A Monster Has Been Born
In the formation where the Kar tribe’s main force was encamped.
Ulgraak looked down at Moldur, who lay collapsed inside a makeshift tent.
The stump of his severed left arm had been tightly bound, yet crimson blood still welled and seeped steadily through the bandages.
"Ghh… F-forgive me… Taman."
Though blood loss had left Moldur’s vision swimming, he could still sense Ulgraak’s presence.
Ulgraak regarded him in silence.
"…"
The thick stench of blood filled the entire tent, but clearer still were the empty places of the warriors who had not returned.
More than fifty warriors had sortied.
Every last one of them, with Moldur at their head, had been elite fighters under Ulgraak’s command.
"Tend to him carefully. Above all else, make certain the wound does not fester."
"Yes, Taman."
Hearing the medic’s reply, Ulgraak stepped out of the tent.
And that was when—
"How is he?"
"It seems his life is not in danger. Thanks to you, we were able to save Moldur."
Ulgraak offered a respectful word of thanks as Makcrowdon approached.
The support force had arrived faster than expected, of course. The moment he had reached the field, Makcrowdon had led his own elite warriors straight to the front—just as he always had, then and now.
Ulgraak lifted his gaze to the man.
An ugly scar carved across Makcrowdon’s face. Even in this bitter cold he went bare-chested, the scars on his torso a living record of how many brutal battlefields he had clawed his way through.
Makcrowdon cast a quick glance around them, then continued.
"Still… the Imperial army’s momentum was nothing like what I’d heard."
There was no accusation in his voice—only the cool analysis of a veteran reading the field.
"They said the Fourth Defense Line was trash apart from Seran. A pack of fools who only had numbers. Especially that commander—his incompetence nearly let us punch through the line more than once, or so I was told."
"…That much is true."
Until he appeared.
Ulgraak thought of the boy who had left the wound on his left shoulder. He still regretted letting his guard down because of that youthful face. If he had poured everything into the fight back then, he would have killed him. And now, once again…
Makcrowdon fixed him with a puzzled look.
"But seeing it for myself, the reports and reality are very different. Especially… that young Imperial who uses Aura. How is it possible there was no report of someone like that?"
"…Aura?"
Ulgraak’s eyes flickered.
Aura? What kind of nonsense was that?
Makcrowdon’s gaze dropped to the clear wound on Ulgraak’s left shoulder.
"Was it that boy who left you like this?"
"I have no idea what you’re talking about. A young Imperial who uses Aura?"
"Dark brown hair. An extremely boyish face. I’m not great at judging Imperial ages, but… no matter how generously I looked at him, he couldn’t have been older than his late teens."
"…A young soldier-boy whose head barely reaches my shoulder, with a childish face—is that who you mean?"
"That’s the one."
Arteon.
From Makcrowdon’s description, Ulgraak was certain.
"You’re mistaken. That boy is the one who wounded me, yes… but he still cannot wield Aura."
He would grant that the boy’s mana control was impressive. But Aura?
Makcrowdon’s expression hardened.
"…What are you saying. I saw it with my own eyes. I watched him use Aura."
In that instant the two warriors’ gazes locked, sharp as drawn blades.
Neither of them had any reason to lie.
Which left only one conclusion.
"…Don’t tell me."
Ulgraak muttered. Makcrowdon made no effort to hide his disbelief.
"Unbelievable."
His voice was low, yet a strange killing intent rolled off him.
After a brief silence, Makcrowdon asked,
"The wound on your shoulder. When did you take it?"
"The last battle—so a little less than a month ago."
"A month…"
Makcrowdon bit down hard on his lip.
The situation made no sense.
Ulgraak steadied his breathing and murmured,
"In less than… a single month…"
"A boy who couldn’t use Aura suddenly can?"
By any common measure it was impossible.
Aura was no mere technique. It was a realm that could be reached only through long years of training and the most extreme of insights. Ordinary men could pour their entire lives into the path and still never set foot upon it.
And now… a teenage soldier-boy had done exactly that?
Silence settled over them.
Both men were thinking the same thing.
At last Makcrowdon’s lips moved first.
"A monster has been born… in the Empire."
The thought struck him that coming here might have been a stroke of divine fortune. Given more time, there was no telling how high that monster would climb.
Makcrowdon looked out toward the fog-shrouded front.
The ground there was soaked with the blood of dozens of his warriors.
"…Taking up position here was the best possible choice, Ulgraak."
The terrain made a clash of large-scale forces all but impossible.
If the Imperials lost their patience and committed their main force, it would be ideal…
"To force that, we’ll have to crush them completely on this front."
Otherwise they would give the enemy no justification to move the main army.
Makcrowdon assessed the situation at once.
Fortunately Ulgraak was both an outstanding warrior and a sharp commander.
Ulgraak spoke.
"From the next battle onward… I will move with you."
"An excellent decision."
Too many warriors who rose to command took a step back and missed the perfect moment.
Makcrowdon nodded at Ulgraak’s words.
If they met that boy in the next fight…
"We need to kill him for certain before he grows any larger."
Ulgraak answered with a silent nod of his own.
A strange silence hung inside the tent.
The moment Arteon’s words spread through the air like a breath, Seran pressed his lips tight.
…It seems Lord Seran can wield Aura as well.
Why had that simple observation struck him so hard?
Seran’s expression stiffened—then, after a beat, he let out a soft breath and allowed a faint smile to touch his lips.
He nodded.
"You’re right. It hasn’t been long. Only recently did I gain the insight to step into the realm of Aura."
Arteon met his eyes.
Being able to wield Aura meant Seran, too, had reached the four-star realm.
But…
Four-star was the tier with the widest gap in actual skill. Simply being able to call on Aura said nothing about true mastery; some could only flash it for an instant, while others used it with practiced ease. How freely one could handle Aura—that was what truly decided strength inside the four-star realm.
Arteon studied Seran’s face, then spoke.
"You seem to have something weighing on you."
At the words that left Arteon’s mouth, Seran’s eyes went round.
"Have you… been practicing mind-reading or something?"
He couldn’t hide his astonishment, yet a dull ache still throbbed in one corner of his heart.
The recent insight had carried him into the four-star realm, but putting Aura to use in real combat was another matter entirely. Manifesting it was not difficult; keeping it up after only a few exchanges, however, was crushing. And if a clash shattered the Aura, calling it forth again took a considerable amount of time.
His progress was slower than he had hoped, and it tormented him. He held a mighty weapon in his hands and yet could not truly wield it.
While he was drowning in that frustration, he had watched Arteon.
Destructive power enough to tear dozens of enemies apart—there was no explanation for it except Aura.
…How did someone so young get his hands on that kind of strength…?
He was burning to know. He wanted the secret.
But one did not casually ask after another’s realm, much less the secrets behind it. Everyone carried teachings they could not freely share.
Perhaps that was why—
Arteon simply lay back on the bed. At the sight, Seran found himself smiling wryly without meaning to.
Of course he wouldn’t just tell me like that…
But then—
"I’m too exhausted right now… I don’t think I could use it properly."
"…?"
Seran, who had been looking down, froze and stared at him.
Arteon forced the fatigue from his face as best he could and continued.
"Once I’ve rested a little… would it be all right if I helped you?"
For a moment Seran was caught by a strange emotion. Then his expression brightened.
"Ah—look at me. Putting pressure on a man who’s just returned from hell. Rest easy. I’ll deliver the situation report myself."
"Thank you."
As Arteon closed his eyes, Seran stepped out of the tent and called a soldier.
"Let no one in here. Anyone who tries to disturb him is to be thrown out at once."
"Yes, sir!"
Leaving the sharply saluting soldier behind, Seran set off toward the commander’s quarters.
Yet after only a few steps he halted, turned, and looked back at the tent once more.
"…"
An unusual one, that boy.
In skill and in character both.
In Seran’s mind flashed the despair he had felt all this time on the Fourth Defense Line—every day spent fighting under an incompetent commander for no reason except the single-minded resolve to hold this place. A line without hope, where they had simply had to endure one day after another.
But now…
Perhaps… this war…
Seran entertained the thought he had always wanted to hold, yet never dared.
…we might actually be able to end it.
A small flame kindled in his eyes.