“Bleugh—!”

  Arin bent over, clutching his stomach as another wave of nausea surged through him.

  “Blaagh—!”

  A moment later, he straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve while glaring at the man beside him.

  “Bill… next time you choose a shooting position,” he groaned, grabbing his canteen, “avoid the corpse piles.”

  He took a long gulp of water and swished it around his mouth before spitting it onto the ground—or rather, onto the mound of goblin bodies beneath his boots.

  “No matter how good the view is.”

  The taste refused to leave his mouth.

  Even after rinsing several times, the sour mix of vomit and metallic blood clung stubbornly to his tongue.

  For the first few minutes, it had been twice as bad.

  Back the,n he had still been trying to process what he was standing on.

  Now he was simply trying not to think about it.

  The smell alone was unbearable.

  Warm copper.

  Rot.

  Wet flesh.

  And then there was the feeling under his boots.

  Soft.

  Uneven.

  Sometimes shifting.

  Arin forced himself not to look down again.

  Because if he did, he knew exactly what he would see.

  The battlefield stretched endlessly before them, a sea of red that seemed to swallow the entire valley.

  Blood.

  Bodies.

  Broken weapons.

  Even the grass was gone now, buried beneath the aftermath of slaughter.

  Arin swallowed hard.

  Don’t look.

  Don’t think about it.

  Just focus on shooting.

  Beside him, Bill didn’t look much better.

  “I know…” Bill muttered quietly.

  He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, though he hadn’t actually thrown up yet.

  Still, his face had gone pale.

  “I didn’t expect it to be this horrible.”

  He stared out across the valley.

  “In all the wars recorded in our family archives… I don’t think anything like this was ever mentioned.”

  Arin raised an eyebrow.

  “Really?”

  Bill nodded grimly.

  “There are stories about rivers turning red after battles. Even lakes filled with blood.”

  He gestured around them.

  “But this?”

  His voice lowered.

  “This is something else entirely.”

  Bill swallowed.

  There was a strange taste in his mouth that refused to disappear.

  Iron.

  It felt as though someone had shoved a metal bar down his throat and forced him to chew on it.

  Arin followed Bill’s gaze across the battlefield.

  Then he quickly looked away again.

  Because the sight made his stomach churn.

  Yet despite everything…

  They couldn’t leave.

  “But we also can’t go down there,” Bill said quietly.

  He glanced toward the valley floor.

  “That would be suicide.”

  Arin nodded.

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Even if they wanted to move somewhere else, they couldn’t.

  The battlefield had changed too much.

  “I can’t see anything in this fog,” Arin muttered.

  He narrowed his eyes and activated his skill.

  Archer’s Eye.

  For a brief moment, his vision sharpened.

  The world seemed to stretch outward.

  Normally,y the skill allowed him to see hundreds of meters with perfect clarity.

  But now?

  Nothing.

  Even with the skill active, he could barely see twenty meters ahead.

  Ten without it.

  “This fog is ridiculous,” Arin said.

  “I don’t even know where the frontline is anymore.”

  He scanned the red haze again.

  The mist clung to everything.

  Armor.

  Weapons.

  Bodies.

  Even the air itself felt thick and sticky.

  And the worst part?

  The fog wasn’t natural.

  It was made of blood.

  Vaporized blood.

  A red mist that rose from the countless corpses covering the battlefield.

  Occasionally, a flash of light would tear through the haze.

  A massive mana blast from one of the battle mages.

  Each explosion cleared a small pocket of visibility before the crimson fog swallowed it again.

  “For the rest…” Arin sighed.

  “It’s basically guesswork.”

  Bill rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Hey, Arin.”

  “What?”

  Bill smirked faintly.

  “How do you think the commander is feeling right now?”

  Arin raised an eyebrow.

  “I bet five copper coins he’s completely red with anger,” Bill said.

  Arin chuckled.

  The sound came out weaker than he expected.

  “Deal.”

  He shook his head.

  “But I think he’s already past anger.”

  Bill blinked.

  “Oh?”

  Arin shrugged.

  “At this point, he’s probably just feeling hopeless.”

  He gestured at the battlefield around them.

  “We definitely weren’t prepared for this.”

  Then Arin laughed.

  And immediately regretted it.

  Because laughing meant breathing.

  And breathing meant inhaling more of the red fog.

  “Cough—!”

  His lungs burned.

  “Okay… maybe talking isn’t a great idea.”

  Arin wasn’t far from the truth.

  Commander Eloi did indeed feel helpless.

  Extremely helpless.

  “What in the world am I supposed to do about this?”

  He stared out across the valley in disbelief.

  Even in the oldest military records, nothing like this had ever been documented.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Sure, there were mentions of rivers turning red after battles.

  There were even stories about lakes formed entirely from blood.

  But those were exaggerations.

  Or at least…

  They were supposed to be.

  Now Eloi wasn’t so sure anymore.

  Because what he was looking at right now was far worse.

  It had been bad enough earlier when soldiers were forced to wade through ankle-deep blood.

  But now?

  The blood itself had turned into a fog.

  A thick crimson mist covered the entire valley.

  “Ridiculous,” Eloi muttered.

  Standing beside him on the hill, Selvijs crossed his arms thoughtfully.

  “Well?”

  Eloi said.

  “Do you have any ideas?”

  He rubbed his temples.

  “Because I would really like to hear one.”

  They needed to break through the goblin defensive line.

  And fast.

  The longer they stayed trapped in this valley, the worse the situation would become.

  Selvijs sighed.

  “Well… unfortunately…”

  “I don’t have a good idea either.”

  Eloi groaned.

  “Archers are useless right now,” Selvijs continued.

  “They can’t see their targets.”

  He gestured toward the mist.

  “If we let them fire volleys blindly, we might end up hitting our own soldiers.”

  Eloi grimaced.

  “And the mages?”

  “They’re risky too.”

  Selvijs pointed toward another distant explosion.

  “Sure, their spells can clear the fog temporarily.”

  “But that also makes them extremely valuable right now.”

  If something happened to the mages, the army would lose one of its only tools for controlling the battlefield.

  “So what do you suggest?” Eloi asked.

  Selvijs thought for a moment.

  “Messengers.”

  Eloi blinked.

  “We tighten our formations,” Selvijs said.

  “Advance slowly.”

  He pointed toward the edge of the valley.

  “And try to push our way out of this place.”

  Then he added:

  “Meanwhile, we send a report back to Central Command.”

  Eloi nodded slowly.

  “Let’s see if their think tanks can come up with something.”

  Eloi straightened.

  “Alright.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  He pointed toward the officers nearby.

  “Selvijs, organize messengers for the captains.”

  “They’ll know how to handle their units.”

  “And I’ll send a message to the tower.”

  His mood improved slightly.

  Because this meant he finally had an excuse to use one of the new communication towers.

  Selvijs watched him leave.

  Then shook his head.

  “Honestly…”

  His friend looked far too excited about using that new toy.

  With a sigh, Selvijs stepped down from the small hill.

  Unfortunately, that meant walking straight into the valley again.

  He stared at the thick river of blood blocking his path.

  “…Great.”

  He grimaced.

  Then stepped forward.

  Straight into the crimson flood.

  “Marshal Herman!”

  The door burst open.

  A messenger rushed into the room, breathing heavily.

  “We received a message from Commander Eloi!”

  Herman looked up from his desk.

  “Oh?”

  He leaned back in his chair.

  “What does that brat want now?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Does he even have time to send messengers?”

  Herman didn’t remember most of the three hundred commanders under his command.

  But Eloi?

  Oh, he knew Eloi.

  After all, that was the legion his old friend Karl had been assigned to.

  And Herman had been very pleased about that.

  Karl had a special talent for irritating people.

  Especially authority figures.

  Which was exactly why Herman had approved the transfer without hesitation.

  Officially, of course, he couldn’t show favoritism.

  But unofficially?

  He had known exactly what would happen.

  Karl would cause chaos.

  And that arrogant commander who was showing signs of corruption would suffer.

  Last he heard, the poor commander had nearly become the laughingstock of the entire army.

  Some people even said he was considering resigning.

  Something Herman wholeheartedly supported.

  But as Herman read the message…

  His expression slowly changed.

  Amusement disappeared.

  Concern replaced it.

  “…Damn it.”

  He rubbed his forehead.

  “At this rate, I’m going to go bald again.”

  That would be tragic.

  He had only just regained his hair recently.

  One of the unexpected benefits of the new breathing techniques spreading across the continent.

  Merchants hated them.

  After all, fewer people were buying hair restoration potions.

  But most soldiers were extremely grateful.

  Herman stood up.

  “Well…”

  He folded the message carefully.

  “I guess it’s time to visit those old fossils.”

  Because right now?

  He had absolutely no idea how to deal with this situation.

  And he definitely hadn’t been trained for blood fog.

  With a sigh, Herman left his office.

  His destination was clear.

  The EU Strategic Think Tank.

  If he was going to call a council meeting later…

  He wanted a proper plan first.

  Otherwise, the negotiations would be a nightmare.