They did not advance again that day.
The horn signalled full withdrawal instead.
The humans retreated behind reinforced earthworks and crude wooden barricades hammered together over decades of losing and retaking the same ground.
Eiden followed in silence.
His legs felt heavier than they should.
Not wounded-heavy.
Delayed-heavy.
Like his muscles were waiting for instructions that arrived late.
Four deaths.
Four rewinds.
The sleep deprivation was no longer subtle.
It pressed against his skull like a tightening band.
Around him, soldiers collapsed into mud, some laughing shakily, others staring blankly at nothing.
Rynn walked beside him, blade resting on her shoulder.
"You pulled early," she said.
"Yes."
"You were right."
"Yes."
She studied him.
"That makes it worse."
He didn't ask what she meant.
She continued walking.
At the medic tent, the wounded were sorted with brutal efficiency.
Alive enough to save.
Alive enough to fight again.
Not alive enough.
Eiden sat on an overturned crate.
His hands trembled faintly.
Not fear.
Fatigue.
He tried focusing on a distant torch.
The flame flickered.
For a moment it split into two.
Then snapped back into one.
He blinked slowly.
Not good.
A medic passed him.
"You're not bleeding."
"Not currently."
The man grunted and moved on.
Across the camp, officers argued over a spread map pinned to a wooden table.
He could hear fragments.
"…adjusted faster than expected…"
"…canter pressure inconsistent…"
"…captain's loss destabilized the third rank…"
They were confused.
They should be.
The battlefield had shifted.
Because of him.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees.
If I keep altering small decisions…
The system changes around me.
But the cost accumulates.
He rubbed his eyes.
The world blurred at the edges for a second too long.
Sleep.
He needed sleep.
And that terrified him.
Sleeping would move the save point.
Lock progress.
Erase the option to redo today.
If tomorrow goes wrong—
There is no return to this moment.
The red-trimmed demon stood across the field in his memory.
Watching.
Measuring.
If the next engagement collapses worse—
Do I want this as my save?
Rynn approached again, holding two metal cups.
She handed one to him.
Water.
Warm.
"Drink."
He obeyed.
"You were staring at nothing," she said.
"I was thinking."
"That looked worse."
He allowed a faint breath of something like amusement.
"You've fought long?" he asked.
"Since I was fourteen."
"You look older."
"I am."
He nodded.
She sat beside him.
"You're not trained," she said quietly.
"No."
"You move like someone who has seen this before."
His pulse skipped.
Careful.
"I move like someone who doesn't want to die."
"That's different."
She didn't press further.
But she didn't look convinced either.
A horn sounded once from the watchtower.
Not attack.
Signal.
Eiden looked up.
The demon army had withdrawn further than usual.
Not fully.
Just enough to reset distance.
Rynn followed his gaze.
"They're repositioning."
"For tomorrow," he said.
"Probably."
He swallowed.
Tomorrow.
If he sleeps—
That becomes the new anchor.
If tomorrow becomes catastrophic—
He cannot return here.
The weight of that decision pressed harder than any blade.
He stood slowly.
"I need to walk."
"Don't wander too far."
"I won't."
He moved through camp.
Past stacked shields.
Past exhausted conscripts.
Past priests muttering blessings over the fallen.
The war had rhythm.
Push.
Break.
Reform.
Push again.
He found a quiet edge of camp overlooking the dark field.
Torches flickered along both lines.
Two civilizations staring at each other across mud and bone.
The red-trimmed demon stood among his ranks.
Even at this distance, Eiden recognized the posture.
Still.
Unhurried.
He felt something colder than fear.
Respect.
That soldier wasn't reacting emotionally.
He was cataloguing.
And if he continued to alter engagements—
The demon would refine countermeasures faster.
This was no longer just survival.
It was escalation.
His head throbbed again.
Harder.
His thoughts dragged.
He tried recalling the exact sequence of the last trap.
The encirclement.
The pivot.
The captain falling.
Details felt less sharp.
Blunted.
That terrified him more than dying.
The loop gives knowledge.
But sleep deprivation erodes clarity.
If clarity erodes faster than knowledge accumulates—
He becomes useless.
He pressed his fingers against his temples.
Four deaths in one day were too many.
He couldn't afford another.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
He didn't turn immediately.
"Can't sleep?" Rynn asked.
"No."
"You should."
He laughed softly.
"That's complicated."
"Everything here is."
She stood beside him, looking out over the field.
"You saved my flank twice."
"Instinct."
"No," she said calmly. "That wasn't instinct."
Silence stretched.
The torches flickered.
"You're not the only one who notices patterns," she added.
His chest tightened.
"How many engagements have you fought?" she asked.
"Two."
"That's not how you move."
He didn't answer.
She didn't demand one.
Instead, she said, "We push deeper soon."
"Deeper?"
"High command thinks we broke their outer formation today."
That was wrong.
They had not broken it.
They had been studied.
He felt the future shifting already.
"If we push too fast," he said slowly, "they'll fold and close."
"You sound certain."
"I'm guessing."
She watched him for a long moment.
"If your guesses keep working, I'll listen."
That was new.
Trust.
Small.
Dangerous.
The horn sounded again.
Night rotation.
Soldiers began settling into assigned rest shifts.
Rynn looked at him.
"You need to sleep."
He looked at the field.
If he stayed awake—
Today remained recoverable.
If he slept—
This became permanent.
His head pulsed.
Vision swimming slightly.
Without sleep, his clarity would degrade further.
And tomorrow he might miscalculate fatally.
Which is worse?
Locking a bad save—
Or becoming too slow to survive at all?
Rynn placed a hand briefly on his shoulder.
"Whatever's in your head," she said quietly, "it won't fix itself by staring at the enemy."
She walked away.
He stood alone for another long minute.
Across the field, the red-trimmed demon finally turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Measured.
Eiden exhaled slowly.
He could not afford another death tonight.
He could not afford to degrade further.
And he could not carry today's uncertainty into an irreversible tomorrow.
He turned toward the medic tent.
If he was going to sleep—
He would choose the moment carefully.
For the first time since arriving in this world—
He wasn't afraid of dying.
He was afraid of saving.
And that was a far more dangerous thing.