BOOM!
With an exaggerated crash, a stone pillar in the desert snapped clean in two.
"Help him! Hurry!!"
Shouts rang out amid the settling dust. Faces drawn with exhaustion, Liver and the others scrambled to clear away the rubble. Yet when they finally uncovered Lancer, what they saw left them momentarily speechless.
Compared to them, he looked almost fine.
"Yo~!"
He even had the nerve to greet them.
Irritation flared instantly. Even the ever-stern Liver let go of the stone in his hands and leaned back against a chunk of broken rock to rest. The others followed suit, dropping what they carried and collapsing where they stood.
Unlike Lancer—who had just enjoyed six minutes of unstoppable stamina courtesy of [Mega Dash Juice]—the rest of them had run for their lives on sheer grit alone. They were spent. Liver and the other two had already been wounded; now their injuries had split open again, blood soaking through their bandages. They looked wretched.
"Everyone, we should move."
They might have escaped the city, but they were far from safe.
According to Liver's plan, with any luck the city would descend into chaos first—perhaps even fall into internal strife—buying them time. But the distant "smoke dragon" rising on the horizon made it clear.
Their flight had only just begun.
Meanwhile, having regained movement in all four limbs, Lancer dug himself free from the rubble. His right arm, however, was nearly numb.
In theory, once activated, the Secret Technique would continue so long as his stamina held or until he struck a target. But this wasn't a game. There were countless ways to interrupt it—uneven terrain, severe injury, loss of balance. Lancer had no desire to push himself into some grotesque state, so he'd chosen a "target" in advance.
The massive boulder he'd spotted on their way to the city.
The technique had stopped—but the recoil left his arm in no condition for reckless heroics anytime soon.
...
When Lancer returned to the city over a week later, everything had changed.
After retreating with Liver and the others, they had quickly linked up with the main force conducting "cleanup operations." They received treatment, submitted the map of the large settlement they'd discovered, and events unfolded from there.
Now, as he stood amid the aftermath, Lancer found himself contemplating a single question.
What should he do?
The slaughter before had been fueled by anger. In truth, whether Imperial citizens or foreign tribespeople, none of them shared any blood with him. He had simply happened to awaken within the Empire's borders.
So… he chose to follow his heart.
Once the Imperial Army arrived, the city's fate was sealed.
The walls would fall. The water would be poisoned. The survivors would be shackled and sold into slavery within the Empire.
Lancer was only a soldier. He couldn't—and wouldn't—stop the others.
That left him one choice.
Kill them.
Better to die here than be dragged off as slaves—abused, forgotten, and buried in some unmarked corner of the Empire. If death was inevitable, let it be on the battlefield, not in chains.
Clad in armor, Lancer didn't even notice the change in himself. Killing intent poured off him as he strode across the battlefield like a merciless executioner. Whoever stood before him—friend or foe mattered not. If they blocked his path, he granted them the same "mercy."
Death.
When the flames finally died and the city lay reduced to blackened ruins, Imperial soldiers gathered their fallen comrades.
Without thinking, they avoided one particular area.
It wasn't just because no Imperial corpses lay there.
It was because someone was sitting atop a massive stone within that space.
Under normal circumstances, even the strongest fighter could only kill for so long. As long as one remained human, stamina had limits. Few could begin a battle swinging and never stop until it ended.
Lancer had.
For more than two hours, as the vanguard, he had not paused once. His originally sand-colored armor had long since been dyed dark red with foreign blood. Each breath that escaped his visor in the cold night air turned to white mist, making him look less like a man and more like a demon clawing his way out of hell.
"Lancer. Time to head back."
"Yes, Captain Liver."
It was Liver himself who came to retrieve him.
Following behind, Lancer watched Imperial corpses carried past and foreign tribespeople driven like livestock. Suddenly, he stopped.
"Lancer?"
Liver had been unsettled by him for some time now. With his experience, he could see that Lancer's lance work wasn't especially refined. But overwhelming physique, solid armor, and sheer weapon mass had turned him into the battlefield's reaper.
Now, seeing him halt, Liver frowned. When he noticed Lancer staring at the dead and the enslaved, he sighed softly.
He stepped closer, intending to offer a few words of guidance.
Instead, he heard Lancer murmur under his breath—
"Not enough… I'm still not strong enough…"
Even someone of Liver's composure felt a chill.
To him, Lancer sounded like a butcher dissatisfied with the slaughter.
But that wasn't what Lancer meant.
Not strong enough. If I were strong enough, I could have stopped all of this.
Yes—Lancer was a tyrant in his own way. He forced his judgment upon those he killed. Perhaps some of them would have chosen slavery over death.
He knew exactly what he had done.
And he knew the root of it.
He wasn't strong enough.
If he were an Imperial general, he would have the authority to decide these people's fate.
If his strength were absolute, he could stand before the Emperor and speak his will.
As for overthrowing the Emperor—that had never been in his plans. In at most two years, he would leave this world. And he had no desire to rule.
The Empire had governed this land for a thousand years for a reason. Before corruption, it had been the best possible system.
As for the Revolutionary Army?
Before, Lancer had merely resented them for colluding with foreign tribes to attack their own nation. Now, after witnessing firsthand what those tribes were capable of—
His resentment had hardened into disgust.
These traitors… could they truly govern this land any better?