In the kingdom of Igrein, where swords and grace decide everything, commoners are trampled by nobles, and the law refuses to protect them. Allen, once a servant in the royal castle, knew Princess Juliana's hidden affection but retreated because of their difference in status. One night, he finally brought shame upon her and vanished from the castle. Carrying that sin and humiliation, Allen reincarnates and now stands on the battlefield as a young soldier of the Liberation Front.
Meanwhile, Julia
Until I Call You My Enemy - A total war of blood, friends fall
That's wrong, he thought.
He understood it in his head. This was a battlefield — of course people died. And yet, why did his chest ache like this?
Allen Weiss remained on his knees in the mud, unable to move.
The Brenham Plains at dawn. Mist still crawled along the ground, and the night's chill lingered deep in his bones. In his arms, there was a warm weight. The collapsing weight of a man who had been laughing just moments ago.
*(Milos)*
He tried to call the name, but no voice came. His throat seized, and his breath was choked by the taste of blood.
—Just half a bell ago, he had been right beside him.
"Don't leave my side today."
Before the sortie, Allen had said that.
"Hehe, hearing that from you, big bro, gives me courage! Leave it to me — I'm definitely coming back alive today!"
A young soldier with unruly red curls tied back with a cord. His blazing green eyes had gleamed as he stared toward the enemy lines beyond the mist. Freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. When he laughed, his face instantly reverted to a boyish look, but when angered, the scar on his left cheek would twitch. Milos Grant. Nineteen years old. A new recruit of the Liberation Front's Lantern unit. For some reason, ever since Allen's first battle, he had always followed behind him.
*(You're always like this.)*
*(Reckless, laughing, and then—)*
Allen thought this deep in his chest. He didn't say it aloud. He couldn't. His clumsy concern always came out only as the short command: "Don't leave my side."
A horn sounded.
A low, long note tore through the mist and echoed across the plains.
—It begins.
In that instant, the Brenham Plains transformed into hell.
The Kingdom Army's heavy infantry surged over the hill. Iron armor deflected the pale morning light, and countless footfalls approached like the rumbling of the earth. The Liberation Front's full force deployed across the plain — Allen and Milos on the right flank, other units on the left.
"They're coming!"
Milos shouted.
Allen drew his gray-iron sword. Forged from smuggled iron from Torridge, it was the Liberation Front's standard armament. Inferior in quality to the regular army's steel swords, but mass-producible — a "commoner's sword."
Enemy soldiers closed in before them.
"Uoooooooh!!"
Milos charged out first. Reckless and hot-blooded, with an extremely deep attachment to his comrades. On the battlefield, he always charged first and often got scolded for it. But that courage roused his allies.
"Wait!"
Ignoring Allen's restraint, Milos struck at the enemy's front line.
His gray-iron sword swept across a Kingdom soldier's neck. Blood sprayed up like mist.
Allen followed.
He deflected an enemy spear with his sword, stepped in, and cut through the torso. Blood splattered onto his face. Lukewarm. Before he could even suppress the nausea, the next enemy pressed in. He cut. Cut again. The sensation of the blade tearing through flesh transmitted through his palm.
*(I'm killing people.)*
Somewhere in his head, a cold voice spoke.
*(That's fine. This is a battlefield.)*
*(For those who died in the Ashwall District, too.)*
Allen clenched his teeth and kept swinging his sword.
But deep in his heart, another scene flickered.
Last night. The moonlit hill.
At the summit of Three-Oak Hill, she had been crying. Her silver-blue long hair swaying in the night wind, tears spilling from her eyes — the blue of after-rain.
"Don't die."
That voice repeated in the depths of his ears.
*(Yuliana)*
Allen thought of her name as he cut off an enemy soldier's head.
*(Where are you now?)*
*(Are you killing someone on this battlefield, too?)*
*(Or are you about to be killed by someone?)*
Don't think.
Allen told himself.
*(She is the enemy.)*
*(Someone to be defeated.)*
*(The queen who could not stop the Ashwall District massacre.)*
And yet.
The hand holding his sword trembled — just for an instant.
—The battle situation deteriorated in less than half a bell.
"The right flank has broken!!"
Someone's shout tore through the battlefield's din.
When Allen looked up, the right flank's line had collapsed. An eerie company was charging through the breach. Heavy cavalry with black chain emblems on their chests. Oscar Halford's direct elite unit — the Iron Chain Knights.
Leading them was a single knight.
Silver armor. A white mantle. The blade of the sword in his hand shone with an impossible color. Red-hot. The blade itself burned with heat, as if aflame.
Gald Fain.
A knight under Oscar. His blessing, "Scorching Blade," heated his sword red-hot to melt through enemy weapons. Allen had heard he was particularly cruel, even among the Iron Chain Knights.
"Commoner rabble, daring to challenge us as a mob."
Gald flashed his scorching blade.
*Ssss.*
A Liberation Front soldier's gray-iron sword melted off at the base. In the same motion, Gald's sword pierced through that soldier's chest. Armor and all. The stench of burning flesh spread across the battlefield.
"Damn it, that bastard...!"
Milos's voice trembled with rage.
"Milos, fall back."
Allen said.
"How can I fall back?! That bastard, he killed our comrades...!"
Milos's green eyes were burning. The scar on his left cheek twitched with fury.
"Go to Sara. The medic's escort is thin."
Sara Barton. A Liberation Front medic with rich brown hair in a braid. Milos's childhood friend. She should have been at the rear field hospital, tending to the wounded.
"Sara...! Is she pushing herself again?"
"Yeah. So you go and protect her."
Allen pushed Milos's shoulder.
*(This is fine.)*
*(I can keep Milos away from danger.)*
*(If he's by Sara's side, he won't do anything reckless.)*
That's what he thought.
But.
"...Hey, big bro."
Milos suddenly spoke in a quiet voice.
"I want to show them today — the pride of commoners."
Allen looked at Milos's face.
"Those Iron Chain Knights, they talk about commoners like we're insects, right? I hate that kind of thing more than death."
"Milos."
"You protect Sara, big bro. She's always scolding me, so... I want to show her something cool for once."
Milos grinned.
His freckled face instantly reverted to a boyish look.
"Wait, Milos!"
Allen shouted.
But Milos was already running.
Toward the right flank's defensive line where the Iron Chain Knights had broken through. Toward the place where Gald Fain's scorching blade was burning his comrades to death.
"Big bro, watch me! This is the pride of commoners!"
He turned back and smiled.
That smile carved itself deep, deep into Allen's chest.
—Don't go.
Allen's heart screamed.
—Come back.
—You'll die.
But no voice came out.
His legs wouldn't move either.
*(No.)*
*(It's not that I can't move.)*
*(I saw something in that smile of his.)*
*(That was the face of a man going to die.)*
*(I know that face.)*
A chill ran down Allen's spine.
"Milos...!"
Allen ran after Milos.
But the chaos of the battlefield blocked his path. Enemy soldiers, allies, the fallen — they tangled his feet.
"Get out of my way!"
Allen cut down the enemy soldier before him.
Blood spray dyed his vision red.
Beyond it.
Milos was facing Gald Fain.
"You're the Scorching Blade knight!"
Milos raised his gray-iron sword.
"Oh? A commoner brat dares challenge me."
Gald slowly readjusted his scorching blade. The red-hot steel distorted the morning air.
"Let me teach you nobles who treat commoners like insects! Even when we're trampled, we burn!"
Milos shouted and struck.
His gray-iron sword clashed against Gald's scorching blade.
*Clang.*
Sparks scattered.
But in the next instant.
*Ssss.*
The gray-iron sword began to melt from the base, consumed by the scorching blade's heat.
"Wha—!"
"Don't think mere gray iron can touch my scorching blade."
Gald swung his scorching blade through.
Milos instinctively pulled back. But he was too slow.
*Shhk.*
The scorching blade slashed through Milos's thigh.
"Gah...!"
Milos dropped to one knee.
Blood gushed from the wound in his thigh. The stench of burning flesh. The scorching blade's heat had cauterized the wound even as it cut.
"Look. This 'pride of commoners' only kneels in the dirt."
Gald raised his scorching blade.
"Not... not yet!"
Milos tried to stand, using the remains of his gray-iron sword as a crutch.
Trembling legs. A pool of blood. And yet, his green eyes still burned.
"I'll show you... the pride of commoners...!"
"Die, brat."
Gald's scorching blade glowed red.
—In that instant, sound vanished from Allen's world.
The battlefield's din grew distant.
His comrades' shouts, the clash of swords — everything.
Only Milos's back was clearly visible.
That back, trying to stand.
His unruly red curls swaying in the wind.
"Milos————!!"
Allen's scream tore through the battlefield.
But that voice did not reach him.
The scorching blade pierced through Milos's back and out his chest.
*Ssss.*
The red-hot steel burned flesh, melted bone, and pierced his heart.
"...Eh?"
Bloody foam overflowed from Milos's mouth.
His green eyes widened.
Those blazing green eyes slowly turned toward Allen.
"...Big... bro..."
Gald pulled out his scorching blade.
Milos's body slowly collapsed.
"Milos!!"
Allen caught Milos's falling body in both arms.
Warm.
Still warm.
But that warmth was rapidly fading.
"Milos, hey, Milos...!"
Allen slapped Milos's cheek.
That young, freckled cheek.
"...Big bro."
Milos smiled, even as he coughed up bloody foam.
"Protect... Sara..."
That was all.
Those blazing green eyes went still.
Still wide open.
In Allen's arms.
The nineteen-year-old recruit.
—Died.
"...Milos?"
Allen slapped Milos's cheek again.
"Hey, answer me. Milos."
No answer.
"Milos...!"
Allen shook Milos's body.
Warm blood soaked Allen's arms. Blood still flowed from the hole in Milos's chest. His heart had already stopped.
*(No.)*
*(This is wrong.)*
*(You should be bickering with Sara, laughing, alive.)*
*(You're only nineteen.)*
*(You called me big bro, and—)*
*(I couldn't protect you.)*
Allen's vision blurred with tears.
Something hot ran down his cheeks.
*(I'm crying.)*
*(Don't cry in front of others.)*
*(Don't show weakness.)*
*(That's how I've lived.)*
*(And yet—)*
"...Aaaaaaaaaaaah!!"
For the first time in his life, Allen wept aloud.
A scream that reached no one's ears amid the battlefield's din.
The sensation of Milos's warm blood soaking his arms.
His own powerlessness.
His own foolishness.
"I should have... I should have protected you...!"
Allen embraced Milos's corpse.
—Rage welled up.
From the pit of his stomach, a seething, black rage.
"Gald...!"
Allen laid Milos on the ground and stood.
He gripped his gray-iron sword anew.
"Oh? Still alive, are you? Commoner filth."
Gald raised his scorching blade and smiled.
"I'll kill you."
Allen charged.
Driven by rage, he struck at Gald.
*Clang.*
The scorching blade and gray-iron sword clashed.
*Ssss.*
The gray-iron sword melted again.
But Allen didn't care.
"Uoooooooh!!"
He cut. Cut. Cut.
Even as his sword melted, he struck with the hilt, punched with his fists.
"Futile. A commoner's sword cannot match my scorching blade."
Gald's scorching blade slashed Allen's side.
*Shhk.*
Searing pain.
In succession — his shoulder, his arm, his thigh.
The Iron Chain Knights' soldiers also struck at Allen.
Wave after wave of attacks.
Allen's body was covered in wounds before his eyes.
And yet, he did not fall.
*(I won't fall.)*
*(Milos is watching.)*
*(His smile is watching me.)*
*(So I won't fall.)*
Allen glared at Gald with a blood-stained face.
"Those eyes. I don't like them."
Gald's scorching blade thrust toward Allen's chest.
—In that instant.
"Allen!!"
A voice came from behind.
It was Sara.
Her brown braid disheveled, clutching her medical bag, she ran across the battlefield.
"Don't come, Sara!"
Allen shouted.
But Sara did not stop.
Her pale brown eyes caught sight of Milos's body laid on the ground.
"...Milos
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