For a moment, silence hung over the battlefield. Only the crackle of torches and the distant echo of wind broke the stillness. The creature's corpse twitched once… then went limp.
The men stood frozen, drenched in mud, blood, and fear — until Gray's voice tore through the quiet.
"Form ranks! Check the wounded!"
It wasn't the most commanding tone but it was enough. The soldiers moved, their discipline kicking in as they dragged the injured back.
Gray trudged toward Polycles, his sword dragging a dark trail through the mud. Polycles knelt beside the corpse, his chest heaving with exhaustion.
Gray furtively glanced at him. It wasn't a stretch to say he admired him. When Polycles vaulted over the line, he looked like a hero straight out of myth.
Fearless, decisive, unshaken. Exactly what Gray wasn't. While Gray admired him, he hated how easy it seemed for him.
He was everything Gray wanted to be.
Gray sighed and looked up, wondering how his life would go.
Would he be a figure worthy of respect and reverence in the future? Or would he die like a rat in the depths of the Dream Realm?
Who knew, the future always changed.
Each choice led to a new end. As long as Gray made the right ones, he could become such a figure.
And Gray didn't need to question whether his choices were right. After all, he could pry into Fate.
Name: Gray
True Name: —
Rank: Aspirant
Memories: —
Attributes: [Eternal Darkness], [Fate's Attendant], [Grafting]
Aspect: [Planeswalker]
Aspect Description: [Planeswalkers are someone who is connected with Space and are a witness to all.]
Gray smiled faintly, looking at his runes.
At least he wasn't all that useless.
Suddenly Polycles turned to him, "Was that satisfactory, my lord?"
Hearing his words, Gray returned to reality. "Mhmm, without you the line would've fallen. The casualties might've been much more."
He muttered, turning around to witness the battlefield.
Blood seeped into the soil, nourishing the wicked forest.
"Isn't that war, milord?" Polycles murmured, his voice low, "Keep up or get crushed. The world doesn't stop for the weak." He muttered somberly.
Gray's eyes grew distant upon listening to Polycles, the weight of war finally settling upon him.
He let out a huff.
War, such a small word for such a big thing.
If not for his march to Lamia, those people would've still been alive. They could have had children, wives, families. But he had pried it away from them.
He was the only one responsible for the deaths sustained right now.
Soon, the sayer brought the counts.
Twelve dead, forty wounded grievously and more than 70 were slightly injured.
Gray remained calm, but inwardly he was seething.
It was a pyrrhic victory.
Against three Nightmare Creatures, Gray had sacrificed close to a hundred of his soldiers.
Gray couldn't help but laugh.
It wasn't a loud laugh — more like a breath caught between hysteria and disbelief. The sound startled the men nearby, a hollow, bitter thing that didn't belong to a commander who'd just won a battle.
Polycles turned to him, his brow furrowed. "Milord?"
Gray shook his head, still chuckling under his breath. "Three creatures, Polycles. Just three. And look at us — bloodied, broken, limping like old men." His lips curved into a dry smile. "If this is victory, I dread to see defeat."
Polycles didn't answer. There was nothing to say.
Gray's laughter faded, replaced by a heavy stillness. His shoulders sagged beneath invisible weight as his gaze drifted toward the flames consuming the corpses. The air reeked of burning flesh and oil.
Gray's expression twisted as he stared at the wisps of smoke rising from his soldier's cremation.
The fire fervently devoured everything, leaving nothing but ash and a pile of bones.
Gray's hands tightened, his nails dug into his palms as drops of blood trickled down to his knuckles.
Gray suddenly lifted his head up, his eyes burning fervently as he stared at the horizon.
Abruptly, Gray raised his hand, pointing at Lamia, or well in the general direction of it.
He opened his mouth, his voice cracked as he proclaimed loudly.
"Mark my words, Polycles! The next time I ride into battle, we will win! The Athenians will be crushed! The Greeks will flee! And whoever raises their sword against us will perish!"
Polycles's lips curved up as he heard Gray's words, grinning, he said with a bow, "Yes, Milord."
***
The morning sun struggled to pierce the mist that rolled across the camp. They abandoned camp, and started their march to Lamia, their spirits hollow, still reeling from yesterday's bloodshed.
Polycles rode towards him, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. "The wounded have been tended to. The healer says most will recover, given time and rest."
Gray spared him a glance, he was surprised when he learned that Polycles had stayed awake throughout the night, watching over the soldiers.
It seemed he was a lot kinder than Gray thought.
Gray soon nodded, turning his head front. He gazed at the horizon.
An awkward silence settled between them as they continued their campaign.
Polycles broke the silence after a while, "The scouts returned. The path to Lamia is clear for the next two leagues, but…" He hesitated. "They say the forest beyond houses something unholy. Another monster may have nested over there."
Gray came to a halt, a dark expression settled over his face as he gazed beyond the horizon.
After a moment of deliberating, Gray spoke in a cold and detached tone.
"Then the forest will burn."
Polycles frowned. "So soon? After yesterday's losses?"
Gray met his gaze. His expression was unreadable, "War doesn't wait, and neither will I."