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Chapter 10: “Iron and Fire”

Enter Lady Serika of House Nyoro

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The wind howled like a dying wolf over the snowfields of Black Hollow.

Blood steamed against the frost, and steel clashed like thunder in the narrow valley.

Rikuya led the charge, cutting down three rebel horsemen with ghostlike precision. But it wasn’t his blade that turned the tide.

It was hers.

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She rode in from the flank, cloak torn, eyes blazing—her silver armor dusted with blood and ash. Her halberd swept through the enemy like wind through tall grass.

> “For the Empire!” she cried.

Her voice rang like a war drum, steady and unbreakable.

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Her name was Serika Nyoro.

Daughter of a disgraced noble house.

Trained by her brothers. Forged by exile.

Her family had once ruled the southern highlands—until betrayal tore them down.

Now she served the Empire… and followed Rikuya, the only man she called commander without bitterness.

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After the battle, as the wounded were gathered, Serika found Rikuya alone again—half-slumped near the broken chapel, blood dripping from his knuckles.

“You don’t listen when you’re told to rest, do you?” she muttered, kneeling beside him.

He didn’t answer. Just stared at the flames consuming the rebel tents.

Serika sighed. “If you die, the men will fall apart. You know that, right?”

> “Then don’t let me die,” he said simply.

She chuckled, brushing his hair from his forehead to check a wound.

There was nothing romantic in the gesture—only survival.

But still… she hesitated when she saw the silver pendant tucked near his heart.

> “Someone waiting for you back home?”

Rikuya’s jaw tensed. “Not anymore.”

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That night, by the fire, she sat beside him with a flask of rice liquor and two tin cups.

“Drink. Or sleep. But stop bleeding alone.”

He didn’t smile. He never did.

But for once, he took the cup.

> And in silence, they drank as comrades do.

Two broken nobles.

Fighting a war that neither of them would return from unchanged.