The Commander Who Came to Desert
The vast, shadowed plain stretched endlessly before them, dotted at its heart by the modest fortress of Fort Stanwick. And beyond it, far in the distance, loomed the enemy’s massive army.
Five thousand elite soldiers—knights, mages, marksmen, and gunners—stood in perfect formation, a wall of disciplined might that dwarfed everything the rebels could muster.
The few hundred defenders within the walls felt that tension like a living thing. They were scarred, exhausted, and all too aware that the final battle loomed ahead. Their eyes never left the distant host.
At the center of it all stood the woman leading them: General Little T. Franklin.
Her robes of command were the deep indigo of midnight sky, and her hair—long, flowing waves of blue—caught the weak light like ocean tide. Her eyes were the same impossible blue, calm and unflinching even as she gripped her staff. Twenty-eight years old, yet already a legend among the colonial forces.
Dark shadows crossed her face.
*It’s really happening… This is where it ends. I prayed for the moment of true independence, but not like this.*
The enemy advance was clearly imminent. Their weapons were sharper, their armor heavier, their training deeper. The rebels had a few mages among them, but the rest were raw civilian militiamen—outnumbered and outmatched.
Fort Stanwick gave them a tactical advantage, yes. But holding it until the main rebel army arrived in three days was, coldly speaking, a desperate gamble.
*If nothing miraculous happens, three days is all we have. And three days is not enough.*
So she stood there, feeling her own death draw near, and tightened her grip on the staff until her knuckles ached.
Then—
“Huh?”
“What… who is that?”
A lone rider burst from the darkness, charging straight toward them.
Every defender’s head snapped toward the newcomer.
Even from a distance she recognized the uniform, the posture, the impossible grace. A single figure on a black horse, dressed in Empire officer armor.
Her soldiers instinctively leveled their rifles and staffs.
The rider reined in hard and raised both hands, a white flag of surrender fluttering in the wind.
“Wait!” His voice rang clear and formal, carrying the crisp accent of a high-ranking imperial officer. “I have come to surrender!”
“Wha—”
“Surrender?”
Instead of drawing steel, the man reached inside his cloak and produced a small white cloth, holding it high for all to see.
Confusion rippled through the defenders. They looked to General Franklin for guidance.
For a moment she simply stared, mind racing.
*Surrender? In this position? What kind of trick is this…*
A high-ranking Empire general, the very commander of the enemy host, walking into their trap with white flag in hand. The odds were insane. The betrayal possibility existed, of course. But the enemy’s situation was far too advantageous. No general of Neto’s temper would waste time with such theatrical nonsense unless he truly believed it could work.
“I’ll hear him out,” she decided. “Bring him inside. We’ll question him properly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With a heart that still hammered from the earlier shock, General Franklin descended the battlements and moved to meet the man.
The great iron gate groaned open.
The rebel soldiers formed a tight cordon, weapons ready, eyes sharp.
The new arrival—still fully armored, still mounted—did not look frightened. Only steady. Only resolute.
As they escorted him into the courtyard, a translucent window materialized before only Edward Cromwell’s eyes.
[You have safely entered the rebel fortress. The enemy of the enemy is now a friend. Yesterday’s foe may become today’s ally. Begin lowering their guard. The Divine will bless your path as you forge a new destiny. Divine Blessing (Buff) — Paladin’s Divine Power regeneration rate increased by 200%. Duration: 3 days]
Cromwell’s lips curved into a small, private smile.
200 % regeneration. A flat buff, yes, but in a game that had seen every broken meta imaginable, that was still outrageous. Three days was a short leash, but it was more than enough.
The quest success notification lingered for a moment longer, then faded. A wave of genuine excitement washed through him.
This was the Blue Revolution world—his world. The one he had once played for a decade as Kim Jin-kwan. The same world now housing his body, his skills, his memories.
He had chosen the Paladin class for personal reasons: the healing, the aura, the strange feeling of being the unbreakable shield in a party that needed it. But there was another, more dangerous reason.
*They gave me this buff after the quest… There’s definitely something bigger waiting. I can feel it.*
Before he could dwell on it, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
“Is this the man who came to surrender?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman who approached was breathtaking. Blue hair cascading like a waterfall, eyes that seemed to see through armor and lies alike. Her face was both regal and undeniably beautiful, the kind of beauty that belonged in paintings rather than battlefields. Twenty-eight at most, yet already commanding the respect of veterans.
Cromwell knew her instantly.
Little T. Franklin.
One of the rebels’ top generals. The woman whose face had haunted his dreams since the first chapter of this game’s story. The woman he had never spoken to directly, yet whose image had been burned into his memory for years.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, something electric passed between them—recognition, surprise, and a spark neither expected.
Then Franklin spoke, her voice cool and authoritative.
“So, tell me. What happened here? I am General Little T. Franklin. Speak first. Tell me who you are.”
Cromwell answered with perfect deference, as any imperial knight would in such a situation.
“My name is Edward Cromwell. I command the 3rd Knight Company of the Britain Empire and was once stationed under General Neto at this very fort.”
“Hm…”
Franklin’s expression did not change, but her eyes narrowed a fraction.
That single sound was the only reaction she gave.
Then her subordinates—still on high alert—began to stir.
One whispered, “Edward Cromwell… the legendary knight general?!”
Franklin’s voice cut through like a blade.
“Silence! We are questioning a surrender. Do not lose your heads over unconfirmed rumors.”
The men straightened instantly.
Cromwell watched the exchange with quiet amusement. In the original game, this woman had been strict, almost stern, but never cruel. The real her was a far cry from the arrogant generals he had come to despise.
She turned her full attention back to him, voice now measured and probing.
“Edward Cromwell. That means… the Empire’s hero has come to surrender to us in our darkest hour. I cannot accept such a convenient story at face value. Tell me the truth. The real truth.”
Cromwell met her gaze steadily.
“Of course. I will.”
He began to speak.
And for the first time in this new life, he told the full, unflinching truth of what had happened to him since he had opened his eyes inside the body of the protagonist.
He spoke of the ten years of play, of the betrayal that still burned in his chest, of the moment he had decided the system itself was no longer worth trusting.
As he spoke, Franklin’s posture remained rigid, her face carved from ice.
But inside, something was shattering.
*How… How is this real?! It’s really him! The knight general is standing right in front of me!*
She had never met him in person. Not once. But every time his name had been mentioned in reports, every time the game had shown him charging onto the battlefield like a storm given form, her heart had raced.
The man who had once commanded entire knight orders with nothing but raw courage.
The man who had turned the tide of an entire war single-handedly.
The man whose face and presence had made half the female population of the colonies sigh and dream.
And now he was here. Surrendering. Looking at her with those calm, hazel eyes that seemed to see straight through every lie she had ever told.
Her breath caught.
*He… he’s actually here. Talking to me. Edward Cromwell. The Great Spirit himself.*
A flush crept up her neck. Her fingers tightened on her staff until the wood creaked.
She forced herself to listen, to focus, even as her pulse thundered in her ears.
When his words finally ended, the warmth she had felt moments ago had been replaced by something far darker.
‘Empire dogs… every single one of you.’
Cromwell watched her, waiting for the verdict.
The fortress of Fort Stanwick held its breath.