The healer's house was, as expected, crowded with patients.
Despite her age, Haila's hands moved swiftly, her decades of experience evident in every motion. Before long, it was Leo's group's turn.
"Goodness… you've really taken a beating," Haila muttered as she examined the injured man's swollen face. Without delay, she uncorked three jars filled with pungent herbs and applied them in careful sequence.
"Has it always been this busy?" Leo asked, glancing around the crowded room. "Seems like there are more people than before."
Haila sighed. "It's been non-stop lately. Especially cases like this—beatings, brawls. It's getting worse."
"Do… people die?"
"Not often," she replied, "but it's definitely more frequent than before."
The battered patient flinched at the mention of death.
"Relax," Leo reassured him. "You'll live."
Though the herbal salves looked like nothing more than mashed weeds, the effect was immediate. The man's tense expression softened, his breathing steadied.
After paying Haila a few coins, Leo and Kyle stepped outside.
"Kyle," Leo said quietly, "it's just as we suspected, isn't it?"
Kyle nodded grimly. "The number of thugs is rising."
It made no sense. Despite harsher living conditions due to the war, the spike in crime shouldn't be this dramatic. Yet with fewer guards on duty, it was as if chaos had found a crack and poured in.
"It's barbaric out here…"
Leo couldn't help but compare it to South Korea—where most citizens received at least a basic education. Yet even there, societal issues persisted.
Education alone wasn't a fix.
"Things are manageable now," Kyle muttered, "but if this continues…"
If the criminals began organizing, even the highly trained Izell guards would struggle. With only patrol teams to hold the line, suppression would become impossible.
Leo might hold his own in narrow alleys—but against a coordinated group?
Unlikely.
"And with the guard force stretched so thin…"
Kyle trailed off, letting out a heavy sigh.
They both knew it wasn't a problem a simple patrolman could solve. Add more patrols, and rest time disappears. Keep guards rested, and patrols weaken.
Leo, still young and energetic, could endure it—for now. But many guards were already over thirty, their strength flagging day by day.
Time passed. And with it, the situation slowly worsened.
With the Viscount away at war, the castle lacked a true master. Security declined further.
Two months had passed since the troops had marched out.
And now, it was rare for a day to go by without some kind of violent crime.
"In a town this small, how is there a new assault or murder every single day?"
The local prison was nearing capacity, and worse, the townspeople were starting to lose respect for the guards altogether.
The only bright side was Leo's steadily growing proficiency.
Just as residents were beginning to wonder when the soldiers would return, bad news arrived.
"By order of the lord: additional conscription."
"What? Now?" one of the guards cried. "It's winter! They're still fighting?"
"Apparently both sides are ramping up forces, regardless of season."
The war was escalating. Reports confirmed that roughly 20% of the original expeditionary force had been killed or injured.
Understandably, the Mayans—though not native nobility—were concerned. They had lived in this land for over a hundred years. Watching it unravel wasn't in their interest.
And conscription impacted their authority directly.
They couldn't ignore it.
"Do we have any choice?" someone muttered.
A grim silence followed.
"Let's conscript a hundred new soldiers," came the decision. "And pull half of the remaining guards."
"Half?" Darnel, who now led the guards in the commander's absence, nearly shouted. "The situation's worse than ever!"
He wasn't wrong. Guards were soldiers first, but with rising crime, their role as peacekeepers had become vital.
Still, orders were orders.
Half the remaining guards—including temporary squad leaders—were reassigned.
Only fifteen guards remained.
Security was no longer a priority.
They were too busy protecting themselves.
The only comfort was Sir Yale—the last knight left in the castle—who had committed to daily patrols. A fully armed knight could hold off dozens of thugs.
He was a deterrent in human form.
His presence alone kept the criminal elements at bay—for now.
And then, the news came for Leo.
He was being deployed.
So it's finally happening…
Rumors of the war's extension had circulated for weeks. Realistically, the War could drag on for months.
Leo had prepared.
Extra food, solid boots, repaired armor, and a custom backpack—everything was ready.
And yet, his expression was far from satisfied.
His most important goal remained incomplete.
My proficiency… it's not at 100%.
His Combat Breathing Technique hovered in the 90s. Swordsmanship in the 80s.
If he just had a little more time, he might've reached another breakthrough—another synthesis.
Still, Leo had no regrets. He trained tirelessly, swinging his sword until his muscles screamed.
Now, he had only a week left.
One week to train raw conscripts and make final preparations.
If I push myself every day… I might make it.
Combat Breathing could be honed during simple activities—like marching. It was efficient.
Meanwhile, the castle was the busiest it had ever been. Dozens trained on the parade ground, but Leo could only sigh.
They're hopeless…
Most of the conscripts were peasants who couldn't even read.
No interest in learning. No motivation.
Being dragged to the battlefield against their will, they had no drive to train. Some even mocked the instructors.
It wasn't until one impatient drill sergeant floored a cocky recruit that the others started paying attention.
Still, it was a frustrating sight.
If they understood how much just a little effort could increase their chances…
Leo trained harder than anyone—guard or conscript. But even after a full week, he hadn't quite reached his goal.
98%... I'm close.
He had hope.
On the eve of departure, Rohan approached a familiar guard.
"Mark."
"Oh, hey! What's up?"
"How long do you think it'll take to reach the front?"
Mark scratched his chin. "A week, tops. Maybe less if we don't run into any other patrols."
"That fast?"
"Yeah, the Friel's just a neighboring land. Plus, the formation's loose due to high numbers."
Rohan hesitated. "Are you not… afraid, Mark?"
"Of war?" Mark chuckled. "I've seen three already. Yeah, it's scary. But what choice do we have? I've been a soldier all my life. My kids are grown. This is just… part of it."
That struck Leo.
If he had parents who cared, a family waiting for him, would he still be so resolved?
Probably not.
He shook the thought away.
Focus. Breathe. March.
Even during the journey, he kept practicing Combat Breathing. The difference was staggering.
While others tired quickly under the weight of gear, Leo endured. His stamina, though not supernatural, felt nearly knight-level.
Blisters formed. Calluses tore.
But he could keep going.
Fortunately, the road to Viscount Prell's territory was quiet.
Despite concerns over ambushes from monsters or enemy troops, the route was clear.
Just as Mark predicted, they arrived in six days.
But any hopes for a quiet front evaporated the moment Viscount Prell's castle came into view.
It stood in the middle of the plains—simple and functional.
Yet around it, signs of warfare were everywhere.
The outskirts of the town bore fresh scars—burned homes, trampled crops.
What once were farming fields now overflowed with tents, bearing emblems of noble houses.
Rohan heard Sir Jack, the knight from Izell, curse under his breath.
The enemy was far more numerous than expected.
"Dusel… Tran… Aslad… Tura… Basor… Kera…"
He named the banners one by one.
Almost every noble house from the southwestern region had gathered.
Inside the castle, only four banners waved in resistance.
Outnumbered.
Castles offered great defense—but Viscount Prell's was a plain castle, surrounded by open ground.
With fewer knights and fewer men, even strong defenses might not hold.
Leo tightened the grip on his sword.
The real war was about to begin.