The battlefield still smoldered.
Gaius stood amidst the carnage, his grip tight on his bloodstained sword. The weight of exhaustion threatened to pull him under, but he did not yield. The corpses of Bellum warriors lay scattered around him, their once-mighty bodies broken, their weapons shattered, their war cries forever silenced. The air was thick with the stench of burned flesh, the bitter scent of Qi residue clinging to his lungs with every breath.
Yet, despite everything, despite the blood he had spilled, despite the death he had danced with time and again in the past hours—
None of it mattered anymore.
Not in the eyes of those who had just arrived.
The nobles stood above them, quite literally. They had not walked through the mud and filth to reach the battlefield.They had descended in a perfect formation, their golden armor untouched by dirt, their swords gleaming with celestial radiance. The battle had already been decided by the time they arrived, yet they carried themselves as though this war had only begun with their presence.
Gaius could still feel the lingering weight of the noblewoman's Qi pressing upon the battlefield, even though she had already turned away, already dismissed them as if they were less than nothing.
The divide was absolute.
They were common soldiers, gritting their teeth, bleeding, dying for the Imperium.
The nobles were its rulers, untouchable and unbothered, standing above the fray like gods among mortals.
No one said a word.
The survivors of the 3rd Battalion had gathered, standing in uneven rows. Their armor was dented, their bodies were battered, their faces hollow from exhaustion and blood loss. They had held the line when no one else had. They had fought against warriors far stronger than themselves, knowing that death was a certainty.
And yet, it was not them who were celebrated.
The nobles spoke amongst themselves in hushed tones, entirely ignoring the battered soldiers who had fought tooth and nail just to survive this day.
Gaius let out a slow breath, watching as the noblewoman, Lady Aurelia of House Aurelius, turned her gaze toward one of the fallen Bellum warlords, inspecting the corpse as if it were some curiosity rather than a being that had lived and breathed mere moments ago.
"This one was strong," she mused, nudging the corpse lightly with the tip of her boot. Her voice was smooth, emotionless, as if she were discussing an unremarkable artifact rather than a once-living warrior. "Crude, but there was talent here."
"Of course," another noble agreed, an older man clad in dark silver robes, his long black hair tied into a golden clasp. He studied the battlefield with distant eyes, arms folded behind his back. Lord Septimus of House Valtar. "The Bellum have always bred excellent foot soldiers. It is their lack of discipline that damns them."
Aurelia hummed in vague agreement. "Still, I will have the remains sent back for study. A warlord of his caliber may yield some use yet."
Aulus stepped forward. His movements were stiff, his uniform still soaked in the blood of his men. He had seen too much, fought too hard, lost too many. And now, even victory had been stolen from him.
"My lady," he said carefully. "If I may—"
"You may not," Aurelia cut him off without looking at him.
Aulus' jaw tightened.
"We have done our duty," she continued, examining her sword before sheathing it in a single fluid motion. "The Bellum's advance has been halted, their warlords slain. Your efforts were—" she hesitated for the briefest of moments, as if even acknowledging them was an effort, "sufficient."
Sufficient.
The word dug into Gaius like a rusted dagger.
How many of their men had died? How many had been torn apart, crushed, burned, hacked into pieces while holding the line?
And all it had amounted to was a single, dismissive word.
Aulus held his ground. "Lady Aurelia, with all due respect, this battle was not won by the nobility. It was won by the men who stood against the enemy while waiting for you to arrive."
For the first time, Aurelia turned to fully regard him. Her golden eyes, so much like the divine flames of the Imperium's banners, were utterly devoid of warmth.
"There is no 'respect' in questioning your superiors, Legatus," she said, voice mild. "Only insubordination."
A tense silence settled between them.
Aulus did not speak.
Aurelia studied him for a moment longer, then sighed, as if humoring a child's tantrum. "If you require validation, then allow me to grant it."
She gestured, and one of the lesser nobles, a tall man draped in red silk, stepped forward. "You will be commended for your service," Aurelia said. "Your battalion will be granted one additional week of rations, and you will receive a formal mention in the battle records. A suitable reward for foot soldiers."
Aulus said nothing.
Gaius could see his knuckles turning white.
A week of rations.
That was the worth of the lives they had lost today.
Some of the younger soldiers still standing reacted—some visibly tensed, some looked ready to spit on the ground, but no one spoke. No one dared.
Because this was the Imperium.
This was the reality of the noble houses.
Aurelia flicked her gaze toward Gaius.
Unlike Aulus, he had not spoken. He had simply watched, silent and waiting.
For a moment, he wondered if she would dismiss him entirely.
But her gaze lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.
"You fought well," she said, finally acknowledging him.
It wasn't a compliment, but it was an observation.
Cold. Detached. Like A scientist admiring the function of a well-crafted weapon.
And then she turned away, her presence already fading from his mind, her footsteps light against the battlefield's broken earth.
Without another word, the nobles departed.
They had done their duty. The war had moved past them. The battle was over, and they had no more reason to remain in the presence of commoners.
And just like that, they were gone.
The surviving soldiers remained standing in the mud, watching as the golden figures disappeared beyond the trenches, their silhouettes illuminated by the distant fires of war.
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then—
Aulus exhaled slowly, the breath shuddering from his lungs. He turned to his men, scanning their faces, their battered bodies.
"Form up," he said, voice steady. "We return to camp."
No one said a word.
Gaius finally let out a slow breath, his grip loosening on his sword.
The battle was over.