The Bridge at Silvus River
The steel blade came at my head faster than it had any right to. I ducked, generated a thin cloud barrier to my left—anticipating Marcus's follow-up strike—and used the half-second opening to thrust forward.
Marcus deflected with minimal movement, his one-armed grip as economical as ever. "Better. You're thinking two moves ahead now instead of reacting."
Three months since we'd returned from the orc hunt. Three months of continued training, refining techniques, pushing the limits of what Cloud Magic Level 9 could accomplish. The training had been gradually intensifying since we were young, and the discipline showed no signs of stopping.
We'd settled into a rhythm. Morning combat training with Marcus. Afternoon independent research on cloud techniques and magical theory. Evening missions through the guild when contracts warranted attention.
Peaceful, almost. Which should have been my first warning that something was about to change.
The sound of hoofbeats interrupted our next exchange.
Fast hoofbeats. Urgent.
Marcus lowered his blade immediately, eyes tracking toward the village road. I followed his gaze and saw a rider approaching at full gallop—military uniform, dust-covered, clearly traveling hard.
The rider pulled up short at the edge of the training ground, the horse breathing heavily. The man dismounted with practiced efficiency and strode directly toward us.
"Tenki? Ryu?" His voice was clipped, professional. Military through and through. "I'm Lieutenant Garrick, deployed under Commander Zagan's authority. I need to speak with you both. Urgently."
Ryu emerged from Marcus's house, spear in hand—he'd been practicing forms in the yard. "What's happened?"
Lieutenant Garrick pulled a sealed letter from his pack, but didn't offer it yet. Instead, he looked around, assessing. "Is there somewhere we can speak privately? This concerns military operations, and I'm authorized to provide tactical details."
Marcus gestured toward his house. "Inside. My wife will prepare tea."
Five minutes later, we were seated around Marcus's table. Lydia had indeed provided tea, then quietly excused herself. The lieutenant waited until the door closed before speaking.
"Commander Zagan asked me to brief you personally on a developing situation." He unfolded a map—rough but functional, showing the region's geography. "Three weeks ago, Rengard's forces began constructing a bridge across the Silvus River here." He tapped a point roughly fifty miles northeast of our position. "The river is one of the major natural barriers protecting the southern territories. If they complete that bridge..."
"They have a direct invasion route," I finished, studying the map. "No need to use the mountain passes."
"Correct." Garrick's expression was grim. "The river itself isn't impossible to cross—a person could swim it if desperate, though the current is strong and dangerous. But horses? Cavalry? Supply wagons? They can't ford it. Too deep, too fast." He traced along the river. "Which means Rengard's army needs crossings. They're not building one bridge—they're building multiple crossing points. Roads wide enough for cavalry columns and supply trains to pass through efficiently."
"How many crossings?"
"Three major construction sites that we know of. This one is the most advanced, nearly complete. The other two are weeks behind." He tapped the most advanced bridge location. "If this first bridge completes, Rengard can start moving forces across immediately. And based on their current construction pace, the bridge will be operational in two weeks. Maybe less."
He traced a line on the map with his finger. "Once that bridge is complete, Rengard's main force can march straight south. That puts multiple villages directly in their path—including Millbrook."
I felt my stomach tighten. Marcus's expression had gone very still.
"However." Garrick's finger moved to a different route, through mountainous terrain west of the bridge. "If the bridge is destroyed, they're forced to use this route instead. The Northwestern Pass. It adds five days to their march time, and more importantly..." He tapped a point well west of our village. "It bypasses all settlements in this region entirely. They'd be marching through wilderness."
"You want us to destroy the bridge," Ryu said quietly.
"We're attempting to destroy the bridge," Garrick corrected. "General Vandor has been leading cavalry raids against the construction site for two weeks. But there's a problem."
He pulled out a second document—an intelligence report with rough sketches. "The bridge is defended by Commander Julius and his Vanguard Archer battalion. Elite troops, specialized in anti-cavalry tactics. Bow mastery Level 4 to 6 across the unit. Commander Julius himself is assessed at Bow mastery Level 7, Shield mastery Level 7."
Garrick looked at us directly. "Every cavalry charge we've attempted has been repelled by concentrated arrow fire. The Vanguard Archers use a shieldwall formation that our riders can't penetrate, and their archery range is such that we take casualties before we can even close distance. We've lost seventeen good soldiers in two weeks, and we haven't gotten within fifty meters of the bridge itself."
"Which is where we come in," I said, understanding. "Cloud magic that can stop arrows."
"Commander Zagan believes your defensive capabilities could change the tactical equation. If you can shield our cavalry from arrow fire during the charge, we can close distance and break their formation." Garrick's voice was carefully measured. "I'm authorized to extend a formal request for your participation in this operation. Voluntary. Not a conscription order. But..."
He looked at the map again.
"If that bridge completes, Millbrook Village is directly in the invasion path. Commander Zagan wanted you to understand that. This isn't just about military strategy. This is about protecting your home."
Silence settled over the table.
Marcus spoke first. "What's the timeline?"
"Bridge completion: twelve to fourteen days. We need to launch the assault within the next week, ideally within five days, while we still have time to organize and execute." Garrick looked at Ryu and me. "Which means I need your answer soon. If you agree, you'd depart with me tomorrow. Two days' ride to the front lines, one day of tactical preparation, then the assault."
"They're eight years old," Marcus said quietly.
"I know." Garrick's expression showed genuine discomfort. "Believe me, I argued against this. But Commander Zagan was insistent that the choice be theirs. He said..." The lieutenant hesitated, then continued. "He said you'd already proven yourselves capable in the orc hunt, and that treating you like children who needed protection would be an insult to the training you've completed."
He pushed the map toward us.
"War is coming whether we want it or not. The only question is whether it comes down the fast route that destroys your village, or the slow route that gives us time to prepare proper defenses. That bridge is the difference."
I stared at the map. At the bridge. At the line showing Rengard's march route if it was completed. At Millbrook, sitting directly in that path like a target.
"Can I take this map home?" I asked. "To show my parents?"
Garrick nodded. "Keep it. I have copies." He stood. "I'll be staying at the village inn tonight. Find me there by morning with your decision." He paused at the door. "For what it's worth... I hope you say no. You shouldn't have to make choices like this. But if you say yes..." He met my eyes. "We'll keep you as safe as we can."
After the lieutenant left, Marcus sat back down heavily.
"All these years of training," he said quietly. "I knew this day would come eventually. Just thought you'd have more time before you had to use those skills for real."
"The bridge is leverage," I said, still studying the map. "It's not about stopping the invasion. It's about redirecting it away from people who can't fight back."
"And if you fail? If you're injured? Killed?" Marcus's voice was harder now. "Your parents entrusted you to my training because they thought it would keep you safe. This is the opposite of safe."
"Safe isn't an option anymore," Ryu said. His voice was calm, but there was steel underneath. "The moment Rengard decided to invade, safe stopped existing. We're just choosing between bad options and worse options."
I folded the map carefully.
"I need to talk to my parents. They deserve to know what we're being asked to do."
Marcus nodded slowly. "I'll come with you. They'll want to hear from me too."
---
My parents were finishing supper preparations when Marcus, Ryu, and I arrived. Shion took one look at our expressions and set down the bowl she'd been holding.
"What's wrong?"
I spread the map on our kitchen table, directly over the plates she'd just set out.
"Rengard is building a bridge. Here." I pointed to the marked location. "If it completes, this is their invasion route." I traced the line with my finger. "Straight through Millbrook."
My father, Gareth, leaned over the map, his farmer's hands gripping the table edge. "How certain is this?"
"Military intelligence from Commander Zagan. The bridge will be complete in two weeks if nothing stops it."
"And you're being asked to stop it," Shion said quietly. Not a question.
"Zagan's requesting our help with a cavalry assault. My cloud magic can potentially protect riders from arrow fire." I pointed to the alternate route. "If we destroy the bridge, Rengard's forces have to go through here instead. The Northwestern Pass. Five days longer, and it completely bypasses our region."
"'Our help,'" Gareth repeated, his voice carefully controlled. "You're eight years old."
"Eight and a half," I corrected automatically, then immediately regretted it when I saw my mother's expression.
"This isn't a joke, Tenki."
"I know it's not." I looked at them both. "Believe me, I know. But I also know what happens if that bridge stays standing. Rengard's army marches straight through here. Through our village. Through our home."
"We could evacuate," Shion said. "Leave before they arrive."
"And go where?" Marcus spoke for the first time since we'd entered. "Every village in the southern territories is facing the same calculation. There's nowhere to run that isn't also in someone's path."
He placed a hand on the map, covering the bridge location.
"I've been training them for years. The training has intensified gradually—pushing them harder each season, making them face increasingly real combat scenarios. Not because I wanted to create child soldiers, but because I knew—we all knew—that this was coming." He looked at my parents. "They're as ready as they're going to be. And if they say no, I'll support that. But if they say yes..."
He paused.
"If they say yes, they might be the reason Millbrook survives this war intact."
My mother's hands were shaking slightly. She pressed them flat against the table, steadying herself.
"What are the risks?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
I could have lied. Could have downplayed it, made it sound safer than it was. But that would have been insulting.
"The enemy has elite archers. Level 7 commander, Level 4 to 6 troops. Every cavalry charge so far has taken casualties. If my defensive magic fails, Ryu and I are exposed to the same arrow fire that's been killing experienced soldiers." I met her eyes. "People die in battles. There's no guarantee we won't be among them."
"Then why go?" Tears were forming now, though Shion was fighting to keep her voice steady.
"Because the alternative is waiting here for an army to march through our home, and hoping they're merciful." I kept my voice level, factual. "This way, we're choosing the terms. We're taking action instead of being acted upon."
Gareth was silent for a long moment, studying the map with the intensity of someone trying to find a different answer, a better option that didn't involve sending his son into combat.
Finally, he spoke.
"Show me the bridge again. And the assault route."
I walked him through the tactical details that Lieutenant Garrick had provided. The bridge's construction status. The enemy defensive positions. Vandor's cavalry strength. The planned approach.
"And you genuinely believe you can protect the cavalry from arrow fire?"
"Coriolis Shield stopped Commander Zagan's sword strike. I've maintained it constantly for three months now—even while sleeping, it's rotating protective clouds around me. Arrow fire is actually easier than a skilled swordfighter, in some ways. More predictable trajectories." I hesitated. "I can't promise zero casualties. But I can promise significantly better odds than they have now."
"If you go," Shion said slowly, each word careful and measured, "you leave tomorrow?"
"Two days' ride to the front lines. One day tactical preparation. Assault on the fourth or fifth day."
She closed her eyes. Took a breath. Opened them again.
"Four days. Maybe five." Her voice cracked slightly. "Four days to potentially never see you again."
I didn't have an answer for that. What could I possibly say that would make it better?
Ryu spoke instead. "Mrs. Shion, if this helps... I won't let anything happen to Tenki. That's not empty words. That's a promise I'm making to you as someone who's trained alongside him since we were three years old."
"And who protects you?" Shion asked.
"I do," I said quietly. "We've always protected each other. That's not going to change now."
The silence stretched. I could see the war happening behind my parents' eyes—the desperate desire to say no, to keep me safe, to pretend this wasn't happening, fighting against the logical understanding that safety wasn't an option anymore.
Finally, my father spoke.
"Zagan said this was voluntary. You can say no."
"I can," I agreed.
"Would you?"
I thought about that. Really thought about it. Not what I thought they wanted to hear, but what was actually true.
"No," I said finally. "Even if you told me not to go, I'd probably sneak out and go anyway. Because I know what's at stake, and I know I can help, and I can't just sit here waiting for the invasion to arrive."
Gareth smiled, though there was no humor in it. "At least you're honest."
He looked at Marcus. "You support this?"
"I support them making their own decision. They're soldiers now, whether we admit it or not. Have been since the moment they took that orc hunting contract and came back successful." Marcus's voice was steady. "But yes. If they choose to go, I believe they can succeed."
My mother was crying now, tears running down her face even as she tried to maintain composure.
"You're eight years old," she repeated. "You should be... learning to read better. Playing with other children. Not making life-or-death decisions about military operations."
"I know," I said softly. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize for being brave." Shion wiped her eyes. "Just... promise me you'll come home."
I wanted to promise. Wanted to give her that certainty, that guarantee.
But I'd already decided I wouldn't lie to her.
"I promise I'll do everything in my power to make that happen."
It wasn't the answer she wanted. But it was the only honest one I could give.
"Then go," Gareth said quietly. "Go, and stop that bridge. And when you're done, come home to us."
---
We had one night.
Marcus walked us through equipment selection with the focus of someone who'd done this before, who understood what actually mattered in sustained combat operations.
"Water. More than you think you need. Dehydration kills more soldiers than arrows do." He filled two canteens, checked their seals. "Food that won't spoil. Dried meat, hardtack, nothing that requires cooking."
He pulled two light leather armor sets from his storage—clearly old adventuring gear he'd kept despite retirement.
"These won't stop a direct hit from a Level 6 archer. But they'll prevent minor injuries from becoming deadly ones. Glancing blows, falls from horseback, environmental hazards." He helped Ryu adjust the straps. "Survival isn't about being invincible. It's about avoiding the hundred small things that accumulate into disaster."
Medical supplies. Fire-starting equipment. Rope. A small knife for utility purposes.
"Your weapons are already sufficient. Ryu's spear, your clouds." Marcus looked at both of us. "Trust your training. All those years of preparation. You're ready."
We trained until sunset. Not learning new techniques—there wasn't time for that. Just reviewing what we already knew. Muscle memory drills. Coordination exercises. Making sure all the training we'd accumulated would translate into instinct when arrows were flying.
That evening, Shion prepared a meal that felt too elaborate for an ordinary night. Roasted chicken, fresh bread, vegetables from our garden. She didn't say it was a farewell dinner, but we all understood.
The conversation was deliberately light. Small stories. Childhood memories. Anything to avoid thinking about tomorrow.
"Remember when you were four," she said during the meal, her voice carefully controlled, "and you tried to make it rain inside the house? You generated that cloud, and instead of water, it just produced this cold mist that made everything damp for three days."
I smiled despite myself. "I was trying to help with laundry. Thought if I could control humidity, clothes would dry faster."
"You made everything in the house feel like a wet basement." But she was smiling too, though her eyes were wet. "Your father threatened to make you sleep outside until it dissipated."
"I would never have followed through," Gareth protested quietly. "But yes, it was extremely unpleasant."
Ryu laughed, but it sounded forced. "Tenki's early experiments were always disasters. Remember the ice incident?"
"We agreed never to speak of the ice incident," I said quickly.
"What ice incident?" Marcus asked, playing along.
"Nothing. There was no ice incident."
"He tried to make an ice sculpture," Ryu said, the normalcy of the banter feeling like a lifeline. "For his mother's birthday. Except he couldn't control the temperature precisely, so it kept melting and refreezing. By the end, there was just this... puddle... with weird frozen chunks..."
"It was abstract art," I muttered.
"It was a mess," Shion corrected, but she was holding back tears now. "But it was sweet. The thought mattered."
The laughter died quickly. The weight of tomorrow settling back over us.
After the meal, my parents walked me outside. The evening air was cool, peaceful. Nothing like what tomorrow would bring.
"Tenki." My father's voice was thick. He cleared his throat. "I need you to understand something. Whatever happens tomorrow... you're my son. You'll always be my son. Not a soldier. Not a weapon. My son."
"I know, Father."
"Do you?" He gripped my shoulders. "Because I'm terrified that you're going to forget that. That you'll become something else out there, and we'll lose you even if you survive."
I didn't know what to say to that.
Shion knelt down, bringing herself to my eye level. Her hands cupped my face.
"You're going to see terrible things tomorrow," she whispered. "You're going to do terrible things. Things no child should have to do." Tears were streaming down her face now. "And I want you to know—whatever you have to do to survive, whatever you have to become... you can come back from it. You hear me? You can always come home."
"Mom—"
"Promise me." Her grip tightened. "Promise me that no matter what happens, you'll remember you're still our son. Still the boy who tried to make ice sculptures and failed. Still the boy who made our house damp for three days. Promise me you won't lose yourself."
"I promise," I whispered, my own tears falling now.
She pulled me into a fierce hug. I felt her shaking, felt her trying to hold back sobs.
"Come home," she breathed. "Please, please come home to us."
When she finally released me, my father stepped forward. He didn't hug me—just placed one hand on my head, the way he'd done when I was very small.
"You're brave," he said quietly. "Braver than I ever was. But bravery doesn't mean you don't feel fear. Tomorrow, when the fear comes—and it will come—use it. Let it keep you sharp. Let it remind you why you're fighting."
He paused.
"And if it becomes too much... if you can't do what they're asking... that's okay too. You don't have to be a hero, Tenki. You just have to survive. Come back to us, even if the mission fails. Nothing matters more than that."
Marcus and Ryu gave us space, waiting by the road. Eventually, I had to go.
One last look at my parents, standing together in the doorway of our home. My father's arm around my mother's shoulders. Both of them trying to be strong.
I turned away before I could change my mind.
That night, lying in the tent Marcus had loaned us, I couldn't stop thinking.
Tomorrow, I would ride into battle. Real battle, not practice. Not orcs or wolves or monsters that everyone agreed needed to be eliminated.
Humans. People with families. With lives. With reasons of their own for fighting.
And I would kill them.
The thought sat in my chest like ice.
I'd killed before. The orcs, the gargoyle, various monsters on guild contracts. But those had felt different somehow. Necessary. Clear-cut. Monsters threatening civilization.
But tomorrow's enemies were soldiers following orders. Defending what they probably saw as strategic territory. They weren't evil. Just... on the other side.
And I was going to use my magic to end their lives.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, memories flickered. A different life. A different world. One where killing another person wasn't something children even conceived of. Where violence existed only in stories, safely distant from reality. Where the worst thing an eight-year-old worried about was homework or making friends at school.
I'd been reborn into this world of war and magic. Adapted to it. Learned to fight, to survive, to kill monsters without hesitation. But that other world's values... they hadn't disappeared. They were still there, whispering that what I was about to do was fundamentally wrong.
In that peaceful life I barely remembered, taking a human life was the ultimate taboo. Unthinkable. Monstrous.
And tomorrow, I would cross that line.
Not one life. Not an accident. A deliberate attack designed for maximum lethality. I'd practiced the technique for months, perfected it, never really thinking about what it would mean to turn it against human beings.
"Tenki?" Ryu's voice from the other bedroll. "You're not sleeping."
"Can't."
Silence for a moment.
"I keep thinking about the battle," Ryu said quietly. "Your attack... it's going to kill people. Real people."
"I know," I whispered.
"How do you feel about that?"
I stared at the tent ceiling.
"Terrified. Sick. Like I want to run away and never look back." I swallowed. "But also... determined. Because if I don't do it, that bridge completes. And everything we're trying to protect..."
"Becomes collateral damage," Ryu completed. "Yeah. That's where I keep landing too."
He paused.
"A few days from now, we'll be in the middle of it. No more hypotheticals. No more planning. Just... action."
He shifted in his bedroll.
"Marcus told me something once. After one of our first contracts, when we killed those goblins. He said that taking a life—even a monster's life—should never become easy. The day it stops bothering you is the day you've lost something important."
"Does it bother you? The killing?"
"Every time," Ryu admitted. "I see their faces sometimes. When I'm trying to sleep. The goblin that tried to surrender. The wolf mother defending her cubs. The orc who..." He trailed off. "But I sleep anyway. Because I know why I did it. Because I know the alternative was worse."
"And if the alternative isn't worse?" I asked. "What if we take those lives, and it turns out the bridge wouldn't have made a difference? Or we could have found another way?"
"Then we live with that," Ryu said simply. "We live with the weight of what we did, and we try to be better next time. But we can't let the fear of making the wrong choice paralyze us into making no choice at all."
I thought about my mother's words. *Whatever you have to do to survive, whatever you have to become... you can come home from it.*
Could I? If I became someone who killed forty people in a single attack, could I still be the boy who made ice sculptures and dampened the house for three days?
"I don't want to be a killer," I whispered.
"You're not a killer," Ryu said firmly. "You're a person trying to protect your family in an impossible situation. Those aren't the same thing."
"Are they not?"
"No." His voice was certain. "A killer does it because they want to. Because it's easy. Because they enjoy it. You? You're doing it because you have to, and it's tearing you apart inside. That difference matters."
I wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe that the weight I felt, the sickness in my stomach, the fear—that all meant I was still human. Still capable of coming home.
But soon—in a few days, when arrows filled the sky and lives hung in the balance—I would be tested.
On that battlefield, I would find out what I was really made of.
---
Dawn came too quickly.
Lieutenant Garrick was waiting at the village edge with three horses. Two were standard military mounts—sturdy, reliable. The third was a pack horse carrying supplies.
"We'll be riding hard," Garrick said as we approached. "Two days to reach the front lines. We'll stop at a way station tonight, but otherwise we're covering distance as fast as these horses can manage."
Ryu and I had ridden before—Marcus had insisted on basic horsemanship as part of our training. But never for extended periods. Never at military pace.
The first few hours were manageable. The countryside rolled past—familiar territory gradually giving way to less settled regions. Fewer farms. More wilderness.
Riding the horse was different from anything I'd experienced before. Not just the physical aspect—the rhythm of movement, the bobbing motion—but something about the way we moved together. The horse beneath me, the air flowing past as we traveled.
I found myself paying attention to the wind. To how it moved around us. How the horse's body displaced air, creating currents and eddies. How my own weight shifted the balance, how the horse adjusted...
There was something there. Some principle I was almost grasping. About weight distribution. About movement through air. About—
"You're thinking too hard," Ryu said from beside me. "I can see your concentration face."
I blinked, pulled out of my thoughts. "Just... observing. How the horse moves. How the air flows around us."
"Cloud magic stuff?"
"Maybe. I'm not sure yet." But something was forming in my mind. A connection I hadn't made before. Between the way a horse carried weight, distributed force through its legs, maintained balance... and the way clouds moved through air.
It wasn't complete. Just a spark of intuition. But it felt important.
Garrick didn't talk much during the ride, clearly focused on making good time. But around midday, when we stopped briefly to water the horses, he finally spoke.
"Commander Zagan wanted me to emphasize something," he said, checking his horse's hooves. "When we reach the front lines, you're to follow General Vandor's tactical orders. No improvisation unless circumstances force it. The general's been fighting cavalry actions for twenty years. He knows what he's doing."
"Understood," I said.
"Also..." Garrick hesitated. "The general doesn't know about your exact capabilities. Zagan kept the intelligence compartmentalized—operational security. Vandor knows you're 'specialized magical support,' but not the specifics. When you arrive, he'll want a demonstration. Proof you can actually do what we're claiming."
"A test," Ryu said.
"More like due diligence. The general's lost seventeen soldiers trying to break that defensive line. He's not going to risk more lives on unverified claims." Garrick mounted his horse again. "Be prepared to show what you can do."
The afternoon wore on. My legs ached from the saddle, my back protesting the sustained riding. Ryu looked equally uncomfortable, though he didn't complain.
By evening, we reached the way station Garrick had mentioned—a fortified roadhouse that existed primarily to support military logistics. Simple but functional. Food, beds, stables.
We ate a quick meal—military rations, nothing elaborate—and collapsed into the bunks provided. I was asleep within minutes despite the lingering anxiety about what waited ahead.
The second day was harder. My muscles had stiffened overnight, and the initial hours of riding were genuinely painful. But gradually, I adjusted. Fell into the rhythm of it.
Around noon, the landscape began to change. More military traffic on the roads. Supply wagons heading north. Wounded soldiers being evacuated south.
The first time I saw a wagon full of injured men, I had to look away. Bandages soaked through with blood. Missing limbs. Men barely conscious, groaning with pain.
This was war. The reality of it. Not abstract strategy on a map, but human bodies broken by violence.
"First time seeing combat casualties?" Garrick asked quietly.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Gets easier," he said. Then paused. "No. That's a lie. It doesn't get easier. You just get better at functioning despite it."
By late afternoon, we crested a ridge and saw our destination.
A military encampment spread across the valley below. Tents in organized rows. Cavalry corrals. Supply depots. And beyond it, perhaps two miles distant, I could see the Silvus River—a dark ribbon cutting through the terrain.
And the bridge. Even from this distance, the construction was visible. A growing structure reaching across the water.
"Welcome to the front lines," Garrick said.
---
The camp was organized chaos. Soldiers moving with purpose. Officers shouting orders. The smell of horses, cooking fires, and too many people living in close quarters.
Garrick led us directly to the command tent—a larger structure near the camp's center, marked with military banners.
"Wait here," he said, dismounting. "I'll announce you."
He disappeared inside. Ryu and I exchanged glances, still mounted, suddenly very aware of how young we looked. How out of place.
A minute later, Garrick emerged. "The general will see you. Leave the horses—someone will stable them."
We followed him into the command tent.
General Vandor was exactly what I'd expected from a career cavalry officer. Tall, weathered, probably in his late forties. Scars visible on his hands and one side of his face. The kind of man who'd earned his rank through decades of combat experience.
He looked up from a map table as we entered. His expression shifted from professional interest to visible disbelief.
"These are Zagan's 'specialized magical assets'?" His voice was controlled, but I heard the skepticism. "They're children."
"They're Bronze-rank adventurers, sir," Garrick said. "Successfully completed an orc hunting contract three months ago. Years of progressively intensive combat training under Marcus—former Silver-rank adventurer."
"I know Marcus's record," Vandor said, still studying us with obvious doubt. "That doesn't change the fact that they look like they should be in school, not a military operation."
He walked around the map table, stopping directly in front of me.
"Commander Zagan sent word that you possess defensive magic capable of protecting cavalry from massed arrow fire. Is that accurate?"
"Yes, sir," I said, keeping my voice steady.
"What level is your magic?"
"Cloud Magic, Level 9."
Vandor's eyebrow raised slightly. "Level 9 at your age is... unusual. But level doesn't always translate to tactical effectiveness." He gestured to the map table. "Come here. I'll show you what we're dealing with."
We approached. The map showed detailed terrain around the bridge—far more precise than Lieutenant Garrick's version.
"The Silvus River, here." Vandor tapped the blue line. "Bridge construction, sixty percent complete. At current pace, operational in ten to twelve days." His finger moved to marked positions on the near side of the river. "Commander Julius's defensive position. Shieldwall formation, approximately forty Vanguard Archers. Elite troops, Bow mastery Level 4 to 6. Julius himself is Level 7 Bow, Level 7 Shield."
He traced a line from our position to the bridge.
"To reach the bridge, cavalry must charge across three hundred meters of open ground. The Vanguard Archers have effective killing range of roughly one hundred meters—beyond that, arrows lose penetrating power against armor and moving targets. But that still means two hundred meters of approach under concentrated fire."
Vandor's hand pressed flat on the map, and his voice grew harder.
"First attempt: I led forty riders in a direct charge. We lost eight men and eleven horses in the first volley at one hundred meters. By the time we closed to fifty meters, Julius's shieldwall had reformed into a hedgehog formation—shields interlocked, spears protruding, archers firing from the second rank. Our horses refused to charge into it. We had to withdraw."
His finger traced another path on the map.
"Second attempt: Split force, flanking maneuver. Twenty riders from each side, trying to overwhelm their formation from multiple angles. They adjusted—rotated the shieldwall sections to face both threats. We lost four more soldiers before we could even get into melee range. The ones who did make contact couldn't break through. Level 7 Shield mastery means Julius himself could hold off three of my best riders simultaneously."
He moved to mark another position.
"Third attempt: Night raid. Thought we could close distance under cover of darkness. They were ready—oil lamps positioned to illuminate approach vectors, fire arrows to mark targets. Lost three soldiers, gained nothing. Turns out Julius expects night attacks."
"Fourth attempt:" Vandor's voice was bitter now. "Feint and breakthrough. Sent thirty riders as a visible frontal assault while ten tried to circle wide and hit the bridge directly. The frontal assault got massacred—five dead, seven wounded. And the flanking group never made it. Julius had positioned scouts. The archers redirected fire and cut them down at range."
He looked at me directly, and I could see the weight of those seventeen deaths in his eyes.
"Seventeen soldiers dead. Twenty-three wounded badly enough to be evacuated. And we haven't gotten within spitting distance of that bridge itself, let alone damaged the construction." He straightened. "Zagan claims your magic can change that equation. That you can shield my cavalry from arrow fire during the critical approach distance—one hundred to two hundred meters where they have clear shots and maximum lethality."
"I can," I said.
"Prove it."
The tent went quiet.
"Sir?" I asked.
"Prove it," Vandor repeated. "I'm not risking more of my soldiers' lives on a child's claims, no matter how highly Commander Zagan regards your potential. If you can actually protect riders from archery, demonstrate it. Now."
He walked to the tent entrance and called out. "Captain Reeves! Get me two archers. Training arrows, full gear."
Vandor turned back to us, his expression unreadable.
"Outside. Both of you. Let's see what you can actually do."
I exchanged a glance with Ryu. This was it—the moment where words became action, where claims had to transform into results.
We followed General Vandor out of the command tent, Lieutenant Garrick trailing behind us.
The afternoon sun was already beginning its descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the military encampment. Soldiers paused in their duties, watching as we emerged—two children following a decorated general toward whatever test awaited.
Vandor led us toward an open area near the training grounds.
"There," he said, pointing. "We'll conduct the evaluation there."
Two archers were already approaching, carrying their bows and quivers of training arrows. Professional soldiers, moving with the economy of motion that came from years of practice.
The general stopped, turned to face me directly.
"Show me," he said simply.
And in that moment, with the encampment watching, with everything hanging in the balance, I understood that this wasn't just a test of my magic.
It was a test of whether an eight-year-old boy could truly stand on a battlefield and change the course of war.
Chapter 10 ends at the moment before Tenki's demonstration, leaving the actual test for Chapter 11. The journey to the front lines is complete, General Vandor has been introduced, and the stage is set for Tenki to prove his capabilities. Chapter 11 will show the power demonstration, the tactical briefing that follows, and the actual bridge assault. Thank you for reading!*
