* * *
Just when his mind had been racing, the next thing he knew, he was already on horseback, heading for the battlefield.
‘Oh, come on…’
As if giving him no time to think, it had been the very next day after receiving the imperial decree.
“Count Nefendis, you’ll be in danger if you keep slumping over like that.”
The speaker was Duke Carlyle Firentium of the Epentel Empire.
Though it was clearly meant as advice, it wasn’t particularly appreciated.
‘Danger, my ass. You’re the dangerous one here.’
Eren gave a small nod before turning his head the other way.
Black hair and eyes like blood—completely opposite of Eren’s own striking silver hair and blue eyes.
He had the kind of beauty that could steal glances in an instant, but Eren didn’t spare him even that.
He deliberately looked away.
That man, with a face like a carved statue, was the main character of this novel.
As described, his looks were enough to turn everyone else into background props.
But Eren, at least, knew what lay beneath.
‘This is exactly why you shouldn’t judge people by appearances.’
He almost got charmed by that face—almost.
At some point, the strength he’d been holding in his core to stay on the horse gave out, and Eren swayed slightly.
“I told you to be careful.”
“…Thank you, Your Grace.”
“If you’re not opposed—”
“I appreciate it, but I must decline.”
“I haven’t said anything yet.”
Oh. Right.
Feeling a bit awkward, Eren looked up at him again—only to realize Carlyle’s arm had already snaked around his waist.
‘Never let your guard down!’
Gripping the reins tightly, Eren urged his horse forward, pulling away from Carlyle.
Only then did the arm around his waist retreat.
But when their eyes briefly met—those crimson eyes—Eren shivered involuntarily.
‘What the hell? Why’s he looking at me like that?!’
“…Why are you staring at me like that?”
Carlyle simply shook his head as if it was nothing.
The strange energy in his eyes dissipated as well.
“Still, you seem rather drained.”
“…I’m fine.”
“If you’re that tired, why not ride with me?”
‘I said I’m fine.’
The words pushed up to his throat but Eren managed to swallow them.
Instead, he offered a polite smile.
“I couldn’t possibly trouble you like that.”
“I don’t think carrying just you counts as a trouble.”
‘You’re the trouble here, you persistent bastard.’
There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but Eren simply lowered his eyes in a show of polite refusal.
Not long after, they finally arrived at the allied camp.
All that lay ahead was a forest thick with trees.
Clearly, the camp had been set up here to avoid detection.
As the horse came to a stop, a breeze blew through the leaves—carrying with it the distinct metallic tang of blood.
It was a smell Eren had grown used to over the past two months since his transmigration here—but no matter how many times he smelled it, he could never truly get used to it.
‘…And now I feel guilty again!’
He’d rather come up with some ridiculous plan, kill off the main character and everyone else, and just end this story in a bloodbath.
But whenever that bloody scent hit him, the weight in his chest grew heavier.
Especially under the eyes of the knights who looked at him as if he were their savior.
“With the Count here, we’ll make it back alive again this time…!”
Someone shouted those words loud enough for everyone to hear.
As Eren let out a long sigh and stayed quiet, Carlyle dismounted effortlessly and walked over.
“Let me help you down.”
“…I can—”
“I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“…”
As if getting revenge for earlier, Carlyle cut him off again.
Eren wanted to snap back, but he didn’t have the energy—or the right—to argue.
‘God… my life is a mess.’
With hollow eyes, Eren reluctantly took Carlyle’s hand.
He had no way of knowing then that the very hand he now held would one day shatter everything.
The safest tent in the entire camp—that was the one assigned to Eren.
As a strategist here to assess the situation and formulate plans, his tent was better protected than any other.
It even came with a full evacuation setup, just in case.
“…Even in all this, they turned the artifact into a gemstone.”
It wasn’t the first one he’d received, but it still felt absurdly extravagant.
While knights could be replaced if needed, no one matched Eren’s strategic prowess.
That’s why he was granted the artifact.
‘If I remember right, it’s enchanted with teleportation magic.’
It was better to wear it on his finger than to carry it around loosely.
He slipped the ring onto his left hand with a reluctant expression.
“Trovien,” huh…
That was the empire they’d clashed with in the past.
They’d been in a truce for three years, but now that Trovien had broken the peace, the war had resumed.
“Well, if you’re going to invade, now’s the perfect time.”
According to the original story, war broke out every year once Eren came of age.
He’d spent more time on the battlefield than in the mansion during the past two months of transmigration.
The Epentel Empire was weakening from the constant wars, and Trovien clearly thought now was the ideal time to strike.
Unfortunately for them, their ambition would fail.
Eren sat in his chair for a while, lost in thought, before abruptly heading out of the tent.
He didn’t get to decide whether or not he participated—so he figured he might as well get it over with.
As he looked around, his eyes locked with a knight’s.
The knight beamed the moment he saw him.
“Ah, Count Nefendis! I heard you’d arrived!”
The knight’s name was Cain—a man Eren had met at the border with the Kingdom of Yulchen a month ago.
Despite the warm greeting, Eren couldn’t bring himself to respond.
If it hadn’t been for the familiar voice, he wouldn’t have recognized him at all.
Cain’s body was wrapped in bandages from head to toe, not a single uninjured spot in sight.
He looked like a mummy.
Eren just stared silently.
He had no idea what to say.
Blood had started to seep through the bandage wrapped over Cain’s left eye.
“Ah… I look terrible, don’t I?”
Eren slowly shook his head, but Cain smiled anyway, as if he already knew.
A smile steeped in sorrow.
“It’s all right. Now that you’re here, I’ll make it back alive.”
It was the reason he hadn’t run, even though he’d had the perfect chance to slip away without a trace thanks to an artifact.
A sliver of hope—that he might make it out alive.
The only lifeline he had left.
Every knight had looked at him that way.
If he ran, they would die.
That was all he’d learned on the battlefield.
They could dress it up, call him a war hero or whatever they liked, but guys like Carlyle were all sword-obsessed lunatics anyway.
“I wonder if I can pull it off before the banquet…”
The emperor of Epentel, who had ordered them to expand the empire like a madman, didn’t have long to live.
This would be the last war.
There would be no more meaningless deaths after this.
Not speculation—this was how it went in the original story.
* * *
