Glen, a proud Imperial knight, swiftly moved through the forest, deftly avoiding trees and maneuvering through friendly units. He had just received orders to join the battle and was filled with excitement, now finally able to let loose he raced forward with a sense of urgency. Having been relegated to the reserves for the entire battle, he could only watch as his fellow knights garnered glory and recognition in combat, it frustrated him to no end.

The taste of injustice lingered bitterly as he recalled the calculated decision that had assigned him to the reserves. His unit, positioned for frontline duty, singled him out solely due to his commoner background. The resentment caused by this discrimination ran deep. He knew he didn't have a good reputation amongst his peers but this was a step too far. In the Empire, a knight's standing and rewards were solely determined by their contributions, having been sidelined it meant he would miss out on both.

Yet, his aspirations transcended mere compensation. Monetary gain alone would not have led him to become a knight. Even if that were the case, and even if he was satisfied with just his knight's salary, he would have applied for an instructor position in some noble household instead. True, while money still played a role, war did have its benefits. The potential rewards a knight could receive from a single campaign would make his salary look meager in comparison. Many a knight had risen from simple nobodies, indistinguishable from their own to heroes the next, all from a single war.

His ambitions, however, encompassed much more: fame, status, respect. He wanted all of it and even more. His greatest wish of all is the immortality of his name, etched into history among the great heroes of old. His life's trajectory seemed destined for greatness, a tale that had already been set in motion, from a humble farmer's son to a knight, this achievement alone was nothing to scoff at.

Knighthood within the Empire seldom emerged from the ranks of commoners. Glen had labored tirelessly for years, enduring hardships akin to those of a slave. He had to search for a mentor, anyone willing to teach him an artform, he even begged on his knees for some. How many years had passed since he embarked on this journey? The recognition and honors he had received made it almost worthwhile, but he remained far from satisfied.

By the words of the filthy, those who stand above others covered in gold. Fulfillment is the goal but should never be reached, for he who does, despair. Endless greed, Glen's sole driving force after so many years of toil. A goal that exists with no end, a goal that if abandoned or achieved by the individual's standard, will always result in a tormented soul. Thus, their belief is endless pursuit, because pursuit itself is the goal.

Childhood tales of heroes had shaped his ambitions, and now he lived out his own version. As he raced toward the battlefield, a genuine knight, the expressions of respect from his comrades as he sped past bolstered his spirits. If he did well in this campaign, accumulating enough achievements along the way, he might secure a surname that could propel him into the ranks of the middle class or even nobility.

His orders had been specific. There were reports that two Kin's knights had been spotted near the center of the battleline, fighting at the very front as a shield, an odd tactic considering how this was a skirmish. Nonetheless, it didn't really matter. If they wanted to endanger themselves, he welcomed it. While others had also been spotted, those two boldly isolated themselves from their allies, sticking out like sore thumbs. They had been actively luring Imperial knights from other areas towards them for some time now.

Five Imperial knights had already been confirmed to have engaged them. He had been sent to assess the situation. If they weren't dead by now, they would be exhausted. Either way, this was the best possible situation for him. If they were dead, he just had to report it then assist the infantry, or instead seek out other knights to eliminate. If they were alive, then killing two exhausted knights would be an easy accomplishment, it would certainly look good on his record.

He emerged from the forest and immediately quickened his pace, aiming to reach his destination as swiftly as possible. He held onto hope that they were still alive, though the likelihood was slim. There was no shame in seizing an opportunity by stealing a kill, especially in his circumstances. Opportunities to increase his kill count were sparse, limited only to slaying fellow knights, and those chances were few and far between.

As he ran, he inadvertently stepped on a half-buried shield. Corpses began to accumulate around him, causing him to slow down as he took in the grim scene. Imperial heavy infantry, with no enemy dead amongst them; some were torn in half while others were more pieces than man. There were a fair few whose faces were frozen and twisted in pain, their final moments in agony, their bodies revealing no obvious cause. The absence of fallen enemies, the wounds inflicted on some of the dead, all signs pointed to enemy knights as the likely culprits. Otherwise who else could make this look like an outright massacre. This conclusion made sense, given the Northern Realms reputation for having few to no mages. Well, he hasn't actually heard any cases where they had any to begin with. This ruled out magic as the cause, as it couldn't explain the stark contrast in casualty rates.

With renewed determination, he resumed his advance, driven by a thirst for vengeance. He was resolved to ensure that their deaths would not be in vain. His enemies would come to regret the day they crossed paths with him, for he would dismantle them, limb by limb. Two faint lights caught his attention ahead, one blue and the other white. His excitement mounted, prompting him to draw his sword and charge forward. The question lingered: were these lights friend or foe? The darkness made it difficult to ascertain, but he struggled to recall any Imperial knight whose artform expressed white. Regardless, the answer would reveal itself soon enough.

He soon observed ashen hair and the uniform of the Kin's knights. With a battle cry, he charged forward, only to freeze in shock in mere moments. His gaze shifted downward to the lifeless bodies beneath them, causing his face to pale. Unconsciously, he began to count the corpses donning the same uniform as his own. Nine dead Imperial knights. Had they truly managed to take down nine with just the two of them? Perhaps not all at once, but still, that's madness.

Two cold pairs of eyes locked onto him, their intensity chilling. Glen cautiously raised his sword, his tension evident. The impulse to flee rose within, but pride held his ground. Although they had dispatched nine of his comrades, he struggled to believe they emerged unscathed. They must have been weakened or fatigued, he reasoned. Yet, their demeanor signaled otherwise, neither bore signs of injury or weariness. Despite this, Glen clung to his belief. Their reserves had to be depleted at the least, compared to him who was fresh, he surely held the advantage in terms of reserves. The only way they could mitigate this issue is if they outclassed him in terms of strength, but they look young. Even if he knew aura could retain a person's youthful appearance, he doubted that was the case here. Their age was clearly apparent, late teens to early twenties, no more.

Glen was confident in his abilities, combined with his luck, which had journeyed with him from childhood until now. His confidence surged as he took a step forward, suppressing his fear. He was different, unique even, better than the others, bound by duty and God's grace who he believed to be the source of his luck. His journey mirrored that of a hero's, destined to march alongside the greats. He bore the responsibility to avenge his fallen comrades, more trials to triumph. Two mere Kin's knights wouldn't obstruct his path.

Adrenaline began to coursed through him in anticipation, bolstering his confidence. He held the upper hand, somewhere, that was certain. Their prolonged gaze suggested fatigue, despite their efforts to mask it. How could they not be? They just stood there, glaring at him, showing no intentions of attack. He also assumed they were weary of him, how could they not? Imperial knights ranked among the finest, and if these two had defeated nine, they couldn't have escaped unscathed. Glen, however, in a form of confirmation bias, twisted the facts. Seeing the fact that they had killed nine of the so-called finest as not a point of concern, but in fact a benefit to him.

Nova gently tapped Raid's shoulder, clearly puzzled. "This one didn't immediately attack us like the others. What do you think he's planning?" she whispered.

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"Planning? He looks afraid to me," Raid smirked. "Maybe this one is the formal type."

A sigh escaped Nova's lips filled with nothing but fatigue. "I think our plan is working a little too well, don't you think? They keep coming."

"A little... you make good bait. Consider hunting with me next time."

"I don't think my charm works on deer... If he is the formal type, then I guess we should just introduce ourselves and get this over wi—"

Glen's sudden, booming shout caused Nova to jolt stiff. Her hearing was enhanced in case anyone snuck up unannounced, while it wasn't heightened much, the abruptness of Glen's outburst still managed to startle her. Raid stifled a chuckle, and in response, Nova shot him an irritated glare.

"I am Specialist Glen, Imperial Knight of the 4th Galemford Imperial Army, attached to the renowned 18th Hillshire Knight Platoon!" he declared, his voice resonating. "Engrave this moment into your memories, for I shall be your last! Yet, I shall offer an ounce of my respect and ask for yours!"

"This guy..." Nova scoffed with a tinge of mockery. "What is he talking about? Ask for what?"

"He wants our names," Raid muttered, stepping forward.

"Oh, so old speak, unclear and irritating. Still, seems like this one still follows the old tradition, though a bit bastardized. A shame his tone is too self-centered."

"Best follow the old ways Nova. He deserves that much."

"Well?! Have you two lost your tongue?! Speak! I am right in front of you there is no need to discuss amongst yourselves!" Glen's voice thundered as he thrust his sword into the earth with increasing confidence. "If you two can't fight, then I am willing to take prisoners! Surrender your weapons and drop to your knees!" It seemed his hunch appeared accurate, they indeed didn't come out unscathed. While their unwavering gaze and confident gait might look intimidating, Glen was certain they had been greatly weakened after dealing with his comrades.

Nova's composure wavered, her veins throbbed with a potent mixture of annoyance and anger. "Alright, this bastard. Forget courtesy, I am going to kill him."

Raid's hand landed gently on Nova's shoulder, halting her impulsive advance. "Calm as a lake Nova, he won't be talking for long," he urged in a soothing tone, his demeanor the anchor of calm as he continued to glare at Glen with increasing hostility. "I am Raiden Anyi, 2nd Officer of the Rose. I lead the 4th Forward Advance Group and 3rd Knights Fireteam. This person beside me is my vice, Support Officer Nova Anyi Fable. I request a formal duel with the now dead sun as our observer."

Glen huffed and strode forward confidently. "I don't need a duel. I'll take you both on! Blame yourselves for your luck! If you hadn't encountered me today, maybe you might've survived!"

Raid's response was casual, almost disinterested. "Suit yourself. Don't come crying about it when we meet again in the abyss."

"Blame yourself for your luck," Nova repeated sarcastically, her voice a mere whisper.

Glen's blood boiled, fueled by Raid's dismissive demeanor. The worst insult of all was their lack of readiness, not even raising their swords to guard against an abrupt attack. It made him look like a fool, as if he posed no threat at all. His fury teetered on the edge of explosion as Nova began to etch closer, with Raid close behind her.

"What was your name again?" she asked, a taunting edge to her words. "Jen was it? Well, I guess it doesn't really matter does it? I'll remember you regardless, as my honor dictates. Rest well knowing your existence will now live through me, in my memory until I myself, also die."

Something snapped. That was the final straw. Glen charged in a torrent of rage, his focus fixated solely on Nova.

Nova casually deflected his strike with a fluid upward swipe, her strike so powerful that it left his right arm numb. In an unexpected twist, Raid's sword suddenly crashed against his head, nearly shattering his protective aura in the process. Snapping out of his enraged stupor, Glen leaped backward, a rush of realization flooding in. They were dangerous. He couldn't allow his emotions to overpower him; this fight demanded his full attention. His life might truly be at stake here, the knights he had encountered until now were nowhere near this level of strength.

Raid swiftly closed the distance and launched three rapid jabs at Glen's head, chest, and abdomen. The sheer force behind each blow was staggering, yet Glen managed to block all three with immense effort. Glen released a nervous breath, about to retaliate with shivers coursing down his spine. It was at that moment that he realized the absence of the girl. He felt his aura coverage break, a blade entered his neck, and the world went dark before him.

Nova held Glen's decapitated head by its hair, her expression one of disappointment. "He didn't even last 10 seconds," she muttered.

"What can I say, we make a good team."

"His aura coverage was unusually weak though," she said, casually discarding Glen's head. "It crumbled so easily. I didn't even know it was possible for coverage to be this weak."

"Pretty sure our standards are just a lot higher than the others. I read that it took the empire four centuries to catch up to us in terms of artform technology."

"That's propaganda. I thought you were smart enough to avoid believing that crap. They'd say anything in times of war, I find it hard to believe the outside are that incompetence. Didn't you see that purple artform? It's clearly not ours."

Raid shrugged his shoulders. "Not propaganda. I read about it in some library a few years back, from a history book, as reliable as it may be. Apparently magic is the big play outside. That purple artform could be newly created for all we know. Guess we'll never know the truth of it if either of us leave our world. But I do like the idea of the old Lemfords being so incompetent, that they couldn't incorporate coverage into their artforms. I mean, didn't they straight up steal some of our artforms and just named it different?"

"Well that's true. Isn't the Divine Val a weaker version of the Northern Style? You see now you have me curious, I'll put a note of that. If I meet a knight that uses the Northern Style I'll ask for some opinions. Either way, this one in particular was just plain weak."

"Not a difficult task, Mae, Crater and Nolen use it. Just ask them. And it was only this easy because he didn't know you were a flanker. Otherwise, he wouldn't have charged in so recklessly."

"He charged in because I pissed him off, that's it," she said before gesturing behind him, the sounds of battle still raging. "You think we're taking this too easy? I mean, people are dying, we're a bit too laid back don't you think?"

"We're doing our job, pretty well if I may add. It's not our fault all the ones that came at us so far had been weak. Actually, is it just me or were the ones we fought during the battle a lot stronger?"

"These guys could be their reserves perhaps. It would make sense, sending in fresh knights while the previous recover their aura is common practice. Still, doesn't explain why they’re noticeably weaker though."

"Then why the hell are we here, where are our replacements? I want to rest too you know."

"Stop dreaming. You know the answer to that, our reserves... fucking nil. It's almost as if we have a knight shortage," she said sarcastically. "You could've prayed before the battle but there's a fat chance now."

"The moment I see a fucking bureaucrat, I am filing a complaint."

"Most IFLR and IHS complaints don't apply to the military so there isn't a point. Trust me I know. Remember the time I tried to secure some extra paid holiday leave?"

"And you dumped all the administrative work on me? Yeah, I remember. It wouldn't hurt to lend a hand sometimes, your rank is literally called support officer."

"Where exactly in my job description does it require me to help you with your administrative work?"

"You're my vice…"

"It wasn't that bad, stop complaining. Hmm? What's that? Oh look, we got two more coming our way."

"My, aren't you popular."

"We, plural. We're partners here. How are your reserves anyways?"

"Not good, almost dry in fact. If this next fight drags out I am dead. We've been practically fighting the whole day, apart from that break we got sitting around I haven't recovered much."

Nova grinned. "Keep behind me, now it's my turn to take the unequal share. I still have quite a bit left."

"How do you replenish your aura so quickly? It takes me around a day and a half to fully recover. You were dead like a few hours ago."

"Thank my artform. With my current max, it takes maybe sixteen to eighteen hours tops. It used to be ten you know, I've gotten a lot stronger since then."

"You're a monster, you know that? but I am fine, I can still fight."

"I wasn't asking, stay behind me. I am no striker but I can do a pretty damn good job. By the way, once we deal with these two, I believe it's time to retreat and regroup. Staying here any longer might actually kill us."

"Agreed, get ready. They're about to arrive."