CHAPTER 136: CHAPTER 136 - THE CRUELTY OF WAR

The night outside the tent was alive with sound.

Campfires crackled, laughter rose and fell from scattered groups of soldiers, and the distant clang of steel against steel echoed from the training grounds. Lanterns swung gently in the wind, casting shifting shadows over the packed earth.

Luca stepped out, letting the cooler air wash over him. His eyes swept over the bustling camp. Well... it is a war, right? The nights are sleepless as well, he thought, slipping into a quieter path between rows of supply crates.

Eventually, he found a secluded corner behind a stack of barrels, shielded from most wandering eyes. Kneeling there, he reached into his cloak pocket and drew out a leather-bound book stamped with twin saber emblems. His fingers lingered on the cover for a moment.

I’ll definitely take that favor from you... Your Highness, he thought, flipping it open.

The intricate diagrams of mana circuits stared back at him — twisting lines, nodes, and annotations in sharp handwriting. His brow furrowed. Her Majesty was right. There’s no way I can handle all of this with my current strength... not yet.

His mind wandered to the one time he’d managed it — but only with Aira’s help. The image of the Kunpeng rose unbidden in his thoughts, majestic wings stretched wide before fading into an endless dark. His jaw tightened. Because of me... it had to use all its power. Now it’s in slumber.

His grip on the book firmed, determination cutting through the guilt. "I will never let it happen again," he murmured.

He remembered that moment — the impossible stillness when the Kunpeng had frozen his mana circuits in time, allowing him to strike with Soulslayer without his mana circuits exploding him.

He slid the book shut and stood, sliding both sabers into his hands. The steel gleamed faintly in the lantern light. I’ve awakened my ability to slow down time for my opponents... What if I can apply it to my mana circuits? Like when Aira did it?

But he didn’t swing. Not yet. I’m not that much of an idiot. If he miscalculated, he might never be able to try again.

So he stilled himself, letting the night sounds fade. He turned his focus inward — tracing the flow of aura within him. His first attempt failed instantly, the flow slipping out of his grasp. The second time was no better.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The failures piled up, each one a dull throb of frustration. Sweat slid down his temple, and his breaths grew heavier, but he refused to stop. His world narrowed to the pulsing rhythm of his mana circuits.

Then — on what felt like the hundredth try — something shifted. The aura’s movement slowed, as though caught in invisible molasses. His eyes widened slightly. It’s working.

But the excitement faltered as he realized the flaw. The Kunpeng’s freezing had halted the flow completely, locking it in an unchanging state even under damage. This... was only a slowdown. Sooner or later, the energy would still bleed away.

"No... that won’t work," Luca muttered, sheathing his sabers with a sigh.

"Is there no way to do it, unless I reach the spatial expansion stage?" he muttered to himself.

A voice broke through the quiet.

"What are you doing here at this time, young man?"

Luca had just lowered his sabers when a faint crunch of boots against packed dirt reached his ears.

The steps weren’t hurried. They were slow, measured — like a predator that already knew it had been noticed.

His pulse quickened.

From the dark, a figure emerged, the lamplight catching on two golden pupils that seemed to pierce right through him.

Luca straightened instantly, bowing in respect.

"Sir Rolph..."

"Drop the formalities," Rolph said, his voice deep but oddly calm. "There’s no one here anyway."

Luca straightened, feeling the weight of that gaze sweep over him before it settled on the twin sabers in his hands.

"Ah... you use twin sabers as well, huh?"

Caught off guard, Luca tilted his head, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

Rolph’s eyes lingered a moment longer before he asked, "And what were you doing here?"

"I... was facing a problem in my technique. Trying to solve it."

Rolph studied him in silence, then said, "Judging by your face, I take it you didn’t succeed."

Luca gave a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his neck. "Not exactly."

"Mind taking a walk with me?" Rolph asked.

"It would be my honor, sir," Luca replied. Inside, his thoughts shifted — This is a rare chance to gather information, I mean that’s why we are here anyway.

They started walking, the gravel crunching softly beneath their boots. The air was cool, but the smoke from the campfires clung to their clothes like a stubborn shadow. Lanterns swayed above, spilling little pools of trembling light that faded quickly into the dark. Between those pockets of light lay the rest — shadows that seemed to watch.

The first fire they passed was ringed by a cluster of soldiers. Laughter rolled out in uneven bursts, mugs sloshing with ale. One man slapped another on the back, nearly knocking him over, and they both howled. But up close, the smiles were brittle. Hands trembled just enough for the liquid to splash over their fingers. One soldier’s eyes never left the flames; his lips moved, silently, as if he were speaking to someone long gone.

Luca’s brow furrowed.

"They drink," Rolph said quietly beside him, "so they can forget. Every night, they gamble with the thought that tomorrow, they won’t open their eyes again."

They moved on. Somewhere nearby, a dull thud repeated in a slow, steady rhythm — wood against wood. Rounding a corner, Luca saw them: two boys, no older than twelve, locked in clumsy sparring. Their practice swords were little more than battered sticks. Sweat ran down their temples, plastering hair to their foreheads.

"Those two," Rolph said, pausing to watch, "saw their father bleed out on the field. Their mother... didn’t make it through the winter. Now they train because if they can’t fight, they can’t live."

One boy stumbled, almost dropping his stick. The other froze, then quickly reached to steady him — a flicker of something soft in a place where softness had no place to survive. Luca’s throat tightened.

They walked again. A solitary figure sat on a crate, staring at nothing. His right sleeve hung empty, swaying slightly in the wind. The skin of his face was stretched taut over sharp bones, eyes half-lidded but not asleep.

"Lost that arm protecting a convoy of refugees," Rolph murmured. "The convoy made it. His sister didn’t."

Luca’s chest felt heavier with each step.

By a line of ragged tents, a woman sat in the dirt, back pressed to the thin canvas. She cradled a bundled infant to her chest, rocking slowly, almost absently. The baby’s lips were cracked, its face pale and too still.

"She’s been waiting two days for medicine," Rolph said. "It’s not coming."

They didn’t linger.

Further on, a queue had formed outside a tent with its flaps tied shut. Men stood silent, exchanging coins that caught the lantern light before vanishing into hands.

"What’s going on here?" Luca asked, though his voice felt dry.

Rolph didn’t look at him. "A brothel."

Luca’s eyes went wide. "In a savior camp?"

Rolph didn’t look at him. "Do you know how many die every day? And what becomes of their families? We give what help we can, but the Devil Cult holds most of the resources. People get desperate. The women... They do what they must to feed their children. Their parents. The ones left behind."

Luca’s voice was barely a whisper. "...But isn’t it too cruel?"

"It is," Rolph said, his tone low, almost a growl. "But that’s reality. Life is cruel — and that’s the hard truth. That’s why we must defeat that Devil Emperor. So no child, no mother, no soldier has to live like this."

They reached an open stretch of the camp, where the wind cut sharper and the lantern light thinned. Luca’s mind was a storm — flashes of hollow-eyed soldiers, orphaned boys, a mother rocking a sick child, and the lined faces outside the brothel.

If the Devil Emperor isn’t stopped... is this what our world will become too?

Rolph paused, resting a hand briefly on Luca’s shoulder. "Well... I’ll be going now. Get some rest, young man—"

A horn split the night.

The note was deep and raw, tearing through the camp like a living thing. Lanterns jerked on their poles. The firelight fractured over sudden movement — soldiers dropping mugs, scrambling for weapons, boots pounding against the dirt.

The two boys froze mid-swing.

Rolph’s head snapped toward the horizon, his golden eyes narrowing. "Those devil bastards... how dare they..."

His voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding:

"GET READY TO FIGHT, EVERYONE!"