The wind came from the west, tinged with sea salt—and something faintly metallic.

  Once again, I walked the true battlefield.

  Beyond the border outposts, there were no roads.

  The soil had been crushed by years of wagon ruts. The grass lay dead beneath armor.

  Dust clung to every step.

  The sky had no edge to it—gray and dull.

  The sun was veiled, leaving only a slanted glare.

  I moved forward in silence, my squad trailing behind.

  Thirty-seven men, spread in a single file.

  They were as silent as a funeral procession.

  No one spoke.

  No one complained.

  No one even breathed too loud.

  Because I said nothing.

  Behind me, the lieutenant rode half a pace back. Her posture unchanged—straight-backed, composed.

  The Auracirclet Guard—my chosen elite. Their loyalty would not falter.

  Further back, the alchemist trailed us.

  Three tuning-fork instruments hung from his pack, swaying softly with each hoofbeat.

  Every ten steps, he paused to scribble notes.

  He said he was tracking “environmental fluctuation,” trying to detect “residual magic.”

  I didn’t care.

  I wasn’t here to analyze.

  I was here to erase.

  That cat first appeared on our right flank.

  At first, I thought it was a feral beast.

  But its fur wasn’t the color of any real animal—it was fog black.

  No sheen. No texture. Just a smudge of shadow without edges.

  It perched atop a stone, tail curled around itself, head low—almost docile.

  Then came—the child.

  He emerged from behind the rock and sat beside the cat.

  He held something in his hands.

  I squinted—not a weapon, not a scroll.

  A piece of dry bread.

  He tore off a chunk and fed it to the cat.

  Someone behind me gasped.

  Then I heard the lieutenant whisper: “...It’s a child.”

  No.

  I rejected the thought instantly.

  No.

  My fingers tightened on the reins. My body leaned forward.

  Children don’t appear here.

  Not on a battlefield.

  There hadn’t been civilians here in over ten years.

  We were purging Fiendkins.

  They don’t wander alone.

  They certainly don’t sit in sunlight.

  He wore no armor. Carried no staff.

  Just a gray robe, far too large, like something discarded.

  On his head—horns, absurdly oversized for his frame.

  His skin had a bluish tint under shadow.

  But most of all—his eyes.

  He looked at me.

  Not startled.

  Not timid.

  Not afraid.

  He looked like he was watching.

  Like he was waiting for judgment.

  I said, “Fiendkin.”

  Quiet. But clear.

  The wind stilled.

  Hands went to weapons.

  The lieutenant tilted her head—uncertain.

  I didn’t turn.

  The cat opened its eyes.

  They weren’t beast eyes. No slit pupils.

  Round, like a human infant’s.

  But colder than any predator.

  That wasn’t an animal.

  I raised my right hand—the signal to attack.

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  The lieutenant didn’t move.

  I knew she would hesitate.

  Many would.

  She saw a child.

  I know the Hero only saw an enemy.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed the mess-girl had followed.

  Unexpected.

  She stood in the rear, clutching her knife, silent.

  I charged.

  The first step to test.

  The second—to decide.

  As my blade left its sheath, the child moved.

  Not in panic.

  He simply stood, stuffed the bread into his pocket, and tidied up—like lunch was over.

  The cat leapt onto his shoulder.

  A shimmer of warped light ran along its fur.

  Magic.

  “Don’t let him escape!” I shouted, speeding up.

  The lieutenant finally struck.

  The Guard split, flanking into a crescent.

  I closed in. My blade sliced the air beside his cheek—missed.

  He vanished mid-air, leaving only the cat’s distorted shadow behind.

  My sword struck a stone—shards flew.

  Then wind curled behind me—a backdraft of his escape.

  I turned.

  The cat floated mid-air, tail snapping.

  Crack!

  Pain shot up my arm.

  My bones screamed as if struck by iron.

  The sword dropped.

  I clenched my teeth.

  Pain is just another test of command.

  The child landed three paces away, calm.

  I drew my short blade with my left hand, lunging.

  But he didn’t move.

  He reached out—palm on the ground, fingers spread.

  The earth pulsed beneath us.

  Nothing appeared. No flash, no blast.

  Just a crawling itch under the skin—like something unseen had passed through us.

  “Fall back! Avoid the core!” the alchemist yelled.

  The soldiers scattered.

  I did not.

  I stepped forward.

  The child didn’t raise his head—but still, he watched me.

  Too calm. Too calculating.

  I stopped—not out of hesitation.

  But because the fight was over.

  He turned.

  The cat wrapped around his neck like a scarf.

  They walked away.

  Not fled.

  Walked.

  Each step was light—like testing if the trap had worked.

  They left something behind.

  I approached the place.

  The ground was barren.

  But the air carried a sweet-burnt scent—like damp wood catching flame.

  The alchemist crouched, pulling instruments.

  A crystal trembled in the wind.

  “Strong reading. Unnatural magic,” he said.

  “Can we trace it?” I asked.

  “No. But I can log the frequency.”

  “Not enough.”

  “It… it resonates with the Divine Construct’s core data.”

  He whispered that last part.

  I stared at him.

  He said no more.

  “Log it. Send it to the capital,” I ordered.

  “What should I name the anomaly?”

  “A trap,” I said.

  “They didn’t come to strike us. They came to plant this.”

  The lieutenant retrieved my sword.

  She handed it back, still unsure.

  That child had moved too humanly, too gently.

  But I would not falter.

  I had seen too many disguises.

  “We can’t hesitate anymore,” I told her.

  She said nothing.

  Just gripped the hilt tighter.

  I stood in the tainted clearing.

  The wind bent the grass.

  The ground is still warm beneath my boots.

  I spoke aloud:

  “They’ve shown themselves. They don’t kill directly—they leave poison.”

  “They’re testing if we can be corroded.”

  “If we hesitate now—next time, they won’t plant spells. They’ll plant blades.”

  No one replied.

  Even the wind held its breath.

  I raised my sword.

  “The enemy stands ahead.

  They look like us—like children. Like someone you once knew.

  But they are not us.”

  “They are Fiendkins.

  They corrupt everything.

  They must be ended.”

  I turned.

  Stepped onto the earth where the child had stood.

  The squad followed.

  We moved forward.