They let the grove hold them a while longer, catching their breaths and letting the morning burn into midday. By the time the sun had begun its slow arc west, they were moving again.

The heat pressed down heavier than the night air had, sweat clinging to their backs as the fields stretched wide and endless around them. They carried little, and that was both blessing and curse—light enough to run without dragging, but no comforts, no excess. Just bodies and will.

“The border’s about a hundred kilometers from here,” Ludger said flatly, eyes scanning the horizon as his stride found its rhythm again. “If we keep pace, it’s a day. Give or take.”

Viola huffed, rolling her shoulders, but her grin was back in place. “One day? That’s nothing. We’ve done worse just in training.”

Luna said nothing, her steps steady, her eyes sweeping for movement the way they had in the sewers. She didn’t tire easily—her breathing barely changed, her presence like a shadow threading through the grass.

Ludger smirked faintly, though his legs already felt the ache from the morning push. One day of this and we’ll be half-dead before we even see the border. Still… better to arrive broken than not at all.

The plains seemed endless, the horizon teasing them with nothing but grass and the faint shimmer of heat. The distance was a weight, one Ludger measured with each step.

One hundred kilometers. One day. No one’s waiting for us, no one’s expecting us. That’s the advantage. But if the wrong pair of eyes catches us out here, all this planning collapses.

The afternoon sun beat down on them, burning the sweat into their skin, but none of them slowed. Running wasn’t new—Viola had been drilled until her legs screamed, Ludger had punished himself with weighted sprints, and Luna moved like distance itself was her natural state.

The hours stretched, their breaths turned steady, their rhythm sharp as steel. The land rolled by under their boots, step after step after step.

By the time the sun dipped low and shadows stretched across the plain, fatigue had crept into their muscles, but they kept pace. None of them would be the one to ask for rest.

Then the air changed. It wasn’t just the night breeze cooling sweat-soaked skin. It was heavier. Still. The kind of silence that wasn’t silence at all, but a pause before teeth sank in.

Ludger noticed first—his focus fading as his senses sharpened. “...The air’s different.”

Viola frowned, shifting her grip on her real sword. “Feels… off. Like we’re not alone.”

Luna slowed, her silver eyes scanning the dark horizon, her hand brushing the knife at her thigh. “We’re approaching the battlefield.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but it carried weight. “Even if the fighting isn’t here, the ground remembers. The air thickens with it. Men bleed into the soil, and it doesn’t wash away quickly.”

The silence pressed harder after her words, broken only by their footsteps and breathing. The plains no longer felt empty—every shadow was a figure waiting, every gust of wind carried the metallic tang of blood that might not have even been there.

Ludger clenched his fists, gauntlets creaking. So this is what it feels like… even before you see the enemy.

Viola’s eyes narrowed, her fire burning hotter, but her shoulders were tense. The thrill of running toward the border now felt different—less like freedom, more like stepping into a graveyard with the graves still warm.

The night pressed closer, heavier with every step. Viola’s grip on her sword tightened, but even she had slowed, her bravado dimmed by the weight in the air. Ludger could see it in the way her shoulders sagged, in the stubborn fire that flickered but no longer burned clean.

“We stop here,” Ludger said at last, voice flat but firm.

Viola turned to him, ready to argue, but he cut her off with a sharp look. “If we reach the battlefield half-dead from running all night, we’ll just be corpses waiting to happen. Better we rest now and arrive ready to move.”

Luna gave the smallest of nods, already scanning the area. “Here will do. The grass is high enough to hide us. We’ll keep watch in turns.”

She slid off her pack, her movements precise, as though this was routine—something she’d done countless times before. Viola groaned, half annoyed, half admitting he was right, and dropped into the grass with her sword laid across her lap.

Ludger sat cross-legged, arms resting on his knees, his smirk faint. “Don’t get too cozy, Viola. If someone stumbles on us, you’re the bait.”

She scowled, though it lacked heat. “I’d rather fight them myself.”

“That’s why you’re bait.”

Luna said nothing, but her glance flicked between them before she settled on her chosen spot at the grove’s edge, eyes fixed on the dark horizon. She moved like she could sit that way until dawn without shifting once.

Ludger leaned back, staring up at the stars pricking through the black sky. Rest now, fight later. The battlefield isn’t going anywhere. And when we reach it, we’ll need everything we’ve got.

The tension didn’t fade, but exhaustion dulled it, letting their bodies finally relax—at least enough to sleep in shifts.

“I’ll take first watch,” Viola announced, planting her sword in the ground beside her. Her chin tilted up, proud as ever despite the weariness creeping into her eyes.

Ludger arched a brow, smirking. “You? Standing guard? You’ll probably fall asleep before the stars even shift.”

Her face flared red. “I will not!” she snapped, jabbing a finger at him. “You’re the one who always dozes off after training! I can stay awake just fine.”

Ludger leaned back into the grass, folding his arms behind his head. “Sure. I’ll wake up to you snoring while some barbarian creeps up and takes your head off. Great plan.”

Viola scowled, cheeks puffing like a kettle about to boil. “If you’re so worried, stay up with me, then.”

“Tempting,” Ludger muttered, smirk widening. “But no thanks. I actually want to be useful tomorrow.”

Luna, seated a few steps away, gave them both a sidelong glance. Her face betrayed nothing, but the faintest flick of her eyes upward might have been annoyance. Or amusement.

Viola huffed and crossed her arms, but she stayed upright, torch dimmed to a glow at her feet. Ludger shut his eyes, still smirking.

If she actually manages to stay awake, I’ll eat my armguards. But maybe stubborn pride’s enough to keep her eyes open for a few hours.

The night pressed on, the sounds of the plain soft around them, as Viola began her “watch”—muttering under her breath every time she caught Ludger’s smirk twitching in the dark.

For the first hour, Viola sat stiff-backed with her sword across her knees, glaring into the dark as if her stare alone could ward off danger. Every now and then, she cast a glance at Ludger’s half-smirk, even while sleeping, he kept doing that, it was like his pokerface, lips pressed tight to prove him wrong.

But fatigue is a patient enemy. Her eyelids grew heavy, her posture slackened. Before long, her chin dipped once, twice… then stayed there. The soft sound of her breathing joined the rustle of grass.

Ludger cracked an eye open, already half-expecting it. He almost let the smirk spread across his face, but movement caught his attention.

Luna rose without a word, gliding over with steps that made no sound in the night. She lowered Viola gently to the ground, pulling a cloak over her shoulders before settling back at the grove’s edge, knife resting across her lap.

Her light brown eeyes never wavered from the horizon, her body a blade honed by duty. She didn’t glance back at Ludger, didn’t scold, didn’t explain.

She knows,

Ludger thought, studying her silhouette. She knows Viola’s burning herself out. But she won’t shame her for it. Not when both of them are worrying about Arslan and about Grandfather. None of us are really sleeping soundly tonight.

He closed his eyes again, letting the smirk fade. If Luna wanted to shoulder the silence, he wouldn’t stop her. Not tonight.

The night deepened,, Viola curled in stubborn sleep, Luna a silent sentinel, and Ludger awake just enough to feel the weight of their worries pressing with the dark.

A hand touched Ludger’s shoulder, light as a falling leaf. His eyes flicked open to see Luna crouched beside him, the horizon still painted in pre-dawn gray. Viola was still curled in her cloak, breathing softly, oblivious.

Luna’s silver eyes studied him, steady and cool. She didn’t waste words.

“You need to be careful once we reach the border,” she said, her tone so soft it barely carried past the grass. “If you show off too much, you’ll draw attention. The wrong kind.”

Ludger blinked the sleep from his eyes, then smirked faintly. “You mean enemies? Or allies who’d rather use me than thank me?”

“Both.” Luna’s gaze didn’t waver. “You already made a name for yourself in the capital tournament. People haven’t forgotten how you knocked down the sons of nobles in front of a crowd. Some were impressed… others are still humiliated. If you shine too brightly here, it won’t just be barbarians who want your head.”

Ludger exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the tree, half smirk curling sharper. So even on the battlefield, it’s politics. Figures.

Luna shifted back, her voice still calm but edged. “If you want to help, do it without standing in the center. Heal the wounded, strike when no one’s watching. Let others take the credit if it keeps their eyes off you. Otherwise, you’ll become a target—not just for the enemy, but for those on your side too.”

For a moment, the place was silent except for Viola’s soft breathing. Ludger met Luna’s gaze and let the smirk soften. “You really don’t want me dead, huh?”

Luna didn’t answer immediately. She simply straightened, cloak brushing softly as she returned to her post at the area edge. “I still owe you a favor or two. That is all.”

Ludger closed his eyes again, her warning turning in his mind. Keep my head down, huh? Easier said than done.

By the time the sun broke over the horizon, Viola was already stirring. She stretched, sword in hand before her eyes had even fully opened. “Morning already? Then let’s move.”

They packed quickly, and within minutes the three of them were cutting across the plains again, their strides steady despite the ache gnawing at their legs. The cool dawn gave way to the warmth of midmorning, and that was when they saw it.

A thin, dark smear of smoke curled into the sky ahead—faint but undeniable. More followed, drifting lazily upward like signals against the blue. The air carried a scent with it too: ash, steel, and something sour that clung to the back of the throat.

Viola’s pace quickened, her eyes sharp. “That’s them. Our side.”

Ludger slowed instead, his own gaze narrowing. “Smoke means camps. Camps mean men already tired and resting. If we charge straight in, we’ll be noticed. And not necessarily in a good way.”

He pictured it—three children stumbling out of nowhere onto the border, drawing eyes, sparking questions. If they slipped in quietly, he could blend, observe, heal, move without being catalogued. It was the smarter play.

But then he glanced at Viola. Her sword gleamed, her shoulders set, fire burning too bright in her eyes. She wasn’t afraid of the smoke, she was drawn to it—like a spark seeking tinder.

Maybe… maybe that’s the point.

Ludger’s lips curved. If the men see her—Lord Torvares’s granddaughter, standing tall, blades in hand—it could do more than all the speeches and coins their commanders can throw. She could be a living banner, something that says “we’re still fighting.”

“Change of plan,” Ludger said at last, his tone deliberate. “We don’t sneak. We walk in like we belong. Let them see you, Viola. Let them see Torvares’s blood burning to fight. Morale matters as much as steel here.”

Viola blinked at him, startled, before her lips split into a grin. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

Luna gave no protest, but her silver eyes flicked between them, sharp and calculating. She knew the risks—and she’d be ready when they came due. The smoke rose higher as they pressed on, the sound of distant hammers and muted shouts riding the wind. The border wasn’t far now.

By midday, the camp came into view—rows of battered tents, smoke from cookfires rising in uneven plumes, the metallic clatter of hammers striking dented armor. Men and women moved like shadows of themselves, armor scuffed, bandages showing under plates, eyes hollow from sleepless nights.

It didn’t take long for the guards on the perimeter to notice the approaching trio.

At first, confusion. Spears lowered, half a dozen eyes narrowing. One soldier muttered, “Kids?” in disbelief, his knuckles white on the haft of his weapon. Another frowned, voice sharper: “Wait—look at her. That’s… Torvares’s granddaughter, isn’t it?”

Whispers spread like fire on dry grass. “Lady Viola?” “What’s she doing here?” “That’s the boy from the tournament, isn’t it—the one who dropped all those noble brats?”

By the time they were within shouting distance, a dozen soldiers had gathered, their suspicion tempered by recognition. Some looked bewildered, others openly relieved—smiles tugging at the corners of tired mouths. A few simply stared, as if they’d seen a ghost they never expected to.

One grizzled veteran finally stepped forward, lowering his spear but not his guard. His voice was steady, though rough with exhaustion. “Lady Viola… What in the empire’s name are you doing here?”

The soldiers behind him didn’t wait for an answer. They straightened, shoulders pulling back, eyes suddenly brighter. Just the sight of the two children—blood of Torvares, faces tied to the capital—was enough to stir something in the camp.

Ludger caught it, the way heads lifted, the way weary lines deepened into something that looked almost like resolve. So it worked. They needed a spark, even if it’s only kids fanning the flame.

He smirked faintly, watching Viola step forward, her sword glinting at her side, fire burning in her eyes as the camp stirred awake around her.

Viola stepped forward before Ludger could open his mouth. Her voice rang out, bold and unhesitating, like she had rehearsed it every night since the war began.

“We came because we refuse to sit and wait while others bleed for us! Torvares blood doesn’t hide behind walls—we stand on the frontlines, same as you!”

A cheer didn’t erupt—most were too tired for that—but a ripple of energy ran through the crowd. Heads lifted higher, spines straightened. The whispers grew louder, spreading fast from tent to tent: “Lady Viola’s here… Lord Torvares’s granddaughter…”

By the time they pushed deeper into camp, every pair of eyes followed them. Viola basked in it, chest proud, stride unshaken. Ludger kept his smirk small, but he saw it working—the soldiers who moments ago had looked like husks now carried sparks in their eyes. Rumor was faster than any banner.

When they reached the largest tent at the camp’s center, the air shifted. Guards stiffened, and there, leaning against a pole with a hand dragging down his face, stood Arslan.

“Of course,” he groaned, voice muffled against his palm. “Of course they’d show up here of all places. Couldn't they just stay home and behave, could they?”

Ludger met his father’s exasperated glare with a dry smirk. “Good to see you too. Mother sent me to make sure that you wouldn’t be messing around with women even here.”

Before Arslan could launch into a tirade, the flap of the tent burst open.

Lord Torvares stepped out, armor gleaming despite dents and scratches, his cloak heavy with dust and blood. His stern face, carved from stone itself, froze the moment his eyes landed on Viola—and then Ludger at her side.

For once, the old man looked genuinely shocked, mouth parting as if words had abandoned him.

“You…” His voice rumbled low, uncertain whether it should break into fury or pride. “…What in the blazing hells are you doing here?”

The entire camp seemed to hold its breath.

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