On the third day, around mid-afternoon, the conscript unit finally arrived at Blaze Ridge.

It was one of three key defensive positions guarding against the Shang Kingdom’s advance.

The largest battlefield, White Plains, lay two mountains to the north, where the main armies were still locked in a standoff.

The Shang forces had split into smaller detachments to bypass the main battlefront, flanking it from both the north and south.

It was the conscripts’ job to defend the southern route at Blaze Ridge.

‘The air feels heavy here. Stifling.’

Marching side by side with Gaesang and Yeopchi, Makjeong stepped into the makeshift fortifications built by the U Kingdom’s forces.

The area was stripped bare—trees chopped down, leaving only rough stumps.

As they drew closer, the acrid smell of burned wood mixed with something far worse—something metallic and rotten.

‘The smell of corpses… Ugh!’

Makjeong’s stomach churned at the stench.

Then he saw them—the bodies.

The road leading up the mountain was littered with corpses, far too many to count.

Curses and uneasy murmurs rippled through the conscripts.

The handover process was brief.

The officer and soldiers who had escorted them from the city disappeared without a word of encouragement.

Instead, a new officer took their place.

Covered in dirt, dust, and dried blood, he looked as if he had stepped straight off the battlefield.

“Welcome, brave warriors of the U Kingdom! This is Blaze Ridge—the place where you’ll risk your lives to hold back the enemy!”

Already tense, the conscripts swallowed hard as they stared at him.

“Before you’re assigned to your positions, your first task is to bury the dead. But before that, strip the bodies of their armor and weapons. Equip yourselves with whatever you can find.”

The conscripts began to mutter nervously, but the officer gave them no time to think.

“There’s not enough equipment here! Soldiers keep dying, and the gear keeps breaking! We don’t know when—or if—supplies will arrive! If you want to live, you’ll take what you can get. Armor is the only thing that’ll keep you alive. Now move!”

“Damn it!”

“Shit… Making us dig through corpses first thing. Disgusting…”

The smell grew worse the closer they got.

Stripping armor and weapons from the corpses was even harder than they expected, pushing some to the edge of vomiting.

The bodies were shredded by swords, spears, and axes.

The armor they pulled off was stained with blood and gore—marks of death they’d carry with them until the war was over.

Makjeong clenched his jaw and dove in.

He picked the corpse wearing the best armor and began pulling it off stiff, contorted limbs.

Though he’d never worn armor meant for foot soldiers, he knew how it was constructed.

Understanding how the straps and buckles worked made the process faster for him than for the others.

‘I need the best gear I can find. Even if I run later, I need to survive first.’

“Ugh—!”

While Makjeong worked quickly, one of the other conscripts gagged.

He had turned the corpse’s head to remove its helmet, only to reveal a crushed nose and mouth split wide by an axe.

But Makjeong didn’t flinch.

With practiced efficiency, he stripped the corpse of armor, boots, and helmet. He even took the bloodied clothes, ropes, and scraps of cloth, along with a small dagger tied to the waist.

Anything that might be useful.

Once he’d secured the armor and tightened the straps, he immediately moved on to the next body, grabbing even the smallest tools or supplies.

“Hurry up! What are you idiots waiting for? Move!”

The officer barked at them, sending soldiers to hurry along the slower conscripts.

Those who finished quickly, like Makjeong, began digging trenches to bury the bodies.

Using shovels and pickaxes, they dug long, waist-deep pits and laid the bodies inside.

Fathers, sons, brothers—they were reduced to nameless corpses stacked in the dirt.

“Damn it. Why couldn’t I have died in the summer? This is miserable.”

Gaesang grumbled as he worked beside Makjeong.

“In the summer?”

“Yeah. At least it’s warm. I could stretch out, get comfortable, and die properly.”

Gaesang’s words made the corpses look even colder as they lay in the dirt.

But only the living could feel warmth—or cold.

“And stop calling me ‘mister.’ Call me ‘brother.’ I’m still young, damn it.”

“…Fine, brother.”

Makjeong’s flat tone made Gaesang shrug before he started shoveling dirt into the pit.

It was a pitiful burial—no ceremony, no prayers.

Just corpses tossed into the earth and covered with dirt.

By the time they finished, the sun was already beginning to set.

The conscripts gathered once more for their final meal of the day.

Much like the food they’d received at the Myeonseong barracks, it was a lump of steamed grains served with hot water. However, this time there were also a few boiled greens.

The portion of grain was noticeably larger, and Makjeong chewed it slowly, savoring every bite. He was certain this would help him regain his strength.

After the meal, the conscripts were finally issued their personal weapons—the tools they’d be expected to cling to until death.

From this moment on, they were no longer recruits but officially soldiers.

Untrained and inexperienced soldiers, perhaps, but the U Kingdom’s army was already full of men just like them.

Makjeong’s weapon was a spear with a slightly loose blade and a shaft stained dark red. It clearly belonged to someone who had already died in battle.

‘Take care of me.’

Makjeong gripped the spear with both hands and whispered silently to it.

The conscripts were split into smaller groups and sent to different defensive positions across Blaze Ridge.

Makjeong was assigned to the southern line of the first defensive perimeter, along with Gaesang, Yeopchi, and five others.

“Welcome! Glad you made it.”

The men who greeted them were twelve soldiers dressed in battered armor.

In the fading light, gathered inside the crude wooden palisades, they looked less like men and more like shadows—or ghosts.

“I’m Nam Pae, your squad leader. You’ve had a long march, so good job getting here. From now on, we’re in this together, so let’s get along. War might sound scary, but it’s simple. Smash whatever you see and survive.”

Nam Pae scratched at his unkempt, greasy hair as he spoke.

Makjeong couldn’t help but wonder—how could this man be so calm in a place where death loomed so close?

‘Is it confidence? Or has he just given up on life?’

“Let’s do introductions. That guy over there—you can tell he’s crazy just by looking at him. His name’s Madal. Hey, Madal! Say hi.”

“Hey there. I’m Madal. Let’s make the best of it. Worst-case scenario, we die, right?”

After Madal, the rest of the group gave brief introductions.

The ones who stood out to Makjeong were Nam Pae, the squad leader, and Madal, the so-called lunatic.

Then there were two archers—Chobak and Mukjin—who were three years older than Makjeong.

“Didn’t expect a kid to join our squad—damn. So your name’s Makjeong? Call me Chobak. Just add ‘brother’ to it.”

“A kid like you ending up in a place like this? Damn shame. I’m Mukjin.”

Both of them seemed particularly interested in Makjeong, perhaps because he was the youngest.

Makjeong, in turn, felt more comfortable around them than most of the others—except Gaesang and Yeopchi.

After introductions, Nam Pae explained their assigned area and how they’d manage life in the trenches.

The conversation naturally shifted to tactics—what to do when fighting broke out, how to support each other, and how to survive.

By the time they finished, night had fallen, blanketing Blaze Ridge in darkness.

Makjeong laid out his straw mat along with the others, then stepped outside for a moment to get a better look at the surroundings.

The palisades were lit by scattered torches, but beyond them, only shadows remained.

Makjeong peered toward the eastern mountains where the Shang forces were camped.

Faint lines of lights stretched along the distant ridge, marking the enemy’s presence.

Somewhere beyond that mountain, soldiers just like them were preparing for the coming battle.

Perhaps among them, another boy sat trembling, just as uncertain about his future as Makjeong was.

The night wind blew down from the north, sharper and colder than before.

This was the battlefield—three days of marching to arrive at this grim place.

The food and sleep along the way had helped Makjeong regain some strength, but not enough to attempt an escape.

His body was still too weak to run.

Worse yet, the guards were everywhere.

Security along the frontlines wasn’t just about watching for enemy movements—it was just as much about keeping deserters in line.

And with fresh recruits like them arriving, patrols would only grow stricter.

‘It’s too risky to run now. I need to build up my strength. I need to be able to fight—at least take down one or two men if I have to. And if I can survive for a few more days, I can run even if I have to starve.’

Makjeong turned back toward camp, his mind racing, when Nam Pae’s voice cut through the night.

“Hey! Hurry up and finish your piss! I told you—if you wander around alone at night, you’ll get your ass beat. Don’t get yourself killed before the fighting even starts!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Makjeong did his business and returned to the sleeping area.

It was his first night at the front.

The moon rose over the palisades, casting pale light over the camp.

The soldiers didn’t fall asleep right away.

They talked—about their pasts, about battles they’d fought, and about the comrades who’d died in this very spot.

Makjeong didn’t join the conversation.

He listened quietly, letting their voices wash over him.

And before he realized it, he drifted off to sleep.