The sound of swords clashing and hitting each other rang throughout the battlefield. The bodies of soldiers and horses lay scattered across the grass. Blood soaked the grass, staining the ground a deep crimson. The smell of blood was metallic in the air.

  Cera stood on the front lines of the army. She charged against the foe in front of her. The enemy lunged at her, swinging his axe in a barrage of diagonal cuts. Cera stepped backwards and parried the strikes using her longsword. Unfortunately, all her counterattacks were easily blocked using a shield in the enemy’s offhand. They exchanged another flurry of attacks and parries.

  Pressing on her enemy, Cera uses her sword's range to gain an edge over the fight. Her enemy can do nothing except receive the blows with their shield and try to find a counter within her strikes. She kept on swinging and thrusting, sweat dripping from her face. She stepped back, her attacks growing slower as the fight prolonged.

  She stroked at her enemy once again, but this time different. The foe parried her sword using the shield, the force causing Cera's sword to bounce and pushing her off balance.

  Dammit! She thought, gritting her teeth.

  The enemy used the momentum and continued their assault on Cera. They tried to hook her sword out of her hand using the axe. She evaded to the side, tightening her grip. The roles of the fight reversed, and now she was on the defensive. Her stamina was low. All she could do was dodge and hope for an opening.

  The sun radiated entrenched the battlefield, its light nearly blinding Cera momentarily, causing her to squint. Fortunately, her enemy hadn’t noticed and kept on attacking unchanged.

  An idea formed in her mind.

  Cera grinned. She rotated her blade, pointing it flat at her opponent. The light reflected into their eyes, blinding them.

  They shielded their eyes with their weapon. However, that was what Cera had been hoping for. She lunged, thrusting her sword into the gaps in their armour. It penetrated, and she sliced up towards their neck. Immobilising the arm holding the shield, they reeled back from the pain. Cera wasn’t going to let the chance slide. She thrust again at the neck. It reached, and the enemy paled, coughing out blood.

  Cera pulled her blade from the enemy’s neck, its edge wet with blood. Finally! She thought, panting from the adrenaline still active. That took way longer than I wanted it. I should go back and regroup-

  A sudden movement came from her enemy, making a desperate final attempt and swinging their axe towards her shoulder. She blocked it, but she couldn’t deflect it. The axe caved her armour and heavily bruised her. She cried out from the pain, and she struck again, slicing the enemy’s neck clean through.

  The decapitated body fell awkwardly to the ground.

  Cera holds her shoulder, aching from the strike. The bruise irritated her because of the pain it caused and what it meant.

  ***

  “Ouch!” Cera shouted, shifting and shuffling from the discomfort of her wounded shoulder. She sat on a wooden stool surrounded by various bags filled with items and equipment. “Stop pressing on it so strongly. Why are you taking so long? Are you certain you’re doing this correctly, Leta?”

  “Forgive me for being so rough,” Said Leta, a nurse tending to Cera's wounds, knelt in front of her. ”Though maybe this would finish quicker if you would stop shuffling about. Seriously, you’re like a cat, and please stop moving for a moment.”

  Leta bandaged Cera with a long white cloth, covering the bruised shoulder and wrapping it around the arm. She reached inside a bag on the ground and searched for something. She pulled out a bag of ice, then gently held it on Cera’s shoulder, letting it stop the swelling.

  Cera looked at her bandaged shoulder, concern filling her eyes. “How long do you think it’ll last like that?” She asked, pointing at it.

  “I’m not sure,” Leta replied. “Fortunately, it is going to heal back. However, I can’t say for certain how long that will take. It could take around a month or two. Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  “A month,” Cera exclaimed. That was too long for her to be absent from the battlefield and the war. She glanced at her shoulder again, from concern now replaced with annoyance. Cera looked up at Leta. “Can’t you make it go a little bit faster?”

  Leta stared at the knight, questioning if she had heard that correctly. “Did… did you seriously just ask that?” She asked, examining her friend's intelligence.

  “Was I wrong?” Cera replied, genuinely oblivious. “Don’t you have some type of ointment or drug for injuries?”

  Leta sighed, frowning, realising the knight’s questions were genuine. She gave the ice bag to Cera and let her hold it. “Cera, I am a nurse,’ She replied, chuckling. “Not a wizard. Sadly, there isn’t a medicine for that. If there were, then there wouldn’t be injured men. You should be grateful your injuries weren’t too severe. Only your shoulder was quite broken.”

  Cera looked down and sighed, masking her disappointment. Though she knew that would be the answer, she thought it was worth a try. But Leta was just a nurse. All she could do was to tend to the injury.

  Cera eyed her friend, Leta, a slender young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She wore a loose white medical gown that was pretty wrinkled with smudges of dirt and dust. She tied her blonde hair into a tight bun with a few loose strands. She put some medical equipment that was outside into the bag.

  “Get some rest, dear” Leta said. “That’s the best thing you could do right now.” She smiled gently and patted her friend's head before walking out of the medical tent to tend to other soldiers.

  "Fine," Cera replied, though her friend might not hear her.

  Still holding the bag of ice to her shoulder, Cera walks out of the tent. She’s met with the scenery of an orange sun readying to set off in the distance.

  She observes the orange sun, its light intimately shining on her surroundings, giving them a warm hue. Cera feels the cool afternoon blow past her, invigorating her body. It is a quiet afternoon, something that doesn’t happen in times of war, but when it does, Cera makes sure to soak up every bit of it.

  Cera joined the army willingly. She wanted to fight, to gain strength and power. The thrill of the battle was what made her stay and continue. It was an unending challenge for her, a place to improve herself constantly.

  However, a part of her wanted to stay here on this quiet afternoon. Unbothered by duties, wars, and people. But she couldn’t have that yet, not right now. There were still things that needed to be done.

  “Cera!” Miller called from behind her.

  Cera was pulled back to reality. She jumped back, spooked by the sudden call. She turned to look at Miller. “You spooked me, Miller.”

  Much like Cera, he wore chainmail over a padded leather jacket. He was tall, standing just a little above her, and appeared to be nearing his thirties. His face bore a thin beard and had a look of constant confidence in his expression, often confusing Cera.

  “Sorry for that,” Miller apologised, though his smirk says otherwise. “However, the General sent me to call for you and said he had an assignment for you.”

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  Cera raised an eyebrow, curious about what it could be despite her injury. Most injured soldiers were given time to recover their injuries. Some were even permitted to return from the battlefield if needed, though Cera wanted to. But it was natural for her to think that she was no exception.

  “You know why he requested me specifically?” Cera asked.

  Miller shook his head. “Didn’t say, just told me to get you.”

  She shook off her inquiries for later. If there were a reason for her to be called back to combat, she would not ask why. If it allowed her to return, then any answer would satisfy her.

  Cera returned inside the tent to put down the bag of ice. After, Miller walked off to the General’s tent, and soon, Cera followed.

  As they walked, they were passed by hurried soldiers, stationed horses, and other tents. It feels so cramped. She noted. Even though having been a knight for several months, she never entirely adjusted to the environment. Often, she would be in her camp or tending to the horses, far away from the daily havoc of the camp. It’s almost as chaotic as the battlefield.

  Continuing to walk further, Cera noticed something in the distance. A small group of people had gathered around a tent on the outskirts of the camp. She squinted, trying to see the commotion, but it was difficult, with the crowd blocking her view from afar.

  “Hey, Miller,” Cera called, pointing at the crowd, still wondering about the fuss. “You have any idea what that’s about?”

  Miller glanced at the growing crowd, though not slowing to stare. He observed for a moment before replying to Cera. “I’m not sure,” He replied bluntly. “However, I might guess what it could be.”

  What’s that supposed to mean? Cera thought. Her interest grew even more. Someone important, perhaps? Maybe the commander came here! But that’s unlikely… Theories and speculations raced through her mind. If only she could go there, she had to visit the General first.

  “Well, can you tell me what your guess is?” Cera asked.

  “I can,” Miller replied. “But if my guess is right, then I’m in no position to be allowed to tell you.”

  “Seriously, what’s that supposed even to mean?” Cera said aloud. “If you can’t tell me, just say so. No need to be confusing.”

  Miller chuckled, politely smiling at Cera. “If you want to find out, you should ask the General himself.”

  That confused Cera even more, though, as she gave Miller a questioning stare. She let out a sigh and continued to walk behind Miller, forcing herself to put aside the questions for the General if he was in a willing thought.

  Before she realised it, Cera was in front of the General’s tent. It was similar to any other tent in the camp, with a white roof and short wooden pillars for structure. However, it was more significant than the average tent, and at the entrance, it displayed a symbol of a shield with a crescent moon in the middle.

  Miller stepped in first, pushing aside the curtain door and letting it fall behind him. Cera took a deep breath, gathering her composure. Moving the curtain, Cera stepped inside.

  Several wooden tables were placed around the tent, mainly near the edge, except one standing next to a wooden pillar at the centre. Crates were stacked near the entrance, usually containing supplies and new equipment. At the back was a bed with a wooden frame, a commodity only for people in high positions.

  The General sat at the centre of the room unoccupied. On the table, he was writing on a piece of paper. Usually, it was a report about the war sent to the higher officials, detailing the success of battles, the condition of soldiers, supplies, or something along those lines.

  Miller bowed lightly at the General. Cera noticed and quickly did the same. However, the General merely continued to write on his paper. They proceeded to stand silently,

  Cera nervously looked around, waiting to be acknowledged. She glanced at Miller, standing beside her, his face stern and his posture sturdy. She quickly looked back, still waiting for the General to finish writing.

  She hadn’t had many interactions with the General, though. When she did, it was with either a group of people or the entire unit. Until now, this is the first time she has spoken to him alone.

  After a few moments of silence, Cera swallowed hard and hesitantly spoke. “You requested me, General Thatcher?” She said, her voice coming out quieter than expected.

  Silence filled the room once more. Then General Thatcher stopped his writing. He stood up from his seat. “Yes, I did request you, Cera.” He turned to Miller before shifting his gaze to Cera, his sharp eyes closely inspecting her person and drawing closer to her injury.

  He paused briefly, making eye contact, before speaking. “Please, report to me the state of your arm”. His tone was friendly, and he often initiated small talk with his unit, blending formality with casual remarks and leaving others unsure how to respond. “How long did they say before you’re able to rejoin again?”

  “Oh, yes. Well, the physician estimated that I would, perhaps, be fully recuperated in a due month if I received ample rest for my injuries. Hopefully, I am capable of returning even before that.” Cera stumbled, trying to find the appropriate words to say.

  General Thatcher nodded at the information. He looked to the ground and then touched his thick beard. He formed a slight smile, then leaned on the table he previously was writing on. “It would do,” Thatcher muttered under his breath.

  Cera barely caught his words; she wouldn’t have if she hadn’t been so attentive. Steadfast, not to mishear anything, she tuned out all other sounds, focusing wholly on the General.

  “At ease, soldiers.” The General commanded. “This meeting shouldn’t get too formal. It would make me feel guilty if it were.”

  Cera let herself soften a bit, but not too much to seem disrespectful, like loosening her stance without fully lowering her guard. Her posture became more lax, and her hand moved to hold her injured shoulder.

  Thatcher turned to Miller, who was silent for the entire conversation. He remained in his sturdy posture, hands to his sides. Thatcher called. “Thank you, Miller. To fetch Cera, however, I recalled asking you to bring me another person. Why aren’t they here yet?” Thatcher raised a brow.

  “Forgive me, General,” Miller replied. “When I went to his tent, he said he was told he was busy unpacking his things and told me to get him some other time. Would you like for me to go there again?”

  General Thatcher frowned, and Cera noticed he was holding back from speaking his mind on something. He let out a sigh and stood off from the table. “Yes, please do. And make sure you bring him here. I don’t want to hear any more excuses.”

  Miler bowed before he left to fetch this mysterious person. He whispered next to Cera’s ear. “Good luck, try not to be so rigid.” He patted Cera’s uninjured shoulder and exited the tent, leaving Cera and the General.

  Cera observed Miller as he went out. Don’t be so rigid, yeah, that’s fine, I can perfectly do that.” Sweat ran down her face, her panic growing. She rushed to search for a topic of discussion, though she couldn’t think of any. Talking wasn’t a strong suit of hers. When she joined the army, Cera never thought she would need it, though, at that moment, she had wished she was a bit more socially adept.

  After noticing Cera’s fidgeting movements, General Thatcher understood her nervousness and thought to lighten the atmosphere. “How are the nurses doing? I heard you’re quite friendly with them due to being a woman yourself.”

  “Well, most of them said they feel more comfortable with me since most of them are young girls, though they more or less look up to me more or less. But I’d say I’m only close to one of them.” Cera replied, a bit relieved now having a topic to talk about.

  “Well, of course, they admire you. Not many women get to join the army or even achieve such a high rank.” He commented. He was correct, only a few women were allowed to join the army, and even fewer were allowed to fight. Cera was one of the very few lucky ones.

  ”But you said you’re only close to one of them. Why’s that? I thought you’d be close to all of them?”

  “Oh. I do converse with them all. They chat with me every once in a while, and I enjoy it. However, it sometimes feels like a gap between me and them. I can be a bit intimidating, perhaps, but it’s fine. And besides, I’ve known Leta since childhood, and she’s like a sister to me.”

  Cera paused. She didn’t plan on blurting out Leta like that. “Leta’s the one I’m close with!” she quickly explained. “She’s the blond nurse around my age.”

  “Yes,” The General said, looking up, he seemed to be recounting something. “And I presume you’re quite comfortable with that?”

  Cera nodded at the question, and the room returned to the awkward silence it once was. For some reason, Cera didn’t seem too worried about it.

  “Cera, how do you feel about nobles and the elites?” The General asked, changing the topic.

  Nobles and elites? She questioned. Where is this coming from? I should just give something vague.

  “I haven’t given much thought to them,” Cera said. “If I have to answer, it’d be the same as any other civilian.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “They’re a bit intimidating, people say.” She replied. “I haven’t personally met one of them, so I can’t give an affirmative answer.”

  . It wasn’t anything too specific. Any other person would probably reply with something similar. Even if there weren’t any nobles, such a subject was typically not discussed with everyone.

  The General nodded at the answer. While he seemed contemptuous of it, there was a hint of dissatisfaction on his face as if he was hoping for a more exact answer, maybe even a bit personal. However, he didn’t push the matter.

  Fortunately for Cera, the conversation was cut short as Miller returned to the tent. Cera and the General quickly turned to Miller, who made his way inside. However, he did not return alone.

  “I have returned, General Thatcher,” Miller said. “And I brought the young lord this time.” Behind him was another man. He looked much shorter than Miller and much younger like he was in his teens.

  The young man scanned the tent, his gaze shifting between the various objects, then to Cera, and finally at the General. He walked up to the General and held his hand for a handshake.

  The General delightfully took the boy's hand. “Glad to have you here, young lord. We hope it meets your and your family’s expectations.” General Thatcher said.

  Young lord? Did I hear that right? She thought, her jaw dropping slightly. Why is a lord doing here? Now I’ve got to know what’s going on. Please, just don’t involve me with a noble.

  “Is this the knight I’ll be under?” The young lord asked.

  “Yes, this is the one.” General Thatcher responds. He looked at Cera. “Cera, this fine young man will be under your tutelage from now on.”

  “Excuse me?”