The aftermath

Seconds passed like hours, and the battle finally reached the end of its crescendo.

The snowy battlefield was littered with fallen men and transformed into a maelstrom of blood and chaos.

The air thick with the smell of death and the snow had drank all the blood as if it was the finest wine in the world—it's pristine white colour now a morbid shade of crimson.

Amidst the chaos, a towering, muscular man known as Grimm moved with an almost unnatural calm. He was clad in a tunic of heavy dark fabric barely visible underneath his leather cuirass which bore marks of numerous battles.

A dark cloak, fastened tightly at the neck, billowed behind him as he walked, its edges occasionally brushing the ground.

His shoulder-length black hair, wild and wavy, flowed behind him as he walked through the scattered corpses.

His eyes piercing and as black as obsidian, while his greatsword, streaked with crimson blood gleamed menacingly against the light of the sun.

He had just finished taking a head count of his men and as expected, all ten of them had survived the war.

A few of them had been with him for less than a year, but most of his men were battle-hardened veterans, forged in countless battles.

For the caliber of men in his mercenary band, a small war like this was nothing but child's play—nothing but a minor skirmish.

Yet, amidst the sea of familiar faces, one was missing—a boy who had just joined them a few days ago.

"Tamak," Grimm called. "Have you seen the boy?"

Tamak scratched his short dark-brown hair for a second, visibly confused, then he remembered the boy.

"Oh, that little brat? I saw him alright. I remember him scurrying around right before the fight started, boy was practically shaking in his boots. I wouldn't be surprised if he's dead by now." Tamak, his second-in-command shrugged nonchalantly.

He had forgotten about the boy existence, assuming he would die for certain.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not." A faint voice rung out, drawing their attention.

They both turned abruptly and saw Sol crawling out from underneath a body.

"Ho... Would you look at that." Tamak muttered full of surprise. "Well, I figured if he wasn't dead, he'd probably be hiding somewhere."

Grimm's heavy boots crunched through the snow as he walked over to Yōta, his expression was dark and his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the boy.

Yōta looked up at Grimm's domineering presence. Grimm towered over him, his gaze cold and penetrating.

"Sol. You're alive," he stated, more as a confirmation than a question.

"What exactly were you doing hiding under a body? Where did you get the nerve to hide while your comrades bleed?!"

Yōta winced under the man's cold gaze.

He could see the greatsword marred in blood in his hands—this man wouldn't hesitate to kill him if he didn't give a satisfactory answer.

Yōta quickly calmed his heart and gave an unnerved reply.

"I didn't just hide, I killed these two men. Besides, what could I do anyways? It's not like I can become a strong fighter in one day. I'd be dead already if I just went headfirst into the battle. At least, this way, I'm still alive, ready to learn and do what I can."

Grimm's eyes shifted to the bodies of the men, noting the twin daggers Tamak had given Sol when he first joined them, now embedded in the chests of the dead men.

Yōta had driven his last dagger into the chest of the man he was hiding under, anticipating this moment. It was all according to plan.

He had to prove to Grimm and Tamak that he wasn't completely useless, or they would kill him without a second thought.

Grimm's expression remained cryptic as he scrutinized Yōta with a piercing gaze, but Yōta felt confident he would live to see another day.

Grimm was hardly indecisive, he would have killed him by now if he had found his answer unsatisfactory.

Grimm had chosen to spare him for today.

Yōta coughed and averted his eyes, uncomfortable under Grimm's cold gaze.

He found himself talking again, trying to ease his tension. Grimm was that unnerving.

"When I fought this man, there was this strange fear I felt. It felt suffocating, it felt like a heavy weight was pressing down on me—paralyzing me. I could hardly move for some reason."

"Whew!" Tamak whistled, visibly impressed.

"So you fought that man and managed to live to tell the tale, huh? Boss, what do you think?"

Yōta turned to look at Grimm, whose expression was now completely twisted in a terrifying grin.

It almost sent a shiver down Sol's spine to see the crazy expression on the face of the usually tactiturn man.

Grimm stared at him silently, and suddenly Yōta felt a sudden chill wash over him. His hairs stood on end, and cold sweat ran down his back.

It felt like death was reaching its icy tendrils at him.

It was the exact same feeling he felt when he had fought the towering man with the axe, except this time, it was several magnitudes stronger!

'He didn't even pass out! This kid has some potential.' Tamak couldn't help but smirk.

"Do you feel that?" Grimm asked, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

Yōta couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he even couldn't breathe!

He was completely frozen on the spot, his eyes wide and his body already sweating profusely.

'This man is dangerous!'

Yōta already knew that much from Sol's memories but Sol had clearly underestimated the level of danger this man posed. This man was far beyond anything Sol had imagined!

"It's called aura." Grimm explained, lifting the pressure from Yōta.

Sol felt relief wash over him as soon as the pressure was lifted. His breath came in shallow gasps until his heart finally steadied.

"What is that?! Is that some kind of magic?"

"Hahaha!" Tamak reeled over laughing. "Magic? Don't dream kid,"

Tamak continued:

"Only nobles can use magic, but this—this is a power that can be used by common folk."

'Huh? Only nobles? Did that mean Sol was a noble?'

Yōta was confused, this body only had memories of living in a small village with a poor family.

But then again, it was probably possible. Yōta hadn't fully recovered all of Sol's memories; they were still fragmented.

However, from what he could recall, he knew that the woman who had raised him wasn't his biological mother.

So maybe Sol was actually of noble blood.

As for why he was living with a poor family, Yōta had no clues.

Maybe he was kicked out of his family because of his worthless magic. That's a common trope in reincarnation stories afterall.

Yōta didn't know the reason and he didn't bother thinking too much about it; he supposed it would all come to him once Sol's memories were fully returned.

Now wasn't the time to stress about that; he needed to focus on the present.

Although, he couldn't help but smile at the thought of being a noble.

'Maybe this reincarnation isn't as bad as I first thought...'

"Did you hit your head or something? You seem chipper than usual." Tamak said eyeing him curiously.

The Sol he knew rarely spoke and was always shrouded in a cloud of doom and gloom.

It was as if he were looking at a different person entirely.

Yōta just shrugged at Tamak's curiosity, refusing to answer.

It's not like he would suspect his behaviour was due to an unfornate case of reincarnation anyways.

Even if Yōta were to tell him he had reincarnated into this body—which he had no intention of doing—Tamak would just laugh in his face.

Besides, Yōta's mind was far more preoccupied with that power Grimm called aura.

As an otaku, his mind was absolutely blown by it!

It was almost like Conqueror's haki or Spiritual Pressure, paralyzing anyone unfortunate enough to become its target!

This body may not have had much talent in magic, but maybe he had a chance to grow strong if he learned to harness this new power.

"How do I gain this power?" Yōta asked Grimm, eyes brimming with interest.

"I'll explain it to you another time," Grimm said curtly. "For now, let's get moving."

Yōta was disappointed but didn't fret. Grimm's tone may have been dismissive, but he could tell he fully intended on keeping his promise.

'Well... until then, I guess...'

Grimm gave some instructions to Tamak before turning to leave.

However, he suddenly stopped in his tracks and glanced back at Yōta.

"You did well staying alive Sol, maybe you'll actually be able to avenge your mother and sister afterall."

The instant Yōta heard those words, a searing pain exploded in his mind.

He cried out, falling to the ground and clutching his head.

The pain was blinding, it was the worst migraine he had ever experienced.

Several images surged through his mind like a relentless tide, each one of them crashing into him with an intensity that felt almost physical.

"Arghhh!!!"

Yōta writhed on the ground screaming his heart out, his cries drawing puzzled glances from the surrounding soldiers and mercenaries.

He now knew why the boy had left home—he now knew how the boy had ended up in this terrible war.

The memories of it all, so harrowing, threatened to scar his mind forever.

His cries soon began to dim down as his consciousness slowly slipped away, and with a final whimper Yōta stopped moving and passed out on the snow.