The Wall Camp was torn apart in seconds.
A sudden blast of fire erupted from the east side of the wooden palisade, splintering it like twigs. Flames danced, devouring the defenses, smoke rising high under the strange, purple-tinted sky.
Before the rebel soldiers could react, the Kingdom's Army stormed in — hundreds of armored men, their banners flashing gold and crimson. Metal clashed against leather, steel smashed into unready rebels.
The Rebel Camp was in chaos.
Screams echoed through the smoke, arrows rained down, and the rebel soldiers — still half-armed, many without armor — were forced into a desperate scramble to form a defense.
Inside the command tent, panic set in.
Sir Grin, the Second Commander, slammed his fist against the table, teeth gritted in fury.
"Sh*t! We're getting overwhelmed! How the hell did they know our location?!"
Varn, the Third Commander, barely glanced up from sharpening his bloodied sword.
"We were betrayed. Someone from our ranks sold us out... there's no other way."
Grin's eyes widened, his voice low with disbelief.
"Who...?"
Just then, through the smoke and broken wall, two riders appeared — but they weren't alone.
Three cloaked figures walked behind them, robes fluttering in the wind like shadows torn from the battlefield itself. Their movements were calm, calculated. Faces hidden beneath deep hoods, but their presence was unmistakable — sorcerers.
The very air around them shimmered, twisted by invisible energy. The ground cracked faintly with each step, and even the fire that had destroyed the wall swayed unnaturally toward them — like it recognized its masters.
The rebel soldiers nearby froze at the sight.
Whispers filled the smoky air:
"Sorcerers… from the Capital?"" No… they don't wear Kingdom robes. Who the hell are they?"
But the commanders had no time to wonder.
One of them wore knightly armor — scratched, blood-stained — with wild brown hair and a wicked smile stretching across his face. His presence oozed malice, like a wolf enjoying the slaughter.
Beside him rode a man the Commanders instantly recognized.
"No…" Varn muttered. "It can't be…"
Sir Vale.
Their former brother-in-arms. A brave, loyal man — now riding alongside the enemy.
Sir Grin's voice cracked with rage.
"Vale! What the hell are you doing with the Kingdom Army?! Don't tell me… you're the traitor?!"
Sir Vale stopped his horse just meters away, his hand trembling as he removed his helmet. Tears streaked his face, his voice broken and full of regret.
"I'm sorry… He blackmailed me—he threatened to kill my family if I didn't lead him here! I didn't have a choice!"
The Commanders stared in disbelief. A sacred rule among the rebels — once you join, your family must be hidden. All ties severed.
How did Vale still have contact?
The Knight beside him let out a cold, mocking laugh. He leaned from his saddle and clapped Vale hard on the shoulder, his voice smooth, yet venomous.
"Ah, loyalty—such a brittle little thing, isn't it?""You were a fine piece on the board, Vale. But your usefulness ends here."
He unsheathed his sword and pointed it forward toward the Rebel Camp.
"Now... do as I commanded. End your brothers. Capture them all."
Sang, hidden in the shadows behind a shattered crate, watched in silence — his heart pounding like a war drum. He saw the betrayal, the fire, the sorcerers. He saw the battlefield collapse into chaos.
And he knew exactly what to do in a moment like this: Run.
Without a second thought, he bolted — slipping past corpses and splintered wood, joining a growing wave of panicked prisoners scrambling to escape through the torn gaps in the palisade.
Slaves scattered around the camp, began following. Not a word passed between them — only instinct and fear.
Up on a nearby ridge, the Rebel Chief surveyed the battlefield. His gaze was cold, but even he knew this was over.
"We can't win this," he muttered. "Sound the retreat. Abandon the camp."
The call echoed through the camp. Horns blared, and commanders shouted orders as tents were left behind, flags torn from their posts and tossed to the wind. The rebel leaders and fighters began their escape into the woods — but not alone.
The Kingdom's soldiers, relentless and armored, gave chase through the trees, their war cries ringing out into the night. Some carried chains.
Sang ran with the others — his limbs burning, lungs screaming for air.He wasn't used to this world. His body, still weak from captivity, wasn't built for sprinting through battlefields and forests.Every breath was fire.
He looked over his shoulder—Kingdom soldiers were closing in. Fast.
"Quick! I need to run!"
But his legs gave out.His knees hit the dirt with a sickening thud.
He reached up, gasping, trying to rise—Suddenly, a hand yanked him from behind.
Sang's eyes widened.He turned his head—PUNCH!
A steel gauntlet smashed into his jaw.Pain exploded across his face, and he crumpled to the ground.
Before he could even groan, two more soldiers leapt on him, kicking and stomping with iron boots.
"You stupid rebel scum!""Thought you could run? Thought you could hide?!"
Sang curled into himself, blood dripping from his mouth, holding his ribs.His mind flickered between panic and disbelief.
"Why... am I getting beaten? I didn't even fight. I didn't even do anything… Why is this happening to me…?"
Eventually, the soldiers stopped.Not because they were done — but because he wasn't worth the effort anymore.
One of them spat beside him.Then they dragged him by his arms, his feet scraping along the ground.
"Get him up. Take him to the real prize."
And that was the last thing Sang remembered—Before waking up in that cold, dark prison.
The one with the stone walls that echoed every breath.The one with whispers in the dark and torches that barely flickered.
That was the beginning of everything.
Sang woke up on a hard stone floor.Blood dripped from his nose.Every inch of his body screamed.His ribs felt cracked, his limbs useless. Even his insides ached like they'd been crushed.
He tried to rise—Only to cough violently, blood splattering the cold floor.
Groaning, he rolled to his side, fists clenched in pain and helpless rage.
He slammed the ground.
"Sh*t!! This is not how Isekai is supposed to be!!" he shouted, voice echoing through the cell.
"What did I do to deserve this?! I never asked for this! I was… I was fine in my ordinary life! I was satisfied! WHY?!"
His voice broke.His body trembled as emotions overflowed.Tears welled in his eyes, falling onto the cracked stone below.
Everything felt like a dream…But the pain reminded him—it was all real.Too real.
From that day on…
I spent days and nights in disbelief.
They barely fed me. What they gave tasted like dust and mud.Just enough to keep me breathing.
My body hurt.My mind? Worse. Dizzy spells. Headaches. Shivers.
I was slowly adapting… but it wasn't strength. It was survival.
Every day I felt like I was dying.My body thinned to bones.
How long has it been?Seven days? Nine? I've lost count.
All I could do was pray, whispering with what little voice I had left…
"God… please… take me home."
But He never answered."