The dawn broke, but its light brought no warmth.
Inside the ruined outpost, silence ruled—an uneasy silence fractured only by the sound of restless footsteps and the creak of weapons being gripped too tightly. Reiji sat alone near the carved words on the table: "Your shadow does not belong to you."
He traced the grooves with his gloved finger, memorizing every jagged cut. Whoever had written it had done so not as a threat, but as a claim. His shadow… stolen. His trust… consumed.
Behind him, the unit stirred. Whispers, sharp and venomous, spread like fire in dry grass. Eyes darted from one man to another. No one ate. No one slept. Every soldier suspected the other.
Finally, one of them snapped.
"Enough!" the soldier barked, slamming his blade against the wall. His face was pale, his voice trembling with rage. "Someone here betrayed us! Someone led us into the slaughter!"
His gaze cut across the room, finally landing on the girl. She froze under the weight of his glare.
"It was her. She shouldn't be here. Ever since she came, we've bled. She's a curse."
Reiji rose slowly. His presence silenced the room like a blade drawn in darkness. He stepped between the soldier and the girl, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"She did not betray us," he said, voice steady, cold. "She has nothing to give our enemy."
The soldier spat on the ground. "Then who was it, Commander? Tell me! Or will you let us rot in suspicion until the enemy carves us open again?"
Murmurs followed. The others nodded, their fear twisting into hunger for blood—someone's blood, anyone's, to end the silence.
Reiji's eyes swept over them. He saw it clearly now—the fragile rope of loyalty snapping strand by strand.
And then, it happened.
A slip.
A twitch of the eye.
A hesitation too sharp to ignore.
The soldier standing at the back—the quiet one, who had avoided Reiji's gaze since the fortress fell—shifted ever so slightly when accused eyes turned toward him. His hand lingered too long near his satchel, as if guarding something.
Reiji moved like lightning.
In one motion, his blade was drawn, its edge pressed against the man's throat before he could blink. Gasps filled the outpost.
"Empty it," Reiji ordered. His voice was not a command—it was judgment.
The soldier's trembling hands obeyed. From the satchel fell scraps of parchment—coded signals, maps marked with their routes, messages written in an ink only an insider would possess. Evidence undeniable.
The silence that followed was heavier than death.
The traitor collapsed to his knees, stammering pleas for mercy. His voice cracked, shrill and pathetic.
"They forced me—I had no choice—they threatened my family—please, Commander!"
The others erupted in rage, blades raised, shouts demanding his blood. The girl clung tighter to Reiji's sleeve, her small hands trembling as if begging him not to do what she already knew he must.
Reiji's blade hovered above the man's neck. His men waited. The traitor sobbed. The girl whispered, barely audible:
"Don't…"
But Reiji's heart had no space left for mercy.
His eyes, cold and unblinking, met the traitor's one final time.
"Loyalty ends in fire."
Steel flashed. The man's scream was cut short. Blood painted the floor.
The outpost fell silent once more—not out of peace, but out of fear. His men did not cheer, nor did they mourn. They only watched, each one realizing that their commander would sooner sever their throat than forgive betrayal.
The girl buried her face in his cloak, her small frame shaking. But Reiji's expression did not waver. He had become what the war demanded—executioner of his own.
As the chapter closed, Reiji stepped out of the outpost, the rising sun burning against his face. Behind him, loyalty had turned to ashes. Ahead of him, only war awaited.
And within his chest, a truth settled like poison:
Trust could never be rebuilt.