Ruok kept walking until the lights grew larger.
Every few steps, he lifted the bottle and took a small sip. Not enough to lose control—just enough to keep his thoughts from piling too high. The warmth spread slowly, dulling the edge of everything.
The camp came into view piece by piece.
Rows of tents stood unevenly on the ground, some patched, some barely holding. Torches flickered in the wind, their light shaking across armor, weapons, and tired faces. Shadows stretched and bent like they had a life of their own.
It was quieter than he expected.
Not silent—never silent—but softer. Low voices, tired laughs, the kind of jokes people make when they don't really find anything funny anymore.
Ruok slowed down.
His steps were a little off. He adjusted his footing, straightened his shoulders, and tried to look sober.
Act normal, he told himself. Be less suspiscious.
Two soldiers broke away from a post near the entrance.
They approached without rushing.
Worn armor. Tired and weary eyes.
One held a spear loosely. The other kept his hand resting near his sword.
"Stop there."
Ruok stopped.
He didn't argue. Didn't move. Just stood there, bottle still in hand.
Both men looked him over slowly from his boots to his cloak, to his face.
"Who are you?" the second one asked. "What are you doing here?"
Ruok scratched his cheek, buying himself a moment.
"I'm with the army," he said. "Got separated earlier."
The first soldier frowned.
"Proof?"
Ruok blinked.
"…Proof?"
He glanced at them, then at himself.
Our enemy is the Trods, he thought. Do I look like one?
A pause.
I mean… I look too good for that.
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead, he let out a small breath and reached under his armor. His fingers found the thin chain and pulled it out. The dog tag caught the torchlight as it dangled.
"I'm from Elmport unit," he said.
The soldier leaned closer, squinting at the tag.
"…Elmport," he muttered. "So you're one of those fish-smelling peasants from the East."
Ruok didn't react.
He just gave a small shrug.
"Fish keeps me alive until now," he said.
The second soldier didn't laugh.
His eyes dropped to the bottle.
"What's that?"
Ruok followed his gaze.
"…This?" he said, lifting it slightly. "Liquor."
He rolled his wrist, letting the liquid shift inside.
"Strong one."
He extended it casually.
"Want some?"
The two exchanged a quick glance.
Then the first soldier took it.
He sniffed.
Paused.
Then took a small sip.
His expression changed—not much, but enough.
"Ah…this is good," he said.
He handed it over.
The second soldier took a longer drink. When he lowered it, he exhaled slowly.
"…This not just good," he said. "This tastes like Lord Mephyst's stock."
Ruok's fingers tightened for a brief second.
Mephyst.
He let his brows knit slightly, as if thinking.
So they're part of them.
"…Oh?" he said.
He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice just enough.
"So you two got favor from Lord Mephyst's side as well?"
The question hung in the air.
The first soldier hesitated.
Then nodded.
"…Yeah."
The second one gave a small grin.
"You too?"
Ruok met their eyes slowly and nodded.
"…Yeah."
He straightened a bit, letting his tone turn casual.
"Hard to say no when a man offers wealth beyond imagination."
The first soldier chuckled under his breath.
"Exactly."
The second soldier snorted.
"You two are shallow," he said. "Gold's nice, but that's not why I accepted Lord Mephyst's offer."
Ruok tilted his head.
The man tapped his chest with two fingers.
"Power," he said. "Lord Mephyst promised strength. Enough to rival a high demon."
Ruok stayed quiet for a moment.
Something in his chest sank—not fast, not sharp, just heavy.
So it's real.
He forced a small smirk.
"…That's ambitious."
The soldier grinned wider.
"Why not? If we're risking our lives, might as well get something big."
The first one nodded.
"Better than dying for nothing."
Ruok let out a quiet laugh.
"…Yeah. Better than nothing."
But his thoughts moved faster than his face.
Wealth. Power.
Different bait. Same hook. Desire for their soul and morality.
He looked at them again—really looked this time.
Their armor was worn.
Their hands rough.
Their eyes—
Not just greed. Desperate, despair, and…hope.
He didn't force them, Ruok thought.
He just… gave them something to want.
And in exchange for what—morality, honor…dignity.
The second soldier handed the bottle back.
"Careful with that," he said. "If someone important sees it, you'll get questions."
Ruok looked at the bottle.
Then shook his head and pushed it back toward them.
"Keep it," he said. "Call it a celebration."
The soldier blinked.
"For what?"
Ruok gave a small, crooked smile.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Big day, right?"
The two exchanged a look.
Then the second one grinned.
"…Yeah. Tomorrow morning."
The first soldier stepped aside, gesturing toward the camp.
"Go on," he said. "Just don't cause trouble before that."
Ruok nodded.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
He walked past them. Steady and calm.
He didn't look back.
But their voices followed him anyway.
"Man… if this war ends and he keeps his promise…"
"…Yeah. We'll be set for life."
Ruok pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he moved deeper into the camp.
"…Set for life," he murmured.
Then he let out a quiet breath.
"…Or dead right after."
The human canteen came into view—a larger tent, warmer light spilling out. The smell of bread lingered in the air.
He stepped inside.
It was quieter here. A few soldiers sat slumped over tables, some eating slowly, some already asleep where they sat.
Ruok didn't join them.
He walked to an empty bench and dropped onto it.
The wood creaked under his weight.
He leaned back, one arm over his eyes.
The warmth of the tent wrapped around him.
For a moment—
It almost felt safe.
His thoughts drifted again.
Not to war.
Not to Mephyst.
But to a small, cramped apartment.
Cheap beer.
Loud laughters.
"…Tom would've said something stupid by now," he muttered.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"…Harry would've told him to shut up."
Silence answered him.
The smile faded.
He lowered his arm, staring at the ceiling of the tent.
"…Tomorrow," he whispered.
His voice was softer now.
"…everything ends."
Or starts.
He wasn't sure anymore.
His eyes slowly closed.
He expected restlessness. Instead, darkness took him instantly.
**
A horn shattered the silence.
Ruok's eyes opened.
He didn't move right away. He stared at the ceiling, watching the fabric tremble slightly with the vibration of the sound.
"…It's time," he murmured.
His voice came out dry.
"Please don't fail this time."