Free Web NovelIgor Petrov felt his luck was good today.
As the assault squad leader of the Dawn Brigade, this was his third year participating in the opening exercise.
They had lost the previous two years.
Lost miserably.
But this year, things were going very smoothly.
Because his squad had several new faces—all commoner special admissions who had passed the rigorous academy entrance exams, each one a hardened character who had truly struggled on the edges of battlefields or in slums.
Unlike those pampered young noble masters protected too well by their families, these people knew what survival meant.
"Captain, enemy patrol spotted fifty meters ahead."
A squad member reported in a low voice.
Igor nodded.
"Go around. Our targets are the enemy command post and artillery positions. Don't complicate things."
"Yes."
The squad began to maneuver around.
Igor walked in the middle of the formation, vigilantly observing his surroundings.
He was from Usar.
This was no secret in the Empire.
Igor Petrov, twenty years old, from the western border of the Usar Union.
Five years ago, his village was razed to the ground in a 'bandit suppression operation.' He and his younger sister were the only survivors.
Later, he smuggled his sister into the Empire. By fighting in underground boxing matches in the slums, he saved enough for the application fee and took the Royal Knights Academy's special admission exam.
He placed third in his year.
The top two were Imperial citizens.
But Igor didn't care about rankings.
He only cared about one thing—
Becoming stronger.
Strong enough that no one could ever hurt him or his sister again.
As for the hatred between the Empire and Usar...
That was a matter for those sitting in high positions.
He was just a man who wanted to survive.
"Captain!"
A squad member suddenly whispered urgently.
"Two people at ten o'clock!"
Igor immediately turned toward that direction.
Through the smoke and dust after the shelling, two figures were approaching.
Walking in front was a woman.
She wore a black sleeveless form-fitting top, tightly hugging a tall and powerful frame. Her exposed arms had fluid lines that hinted at dangerous strength.
Her dark hair was casually tied back, a few stray strands lifted by the wind, falling near her collarbone.
No ornate decorations, no military rank insignia. She looked like a noble miss who had wandered onto the battlefield by mistake.
Walking half a step behind the woman was a young girl in a deep red dress.
She was short.
Shorter than most noble misses he had seen, her ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) frame so slender it seemed a gust of wind could knock her over.
Her silver short hair shimmered softly in the sunlight, loosely tied with a dark red ribbon, a few stray strands falling by her ears.
Her skin was pale, almost translucent, like porcelain kept from the sun, making one worry it might shatter at a touch.
Her features were delicate: a small, straight nose bridge, slightly upturned outer eye corners, lips the pale color of diluted rose petals, a rounded chin—combined to create a strangely well-behaved impression.
The kind of well-behaved that made one want to pat her head.
But most striking were her eyes.
Pale gray-blue, like a frozen lake on a winter morning.
Right now, those eyes held a look of curiosity, surveying everything on the battlefield.
No fear.
No disgust.
Just curiosity.
Like a tourist watching monkeys fight at a zoo. freewebnovёl.ƈom
"Who are those two?"
The squad members began to murmur.
"Their clothes don't look like academy students..."
"Don't look like instructors either..."
"Are they lost outsiders?"
Igor didn't speak.
His eyes were fixed on the woman in black.
Something was off.
That woman's gait—
Igor had spent three years in the slum's underground boxing rings.
He had seen all kinds of people.
And been beaten by all kinds of people.
He learned one thing: by watching a person's gait, you could roughly judge their skill.
The gait of this woman before him—
Every step was precise, as if measured with a ruler.
The placement of her feet, the height of her leg lift, the swing of her arms—all perfectly balanced.
That wasn't an ordinary person's gait.
It was an instinct honed through countless real battles.
"Everyone—"
Igor was about to issue an order when he heard a squad member beside him shout:
"Who cares who she is! Knock her out first!"
"Wait—"
It was too late.
The impulsive squad member had already raised his training rifle and pulled the trigger.
*Rat-tat-tat-tat—*
A barrage of training rounds covered the area where the two stood.
Smoke and dust billowed, obscuring everything.
"Did we hit them?"
"Should have—"
The squad members' voices held a trace of relief.
But Igor frowned.
Something was wrong.
The dust slowly cleared.
The woman in black was gone.
Only the silver-haired girl remained standing in place.
She stood perfectly straight, her expression eerily calm.
As if the barrage had never happened.
No—
She had taken a single step to the side.
Just one step.
Exactly enough to avoid all the training rounds.
That kind of precise judgment—
Igor's pupils constricted sharply.
Then, he felt a gust of wind.
No—
Not wind.
Something brushed past him.
*Thud.*
The squad member beside him fell.
*Thud, thud, thud—*
More and more fell.
Igor instinctively raised his rifle and fired at that *thing*.
But he hit nothing.
It was too fast.
Fast as a ghost.
In less than five seconds, his entire squad—except for himself—was lying unconscious on the ground.
Igor stood frozen in place, his hand holding the rifle trembling slightly.
A hand rested on his shoulder from behind.
He whirled around.
Icy blue eyes were mere inches away.
The woman stood less than half a meter behind him.
This distance—
So close he could almost feel the warmth of her breath.
And he hadn't sensed her approach at all.
"..."
Igor swallowed.
"Uh—"
"Usar man."
The woman's voice was calm and cold.
"Your reaction time is fast. 0.3 seconds faster than the others."
"..."
Igor didn't know whether to say thank you or something else.
"But not enough."
As she said this, her hand came down in a chop.
Igor's body reacted on instinct—he sidestepped while raising his rifle to block.
In the slum's underground rings, this move had saved him from countless sneak attacks.
But the hand chop suddenly changed direction mid-air.
"Ugh—"
A muffled grunt.
Igor felt as if struck by a heavy hammer. His entire body flew backward.
He hit the ground, rolling twice before stopping.
Intense pain nearly made him black out, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay conscious.
Looking up, he saw the woman standing not far away, her expression indifferent.
"Not unconscious yet?"
Her tone held a hint of surprise.
"Not bad."
Igor tried to stand, but the searing pain in his abdomen made his legs weak.
"You... who are you?"
He asked the question.
The woman didn't answer.
But another voice came from beside him.
"She's my sister."
Igor turned his head.
The silver-haired girl had somehow walked to his side.
She crouched down, meeting Igor's gaze at eye level.
Up close, her features were even more... delicate than they had seemed from afar.
Like the kind of porcelain doll noble ladies would display in their parlors.
But those pale gray-blue eyes—
In those eyes, Igor saw something familiar.
The same thing he saw in his own eyes.
Something only those who had seen blood possessed.
"Your footwork is special,"
the girl said.
"It's not the Empire's standard combat technique."
Igor was taken aback.
"...It's from Usar."
"I know."
The girl nodded.
"I've seen it before."
This statement confused Igor.
When would a Victoriana noble miss have seen Usar's folk combat techniques?
But he didn't get a chance to ask.
Because new explosions sounded in the distance.
The girl stood up, turning toward the source of the sound.
"Seems it's not over yet,"
she said.
Then she looked at the woman.
"Sister, need any help?"
The woman's brows were slightly furrowed, her icy blue eyes filled with impatience.
"...Help."
She spat out the word.
The girl blinked.
"Okay."
She turned back to Igor, her tone still calm.
"You rest here for a bit."
"We'll go take care of the rest."
With that, she followed the woman's footsteps, heading toward the direction of the explosions.
Igor lay on the ground, watching the two figures gradually disappear into the smoke and dust.
The silver-haired girl's walking posture was strange.
Despite wearing a complex dress, her steps were light, as if treading on clouds.
The placement of each foot was perfectly balanced—
Automatically avoiding rubble, shell casings, and the people lying on the ground.
That wasn't an ordinary noble miss's gait.
That was—
An absurd thought flashed through Igor's mind.
That was the gait of someone who had walked countless battlefields.
...
"Sister."
"Hmm?"
"Aren't you going to ask why they're fighting this war?"
"I know why."
"Just as Irene said, the conflict between nobles and commoners has existed for a long time. This exercise is just an outlet."
"If we don't let them fight here, they'll fight in private. That's more dangerous."
"Oh, I see."
"So you're not angry that they're fighting."
"You're angry that they blew up the main gate."
"...I took my graduation photo under that gate."
"I see."
"Then let's continue, sister."
"There are still many people waiting to be knocked out."
"...You seem to be enjoying this."
"Not at all."
"I just wanted to help my sister."
"Absolutely no ulterior motives."
"..."
