King Army launches a full offensive? When the Demon King himself moves? When the lights in the holy sword's sealed chamber go out? Or the day the original protagonist hits personal rock bottom?

What does stars tilting red even mean? Astronomical event? Mana disaster? Or just prophecy fluff to sound profound?

I glare at the lines. Glaring won't make answers appear. The records remain brazenly vague to the end, pretending at profundity without saying anything useful.

My fingertip presses the paper's edge. A slight pressure. It bends faintly. But doesn't tear. Tearing holy sword records as Commander-in-Chief would cause problems.

Roen would see. And he'd overinterpret it. The Commander-in-Chief rages at the prophecy's incompleteness. A crack in the outdated authority surrounding the holy sword. A declaration of intent. Something like that.

My real feeling is far simpler. Frustrating. Want to rip it up. That's all.

I swallow another sigh inside.

"Roen."

My low, dry voice drops into the office. He bows his head immediately.

"Yes, Commander-in-Chief."

"Has the holy sword's owner appeared yet?"

The same question for days. I open every morning with it. Any glow from the holy sword overnight? Any chosen one emerging from the cathedral basement? Reports of some mysterious boy in a rural village miraculously slaying a magic beast? Or signs that the original protagonist has finally shown up?

Confirmation.

But the answer is always the same.

"Yes."

Roen speaks without hesitation.

"Not yet, Commander-in-Chief."

I close my eyes briefly, then open them.

"I see."

And mutter very softly.

"Still not."

Still. Not yet. The holy sword's owner hasn't appeared. No original protagonist. No protagonist party. No clue where the companion candidates even are. Or if they've been born.

That's the biggest problem.

I read [Blood]. I remember the broad strokes. Holy sword owner appears. Joins the 10th Squad. Gathers companions. Fights the Demon King Army. Midway, despairs seeing me—the obvious ceiling—as Commander-in-Chief. Crashes into me repeatedly, gets broken, rises again. And right before the finale, I die. Sending the protagonist's party ahead first.

"Go."

Leaving those words and my empty scabbard. Protagonist cries, 10th Squad crumbles, Geomgye falls silent... Readers flood the comments in outrage.

I know that flow. The issue is when.

I don't know if this is years before the original timeline. If the holy sword's owner is already born and growing somewhere, or hasn't even met their parents yet.

This world doesn't run on normal human time. Swordsmen who become superhumans don't age. Or rather, they age at an absurdly slow rate. Those worthy of Geomgye have already surpassed human physical limits. Sword aura. Mana. Body reinforcement. Whatever you call it, swords honed to the extreme slip free of human time bit by bit.

Even squad captains maintain their peak for decades with little change. Some say the sword deepens with age.

And I, the Commander-in-Chief, am the greatest exception.

The original never specified my exact age. Rumors said over a hundred. The Eastern fall suggested two hundred plus. My name in founding records implied three centuries. Readers loved that setup. As a reader, I did too. Strongest, age unknown. East's last sword. Sun in the black scabbard. Cool.

Back then, yes. Because I was just a reader.

Not now. Now that setting is too real. Too horrifying.

Because I might have to wait centuries.

The holy sword's owner could appear in a hundred years. Two hundred. Even the protagonist's grandparents might not be born yet.

Then what about me? Stay as Geomgye's Commander-in-Chief. Hold off the war. Deal with the cathedral and politics. Exchange letters with royals. Read the magic tower's convoluted reports. Face the Demon King Army. Manage the ten squads. Remove death flags. Wait for the protagonist.

Makes no sense.

I was the type to procrastinate even daily schedules. Put off assignments, hospital appointments, replies, workouts—starting tomorrow.

Now I'm stuck managing world-ending flags for centuries.

Better than dying. True. But doesn't make a century on standby comfortable.

Wanting to survive doesn't mean wanting to work forever.

"Is this all the holy sword records?"

Roen answers immediately.

"All verifiable materials from the Geomgye archives have been gathered."

"Royal and cathedral records?"

"Copies only."

"Originals?"

"Stored in the cathedral's underground archives and the royal sealed library."

"Access permissions?"

"Requires the Holy King's approval and joint consent from three cardinals."

I fall silent briefly.

Troublesome. So damn troublesome.

Magic beasts? Slash them. Legion commanders? Slash them. Calamity Entities? Power control issue, but simple solution. Enemy in front. Draw sword. Slash. Done.

Politics and paperwork? Different. Holy King's approval. Cardinals' joint consent. Sealed libraries. Holy sword sealed chamber. Joint resolutions. Access procedures. Can't slash those. Or rather, slashing makes bigger problems.

I lower my gaze. Outwardly, deep in thought, like a Commander-in-Chief should be. Inside, half is hate using my brain.

"Time is the issue."

The words slip out. I regret them slightly. Sounded profound again.

Roen's eyes change.

"As you foresaw."

I freeze inwardly. Foresaw what?

But he's already diving into deep interpretation.

"The Calamity Entity on the Eastern Front proves it."

He speaks lowly.

"The Demon King Army wasn't just invading. They sought to observe your Baekil, Commander-in-Chief."

True.

"If the enemy perfects anti-Commander-in-Chief tactics before the holy sword's owner appears, the pressure on Geomgye grows immensely."

Also true.

"The 'time issue' you mention means the risk of the enemy finishing preparations while the holy sword's owner delays."

I say nothing. No, that wasn't it. But hearing it, it fits.

On the Eastern Front, I dodged the original arm wound flag. But I revealed Baekil. And my sword strikes. Most of the observation spell fragments burned, but some might've slipped through. Enemy could prepare differently from the original. And no protagonist yet. No holy sword owner.

Who holds the line in between? Me. With the ten squads.

Damn.

I swallow a breath.

"We must hurry to find the holy sword's owner."

"Yes."

Roen's reply is swift.

"Request the cathedral again."

"For record access?"

"No."

I think briefly. Cathedral. Prophecies. Holy sword. They're hiding something. Original story too. Seem allied at first, exposed mid-story for withholding key info, later plead we had no choice. Readers buy it somewhat. But as the involved party? Major hassle.

"Demand direct inspection of the holy sword sealed chamber."

Roen's eyes widen slightly.

"The cathedral won't permit it easily."

"I know."

"It's their core holy site."

"So?"

I tap the desk lightly with a fingertip. Tap. Small sound. But Roen takes it as a signal.

"Strip them of any grounds to refuse."

He pauses briefly, then bows slowly.

"We'll use the Eastern Frontobservation spell records."

I think: Will that work?

Roen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠continues.

"Present evidence the Demon King Army analyzed your Baekil. Elevating holy sword seal verification from religious rite to Humanity Union security matter."

Good.

"Send copies to the royals and magic tower too."

Even better.

"The cathedral can't dodge external pressure."

Excellent.

I nod.

"Do it."

"Understood."

Roen turns to leave, then hesitates briefly. More to say.

I look at him.

"Something else?"

"May I ask one thing?"

"Speak."

He pauses, then cautiously.

"Are you even considering the possibility the holy sword's owner appears late?"

Sharper question than expected. Not just waiting. If delayed, prepare Geomgye for long war? Minimize my frontline time? How low to keep squad losses? How long without holy sword? That's what he's asking.

I think: Not just late. Maybe not born. Could be centuries.

Can't say that. So, short. Like me.

"Waiting is part of war."

His eyes widen slightly. I continue.

"Could be a day. Could be a year."

Pause.

Then lowly.

"Or even longer."

The office quiets. Outside, 2nd Squad's drills continue. Clang. Clang-clang. Clang. Clang-clang. The rhythm deepens the silence.

Roen bows slowly.

"Then Geomgye must prepare to wait."

Yes. That's right. Geomgye prepares to wait. And I prepare to endure. Until the protagonist comes. Until the holy sword's owner appears. Can't die before then. No heroic death like original. No empty scabbard.

"Ensure no one dies while waiting."

He lifts his head.

"The ten squads?"

"Yes."

And me. But that stays unsaid.

"Review each squad's long-war readiness again."

"Including supplies, retreat routes, casualty recovery, high-level healer assignments."

"Everything."

"Yes."

"And the 10th Squad."

His gaze shifts subtly. 10th Squad. Rookie knights. Geomgye's future. Highest chance for original protagonist. Danger zone. Growth events. Reckless charges. Companion sacrifices. Mentor deaths. All likely around 10th Squad.

So change it now.

"Change 10th Squad selection criteria."

"In what direction?"

I think briefly. Original 10th was growth-type. Geniuses. Delinquents. Talent. Recklessness. Potential. Perfect shounen protagonist roster words.

Not anymore. Pure talent dies. Disobedient genius kills surroundings. Awakening via companion death? Pass.

"Prioritize survivors over the strong."

He watches me quietly. I continue.

"Consider talent, but discard talent that ignores orders."

"Discard swords that can kill but not save allies."

"Take those who understand retreat over those who embrace death."

Sincere. For my survival. For Geomgye's.

Reckless protagonist party is cool for readers. Disaster up close. Especially if I'm the mentor bearing it.

Roen doesn't reply for a long moment. His expression deep. Probably taking it as profound philosophy again.

This time, I don't deny. It is philosophy, somewhat.

"The 10th Squad is Geomgye's future. And its dream."

I say.

"No one dreams on a grave."

Pause. That line was pretty good. Even I think so.

He bows deeply.

"Understood."

His voice low but firm.

"I'll review 10th Squad criteria immediately. Add survival judgment, cooperative combat, retreat order compliance, casualty recovery to existing merit-based evaluation."

Good. He gets it.

He pauses, then adds.

"When ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the holy sword's owner appears, the 10th Squad must be ready to receive them."

Right. Protagonist comes eventually. Probably. Must. Can't be trouble otherwise. Prepare the board by then. Not hell course of instant death and awakening. But training ground with safeties. Companions trained in retreat. Geomgye honoring survival. That way I don't die. Protagonist grows healthier too. Bonus.

"When the holy sword's owner appears."

I pause. What to say? Can't say 'keep them away from me.' Too obvious. 'Raise moderately to beat Demon King'? Weird. So, me-like.

"Don't let them walk alone."

"Yes."

"Don't let them fight alone."

"Yes."

"A sword that grows only through someone's death."

I place my hand on the Eastern Front report. Fresh ink. Dead list. Missing marks. Criticals.

"That's not a sword. It's a curse."

He bows deeply.

"I'll remember."

Silence settles again. Different this time. Not morning quiet, but the hush of a turning point.

I look out the window. Sun higher. Gold spreading over training grounds. 2nd Squad's clashes continue. Clang. Clang-clang. Sounds of living people.

Listening, I think: Nothing to do.

But tallying it up, too much.

Find holy sword. Pressure cathedral. Fix ten squads. Reform 10th. Log casualties. Block Demon King Army observation.

And.

No matter centuries.

Don't die.

I exhale lowly again. Roen says nothing. Probably interpreting this silence as deep resolve too.

Fine. If it moves Geomgye, raises survival rates.

Any amount.

"Roen."

"Yes, Commander-in-Chief."

"Change today's captain meeting agenda."

"To what?"

I close the report. Crisp. Paper shutting echoes softly.

"Long-war prep. Holy sword record retrieval. 10th Squad reform. And..."

Pause.

"Improving the ten squads' survival rates."

He bows without hesitation.

"Preparing immediately."

He turns to leave. I look out the window. Holy sword owner still absent. No protagonist. Unknown arrival. Maybe very long wait.

But not idle while waiting. That's the road to death.

I won't take it.

I'm Ena. Geomgye's Commander-in-Chief. The ceiling meant to die in the original.

Not anymore.

I'll remain the ceiling. Not to be broken.

To not crumble.

"Still not."

I mutter softly again. Different now. Not just sigh.

Waiting. Calculation. Preparation. And a touch of irritation.

Holy sword owner can come anytime. Actually, matters a lot. Preferably soon. Really soon.

But if late.

I'll reshape the board in that time.

When ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠protagonist arrives. A board where I don't die.

Growth without deaths.

And above all.

Another flag removed.

A board for my thorough survival.