For Sven, this was his first time in the field.
There were countless discomforts. From the moment he woke up until he tried to fall asleep, everything was different from life back at the estate.
The bigger problem was that even lying down on his cot didn’t guarantee any real rest.
Ding, ding, ding.
A loud bell rang out.
Sven, who had been chasing an unknown, beautiful maiden named Abra in his dream, instinctively sat up.
The hazy dreamscape shattered, and before he knew it, he was facing the tattered tent and the armor he had prepared the night before.
Still savoring the image of the maiden’s face and figure from his dream, Sven grabbed the sword leaning beside him.
Someone outside shouted.
“Night raid!”
He stepped out of his cot.
His blood surged, and his body snapped into battle mode. There was no time to put on his gear properly.
He flung open the tent flap and stepped outside.
It was a battlefield.
The ominous aura of life-and-death war surrounded him.
“Your Highness!”
His adjutant came running, hair disheveled from hastily getting up.
“What’s with your hair?”
“This isn’t the time for that.”
“Very funny.”
“Not the time to laugh.”
“When exactly is the time, then? Damn it. What are the scouts even doing? They should’ve warned us earlier.”
Back when they had attacked the Kurui clan and smashed them to pieces, everything had gone smoothly.
The allied forces, riding high on victory, had resumed their march.
Their next target was Okua, the new leader who had united the orcs.
But the moment they set off, hell broke loose.
“Those damn bastards…”
The orcs didn’t give the allied army a moment’s rest.
They launched sporadic attacks several times a day—sometimes in small numbers, sometimes in overwhelming force.
When both types mixed, confusion reigned.
Constant vigilance wore down the troops, and the allied army’s pace slowed.
“What the hell is the Empire doing?”
Sven grumbled as he ran, sword in hand.
“If you’re going to gather the allied forces, at least be prepared. And I heard the Ten Strong have joined? And that prince from Briol who’s the commander’s favorite…”
He trailed off, thinking of the prince of Briol.
He had a weakness for him and had taken a beating during their sparring sessions.
Still, he was just an eighteen-year-old boy—officially younger than Sven.
“What’s that dark little brat doing, anyway?”
Muttering nonstop, Sven ran toward the supply unit, where fighting was already underway.
“Hey!”
As Sven shouted, an orc charged at him.
He tensed every muscle.
The first time he faced an orc, his body froze.
Their grotesque appearance, immense strength, and unfamiliar fighting style had terrified him. Several knights who fought alongside him had fallen screaming.
Sven had survived only thanks to help from others.
His father was Wolf Gain, after all.
“Damn it…”
Gradually, he adapted to war.
He learned the enemy’s patterns and understood what he needed to do.
Now, when facing an orc, he no longer froze—he swung his sword.
He wished he’d gotten to this point sooner.
“Ukuru Durutiti Akumekum!”
“Shut your mouth!”
Sven dodged an axe and slashed at the orc’s abdomen. The orc evaded, but Sven pressed the attack, landing a series of blows. The orc’s wounds multiplied.
The orc stepped back.
Sven, sensing victory, prepared to deliver the final strike.
Don’t just charge forward—shift your weight back.
Suddenly, that voice flashed through his mind.
Sven’s foot faltered.
At that moment, the orc swung fiercely, the force so strong it cut the air and left a scratch across Sven’s nose.
If he’d pressed forward, his head would have been split open.
“Damn.”
Yuri’s advice kept piling up, like a growing debt.
That unlucky bastard too…
Yuri hadn’t just tormented him—he’d sent a guy named Lorant after him.
Sven had thought there couldn’t be two princes like that, but he’d lost even more miserably.
Unlike Yuri, Lorant hadn’t knocked him out immediately but had toyed with him throughout their sparring.
Lorant, who followed their prince like a loyal dog, claimed he was only training Sven under Yuri’s orders.
It was humiliating.
What pissed Sven off most was that, thanks to those two damn Briol princes, his skills had actually improved.
Look at that.
After dispatching one orc, Sven helped a struggling knight from Liberta.
“Thank you, Sir Sven!”
“No problem.”
The young rookie who had barely handled one orc was gone. War had forged a seasoned, confident knight.
“Damn, damn…”
Then he faced an orc wearing a banner on its back.
Among orcs, this was a knight-like individual—an orcval, as they called them.
He was used to fighting regular orcs, but orcvals were a different story.
Tension thickened.
The orcval grinned without even holding a proper weapon and strode toward Sven.
At that moment, a knight tried to strike the orcval from behind.
“Akuaak!”
The orcval shouted, twisted its waist, and swung its axe with full force. The knight’s skull cracked open, and brains splattered.
Blood splashed onto Sven’s face.
Death came in an instant.
They weren’t close, but they had fought together in the allied army long enough to know each other’s faces.
Because this was a massive expedition, comrades kept falling. The longer the war dragged on, the more they got to know each other—and the deeper the grief grew.
“That bastard…”
Sven almost lunged forward but stopped himself.
Every time his emotions took over, the advice from the Briol brat held him back.
Okudoku, kemeteduru.
The orcval beckoned him to come closer.
This was all the orcval’s territory.
If Sven rushed in recklessly, he’d end up like the knight before him—blood splattered across a comrade’s eyes as he fell.
He stepped back and scanned the area.
Not just Liberta, but the entire allied camp was lit up.
“Is this raid a big one?”
“Yes. Everyone’s engaged.”
“No reinforcements yet?”
“Not yet…”
His adjutant stood beside him.
Not exceptional, but capable enough to guard Sven and fight regular orcs.
“What about the Empire?”
“No news yet.”
“Those bastards. If they convinced us to bring them along, they should take responsibility. Those coal miners in black armor, just posturing…”
The number of orcvals was growing.
They were in trouble.
This time, the orcs’ main force seemed to be targeting Liberta. Such a nation usually suffered severe losses.
Maybe it was better to run.
But his feet wouldn’t move.
Far off, he saw his father fighting bravely. His father hadn’t lived a perfect life, but Sven wasn’t the kind of trash to run away and leave him behind.
Clenching his sword, Sven spoke to his adjutant.
“Hey.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve been through a lot because of me.”
“Your Highness?”
Sven lowered his stance.
“So if I die, tell the Empire exactly what I said. That we suffered all this because of those bastards, and they should all choke and die. Those scoundrels deserve to be wiped out for three generations…”
“Your tongue is quite colorful.”
“Just answer me…”
Sven hesitated.
The voice was different.
He turned to see his adjutant frozen stiff, and beside him stood a knight he didn’t recognize.
“As I’ve heard.”
“And you are…?”
Briol knights didn’t wear uniform armor, so Sven had been confused about his allegiance at first.
Seeing the emblem on the knight’s chest, he understood.
“Briol?”
“Yes. Call me Jared.”
The knight stepped forward.
No hesitation, no fear—just the calm of someone doing what they always did.
“The opponent is…”
An orcval.
But before he could finish, Jared charged forward. Their axes and swords clashed several times, sparks flying.
The duel was so fast it was hard to follow with the eye.
Sven bit his lip.
Only a few seasoned knights from Liberta could stand toe-to-toe with an orcval.
But Briol—whatever kind of place it was—had knights not much older than him casually matching orcvals.
“Damn…”
Sven raised his sword again.
He couldn’t just watch. As he turned to act—
“Your Highness! Reinforcements have arrived!”
Knights clad in all manner of armor were entering the Liberta camp.
At a glance, they looked more like mercenaries than a knightly order, but that was how you could tell they were from Briol.
And at their head was a familiar face.
A boy with black hair, carrying a sword that looked too big for his frame, swaggering forward.
“Yuri Briol.”
He must have spoken aloud without realizing it.
Yuri shot him a sharp glance.
Sven quickly added, “Your Highness.”
Yuri smiled slyly.
“Oh, Sven. My dear friend!”
He pointed at Sven.
“When a friend is in trouble, you don’t turn your back. That’s what Briol is all about!”
Yuri was mocking the pompous tone that had started to spread among the allied forces, especially from Bursen.
Even in this situation, he was brimming with confidence.
What annoyed Sven even more was the reaction around him.
“Did you hear that? He calls him a friend.”
“Sir Sven is friends with the third prince of Briol…”
“Truly the heir of Count Abra…!”
The admiration directed at him was even more infuriating.
That bastard was just tormenting him.
“Come on, let’s go!”
Yuri sheathed his sword and shouted. At his signal, the Briol knights scattered into formation.
Though his attire was haphazard, his movements were as disciplined and precise as those of any imperial knight. And Briol’s signature free-spirited swordsmanship was more practical and battle-hardened than that of any knightly order.
“Sven.”
Before he knew it, Yuri had come up and slung an arm around Sven’s shoulder.
Blood stained his sword—he must have just cut down an orc.
“Been waiting for me? Happy to see me?”
“…”
He’d been caught off guard, struck with a wooden sword, and even humiliated in a sparring match. At first, he’d been intimidated, but now he’d grown used to his miserable situation.
Just standing there, watching and waiting—that wasn’t like him.
Sven returned the shoulder embrace.
“Yes. It’s a pleasure. Prince Yuri, my friend.”
“Ohhh…”
Yuri’s eyes widened, and he burst out laughing.
“That’s right. My friend, Sven!”
Sven awkwardly smiled along with him.
Up close, the awkwardness was obvious, but from a distance, Wolf Gain saw only a heartwarming scene.
His reckless son, after forging a friendship with Briol’s third prince, was finally coming to his senses.
Seeing friendship bloom on the battlefield stirred memories of his own youth, making his chest tighten with emotion.
Once the allied forces were done here, he thought, maybe it was time to visit Briol.
Wolf glanced down at the orc standing before him.
As Wolf’s demeanor shifted, the orc frowned and took a step back.
“For Liberta!”
Wolf’s sword flashed ten times at a speed too fast to follow with the eye.
It was the secret sword technique passed down through the Gain family.
At first, the orc didn’t understand what was happening, but then it collapsed, blood spurting from its body.
Wolf spoke.
“No matter how much you bother us, it’s useless. The allied forces will kill your leader, Okua. You worthless trash.”
The orc seemed to recognize the name Okua and muttered something.
“Okua, Ganir Jogo Berate…”
Before it could finish, Wolf drove his sword into its head, ending its life.
He lifted his gaze.
With Briol’s support, the tide of battle had already turned.
Liberta, once on the back foot, now pushed back the orc assault with overwhelming force. Screams of orcs echoed from all directions.
Wolf approached Prince Yuri.
Yuri and Sven had just finished a joint attack, killing an orc.
They were talking quietly.
“…Done.”
“…Right.”
“Grits teeth…”
Wolf stepped closer.
“I will repay this debt, no matter what.”
“I’m looking forward to it. You better.”
“You can count on it.”
Prince Yuri and his son shared a bond of friendship to the very end.
Of course, the reality of their relationship was quite different from what Wolf imagined, but from the outside, it was simply a touching sight.
Wolf clapped his hands.
“Bravo!”