An arrow pierces a head devoid of eyes, nose, and ears, causing the stone doll to lean backward dramatically.

However, without human-like features, the head is not a vulnerable target; whether struck by an arrow or chipped away at, the advancing enemy maintains their march without hesitation.

“Just crushing the head won’t cut it… Holly!”

“I know that already!”

The stone dolls surge forward, reaching out their hands.

Their size is no different from that of humans, but their inhuman movements stir up disgust. I channel that repulsion into my fingers, tightening the bowstring, and the powerful bow lets out a sound like thunder.

Three arrows are released simultaneously, striking the torso of the stone doll. Instead of simply sticking or piercing, they completely shatter the body, halting the doll’s movements.

When the five bodies are reduced to pieces, even the stone dolls can’t reanimate.

However…

“There’s no way this number is enough to take them down!”

The enemy deployment hole, known as the third vertex, causes Kuna to look up with despair at the number and nature of the stationed enemy soldiers.

It’s said that one of the Nine Divine Generals, Moguro Hagane, is guarding the third vertex.

Fortunately, the presence of Moguro does not appear on the castle wall. Perhaps it’s because we haven’t reached him yet, or maybe he’s somewhere else.

In any case…

“It’s like ants gathering around tree sap! We can’t take them down!”

“Is this the time to whine?! Shoot, shoot, shoot! Just hit them!”

“Wah! Kuna’s so harsh!”

With a shrill voice, Holly pulls arrows from the quiver on Kuna’s back, nocking them one after another and firing them off. Each shot destroys two or three stone dolls, but that still doesn’t keep up with the enemy’s numbers.

–After all, there are hundreds to thousands of stone dolls, an uncountable amount.

“Tch, what do we do…?!”

Clicking her tongue and distancing herself from the enemy, Kuna curses Abel, who had given the order.

From rumors, I heard that Moguro Hagane is a special subhuman known as a “Steel Man.” Unlike blade humans that have some parts metallic, he is said to be made entirely of mineral.

So, were all these countless stone dolls actually that Steel Man?

“They don’t seem alive at all! They seriously look like dolls!”

“I agree! What kind of trick is this?!”

Keeping a safe distance, I glare at the crowd of stone dolls. Their lack of eyes helps them give off no sense of self-awareness.

They merely surround the approaching ones, pummeling and bludgeoning them with their hard limbs and superhuman strength. Those unable to escape face a gruesome death at the hands of sheer numbers.

The rebels, who challenge this third vertex, will literally be trampled under the masses of stone dolls, their remains no longer recognizable beyond the path trampled over. And this is something Kuna and the others cannot laugh off as merely someone else’s problem.

If this continues, they’ll be trampled by numbers, and we’ll become unable to fight back.

Before that happens…

“We’ve gotta retreat…!”

“Ah! Kuna! Look over there!”

“Huh?!”

As they kick through the grass of the battlefield, forced to shoot while fleeing, Kuna turns at Holly’s cry and sees something astonishing.

A silhouette stands frozen on the battlefield, where stone dolls rush in and start slamming down arms made of stone. Just when it seems the one to take a hit will fall into a pool of blood…

“—Stone dolls, don’t interfere!!”

It’s Mizelda, her beautiful face twisted with rage as she howls.

She swings the club in her arms, ferociously smashing the heads and upper bodies of the stone dolls that leap at her.

–No, it’s not just her who chose to attack instead of retreat.

“Get out of my way! You shameless disgraceful imperial rabble don’t realize the might of Emperor His Imperial Majesty!”

With a bellow, slashes emerge that sever the stone dolls’ necks and torsos, splitting the flying heads vertically in mid-air. If that’s not enough, he cuts diagonally through the bodies and swipes arms off at the shoulders, and as soon as he notices they’ve stopped moving, he kicks them down and moves on.

A rough-looking man wearing an eye patch rushes into battle, just like Mizelda, diving into the throng of stone dolls.

Their relentless attacks decimate the stone dolls in close combat.

However, what surprised Kuna and Holly was not either of them.

“……..”

A heavy blade roars, and stone dolls are violently blown away.

The attack is rough and violent but is perfectly suited for dismantling the stone dolls that need to be stopped before they can act.

Wielding that blade to wipe out the encroaching stone dolls is Priscilla, the proud and haughty red-haired swordswoman, alongside Heinkel, the man whom only her attendant knows.

The sight of a ghost-like man who has seamlessly joined the fray, cutting down the voiceless stone dolls one after another, feels unreal like a nightmare encountered on a restless night.

Observing the reality of the situation, even though it should be welcome news for Kuna and the others, they can’t help but feel a negative sentiment swirling within them.

The reason for that is undoubtedly due to Heinkel’s expression as he wields his sword.

“That looks really painful.”

Kuna couldn’t agree with Holly’s observation.

While she understood Holly’s perspective, to Kuna’s eyes, Heinkel looked like someone who wanted to die.

Occasionally, there are warriors who come to the battlefield seeking a place to die.

In Shudrak, those nearing the end of their days sometimes choose to confront formidable prey hiding deep in the forest with their bows.

While Kuna would likely not choose that path, she understands such thoughts.

However, Heinkel’s stance is different; he seems to want to die yet fears death, fiercely resisting it as if it only intensifies the pain. She knows his existence supports the frontline, yet she finds herself wishing he would just fall now, die right away.

His aura was so heavy with shadows that it made her feel as though everyone around him shared that sentiment.

“Kuna! Holly!”

Just then, as if oblivious to their thoughts, the atmosphere of the battlefield shifts.

Talitta, who came sprinting through the grassy plains, calls the two by name. She carries a quiver on her back, now attired like a proper member of the People of Shudrak.

“Stopping to catch your breath is dangerous. We’ve got the path carved by sister and Jamal to follow.”

“I know that without you saying it, Chieftain… I just got a little distracted.”

“Is that Heinkel?”

Talitta, narrowing her eyes, pinpoints Kuna’s inward distraction.

A newcomer as the younger sister of Mizelda, Talitta has taken on the mantle of chieftain of the People of Shudrak. She previously stood out as timid, indecisive, and overly cautious, perhaps bordering on cowardice.

However, the experience gained while journeying to the Magic City Chaos Frame has deeply strengthened her resolve, and that cowardice has finally subdued, giving way to a graceful strength.

Her current observation is an addition to that transformation.

“Don’t you find him eerie?”

“Eerie feels too direct… but it’s true he’s desperate. He’s a powerful asset, and I have no objections to fighting alongside him.”

“That’s a bold answer. I think that’s fine too.”

Though there’s still something hard to grasp, at this moment, there’s no need to dwell on it.

Originally, Talitta had been great at switching her mindset in hunting scenarios; that ability to adapt has now extended to her role as chieftain, allowing her to respond deftly to any situation.

As Kuna evaluates, Talitta glances at her quiver.

“You’ve used quite a few arrows. Make sure to retrieve any that fall. Don’t waste too many on any one enemy.”

“That much is reasonable, yeah.”

“They won’t fall with just one shot!”

“Hitting them once requires some finesse, you know. Aim for the heart. –Like this.”

In front of the struggling duo, Talitta swiftly draws an arrow from her bow and fires three shots in quick succession. From a distance, arrows pierce through the backs, heads, and thighs of the stone dolls, immediately killing them.

“Wait, wait! Why do they die with one shot?! The heart?”

“I have no clue where a heart would be on these stone dolls!”

“Is that so? If you look closely, you might figure out where the important spots are…”

Cornered by Kuna and Holly’s inquiries, Talitta wears a troubled frown, her eyebrows knitted together.

It seems that she hasn’t really looked harder than simply taking a vague glance. Despite her contrasting personality making her difficult to understand, Talitta has instinctively decided things based on her senses—just like Mizelda’s sister.

As one of the People of Shudrak, she can feel a sense of pride in the purity of the chieftain sisters.

“If we can’t depend on that, we’ll go our way. We’ll pick up arrows, and if we run out, we’ll use clubs or whatever. We’re gonna slaughter the enemy!”

“Let’s end this doll play!”

“That sounds good. However, at some point, the main Ninth Divine General must show themselves… Yorna was like that, and the Nine Divine Generals are beyond the norm. Stay vigilant.”

“You should be telling that to Mizelda instead.”

In response to Talitta’s serious face, Kuna gestures toward Mizelda, who’s at the frontline wreaking havoc.

The former chieftain, having given her position to her sister, is freely rampaging with her agile body, and if a Ninth Divine General appears from the enemy ranks, she’s guaranteed to be the first one to clash with them.

Even without one leg, Mizelda is sure to put up a good fight against any formidable foe–

“Sister, don’t get too ahead of yourself! You’ll die alone!”

“……..”

Talitta calls out as she shoots through the head of a stone doll that blocks the way ahead. Upon hearing Talitta’s voice, Mizelda waves her hands happily as if she understands.

The assumption Talitta made with that judgment and proclamation genuinely surprises and impresses Kuna.

It’s true, Talitta has finally stopped hiding behind her sister.

“I missed the opportunity when the Mariuri incident happened…”

“We’re happy to see you’ve grown up, Talitta.”

“Is this really the time to say that?! Both of you, please fight!!”

Stone dolls encircle them; Holly smacks one with her bow while Kuna smashes another with her short axe, prompting Talitta to issue her order sharply.

In response to their reliable chieftain’s command, Kuna and Holly nod to each other and follow without hesitation.

An old pact, a long-forgotten promise exchanged between the previous Emperor of Volakia and the People of Shudrak, for which they bear no blame in forgetting.

The struggle that began to fulfill that promise has truly become a battle they must win as the People of Shudrak.

△▼△▼△▼△

Stone block dolls surge directly toward them.

They have no face, no malice, nor hatred. As Heinkel Astrea swings his sword, he curses the insensitive puppeteer who chose a humanoid form for these foes.

Why am I wielding my sword on the imperial lands?

Why, after all that shame, can I still hold the sword?

Why, in a place where I must show my worth, am I here?

“—”

He slices the outstretched arms at the elbow, the shockwave blowing away the opponent’s upper body.

They are stone dolls, and merely severing heads or arms does not sap their combat power, so what is needed is a savage blow that incapacitates the enemy rather than refined swordsmanship.

He alters his grip on the sword, adopting a wide stance.

With a brutal swing, the sword scatters the stone dolls spectacularly. Not that it’s enjoyable. Nothing’s fun here.

He can’t recall the last time wielding a sword brought him joy.

The sword has always been more of a heavy burden than its appearance suggests.

“Damn it.”

Cursing under his breath, he strikes an enemy within range.

His mind is filled with questions starting with “why,” and he swings the sword, swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging wildly.

“Damn it!”

He’s often told in sword training to become one with the blade, eliminate all distractions, and sharpen techniques through focus.

–No matter how many times he hears it, he cannot comprehend the instruction.

“Damn it.”

When told not to think, and trying to practice ‘not thinking’ leads to ‘thinking about not thinking,’ thus, achieving a state of complete focus on the sword becomes nearly impossible.

Living means having hunger. Breathing too. Somewhere on his body, there’s an itch, or a drowsiness creeping in. Thoughts of family always linger in the back of his mind. Concerns about tomorrow or even ten seconds ahead never cease to abound, dragging up failures from moments, days, or even longer ago. There’s an overwhelming accumulation of thoughts that never disappears.

How does one achieve a state of being without thought?

It seems almost unbelievable. Perhaps a swordsman who can become truly ‘unthoughtful’ is no longer human.

So, he wonders if he is not a swordsman.

“Damn it!”

An endless stream of curses flows from him, endlessly uncontainable.

He swings his sword frantically, turning the blocking stone dolls into a pile of gravel.

What value can there be in such actions?

Failing to do what one should at the right moment, letting someone else handle it to appease them, and in the end, creating debt that’s hard to repay.

Repeating such acts—what can possibly be rewarded in return?

‘Unfortunately, I don’t understand the burden you carry, old man.’

Amidst his own shouts, he hears someone else’s voice.

A young, almost naive voice he once heard while drunkenly perched in a watchtower. It approached him, unperturbed, despite his clear signs of wanting no interaction.

‘I don’t even know how badly you messed up, but hey, I’ve done my fair share of blunders too.’

After throwing a casual remark to dismiss him off, the boy repeatedly came back.

Even with a confused expression, he dared to interfere with Heinkel’s worries.

The voice was filled with naive, childish ideals, enough to make one snicker.

‘Only you can deal with the mess you’ve made. So if you can—’

“Shut up, you brat!”

Whether it’s encouragement, comfort, pity, or sympathy; none of it matters.

Everything directed at him feels annoying, and there’s nothing he desires from others. There’s nothing he wants; he just wants someone to want him.

There’s value in what he receives from that person; everything else simply becomes a burden weighing him down.

“—”

In silence, the ominous stone doll creeps in, and as Heinkel strikes down with his blade, he vertically cleaves two of them. Perhaps trying to capitalize on his earlier momentum, he shatters the face of one jumping at him with the sword’s hilt, killing it upon skewering another with the blade of Astria.

Without faces, mere puppets that move mechanically, he can slice through them as much as he likes.

As long as he can breathe, he could take down ten or twenty. But what does it even mean?

What’s the point in earning points without showing them to worthy opponents?

‘—If you can, then it’s time for you to make a comeback with your sword.’

“Damn it!”

It’s embarrassing to cling onto a flickering flame of hope.

When he starts asking how he’s still living, he confronts the question of why he even exists.

What does he wish to prove with this sword? What does he want to obtain? What is he longing for?

“—”

When the main threat becomes a mass of foes, the others begin picking away at it too.

Leading the charge is Heinkel, the woman of the hunting folk wielding a club, and the eyepatch sword-wielder gracefully handling dual swords that don’t match his rugged appearance. Still, the primarily bow-wielding hunting folk are, under the Chieftain’s orders, gallantly pressing forward, while once-retreating rebels are regaining their momentum.

It’s true—the enemy’s fortifications have openings—just as they were told.

Compared to the other four vertices, this vertex’s defense is glaringly weaker. Heinkel cutting through proves it.

If even one true powerhouse were stationed here, Heinkel wouldn’t be leading the charge like this.

“Follow that back!—”

“Don’t let the red-haired man take all the credits! We’ll pursue as well!”

“Nice swordsmanship. If you shave that beard, you might have a more presentable face.”

It’s unheard of that so many would join Heinkel, the one currently at the forefront.

There’s no time to be lost in a temporary illusion.

“Damn it… come on, give me more! This isn’t enough even for a score—”

He raises his face to confront the current reality more harshly.

Before him, the stone dolls stand aligned; with a horizontal slash, he repels them and charges toward the castle walls ahead as he powers into his knees.

If he can scale that wall and sweep the enemies away from above, would that mean he’d contributed—or not even claimed the life of some enemy commander, just a prospect he held.

At the very least, he wonders if he can form a thread connecting this to the compensation he seeks from Priscilla, over his earlier failings.

Even if just a little—a tiny bit—

“—You, I killed first.”

“———”

Just as he recklessly attempts to scale the castle wall, a voice calls out to Heinkel.

His lungs constrict; ragged breath escapes his throat—without having been attacked, nor having blocked an attack, he’s merely addressed.

Just that alone tightens his whole body up.

All the thoughts drifting through his mind—things about being calm, his desires, and making up for his failures—are suddenly swept away, turning white and disappearing.

What remains is simply the realization that he’s stumbled into a confrontation. —He stands face-to-face with an undeniable threat.

That is—

“I killed first. That’s why, I will kill you too.”

A voice devoid of emotion resonates, and in front of Heinkel, a change occurs high atop the stout and thick castle wall.

It wasn’t merely the stone dolls standing on top.

Nor was it the stone dolls that had assembled to defend the wall.

The thick wall known as the third vertex, designed in a star shape, begins to transform.

“—Ah.”

Heinkel’s breath escapes as he watches countless “lights” being born across the wall stretching out before him. —No, whether to call it “light” could be debated.

Those “lights” on the wall are bright green spheres, each roughly the size of a fist, appearing harmless at first glance.

But they were not there before on this castle wall.

Out of nowhere, a swarm of spherical “lights” burst forth around the wall. To Heinkel, they appear to resemble the eyes of living beings. It felt as if he made eye contact with them all at once.

In unison, all that “light” seemed to glare down at him in terror.

“Huh.”

In an instant, Heinkel’s body freezes, and he loosens his grip on the sword—

“Blown away.”

In an instant, contradicting the monotone voice, an unbelievable roar and a gust engulf Heinkel as a massive stone fist leaps at him and sends him flying.

“Ah.”

His body feels the force slam into him from head to toe, sending Heinkel upwards aimlessly.

He is flung away, bombarded on every side just as he had done to the stone dolls moments ago, scattering blood as he is sent through the air.

As his vision spins, the scene below shifts dramatically. It’s not merely a consequence of being launched; it’s an unmistakable change—

“—The Ninth Divine General ‘Saba’ Moguro Hagane.”

The warrior’s etiquette on the battlefield demands one to declare their name when overpowering their foes—but the scale of this situation is far beyond the norm.

“———”

The target to be breached—the star-shaped wall of the third vertex itself is in motion.

That is the overwhelming presence of the creature who claimed to be one of the Nine Divine Generals, Moguro Hagane.