This latest mission in the desert had lasted a full two months. During the first half, Lancer had practically loafed around; the middle was marked by endless slaughter, and finally, during the return trip, watching carts piled high with Imperial corpses and captured slaves, he had begun to reflect deeply.
His conclusion was straightforward—he was too weak.
If he had been stronger back then, perhaps he could have prevented Aogiri Tree's massacre. If he had commanded more respect, maybe the CCG would have heeded his advice and invested seriously in creating edible food for Ghouls. If his strength were absolute, perhaps he could even forbid slave trading outright…
But all these possibilities rested upon a single premise—strength.
Only absolute strength could bend fate, shaping the destiny of himself and others. Weaklings were at the mercy of the powerful, their efforts worthless beneath the weight of a single word from above.
After returning briefly to the Western fortress, Lancer immediately departed for the Imperial Capital once more.
As he entered the Capital again, he felt nothing. The city remained unchanged since the day he'd left, but now he saw clearly how naïve he'd been when he'd first decided to stay—believing he could "change the future."
Remaining here was meaningless, mere wasted time.
Even if the key to changing history were placed directly before him, could he seize it?
No.
"General Budo," he declared decisively. "I request reassignment to the border forces. Over these past two months, I've realized my weaknesses and inadequacies. As I am now, I'm unworthy of serving in the Imperial Guard!"
At this bold statement, General Budo said nothing, merely tapping a finger rhythmically against his desk, clearly considering Lancer's request.
Finally, his finger struck the surface heavily.
"Fine. Your transfer to the border forces is approved. But never forget—you're from the Imperial Guard. Do not disgrace us, and never shame His Majesty!"
"Yes, sir!"
Though assigned temporarily to the frontier forces, Lancer technically remained part of the Imperial Guard. It was effectively a secondment rather than a permanent transfer.
This was Lancer's second departure from the Capital carrying Budo's letter of introduction—but unlike the confusion and uncertainty of the first time, this time his eyes blazed with unwavering determination.
Strength. Only absolute strength could shape destiny—his own, and that of others.
...
"Hah! Haaah!"
Shouts echoed across the training ground, where General Budo stood quietly at the front as always. He observed his Imperial Guardsmen below, their drills executed to perfection. He offered no comment, and none expected any—after all, this was the man known as the Empire's strongest.
Yet no one knew that at this very moment, something else occupied his mind entirely.
Lancer's departure from the Imperial Guard had caught him completely off-guard. However, as head of the Empire's military, so long as Lancer remained in the ranks, Budo naturally received regular intelligence updates—including recent events.
It had been nearly a year since Lancer left. In that short time, he had risen rapidly from Second Lieutenant to Lieutenant Colonel, now serving as Deputy Commander under Brigadier General Liver on the western frontier.
The reason Lancer occupied Budo's thoughts today was simple: after a full year, he was returning to the Capital. This visit was not ordered by Budo himself, but rather earned by Lancer's extraordinary achievements in a recent campaign against foreign tribes near the western fortress.
Yet alongside his heroics, Lancer had also gained another name—a grim epithet:
The Bloodstained Executioner.
Typically, even the mightiest commanders rarely led every charge from the front. Besides the risk of unexpected setbacks, a warrior's pride would usually prevent them from slaughtering common soldiers indiscriminately. Lancer, however, was different.
Whenever a battle began, Lancer rode first into the fray without fail. His kill count was always unmatched. It was said that the instant he lowered his lance, the Empire's border forces surged forward—an unstoppable tide of death.
But mere battlefield aggression wasn't why he'd earned the Executioner title. It was his ruthless approach toward captured foreign tribesmen that cemented his terrifying reputation:
"You are nothing more than raiders preying on Imperial territory. I offer you mercy—the chance to choose how you die."
Naturally, some captives tried clever responses. One arrogant fool demanded, "I wish to die of old age." The result? Predictably, Lancer speared him through the heart and hurled his corpse atop broken rubble.
Most captives chose death quickly. Some preferred slavery instead, and Lancer allowed their choice without judgment.
True, few Imperial citizens held sympathy for foreign tribes, yet Lancer's blood-soaked hands and his nearly nonexistent capture rate made even loyal soldiers shudder. Among soldiers elsewhere in the Empire, Lancer's name evoked a single, chilling image—a crazed killer.
But the truth was more complex.
Those who truly understood Lancer knew him as battle-crazed, certainly—but not as some indiscriminate murderer. He was indifferent to wealth, women, or power; he seemed purely addicted to the fight itself.
After reviewing recent reports, Budo made his way toward his office. Sure enough, when he arrived, Lancer was already seated quietly before his desk, exactly as he had been one year prior.
"You've done very well this past year," Budo stated plainly, settling into his chair.
Lancer stood respectfully. "It's all thanks to your guidance, General."
His words weren't mere flattery. Although initially unnoticed, Lancer had gradually realized Budo's subtle support—whether through the legion commander's warm welcome upon his return to the Western fortress, or the quiet acceptance of his brutal methods against the tribesmen rather than selling them as slaves. The former made sense, given he'd return to the Imperial Guard eventually, but the latter was different: interfering with slave merchants was dangerous—after all, hindering another's profits was practically courting death.
Still, Lancer's attitude toward Budo differed greatly from how he regarded Mado Kureo.
Mado had saved him out of duty, yes, and recommended him to the Investigator training because he recognized his potential—but he never compelled Lancer beyond that. Even entering the training had been Lancer's own decision. Budo, however, clearly had his own motives. So, Lancer viewed Mado as his true mentor, while Budo was merely a powerful sponsor.
Was the difference subtle? Perhaps outwardly, but to Lancer it was profound. If Mado ever called upon him to hunt the One-Eyed Owl, Lancer would rush in without hesitation. But for Budo, he'd pause first.
Still, under normal circumstances, Lancer deeply respected General Budo.
"Tomorrow, His Majesty will personally award medals to warriors who've distinguished themselves in battle. The entire Imperial court will attend—"
Lancer's body involuntarily shuddered. He swiftly suppressed the tremor, but Budo noticed anyway, casting him a brief glance. To the general, Lancer simply seemed excited by tomorrow's honor.
But the truth?
The real reason for Lancer's excitement was that he would finally see again the man who haunted his dreams!