The following morning, the soldiers busied themselves dismantling their camp and preparing to move on. Before long, everyone was summoned to assemble at the rally point.
As the formation was being arranged, Dorian—seated atop his horse—rode past the spot where Ryn was standing.
Like the others, he noticed the oversized sword that seemed ill-suited to its wielder's frame. Yet he said nothing—perhaps he simply did not care.
However, Ryn could feel a pair of eyes fixed upon him.
A familiar gaze.
The same one from yesterday.
Ryn pretended not to notice, even though he knew exactly who it belonged to.
Soon, the army began to move, advancing toward their destination, which lay not far from the camp.
Time slipped by until nearly midday, when the command to halt was finally given—signaling that they were close to their objective.
The assisting Divines and unit commanders began arranging the troops for battle.
Everything unfolded exactly as Goran had predicted.
The force was divided into four groups.
Group One, the vanguard, consisted of fifty personnel:
thirty soldiers and twenty mages.
Goran was among them.
Groups Two and Three formed the left and right flanks,
twenty-five each—ten soldiers and fifteen mages per side,
with one Divine assigned to each flank.
The final group, the rear guard, was made up of twenty mages
surrounding Dorian himself, the commander of this operation.
Ryn was assigned to the right flank, alongside Bernard, the assistant Divine.
Alize, meanwhile, remained in the rear guard.
Once the formations were complete, just before issuing the order to advance,
Dorian leaned in and whispered something to Bernard.
Bernard's expression shifted instantly—his eyes widening in shock.
He turned and stared directly at Ryn.
"You… what is your name?"
Ryn stepped forward and bowed slightly.
"Ryn Ardent, sir."
Dorian's gaze froze.
"And who is your instructor?"
"Sir Richard."
The moment the name left Ryn's lips, a wave of murmurs rippled through the ranks.
Soldiers and mages alike began whispering, their voices blending into an indistinct uproar.
"Silence!"
Dorian barked, and the area fell quiet at once.
"Richard, you say?"
He let out a crooked laugh.
"That man is nothing but a charlatan—teaching nonsense without any real discipline."
His eyes drifted to Ryn's sword.
"Just look at this. Even his disciple can't choose a proper weapon."
Laughter erupted from all around, mocking and cruel,
echoing through the ranks like the prelude to something far darker.
But Ryn did not retaliate.
He showed no expression at all.
He simply stood there, listening to every insult in silence—
as though those words… could not reach him in the slightest.
"That sword of yours doesn't suit you,"
Dorian said.
"Use it in battle and you'll only get yourself killed."
He dismounted and walked straight up to Ryn, stopping right in front of him.
"Hand it over to me."
Ryn remained silent.
He felt no fear toward Dorian whatsoever.
But that was an order.
"Give it to me!"
Dorian barked again.
Ryn unfastened the sword from his shoulder.
Goran shifted as if to stop him, but could do nothing.
Alize watched with clear worry on her face.
Ryn calmly extended the sword to the commander.
Dorian let out a soft laugh.
"See? It doesn't suit you at all,"
he said as he took it from Ryn's hands.
The instant his palm closed around the hilt,
an overwhelming weight slammed into his arm.
Dorian stiffened—
his body nearly losing balance as he hurriedly drove the blade's tip into the ground to keep it from slipping from his grasp.
The sound of metal striking earth was quiet,
yet sharp enough to plunge the entire area into silence.
Dorian looked up at Ryn, shock written all over his face.
Ryn, meanwhile, stood motionless—
not uttering a single word.
The surrounding soldiers and mages were frozen.
No one understood what had just happened.
No one dared to ask.
Dorian forced a laugh to cover it up.
"On the battlefield, I'll stick to a sword I'm actually used to."
He pushed the weapon back toward Ryn.
"Take yours back."
Then he turned, mounted his horse, and shouted loudly,
"Advance!"
Ryn slung the sword back over his shoulder,
looking no different from before.
Goran and Alize both let out quiet sighs of relief.
Yet the atmosphere around them…
had grown noticeably heavier.
When the army finally reached the area near the cave,
new orders were issued to rotate the frontline troops.
Ryn's name was called.
He stepped forward to take his position.
Goran quickly moved to stand beside him.
"You've got the worst luck imaginable,"
Goran muttered.
Ryn tilted his head slightly.
"How so?"
"Look at you—small as you are, yet you're stuck on the front line. How could anyone call that lucky?"
Ryn let out a soft chuckle.
"On the battlefield, it doesn't matter where you stand. It's dangerous all the same."
Goran nodded in agreement.
"Yeah. Even on the walls, those things still manage to climb up."
He paused for a moment, then spoke again in a more serious tone.
"Whatever happens, remember this—don't push yourself too hard. Stay behind me."
Ryn smiled at him, genuinely this time.
"Thanks."
He found himself liking Goran more than he had expected,
even though they had known each other for barely a single day.