The battlefield slowly settled into silence as the last remnants of the orc army disappeared into the forests beyond the southern plains. Their retreat was disorderly, abandoning weapons, supplies, and even their wounded in a desperate attempt to escape before the Border Knights closed the distance.
"Don't let them regroup!"
The commanding officer of the Border Knights raised his sword toward the fleeing army.
"Pursue them to the southern pass!"
"Horn signal at sunset. Do not overextend!"
"Yes, Sir!"
The thunder of hooves echoed across the plains as several companies broke formation and chased after the retreating orcs, while the remaining knights stayed behind to secure the battlefield and assist the wounded.
For the first time since dawn...
The village had survived.
Exhausted guards lowered their weapons where they stood. Some collapsed onto the bloodstained ground without caring about the mud or the corpses surrounding them. Others simply sat in silence, staring blankly across the battlefield as healers moved from one wounded defender to another.
The cries of battle had been replaced by quieter sounds.
Orders.
Bandages being wrapped.
Shovels striking the earth.
And the soft sobs of those mourning friends who would never return home.
Lambert stood alone near the center of the battlefield.
Without a word, he planted Gale Cutter into the ground and rested both hands upon its shaft.
The evening breeze swept across the plains.
For a long moment, he simply looked at the halberd.
The emerald and crimson rune scripts engraved along its blade had almost completely disappeared.
The once-brilliant lines were now little more than faint scars etched into the metal, while several sections had vanished entirely, leaving behind bare steel.
Lambert ran a thumb across one of the faded engravings.
"...You carried me far enough."
A tired smile crossed his face.
"I suppose it's time to visit him again."
Lambert stood quietly at the center of the battlefield, both hands resting upon the tip of Gale Cutter as its blade remained planted firmly into the blood-soaked earth. The halberd had become his support, allowing him to catch his breath after the long battle.
The strange blue markings engraved along its blade continued to glow faintly.
Blink.
The light faded.
Several seconds passed before the markings glowed again.
Blink.
The interval grew longer.
Each pulse became weaker than the last, as though whatever had been flowing through the strange engravings was slowly reaching its end.
Lambert simply watched.
He had seen it happen many times before.
The blue markings flickered once.
Then again.
Without warning, every engraving along the halberd suddenly shone brilliantly, illuminating the worn steel beneath the fading evening light.
The glow pulsed rapidly.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Then...
Nothing.
The light disappeared completely.
Moments later, pale blue flames quietly emerged from the strange markings, burning gently across every engraved line without giving off heat or smoke. Thin cracks slowly spread through the glowing patterns until they covered the entire length of the halberd.
A faint, crystalline sound echoed through the silent battlefield.
**Crack.**
The glowing markings shattered.
Not the steel.
Only the strange blue engravings.
Tiny fragments of light drifted into the evening breeze like scattered fireflies before dissolving into nothingness.
The flames vanished.
The halberd remained as sturdy as ever, but without the mysterious markings, it appeared noticeably older. Countless scratches and scars that had once gone unnoticed now covered its surface, revealing the years of battles it had endured.
Lambert gently brushed his thumb across the bare steel where the final blue marking had once been.
A small smile appeared on his face.
"...You lasted longer than I expected."
With one smooth motion, he pulled Gale Cutter from the earth and rested it upon his shoulder.
---
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The sounds of rebuilding slowly replaced the sounds of war.
Villagers carried the wounded toward temporary shelters, while Border Knights gathered abandoned weapons and supplies left behind by the retreating orcs.
Zeal finally broke the silence.
"...There is one more matter."
Lambert glanced at him.
"The gnolls."
Lambert's eyes drifted toward the outskirts of the battlefield.
Several hundred gnolls were already helping the villagers. Some carried timber from collapsed houses, others dug graves alongside Gayrum, while a few escorted frightened children back toward the village.
"They fought for us."
Zeal nodded.
"I know."
"There are still nearly three hundred of them."
"They're intelligent monsters."
His tone remained calm.
"The court won't ignore that."
Lambert quietly listened.
"If Bastion chooses to let them remain..."
Zeal continued,
"...the Empire will recognize that decision."
"I'll see that food, building materials, and additional support are sent here."
"It won't silence every noble..."
"...but I'll handle the rest."
Lambert remained silent for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh.
"...You're asking the wrong person."
Zeal looked at him.
"This isn't my village."
"I've protected it."
"I've lived here."
"But it isn't mine to rule."
He turned his gaze toward the village elder, who stood among the survivors helping organize the evacuation of the wounded.
"The people who survived today..."
"...they're the ones who decide."
"If they accept the gnolls..."
"I'll protect that decision."
"If they don't..."
Lambert shrugged lightly.
"That's their choice too."
Zeal followed Lambert's gaze toward the village elder.
After a long silence, he nodded.
"...I understand."
Lambert rested Gale Cutter against his shoulder once more.
"Go ask the elder."
"He'll give you the answer you're looking for."
---
The conversation between the village elder and the Crown Prince lasted well into the evening.
Representatives from the villagers, the Border Knights, and the surviving gnolls gathered beside the battered remains of the southern wall, discussing the future of the settlement while workers continued clearing the battlefield beyond.
When every voice had finally been heard, Zeal stepped forward.
His gaze swept across the broken walls surrounding the village.
Large sections had collapsed beneath the relentless assault, while others still stood despite bearing countless scars from axes, fire, and blood.
He slowly placed a hand upon one of the cracked stone blocks.
"...This wall should have fallen."
His voice carried quietly across the gathering.
"...Yet it endured."
He turned toward the villagers.
"So did all of you."
The crowd fell silent.
Zeal looked beyond the ruined gate toward the endless southern plains.
"The southern frontier has always been the Empire's first line of defense."
"Today..."
"...it proved itself once again."
He lowered his hand from the weathered stone.
"From this day forward..."
"...this settlement shall bear the title..."
**"Iron Bastion."**
A gentle breeze swept through the broken gate.
"The walls may one day be rebuilt."
"The houses may rise again."
"But the courage shown here..."
"...must never be forgotten."
He looked toward the remaining gnolls standing quietly among the villagers.
"This place will be expanded."
"The surviving walls shall remain as a memorial to the battle fought here."
"A new settlement will be constructed beyond them."
"It will stand as the Empire's first fortress against every threat that rises from the southern frontier."
"The Border Knights will maintain a permanent garrison."
"Supplies, craftsmen, and laborers will be dispatched immediately."
"Should darkness march upon these lands again..."
"...Iron Bastion will be the first shield standing before the Empire."
For several moments...
No one spoke.
Then, one by one, the villagers bowed their heads.
Not to the Crown Prince.
But to the scarred walls that had protected them through the longest day of their lives.
---
By the following morning, the battlefield had become far more organized than the chaos it had been the previous day.
The remaining Border Knights continued searching the surrounding forests, returning every few hours with groups of exhausted orcs bound in heavy chains. Those that surrendered were disarmed and gathered near the southern gate under constant watch, while those who continued resisting rarely made it back alive.
Several hundred prisoners had already been assembled by noon.
A group of Imperial officers walked among them, recording their numbers as soldiers fastened iron collars around their necks.
"They'll be transported to the capital."
One of the officers looked toward the Crown Prince before continuing.
"The Ministry will decide where they're assigned."
Another officer shrugged.
"Most will end up digging mines."
"Or building roads."
"Better than leaving them to rot."
The Empire had little interest in wasting labor.
The captured orcs would spend the remainder of their lives repaying the destruction they had caused.
Not far away...
Boom Boom rested his oversized toy hammer across one shoulder while staring at a particularly large orc glaring back at him.
"...He's making that face again."
The orc growled.
Boom Boom sighed.
"...Still grumpy."
Without warning...
_Bonk._
The rubber hammer bounced harmlessly off the orc's helmet.
The orc blinked.
Boom Boom blinked back.
"...See?"
"I told you it wasn't that hard."
Nearby, Lulu pointed her umbrella toward another captive.
A tiny stream of water splashed directly into the orc's face.
The orc flinched.
Lala burst into laughter while using her fishing rod to hook the back of another orc's belt, causing him to stumble forward as the Border Knights struggled not to laugh.
"Oi!"
"No running!"
"You'll make the nice knights do more work."
One Border Knight covered his mouth, trying desperately to keep a straight face.
"...Are they always like this?"
Another nodded.
"...Apparently."
Even several of the captured orcs looked completely confused.
Moments later, Gayrum walked past carrying an enormous bundle of confiscated weapons over one shoulder.
He glanced toward the three children.
"...Don't break the prisoners."
Boom Boom scratched his head.
"...We're trying not to."
Gayrum sighed.
"...I'm somehow less worried now."
A ripple of quiet laughter spread through the nearby soldiers.
For the first time since the invasion began...
The weight hanging over the village had finally begun to lift.
Later that afternoon, Imperial officials began distributing compensation to those who had defended the frontier.
Families of the fallen received the largest share.
The wounded were compensated according to their injuries.
The village itself received a substantial grant of steel, timber, grain, livestock, and coin to aid in rebuilding.
Even the adventurers who had answered the call were rewarded for their service.
It wasn't enough to erase what had been lost.
Nothing ever could.
But it was enough to ensure the village could stand again.
As workers began clearing the final remnants of the battlefield, the southern frontier no longer looked like a land on the brink of collapse.
It looked like a community preparing to rebuild.
---
That night, Leon sat alone atop the battered wooden wall overlooking the southern plains.
The fires burning across the battlefield had finally begun to die down, leaving behind only scattered lanterns carried by villagers and Border Knights as they continued searching for the wounded.
The wind carried the faint smell of smoke.
The smell of blood still lingered.
Leon hugged his knees as he stared into the darkness beyond the frontier.
His hands trembled.
Not from the cold.
From everything that had happened.
Only yesterday...
He had watched monsters pour across the plains in numbers he couldn't even count.
He had seen friends collapse beside him.
He had watched villagers scream as the walls shook beneath the weight of the invasion.
For the first time in his life...
He had truly believed he was going to die.
His fingers slowly clenched into fists.
Then...
He remembered Lambert.
The lone figure walking across the battlefield.
Standing where everyone else had retreated.
Holding back an entire army.
Leon lowered his head.
"...I couldn't do anything."
The words escaped quietly.
He had trained.
He had practiced with a sword every day.
He believed he was getting stronger.
Yet when the battle finally arrived...
All he could do was watch.
Watch Lambert protect everyone.
Watch Gayrum hold the walls.
Watch Boom Boom, Lulu, and Lala fight without hesitation.
Watch countless defenders risk their lives while he stood frozen.
The realization hurt.
Not because he envied them.
Because he had been helpless.
Leon slowly looked back toward the village.
His mother was helping prepare food for the wounded.
His father was repairing one of the damaged barricades despite the bandages wrapped around his arm.
Children were already laughing again, chasing one another through the streets as though trying to forget the horrors of the previous day.
The village still stood.
His family still lived.
Not because of him.
Because others had protected them.
He looked toward the rebuilt gate where the newly raised banner bearing the words **Iron Bastion** fluttered gently in the evening breeze.
The Crown Prince had praised the defenders.
The villagers had celebrated their survival.
The Empire had promised its support.
Those things were important.
But none of them were the reason Leon's heart burned.
He wasn't inspired by the glory.
He wasn't inspired by the rewards.
He wasn't inspired by the stories that would one day be told.
He wanted...
The strength to stand where Lambert had stood.
The strength to protect the people behind him.
His family.
His friends.
His home.
Leon slowly stood.
His trembling hands were steady now.
He looked once more toward the southern plains before quietly making a promise to himself.
"...Next time..."
"...I won't be the one being protected."
The night wind swept across Iron Bastion.
Far below, the sound of hammers striking steel echoed from the village as its people began rebuilding.
Leon listened for a moment.
Then turned and quietly walked home.
Tomorrow...
He would begin again.
---
Morning sunlight slipped through the wooden shutters, casting long rays across the modest bedroom.
Leon slowly opened his eyes.
The familiar sound of steel striking steel echoed from somewhere beyond his window. Blacksmiths had already begun their work, merchants called to one another from the streets, and the smell of fresh bread drifted through the cool morning air.
He stretched before sitting upright.
Against the wall rested a sturdy wooden weapon rack.
A tempered shortsword.
A tempered longsword.
An odachi nearly as tall as he was.
A polished spear.
A well-balanced halberd.
Several throwing daggers rested neatly below them.
Each weapon had been forged specifically for him over the past three years, replaced one after another as he continued to grow.
Leon walked toward the rack.
His reflection stared back from the polished blade of the longsword.
The frightened boy who had stood helplessly upon Iron Bastion's walls was gone.
His once-short hair now reached the back of his neck, while countless hours of training had strengthened his once-slender frame. Though still young, his shoulders had broadened, his movements had become steadier, and the calluses covering his hands spoke of years spent wielding every weapon hanging before him.
His hand rested upon the longsword.
Near its guard, several strange markings had been carefully engraved into the steel.
He gently brushed his thumb across them before returning the weapon to its place.
Every blade upon the rack had been forged by the blacksmiths of Iron Bastion.
After the Orc invasion, the Empire and the Adventurer Guild had rewarded every defender who stood upon the battlefield. Although Leon's contribution had been small compared to the legends who fought that day, the reward had been more than enough to support his training over the past three years.
He quietly stepped outside.
The old stone walls of Iron Bastion still stood proudly behind the village, their scars preserved as a reminder of the day an Orc King reached the southern frontier.
Beyond those walls...
An entirely new district had risen.
Broad roads stretched across the southern plains where empty fields had once stood. Workshops lined both sides of the streets, their chimneys already releasing thin trails of smoke into the clear morning sky.
Standing proudly at the center of the district was a massive stone building adorned with crossed swords upon its entrance.
The Adventurer Guild.
Nearby stood the Blacksmiths' Guild, the Armorers' Guild, the Tailors' Guild, the Hunters' Lodge, and dozens of newly established shops built to support the ever-growing frontier.
Humans and gnolls walked the streets together, carrying ore, timber, leather, and supplies as though they had lived beside one another for years.
Iron Bastion was no longer just a border village.
It had become the Empire's southern frontier city.
Leon took a deep breath.
A smile slowly spread across his face.
Today...
Three years had passed since the Orc invasion.
Today...
He had finally turned **ten years old**.
And for the first time...
He was old enough to register as an adventurer.