Lucian turned his attention to the small wooden chest at the foot of the straw bed. It was worn, with the wood splintering at the edges, and the iron latch looked like it could break with just a bit of pressure. Bending down, he flicked it open, the lid creaking as he lifted it.

Inside lay a small collection of clothes—once elegant, clearly meant for someone of noble birth, but now little more than rags. The deep blues and purples of the fabric were faded and torn in places, as if they had been used in one too many battles or had simply been neglected for too long. He frowned at the sorry state of them but shrugged.

"Better than nothing, I suppose," he muttered as he pulled out a tunic and a pair of trousers.

The material felt rough against his skin as he dressed, the clothing loose on his thin, malnourished frame. He ran a hand through his tangled blonde hair, trying to make himself look a little more presentable, though it was clear that appearance was the least of his worries in this place.

With a deep breath, Lucian headed for the tent's entrance. As he pushed the flap aside, a gust of cold wind immediately hit him, sharp and biting against his pale skin. He instinctively raised his arm to shield his face, his thin body shivering from the sudden chill.

When the wind died down, he lowered his arm and took in the scene before him.

It was chaos.

The ground beneath his feet was nothing but dirt, uneven and scarred from the movement of horses and men. Pits and trenches lined the camp, and the tents stretched as far as he could see, their blue fabric waving like tattered flags in the wind. People were rushing from tent to tent, some soldiers strapping on their armor, others mounting horses with weapons at the ready, all heading toward the distant sound of explosions booming on the horizon.

To his right, a group of guards marched forward with determined expressions, their swords drawn and shields raised, moving toward the battlefield beyond. The air was thick with tension, the distant rumble of battle setting the entire camp on edge.

He turned his gaze to the left, where women dressed in green uniforms—just like the one who had been in his tent—rushed about frantically. They carried buckets filled with blood-soaked rags and water, darting between tents that had been set up as makeshift infirmaries for the wounded. Cries of pain echoed from within, and the women worked tirelessly, attending to the injured men whose bodies had been ravaged by war.

Lucian's eyes narrowed as he took it all in. The atmosphere was oppressive, and the air reeked of sweat, blood, and fear. His body felt weak, but his mind was racing.

"Just what the hell have I gotten myself into?"

As Lucian took a step forward, intent on getting a better sense of his surroundings, a man approached from the side. He had an average build, perhaps a bit stockier than most, with short brown hair and a thin scar running along his jawline. There was a smug look on his face, one that immediately irritated Lucian.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"Well, well," the man sneered, a crooked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "If it isn't the noble son, finally gracing us with his presence."

Lucian didn't even glance in the man's direction, already finding the situation tiresome. He kept walking, his thin frame moving through the wind as if he hadn't heard the man's taunt. He had no interest in getting involved in petty squabbles.

But the man wasn't about to let it go. With a sudden move, he reached out and grabbed Lucian's shoulder, his grip firm.

Lucian winced in pain, a low growl escaping his lips as the sharp sensation shot through his frail body.

'This damn body'

He could feel how weak it was, as if any sudden movement might break him in half.

Still, he clenched his jaw and turned slowly to face the man, glaring at him with cold, narrowed eyes.

"What do you want?" Lucian's voice was low, filled with irritation and disdain.

The man's grin only widened as he removed his hand from Lucian's shoulder, as though he had proven something by asserting his dominance.

"Name's Baren," he said, his tone smug. "Baren of House Grivon. You've probably heard of me—Baron Grivon, to you."

Lucian remained silent, his gaze unyielding.

Baren's smile faltered for a moment before he continued, "I've heard about you too, Lucian Ardent. Son of the 'mighty' Duke Ardent, eh? Though, from what I've heard, you're just as useless as your father. If you want to survive out here, you'd better learn to follow my orders."

Lucian blinked, staring at the man in disbelief, but not for the reasons Baren might have imagined.

'What kind of cliché plot is this?' he thought, the absurdity of the situation almost amusing to him.

He studied Baren for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he let out a small chuckle under his breath.

"And what exactly makes you think I'd take orders from a nobody like you?" Lucian's words dripped with contempt, the insult clear.

Baren's face twisted with anger, but Lucian was already turning away, uninterested in entertaining the fool any longer.

Lucian couldn't help but shake his head as he walked away, a bemused grin tugging at his lips.

'This guy can't be serious,' he thought, the entire situation starting to feel like a bad joke.

Baren, clearly not used to being ignored, clenched his fists and called out after him.

"Oi! I don't think you understand how things work around here, Lucian! You don't get to walk away from me!"

Lucian stopped in his tracks, shoulders tensing slightly before he let out a deep, exaggerated sigh.

'Of course, he's one of those types.'

Slowly, he turned back around, arms crossed over his chest.

"You know, Baren… I'd almost be impressed by how much you're embarrassing yourself, if it weren't so painful to watch."

Baren's face flushed red, his confidence wavering as Lucian's words sunk in.

"W-What did you just say?"

Lucian gave him an unbothered look, as if he were scolding a child.

"Let me guess, you're one of those guys who bullies the weak, trying to make up for the fact that you've been slapped around your entire life, right?" He paused, a playful glint in his eyes. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to feel intimidated? Because honestly, I'm trying not to laugh."

Baren's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, clearly stunned by the audacity. He pointed a trembling finger at Lucian.

"You—You've got a lot of nerve for someone who looks like they could be knocked over by a stiff breeze!"

Lucian raised an eyebrow, giving him a once-over.

"Oh, absolutely, I'm practically a skeleton, aren't I? But see, the difference between you and me…" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a mock whisper. "At least I don't have to overcompensate by acting like a complete idiot."

The look of utter disbelief on Baren's face was priceless. Lucian couldn't resist, he chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Honestly, Baren, I'd tell you to stop embarrassing yourself, but I think we're past that point."

Baren, now fully enraged, stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward Lucian's chest.

"You'll regret those words, Ardent. You think you're better than me? You think you're smart? Out here, no one gives a damn about your name!"

Lucian smirked, looking entirely unimpressed.

"Well, clearly you do, since you can't seem to stop talking about it."

Baren sputtered, unable to come up with a retort, and Lucian shrugged, turning back around.

"If you're done, I've got better things to do. Maybe try finding a hobby that doesn't involve embarrassing yourself in public. Just a thought."

And with that, he walked away, leaving Baren standing there, face flushed with a mixture of humiliation and rage.