---
The Northern Training Camp had become a warzone overnight.
The camp gates groaned open under the weight of the returning survivors.
Four of the six trainee groups had returned—battered, bloodied, but alive. The supervisors and generals had intervened just in time, cutting down the encroaching monsters before they could overrun the camp.
As four of the six missing groups staggered in, Ren's and Aiko's groups had made it back with no casualties, though not without injuries. Their armor dented, their faces smeared with blood and exhaustion. Aiko's spear arm was bandaged, her usual smirk replaced by a grimace of pain, while Ren moved stiffly, favoring his left side. Ryn, ever the silent shadow, luckily remained unharmed.
Behind them marched General Ryunosuke and his Iron Body Unit, their scaled plates steaming where monster blood had frozen in the night air. The General's sword—still unsheathed—dripped steaming fluid onto the frozen earth.
No cheers greeted them. Only silence.
Aiko was the first to break it.
"Took you long enough," she called from where she leaned against the mess hall doorway, her spear resting across her shoulders. A fresh scar ran from her temple to her jawline, but her grin was as sharp as ever.
Ren stood beside her, his robes singed at the edges but otherwise untouched. Behind them, Ryn nursed a bandaged forearm, his scowl deeper than usual.
Kaito, seated on a nearby crate with his sword across his knees, didn't look up. "You're late."
Ren's lips quirked. "We got distracted."
Distracted.
That was one way to describe fighting through a horde of frost-wolves led by a Commander-rank Icefiend. They were able to survive through teamwork and a lot of luck.
---
A messenger had been dispatched to the capital, riding through the night to deliver the news to the Emperor himself. Reinforcements would come. Until then, the trainees were ordered to remain at camp—whether injured or not.
No one argued.
The air smelled of burning herbs and steel. Blacksmiths worked tirelessly, hammering out fresh blades, while alchemists brewed potions in bubbling cauldrons. The camp was no longer a training ground.
It was a fortress preparing for war.
---
The messenger arrived at dawn.
A lean man in the Emperor's crimson-and-gold livery, his horse lathered in sweat, his voice hoarse from days of hard riding.
"By order of His Imperial Majesty," he announced, unfurling a scroll stamped with the imperial seal, "the Eastern Army marches to the Drakthar Front, to fight against the Dragon that has emerged. All able-bodied warriors and mages of intermediate rank or above are hereby conscripted into auxiliary battalions under the command of General Ryunosuke."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered trainees.
Aiko's eyes gleamed. "Finally. A real fight."
Kaito exhaled through his nose. "More like a suicide mission."
But he didn't refuse.
Neither did the others.
---
Five days later, the Eastern Empire's army arrived.
They came not as a parade, but as a storm. Rows of armored soldiers, their insignias gleaming under the pale sun. Mages in flowing robes, their staves crackling with restrained power. Siege engines rolled behind them, their mechanisms groaning under their own weight.
At the forefront stood General Ryunosuke, his scaled armor polished to a mirror sheen. Beside him, a silver-haired man in ornate robes—High Marshal Quan Shi, the Emperor's personal strategist. And aunt Quan Lin standing behind them.
"Trainees of the Northern Camp," Lin's voice carried without effort, "the Empire recognizes your valor. But this is no longer a hunt. This is war."
His gaze swept over them, lingering on the strongest.
"And war requires soldiers."
---
The command tent stank of sweat, steel, and something darker—the acrid tang of fear poorly concealed.
General Ryunosuke stood at the head of a scarred oak table, his massive frame casting a shadow over the map spread across it. To his left, Lady Hana of the Mist Clan traced the mountain passes with a fingertip, her voice low.
"The Frostbone Dragon isn't just leading the monsters. It's organizing them."
Clustered around the table were the clan representatives:
Lord Kurogane Haruto, Kaito's uncle and commander of the Black Blade Battalion, his arms crossed over his chestplate.
Lady Hakutake Yumi, Aiko's mother, her spear propped against the table like a scepter.
High Marshal Quan Shi, the emperor's personal strategist, listening in deep thought.
Master Quan Lin, Ren's aunt, her fingers steepled in thought.
Smith-Lord Tetsurou, his hammer slung at his belt.
Hwasal Clan's lead archer, her bow unstrung but no less deadly for it.
Kaito and the other chosen trainees stood at the periphery, silent observers to the war taking shape.
"Scouting parties go out at first light," Ryunosuke growled. "The Kurogane and Hakutake will spearhead the mountain assault. The Quan and Hwasal provide ranged support. The Tetsurou stay here—we'll need their forges working overtime."
His gaze swept over the younger generation. "As for you lot—you'll be split into mixed squads under veteran command. No clan units. Not yet."
Aiko opened her mouth—likely to protest—but a glance from her mother silenced her.
Kaito didn't miss the way Ren's fingers twitched toward his staff, nor the way Ryn's jaw tightened.
They all understood.
This wasn't a hunt anymore.
This was war.
And they were being kept on a leash.
---
One by one, names were called and at dawn, the chosen few assembled in the courtyard.
Kaito, assigned to Vanguard Squad Gamma—a mix of swordsmen and close-range mages.
Aiko, placed in Lance Formation Delta—a mobile strike team built around her spear.
Ren, drafted into Arcane Support Alpha—spellcasters and artificers.
Ryn, surprisingly, was placed in Shadow Unit Tau—scouts and ambush specialists.
Yuriko, much to her visible displeasure, was assigned to Artillery Squad Omega—long-range artillery.
Kael and Dain, separated for once, Kael was sent to Demonic Vanguard, and Dain was still recovering and is unable to fight.
The Sunspark mage from Ren's group—a lanky boy named Taigo—was placed in Arcane Support as well, his fire magic deemed too valuable to waste.
A few other standout trainees were also chosen, their skills deemed valuable enough for the coming battles. The rest—including Mira, Jiro, and Dain—would remain behind. Jiro's ribs were still mending, Dain's holy energy hadn't fully recovered, and Mira…
Mira clutched the remains of her totem, her eyes downcast.
Kaito caught her gaze before leaving. "Fix that thing," he said. "We'll need you later."
She nodded, though her fingers trembled.
As they shouldered their packs and checked their gear, the clan battalions marched past in perfect formation:
The Kurogane Black Blades, their swords humming with barely restrained mana.
The Hakutake White Spears, their movements synchronized like a single organism.
The Quan Mindseers, their staves glowing with pre-battle auguries.
The Hwasal Stormbows, their arrows already nocked.
The army wasn't the only force mobilizing.
From the capital, elite squads from the great clans arrived.
Notably, none of the chosen trainees were allowed to join these elite squads.
"Why not?" Aiko had demanded, glaring at the Kaito.
Kaito hadn't even looked at her. "We haven't earned the right. Mostly because we lack experience."
Ren placed a hand on her shoulder before she could argue further.
None of the veterans so much as glanced at the trainees.
They were children playing at war.
The real soldiers had work to do.
---
The March Begins
The gates opened.
By dusk, the first scouting squads were dispatched—small, fast teams slipping into the tree line like shadows—a mix of army rangers and clan specialists. Their mission was simple:
Find the enemy. Report back. Do not engage.
The trainees followed, their squads moving at a cautious pace behind the vanguard.
Kaito adjusted the strap of his sword sheath, his breath fogging in the cold air.
As Kaito's unit marched past the gates, he glanced back at the camp.
Mira stood at the edge, watching them leave.
The wind howled, carrying the scent of snow and something darker.
War had come.
---
End Chapter 14