Will of the Battlefield

The weather in the north turned catastrophic.

The rain did not merely fall. It conquered the natural pathways.

For twenty-one relentless days, the heavens remained wide open.

Clouds smothered the sky from dawn until darkness. Rivers abandoned their banks and devoured fertile fields.

Mountain roads vanished beneath landslides. Ancient stone bridges, standing since the reign of forgotten kings, finally surrendered to swollen currents.

Messengers disappeared, caravans halted, and armies had to wait.

The continent itself seemed unwilling to let men slaughter one another.

Across Aurethia, kings watched the skies instead of their enemies.

Far to the northwest, within the military city of Handh, rows upon rows of tents stretched beyond the horizon.

Thousands of campfires smoked beneath soaked banners.

Armor rusted despite constant polishing.

Soldiers cursed the weather more than their enemies.

Inside the command pavilion, Cameron Grant stood before an enormous campaign map.

The seven-lined general rested one hand upon the table.

A scout entered, kneeling immediately.

"The roads through Blackstone Pass remain buried, Lord Cameron."

"And the eastern route?"

"It is also flooded."

Cameron pondered for a moment before asking, "The southern road?"

"The bridges collapsed."

Silence fell upon them.

Another officer sighed. "So... we wait."

Cameron shook his head. "No."

His finger slowly moved across another route. "The Shepherd Hills."

The officers exchanged puzzled looks. "A goat trail? It is impossible."

"Not impossible," Cameron smiled. "Merely unpleasant."

Three days later, the skies finally cleared.

Sunlight returned, and warm winds swept across the soaked plains.

The rivers slowly retreated, and birdsong replaced the rolling thunder.

The entire continent seemed to exhale together. Within hours, signal towers lit up.

Beacon fires burned, and messenger hawks filled the skies once again.

War resumed.

Trumpets echoed throughout Handh.

"Form ranks!"

"Harness the horses!"

"Raise the banners!"

Thousands rushed into motion. Blacksmiths hammered through the night.

Supply wagons rolled, and smiths sharpened spearheads one last time.

The gates opened, and the first regiment marched.

Behind them came another, then another, until an endless river of soldiers poured from the city.

Nearly eighty thousand warriors marched, their steel glittering beneath the morning sun.

Shields formed moving walls, and pikes resembled forests.

The crimson wolf banners of Krynova snapped proudly in the wind.

At their center rode Cameron Grant. Beside him rode a man few truly knew.

The Commander-in-Chief, Moses Whitcomb.

He wore plain armor. No ornaments, no noble cloak, no jeweled sword—merely a weathered breastplate and an ordinary spear resting beside his saddle.

Many soldiers whispered as he passed.

"That’s him?"

"He doesn’t look like a commander."

"He looks like a merchant."

Moses ignored every word, his calm eyes studying the horizon.

Far ahead... beyond forests... beyond hills... beyond rivers... lay Kufashr.

Across the border, inside the fortress-city of Weehri, Mirza Murad Khan Bijarani stood upon the massive stone walls.

The elderly Khan stared into the distance, looking toward Handh.

An officer hurried toward him. "They’re marching."

Mirza smiled. "So... the guests have finally left home."

He looked toward the men surrounding him—warriors wearing colorful turbans, curved sabers, round shields, and massive bows.

Different tribes, different accents, but one nation.

"Send riders."

"Tell every Khan."

"The wolves have begun running."

The drums answered. They were deep and thunderous, sounding like strange, ancient, powerful heartbeats.

Within hours, ninety thousand tribal warriors gathered outside Weehri.

Horsemen, archers, camel riders, infantry, and sellswords assembled.

Banner after banner rose above the sea of men.

The Khanate had awakened.

While armies marched toward death, another journey quietly reached its end.

The capital of Bentram. The eastern gate. It was morning.

The guards lazily watched the merchants entering the city.

One yawned. Another scratched beneath his helmet.

Then, the earth began trembling.

At first it came softly, then harder.

Hooves—hundreds of them. The guards looked east.

An enormous dust cloud rolled down the road.

One guard swallowed hard. "...An army?"

The cloud came closer, and myriad of banners emerged from the dust.

Each carried a different symbol, the one ahead carried a snarling jackal forged from iron.

One veteran guard immediately straightened. "The Iron Jackals."

The younger soldiers looked confused. "The famous mercenaries?"

"The very same. And look, The Blood Oath is there too."

"Oh gods, there is also The Bone Collectors."

Nearly four hundred mounted warriors entered the capital without fanfare.

No music, no cheering, and no arrogance.

Every rider wore black armor scarred by countless battles. Many helmets displayed broken horns, and others carried captured enemy banners tied beneath their saddles—proofs, victories, and warnings.

Citizens silently stepped aside; no one wished to block their path.

At their head rode a hulking man whose beard reached the middle of his chest. His face carried four blessed lines, and a thick scar crossed one eye. He was the leader of biggest mercenary present, The Bone Collectors. His name was Imbe Titan.

His wolfskin cloak fluttered behind him. He looked toward the palace. "We’re late."

A rider beside him chuckled. "Blame the mountains."

"I blame the rain." Replied Imbe

Arathorn of The Iron Jackals rode near him and spoke. "The king will blame us."

The hulking man shrugged. "Kings always do."

***

Inside the royal palace, the interior minister received the news.

"They’ve arrived?"

"Yes, my lord."

"...Three weeks late."

"The landslides—"

"I know." The minister sighed. "Escort them to the palace. They deserve a meal before another argument."

Elsewhere, far removed from global politics, Blue Leaf Academy remained blissfully alive.

Students filled the courtyards once again as lessons resumed. The practice grounds echoed with the clashing of wooden weapons.

The world might be marching toward war, but education never stopped.

Garret yawned—a very long, dramatic yawn.

His students stood assembled before him: twenty-one aspiring warriors. Some were excited, while others looked completely exhausted after weeks of relentless training.

Garret scratched his beard. "You lot have become boring."

Nobody answered.

He looked disappointed. "I just insulted all of you."

Still nothing.

"Worse," he sighed dramatically. "Academy life is making you civilized."

Thane immediately raised a hand. "I can insult you back."

Garret pointed at him. "See? I like him."

Athenok slowly approached from behind. "Please don’t encourage him."

"I wasn’t."

The principal pressed his palm to his forehead, choosing to ignore Garret entirely as he addressed the students. "For the next several days, your education will continue outside these walls."

Curiosity spread through the ranks instantly.

Athenok smiled faintly. "Experience teaches faster than classrooms."

Garret lazily chimed in. "We’re going hunting."

The courtyard immediately erupted into chatter.

"Hunting?"

"Really?"

"Outside the academy?"

Conor grinned. "Finally."

Sky and Rimon looked thrilled, and even Simon’s eyes brightened.

Only Max calmly adjusted his glasses. "Hunting... for what?"

Garret answered simply. "Beasts."

Thane raised his hand. "Cursed Beasts?"

"No."

"Bigger ones?"

Garret replied with a smirk. "Perhaps."

"Dragons?"

Garret stared deadpan. "No, you stupid ox."

"Goblins?"

Garret shook his head. "...Wrong world, Gay."

Laughter echoed around the courtyard.

Garret continued, his tone turning serious. "Normal beasts. They’re stronger than ordinary animals, but nowhere near cursed beasts. Still, they will absolutely kill careless people. You will not fight alone. Instructors will accompany every group. Your objective isn’t glory; it’s survival."

One student asked, "Why hunt ordinary beasts?"

Garret looked toward him. "Because they teach something monsters never will. And what is that? Patience."

He picked up a fallen branch. "A cursed beast charges. It wants blood, and it won’t hesitate to announce its presence."

He snapped the branch in half. "A normal beast... waits. It listens. It circles like a true predator. It attacks when you’re being stupid."

Several smiles instantly disappeared.

Hawk stepped forward. Having just returned from his usual dealings at the casino and The Pit, he had only come to the academy to oversee Thane’s progress before heading back.

"The forest doesn’t care how talented you are," Hawk warned, folding his arms. "You may defeat tournament champions, then die because you ignored a set of tracks in the mud. Never confuse raw strength with experience."

Garret clapped his hands loudly. "We leave tomorrow before sunrise. Travel light: one weapon, one backpack, three days."

Groans spread through the crowd immediately. "Three days? No baths?"

Garret smirked. "The forest has rivers."

Thane whispered loudly to Conor, "I bathed last week."

Garret overheard him and wisely decided to ignore it.

The instructors dismissed the class, and students scattered toward the dormitories, already frantically discussing supplies.

Conor immediately began listing the absolute necessities: water, rope, a knife, and a fire starter. Sky focused on gathering dried food, while Rimon discussed wood-gathering techniques. Simon worried about the quality of the tents, and Max quietly wrote everything down in his journal.

Meanwhile, Thane stood entirely still, thinking deeply. Very deeply.

Garret happened to be roaming nearby and noticed the giant’s incredibly strained expression.

"What’re you thinking about?" he asked.

Thane looked genuinely troubled. "...Can I bring six sandwiches?"

Garret stared at him for several seconds. "...For three days?"

"I get hungry."

"This dumb fuck will die by my hands," Garret muttered, sighing toward the heavens.

"What the hell, pervert? Why would you kill me?"

Garret stepped closer. "You have a body that can somehow survive wars... and a brain that still loses to common sense."

Thane smiled proudly. "I’ve gotten better."

Garret wasn’t entirely convinced.

While they were finalizing their preparations, a pair of teenagers appeared at the edge of the grounds—a young man and a woman. Both were extraordinarily beautiful, possessing striking jade-green eyes and silky brown hair.

Every student halted their work to look at them.

Athenok walked up behind the newcomers, addressing the class. "Everyone, these are your new classmates."

The girl looked directly at Thane, her eyes twinkling with curiosity, while the boy’s gaze gleamed with open admiration.

Thane simply raised a massive hand and waved back at them.

Above them, the evening sun slowly descended toward the western hills.

Beyond those distant mountains, vast armies were already marching. Kings sharpened their swords, generals unfolded their war maps, and mercenaries counted their coin.

The first great war of a new generation had finally begun.

Unaware of how deeply that conflict would one day shape their destinies, the students of Blue Leaf Academy prepared for something far simpler.

Their first hunt.

And for many of them, the forest would prove to be a far harsher teacher than any classroom ever could.