The carriage came to a halt. With a jolt, Yuri's body lurched forward. "[serious]We've arrived, boy. This is the front line." The old soldier coachman spat out the words like he was ridding himself of them. Yuri pushed open the creaking carriage door and stepped outside. The first thing he felt was the wind. A blade-sharp cold, a northern wind. Nothing like the winter in Cordina—a chill that pierced straight through to the bone. The next thing that caught his eye was the fortress. Granveld Fortress. The northwesternmost front-line base of the Feltrand Kingdom. A stone wall twelve meters high stood solid beneath a gray sky. A 150-meter-per-side stone rectangle. (…It's smaller than I thought.) Yuri was honest about it. The military academy textbooks had called it "the impregnable borderland fortress." He'd imagined something more grand, more majestic. But reality was different. There was no decoration. Appearance didn't matter. Just a stone box built purely for function. Surrounding it was nothing but withered grass and rocks from the Garg Wasteland. In a landscape devoid of color, the fortress stood alone and unadorned. The carriage had already begun moving. The old soldier didn't even look back. Yuri shouldered his pack and walked toward the south gate. ── The reception building was right inside the south gate. Behind the counter sat a man with sleepy eyes. Around forty, with deep lines etched into his face. He had the air of a veteran soldier. "[serious]You're the new assignment?" "[serious]Yes. Magic Blade apprentice, Yuri." The man—Sergeant Gaertz—slowly reviewed Yuri's documents. His sleepy eyes moved methodically across the pages. Yuri gazed at the map pinned to the wall beside the counter. It showed the northern part of the Eldvarn continent, with a red mark indicating the fortress's position. Sixty kilometers north. That was the boundary of Volga Zenomu, the demon realm nation. Two hundred and ten kilometers southeast. That's where the military state of Nerias lay waiting. (We're sandwiched in.) Looking at the map, it was clear. Granveld Fortress stood in a position caught between two threats. "[serious]Sixty kilometers to Volga Zenomu. Two hundred and ten to Nerias. This fortress watches both simultaneously." Sergeant Gaertz spoke without lifting his eyes from the documents. "[serious]Supplies come twice a month. Twelve days by carriage, one way. In winter, temperatures drop to minus fifteen degrees. Even if you wanted to run, there's nowhere to go." He delivered the last line without a smile. Whether it was a joke or serious, it was hard to tell. "[serious]…Has it been like this since the Carduna Campaign 120 years ago?" "[serious]Always. Since before you were born, and before that. Always." Yuri kept his eyes on the map, and his spine straightened just slightly. One hundred and twenty years ago. The great war where the four-nation alliance halted the demon realm's southern advance. Eighty thousand dead on both sides combined. That ceasefire line continued to this day. Since before he was born. He could feel the weight of those years, just a little, against his skin. "[serious]Third Squad assignment. Report to the squad leader's office. Second floor of the north building." Sergeant Gaertz handed him a map of the fortress interior. His eyes remained sleepy. ── Map in hand, Yuri walked through the fortress. Stone-paved corridors. Stone walls. Stone everywhere. He passed by the central training ground, heading toward the north building—or so he thought. (Let's see, the north building is… turn left, then straight ahead…) Yuri turned the map around three times. The first time, he nearly entered the east building. The second time, he headed toward the south building. The third time, he finally reached what appeared to be the north building. "North building, second floor… got it." He confidently pushed open the heavy stone door. A horse's face was there. "…" The horse slowly approached him. And without hesitation, licked his face. Yuri froze. The neighboring horse also drifted closer. Inside the stable, warm air and the smell of hay hung thick. "[surprised]What's wrong, apprentice? Need something from the horses?" A young soldier poked his head out from the back, tilting his head. "[serious]…I was looking for the squad leader's office." "[serious]…This is the stable, though." There was a pause. Yuri looked at his map. He'd been holding it upside down. "[serious]…I see." With horse saliva still on his face, Yuri quietly closed the door. From somewhere distant, he heard a stifled laugh. Yuri decided not to look in that direction. ── Geolg was already there. When Yuri finally reached the east barracks, Geolg had finished organizing all his belongings and was practicing sword forms in the corner of the central training ground. The sound of his practice was rhythmic. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—the blade cut through the air in steady time. Geolg was tall. A full head taller than Yuri, with broad shoulders. Since military academy, his practical skills had always ranked at the top. His swordwork, his stamina, everything about him seemed "proper." (He's always ahead.) A familiar sensation crept back into Yuri's chest. An unpleasant one. That feeling he'd carried throughout his time at the Cordina military academy. The damp, creeping anxiety that surfaced every time he saw Geolg. (I can't lose.) Yuri left his pack in the barracks and headed to the training ground. He took up a sword and stood on the stone pavement. He adjusted his leather gloves and took his stance. What he decided to try was—mana weaving. The fundamental technique of a magic blade user. Channeling magical power into a weapon to increase sharpness or add elemental properties. He'd drilled it countless times at the academy. The first stage was just "flowing mana"—supposedly the easiest step. (Flow the mana into the sword. Focus, concentrate…) Yuri gripped the sword's hilt tightly. The faint fire magic rune on the back of his left hand began to glow warmly. He could feel the mana moving. He could, but— The sword vibrated sharply. It began to slip from his grip. Oh no. The moment he thought it—the sword flew. With a whistle, it sailed across the training ground and embedded itself halfway into a bulletin board at the far end. Silence. Geolg stopped his practice and turned around. He stared at the embedded sword for three seconds. "[serious]…You've always been like that." That was all he said before resuming his forms. No laughter. No mockery. Just a statement of fact, delivered matter-of-factly. That hurt the most. ── When Yuri went to retrieve his sword, he found a notice posted on the bulletin board. A handwritten report. "Today's Reconnaissance Report: Three instances of demon realm probing attacks confirmed. Magical beast sightings reported." The date was today. Yuri scanned the entire board. Similar reports were lined up for the past week. The more recent ones showed increasing numbers. (…This is today's report.) Yuri stood frozen before it. Volga Zenomu. The demon realm nation that ruled the northern continent. Individual demons possessed three times the average human's magical power. An intelligent species with lifespans of 200 to 400 years. The threat that had inflicted eighty thousand casualties on humanity during the Carduna Campaign. He knew all of that—as knowledge. As something read in textbooks. But this paper was different. Someone had written it today. Today's report. Geolg came up from behind and glanced at the report. He read through it silently, then returned to his practice. He said nothing. That silence was somehow the most frightening of all. ── Night. In the east barracks, first floor, the far corner against the wall—that was Yuri's bunk. Lying down, he could see cracks in the stone ceiling. Cold wind seeped through the window gaps, and the wind whistled. Yuri stared at the ceiling, trying to organize the day. The first thing that came to mind was the sensation of the horse's tongue on his face. "…Ugh." A sigh escaped him. Third Squad—his assignment. An elite unit specializing in reconnaissance and hit-and-run operations. From what Sergeant Gaertz had told him today, the squad leader was someone named "Lilica Virsen," and the vice-leader was "Vaik Mora." He'd already heard their titles. "The Ice Queen" and "The Shadow Blade." (…By any measure, those sound like dangerous people.) Yuri counted the ceiling cracks absently. Three of them. The longest ran from one end to the other. He thought of his home village. His father's hands as he worked the fields. His mother's back as she woke early to prepare meals. His younger brother's voice, running after him down the village path to see him off. "Big brother, do your best!" he'd shouted. Yuri had entered the military academy believing he could change through effort. Two years of desperate training. Only twelve percent of the population possessed magical aptitude. Less than two percent reached combat-ready levels. Yuri had made it into that two percent. And yet. Geolg was always ahead. His sword flew away. A horse licked his face. (Can I really make it here?) The answer didn't come. Yuri got up. If he couldn't sleep, moving was better. His farm-raised body was built that way. ── The night stone pavement was cold. His footsteps echoed softly. Mage-lamps—light sources made from sealed magical crystals—lined the corridors at regular intervals, casting thin orange light. No soldiers were visible. Everyone was either asleep or on watch duty. Yuri headed toward the city wall. The north wall watchtower. An eighteen-meter-high stone structure. As he climbed the stone stairs one by one, the cold intensified. He reached the top. There was no sentry posted. The wind struck his cheeks. His hair swayed. Yuri gazed out at the northern horizon. The Garg Wasteland stretched before him. A landscape of rocks and withered grass, swallowed by darkness. Stars were visible. At first, he thought they were stars. Then one moved. On the edge of the northern sky, a red light flickered and wavered. Irregular, like breathing. Fading, yet never quite disappearing. Glowing again, trembling again. (…That's the direction of Volga Zenomu.) He didn't know what the light was. Something the demons used, perhaps. Or something else entirely. But it was there. Unmistakably there. And it felt like it was looking this way. Yuri felt his heart pounding in his chest. He was afraid. Honestly, genuinely afraid. Not from a textbook. Not from a report. But from his own eyes, right now. This really was a battlefield. The magic rune on the back of his left hand glowed faintly in the cold air. The mark of fire attribute, the mark of an apprentice, the mark of a sixteen-year-old farm boy. (I didn't come here to run away.) Yuri clenched his fist lightly against his chest. He didn't look away from the red light. He didn't know how long he stood there. The north wind blew through, as if in answer. It was cold, but he couldn't move. As long as that light remained visible, he couldn't go back down.