Neck on the Line
The makeshift operations tent had been thrown together in haste. In truth it was little more than a shelter Leorn had claimed as a place to rest, yet tonight the air inside hung heavy and still.
Tension stood sharp as a drawn blade. The two men facing each other glared across the space for entirely different reasons.
"Moving the main force now is absolutely out of the question. I ask you to reconsider—just once more."
"What did you say?"
Leorn's voice dropped low. He was barely containing an anger ready to explode; a bellow seemed only a breath away.
Hadel did not so much as blink.
"The scouts have returned. The situation was urgent enough that they fired a distress flare, yet our men made it back… and from them we learned that a small Kar detachment is moving through the fog-covered hills directly ahead."
"And what of it?!"
Leorn slammed his fist onto the desk and surged to his feet.
"So a handful of them are stirring—does that mean the main force is supposed to sit idle? We ran the scouts exactly as you advised, and look at the result! More than half the men we sent out are dead! If we don't move the main body now, we lose the momentum while their strength is still weakened!"
"We won't lose momentum. We'll walk straight into a trap. Another catastrophe like the last one could happen."
"What?"
A faint killing intent flickered in Leorn's eyes. That defeat remained an open wound, his personal Achilles' heel.
The other officers in the tent swallowed hard and watched the exchange with wary eyes. Hadel pressed on without hesitation.
"The Kar already anticipated our advance. They laid an ambush on terrain that favors them—"
"Hadel!"
Leorn's roar cracked through the tent. His patience had finally snapped.
Ching!
He tore his sword free and leveled the point at Hadel's throat. A thin red line opened along the left side of Hadel's neck; a single thread of blood welled and slid down.
"Do you mean to refuse my orders? Have you forgotten that command of the main force rests with me?!"
"……"
Hadel fell silent beneath the bellow. Looking at Leorn's flushed, contorted face, it seemed the blade might swing at any instant.
And yet…
"…I am sorry, but I must finish my report. At present the Kar strike teams range freely across the forward lines. There is, however, one opportunity still open to us… One of the scout detachments—the 3rd Platoon—is hunting them even now."
"……?"
"What do you mean…?"
The other officers stared in open bewilderment. They had believed their forces were being driven back without answer; now they learned a counter-hunt was already under way?
Hadel ignored their murmurs and continued.
"If those strike teams can be wiped out completely, we can blind and deafen the Kar before the main force ever advances."
"Are you telling me the fate of this entire war hangs on a single platoon?"
"I am."
Hadel met Leorn's gaze without flinching. He straightened his spine; the blade that had rested against his throat pressed deeper into the flesh. Leorn flinched and unconsciously eased the sword a fraction to the side.
"The nature of the battle has already shifted to small-unit fighting at the front. If we commit the main force now and lose even once… the damage will be irreversible."
"I could take your head right here for insubordination. Are you prepared to stake your life on those words?"
Icy tension bored straight into the heart. There was no bluff in Leorn's voice.
Hadel answered without the slightest pause.
"I stake my neck on it."
"……"
Leorn's pupils wavered. For a heartbeat Hadel's presence overwhelmed him and stole his reply.
Then other voices rose.
"Commander. We share Captain Hadel's view."
"He's right. Moving the main force now would be reckless."
"We've received encouraging news from the front. Why not give Captain Hadel a little more support?"
One by one the officers joined their voices, urging Leorn to relent. Under the weight of their words, even he was forced to yield.
"…Very well. We'll try it your way this time. But mark this well."
Leorn's face was cold, his voice colder still.
"If this judgment proves wrong, the responsibility you bear will be far greater than a single life can pay."
"…I am grateful for the Commander's forbearance."
Hadel bowed his head. The moment Leorn strode from the tent, an officer beside Hadel produced a handkerchief and pressed it to the cut on his neck.
"Sorry for leaving you to face that alone."
"…A damned hard spot to be in."
Only then did the others offer their apologies and show their true feelings. Yet there was no time to dwell on any of it; too much remained to be done.
Hadel looked at the officers before him.
"Form every strike team you can spare from the companies, and do it quickly. We must send support to the 3rd Platoon at the front."
By now the enemy would have realized their own strike teams were dead. That meant—
There's a strong chance Arteon and the 3rd Platoon's identity have been exposed.
If so, the Kar would throw everything into hunting Arteon down. The wounds he had already dealt them ran deep.
Hadel stepped outside the tent and stared toward the front. Thick fog blanketed everything, turning the world opaque.
By now their supplies… and their stamina… must be running thin.
The possibility that Arteon and the 3rd Platoon were already isolated could not be dismissed.
"Volgren! Are you out there?"
"Yes, Captain."
"We form strike teams from every company immediately. The moment they're ready, use any of the returned scouts who can still move as guides and send them back in."
"Understood!"
Volgren spun and hurried away. Hadel released a quiet breath.
Right now…
"We'll have to hurry."
From this moment on, it was a race against time. Hadel himself set off at a brisk pace toward whatever task awaited next.
Deep within fog-choked brush, the 3rd Platoon had taken cover behind uneven rocks and ancient trees.
"Hah… hah…"
They had moved too hard, too fast. Most of the men gulped air in ragged gasps. A few bit down hard on their lips, fighting the cramps that seized their legs.
Grein approached Arteon.
"Platoon Leader, any further movement will be difficult. The entire platoon is exhausted."
Arteon answered with silence, eyes narrowing as he scanned their surroundings. No pursuing unit seemed close—yet the lack of certainty tangled his thoughts into knots.
"……"
He sorted the situation with cold calm. Nearly every Kar strike team that had been hunting Imperial scouts was gone. Not a single man of his own had fallen in the process. A perfect result.
The trouble came afterward.
Greed, was it?
Before withdrawing he had sensed an odd movement inside the enemy formation and decided to confirm it. That single choice had turned poisonous. Continuous fighting had drained the platoon dry, and the Kar still held the far greater mastery of this terrain.
Only the brutal daily training the 3rd Platoon had endured had carried them this far at all.
No…
Perhaps he had simply overestimated them because they had followed so well. Arteon's expression hardened as he replayed every decision. The facts, however, remained unchanged.
He looked over Grein and the rest of the platoon. Their eyes still burned, yet the fatigue Grein had named was plain on every face. An ambush here could end everything beyond recovery. The one mercy was the abundance of cover around them.
Arteon spoke.
"We rest here. Form two two-man watch teams. Everyone else rests—but stay sharp enough to react to the slightest sound."
"Understood."
Grein bowed at once and moved with quick efficiency. The soldiers sank into prone positions, weapons still pressed against their bodies, and slipped into a brief, tense rest. Even lying down, their fingers never left their spears.
Arteon seated himself as well.
A moment later Grein returned and held out his canteen.
"Are you all right, Platoon Leader?"
"I'm fine."
The reply was firm. Yet Grein saw the faint tremor in Arteon's fingertips the instant he took the canteen. Smaller in frame than any of them, the boy had moved faster than anyone and fought more than anyone. Whenever Kar warriors appeared, he had always taken the most dangerous opponents himself so the burden would not fall on his men.
Grein watched Arteon drink and kept his mouth shut.
Just who is this person…?
How had a youth of so few years come to carry himself like a veteran of countless campaigns? That seasoned, almost mature composure—born of dozens, no, hundreds of battlefields—made Grein quietly ashamed of his own limits.
Night deepened. Darkness settled heavier still.
"……"
The 3rd Platoon drifted into light sleep. The watch teams never once let their guard slip. Arteon remained beside them, vigilance unbroken.
By now…
The main force would be making its own decisions. Yet this place—hills with only a narrow path along the lakeshore—was no ground for large-scale battle. Every advantage belonged to the Kar. That was why these small skirmishes mattered so desperately.
Early on, such fights would repeat. But if they lost this struggle…
That will be the moment they force the poisoned cup into our hands.
If retreat was not an option, the main force would eventually have to advance. Exactly what the enemy wanted—to smash the Imperial host in one crushing blow, using every scrap of terrain in their favor.
Captain Hadel will already have seen it.
Arteon could not decide for the main force from here, yet he trusted the man to choose correctly.
"…Hoo."
He let out a quiet breath, centered himself again, and locked his focus on the present. Not a single mistake could be allowed. The smallest misjudgment here would drag every man under his command into the grave.
Arteon sharpened every sense.
And in that instant—
"……?"
Ssssssss.
Something far different from wind-stirred leaves whispered in the distance. Arteon slowly drew up his mana, honing his perception to a razor edge.
Shff.
"……?"
He shifted sideways without warning. A soldier on watch turned toward him. Arteon spoke in a low voice.
"Hold this position. Be ready to react the moment anything happens."
"…Understood."
Receiving the answer, Arteon moved alone toward the source of the presence—slow, silent, almost soundless even when his feet brushed the undergrowth.
Beyond the fog-veiled brush, faint outlines began to take shape.
Roughly…
Fifty. Fully armed Kar warriors. They tracked the 3rd Platoon's trail with a hunter's flawless skill.
And at their very head walked one man.
That one…
Arteon's eyes narrowed. For a heartbeat something like the memory of held breath passed through him. On the day of that earlier battle, a warrior had stood guard at Ulgraak's side.
This was that man.