CHAPTER 134: CHAPTER 134 - THE 56TH CAVALRY

The tent was quiet, but not in the way of peace—it was the kind of quiet where even the air seemed to hesitate. The faint rustle of the canvas in the wind was the only sound, broken only by the occasional creak of the camp outside. Inside, the dim glow of a small oil lamp cast warm light over Celestia and Luca, painting long shadows across the fabric walls.

Celestia sat on the low cot, posture regal despite the faint bruises peeking from beneath her clothes. Her gaze was fixed forward, but there was the faintest flush on her cheeks, as though she wasn’t quite used to the sight before her—Luca kneeling in front of her, vial in hand.

He worked carefully, almost too carefully, his brows drawn together in concentration as he dabbed the potion onto a cut along her forearm.

"I–I can do it myself," she murmured, her tone still carrying that imperial edge, though softer than usual.

Luca let out a long sigh, his hand pausing mid-motion. "Can you really?" He glanced up at her, a faint challenge in his eyes. "I saw how you did it earlier. Have you ever applied a potion on yourself in your life?"

Her lips pressed together—she didn’t answer, but her stiff shoulders betrayed her stubbornness. Luca didn’t wait for a reply. He resumed his work, his fingers steady, the cool liquid glistening where it touched her skin.

"Why are you wasting this potion on these wounds anyway?" she asked suddenly, voice quieter now. "I know it’s rare. How did you get it?"

Luca’s movements slowed. For a moment, his eyes grew distant, as if the tent had vanished and he was somewhere else entirely—back in the stark white room of the infirmary, Aurelia’s hand pressing the small vial into his palm. He remembered the chaos of their arrival here, everything lost except this single bottle.

He shook himself from the memory and smiled faintly, continuing to apply the potion. "It was given to me by a friend. And anyway..." He looked up at her, meeting her gaze directly. "It’s being used by the Empress herself, so it’s worth it."

Celestia’s eyes lingered on him, unreadable. But in their depths, something subtle shifted—an unspoken warmth, the kind that even she might not have realized was there. Without a word, she reached forward, fingers brushing his as she took the vial from him.

"It’s supposed to be drunk," she said, her voice carrying that familiar note of correction. Then, with deliberate movements, she dipped her fingers into the potion and pressed it against one of the cuts on his cheek. "You’re hurt as well."

Luca froze, not expecting the gesture. His body tensed, and he turned his head slightly as if to hide the embarrassment—or maybe to hide the sudden thump of his heartbeat. "D–don’t waste it on me," he muttered. "I have my powers. I can live with it. They’ll heal on their own."

Celestia didn’t even pause. "Hmph. You might need to fight in the war. Anything can happen. Even the smallest wound can turn into a weakness." Her touch was firm, almost commanding, but there was care in it too.

She asked, "What will we do now, as I don’t have any powers?"

Luca sighed as he said, "We will see, first I guess I should fight in war, and look for any clues related to the devil emperor in the battlefield, you should see if you can find any clues inside the camp."

Their eyes met again, and for a moment, the air between them shifted. It wasn’t quite comfortable, but it wasn’t unpleasant either—a strange in-between, like standing too close to a fire on a cold night.

A sharp rap on the tent pole broke it. Both of them flinched, Luca immediately standing as the flap opened and a soldier stepped inside.

"You’re part of the 56th cavalry. Commander’s called us to assemble on the training ground," the man announced.

Luca nodded quickly. "I—I’ll be back," he said, glancing over his shoulder at Celestia. "Take care of yourself."

And with that, he stepped out into the camp’s night air, the soldier following close behind, leaving Celestia alone in the quiet tent, the faint warmth of the shared moment still lingering.

The training grounds at night were a living machine, every gear in motion. The cool air was thick with the scent of smoke and metal; hammers rang against anvils in the smithery, each strike sending sparks dancing into the dark. Lanterns swayed from poles, casting shifting circles of light over rows of armed soldiers, racks of spears, and barrels of arrows.

Men and women in armor moved quickly between the tents, their boots thudding against the packed earth. Some sharpened blades with the slow rasp of whetstones; others carried bundles of fresh arrows to supply runners. In the distance, horses stamped and snorted in their pens, tossing their heads as stablehands brushed them down.

Luca kept his pace beside the soldier escorting him, his eyes flicking over the busy camp. He frowned slightly. "There are definitely more tents here than when we arrived," he said, his tone half-curious, half-wary.

The soldier gave a short nod without breaking stride. "Yes, many more joined us today. By tomorrow, the numbers will double—another great commander is arriving, bringing more warriors."

Luca’s eyes brightened at that. "Oh? And who is this great commander?"

The man hesitated, his gaze darting around as if afraid the night itself might overhear. His voice dropped to a low murmur. "No one knows his name. No one knows his allegiance. Only that he is a sorcerer so powerful he can destroy thousands with the flick of his hand."

"Ohhh..." Luca breathed, his lips curling slightly. Sorcerer, huh... guess they call magicians that in this era. His mind ticked over the thought. And keeping it secret? That’s just adding more mystery to the mix.

"We’re here," the soldier announced.

Luca looked up — and stopped cold.

The open training ground stretched wider than he’d imagined, ringed with tall torches whose flames licked at the night. The light spilled over a sea of armored warriors, their bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder in rigid formations. Each man and woman looked carved from the same iron discipline — scarred faces, squared jaws, and eyes that followed him like predators tracking new prey.

The air was thick with the smell of oil, sweat, and steel. Somewhere off to the left, a line of shields shifted, the sound rolling like a low wave. It was the kind of noise that made the ground seem to hum underfoot.

At the center stood a man so massive that Luca felt his own shadow shrink. Shoulders like a siege gate, neck thick as a pillar, heavy chainmail shifting with a deep clink every time he moved. His gaze swept over Luca in one slow pass, and Luca had the unsettling impression that the man wasn’t just looking at him — he was weighing him, like a butcher sizing up a cut of meat.

The soldier beside Luca stepped forward and bowed low. "Cavalry Head, this is the new recruit I have brought to you."

Luca followed suit, keeping his head down — but his mind was already poking holes.

Why do I feel like I just walked into a gladiator pit?

The Cavalry Head’s expression didn’t change. After a long, deliberate pause, he asked, "Who will do the honors?"

The air snapped alive.

A roar exploded from the crowd — dozens of hands shot up.

"Me!"

"Me!"

"Let me!"

The voices crashed together, rough and eager, the sound rolling across the field like thunder. Armor shifted, boots shuffled, and faces leaned forward, hungry.

Luca’s brows knit. "...What exactly is going—?"

"You." The Cavalry Head’s voice cut clean through the noise, his thick arm extending toward a soldier near the front. The chosen man’s grin spread wide — too wide — as he stepped out, rolling his shoulders with slow, deliberate menace. He gave a sharp bow. "Thank you for the honor, Head."

Then his gaze locked onto Luca — a stare that didn’t blink, didn’t waver. It was the look of a man who’d already decided how this would end.

Luca tilted his head, uneasy. "Can anyone please explain—"

"Fight." The Cavalry Head’s voice was a hammer striking steel.

Luca barely had time to register the word before the soldier lunged.

Not a cautious step, not a testing feint — a full-body, kill-you-now charge. Steel flashed, the torchlight catching the edge in a cruel shimmer.

Somewhere in the crowd, a voice laughed, "Hope the new kid’s family isn’t waiting for him!"

Another called, "One swing! Ten gold says it’s over in one swing!"

Luca’s heart spiked, and instinct took over.

Alright, guess we’re skipping the warm-up. As he took out his twin sabers.