"Cheers!"

  Elira sat at the counter, staring at the chaos behind her.

  The wooden floorboards creaked under the weight of dancing soldiers. They were singing. They were drinking. They were laughing.

  It was absurd.

  Just hours ago, these people were bathing in intestines and mud. Now, they were celebrating as if the war was a distant memory.

  Elira looked to her side.

  The giant who had carried her back sat on a reinforced stool. He wasn't a giant anymore. He had shrunk back to a human size, though he was still nearly two meters tall.

  Garrick. That was his name.

  He sat in silence, staring into his fourth mug of ale. He didn't move. He didn't blink. He was a statue of grief amidst the noise.

  Elira turned her gaze back to the party.

  There was a woman dancing on the table.

  She was beautiful. Golden blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a face that could launch a thousand ships... or sink them. She hadn't introduced herself, but the crowd seemed to know her well.

  "Whooo! Lady Sera! You are the best! Show us more!"

  Sera laughed, a sound like wind chimes, and twirled suggestively. She kicked a mug off the table, and the crowd roared with delight.

  Something cold touched Elira’s hand.

  She flinched, looking down.

  A glass filled with a shimmering blue liquid sat on the counter.

  "Relax, little lady," a soft voice spoke. "It is a Blue Moon. Cold and refreshing. No stronger than fruit wine."

  "...I didn't ask for anything."

  "Don't worry. This is on the house."

  "No. Thanks."

  Elira pushed the glass away.

  The bartender didn't insist. He slid the drink over to Garrick, who knocked the entire contents back in one gulp without looking up.

  Elira studied the bartender. He was skinny. Average height. He looked weak, especially compared to the monsters in this room. He wiped a glass with a practiced, rhythmic motion.

  "How did they get a bar at this place anyway?" Elira asked, her voice barely audible over the music.

  "Oh. I opened it."

  "...Huh?"

  Elira looked him up and down.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  The bartender smiled. It was a sad smile that didn't reach his eyes. He began pouring another beer.

  "War is not a happy business, kid. You survive this time, but the next? Maybe it will be you. Or your comrades. It fucks people up. I can turn mana into wine. People need relief. That is all."

  Elira stayed silent.

  The memory of the sea of corpses reappeared in her mind. The blood. The faces frozen in a mix of fear and anger. The silence of her domain.

  "I'm going for a walk."

  Elira hopped off her stool.

  The crowd parted instantly.

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  The music didn't stop, but the soldiers near her fell silent. They pressed themselves against the walls to let her pass. They had seen what she did on the battlefield. They knew she was responsible for the silence.

  They were terrified.

  Elira walked out of the bar and into the freezing night air.

  The soldiers outside were no different. They averted their gaze. They turned corners to avoid walking near her.

  Elira walked faster.

  She inhaled the cold, dried air, but her chest felt tight. It was hard to breathe.

  She kept walking until she reached the main gate. The place where she had first arrived.

  She remembered Yevan.

  The talkative soldier. The one who treated her like a child, not a monster. Maybe he could answer her questions. Maybe Elira just wanted someone to talk to. He reminded her of the annoying therapist she used to have sessions with.

  Back then, she hated the talking. Now, she missed it.

  She looked around the checkpoint.

  Yevan wasn't there.

  Elira approached another soldier guarding the gate. As she came closer, the man started to panic. He looked around, sweating despite the freezing temperature.

  "Hey."

  "..."

  The soldier froze.

  Elira tugged on his sleeve. He jumped, nearly dropping his spear.

  I am not going to kill you.

  "...I am not going to kill you."

  "N-no! I... I didn't see you and..."

  "Where is Yevan?"

  Elira didn't care about his excuses. She just wanted an answer.

  The soldier swallowed hard. He looked at the ground.

  "O-oh. Yevan. He... a stray spell hit the ammo depot..."

  He looked up, his face pale.

  "He... died."

  Oh.

  "...Okay."

  Elira turned around and walked away.

  Elira sat on the edge of the massive black wall, her legs dangling over the abyss.

  The wind was brutal up here. It whipped her hair around her face, stinging her eyes.

  Below, in the crater-filled wasteland, tiny lights moved. Soldiers and mages were walking through the mud, collecting the dead.

  "I do not remember assigning you night guard duty."

  Elira gave Major Viktor a single glance. He walked casually toward her, his boots clicking on the metal rampart.

  She didn't respond. She just kept looking at the gravediggers.

  Viktor didn't seem to care about the lack of a salute. He leaned against the railing next to her, looking down at the same scene.

  "..."

  "..."

  "Have you ever killed anyone, Major?"

  Viktor raised an eyebrow.

  "Why do you ask that?"

  "...I was just wondering what it feels like when you kill people with your own hands."

  Elira had killed people before. There were lives she regretted taking. There were lives she didn’t. But all of that death had been caused by her power, out of her control.

  Viktor reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a cigar.

  "The first time I killed," Viktor said, putting the cigar between his teeth, "my attack was too shallow. Their stomach was cut open. Their intestines spilled out. But they still lived. Crawling, screaming for almost an hour."

  "That is a terrible way to go."

  "It is."

  Elira turned her head, looking at the Major's scarred face.

  "Do you think their death was necessary?"

  Today, she killed hundreds. Maybe thousands. She didn't know these people. She didn't know if they had families. If they had children waiting for them at home.

  To her, their death felt empty. Pointless.

  Viktor snapped his fingers, lighting the cigar with a small spark of mana. He took a deep drag, the tip glowing orange, and exhaled a cloud of gray smoke into the wind.

  "It is not our place to decide a person's worth, Elira. We are soldiers. Killing is what we do. We are the tools."

  Elira chuckled. A dry, hollow sound.

  "That sounds like a fitting job for me."

  Viktor took out another cigar. He held it out toward her.

  Elira stared at it.

  She took it.

  She rolled the dry tobacco between her fingers.

  "I haven't got the chance to learn a spell for this," she muttered.

  She learned at the academy that most mages focused on a single field of magic to reach the pinnacle. But they still learned utility spells for daily life. Lighting fires. Cleaning clothes.

  Arlen had promised to teach her those spells.

  But she killed him before they could fulfill that promise.

  "I will light it for you."

  Viktor raised his hand. With a flick of his finger, a small, controlled flame appeared.

  Elira leaned in. The flame touched the tip.

  She took a breath.

  "Cough... Cough... Cough."

  Her throat burned. Her eyes watered. It tasted like ash and dirt.

  "That was awful."

  Elira looked at the glowing ember, tears pricking her eyes.

  "Can you give me some more? And... teach me that spell too?"