I was Drafted Into a War as the Only Human

'I see, Vorn... you've broken free from my control, haven't you?' Ithriel mused, his voice low and sharp inside his mind as he sat upright on his towering, jagged obsidian throne.

From his high vantage point, the God of Control watched the duel unfold below with narrowed eyes, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. The wind howled through the black spires behind him, stirring the Icy blue banners that hung like ghosts from broken poles. Below, the clash between his top general and the human echoed across the battlefield in bursts of thunderous impact.

At first, the slow pace of the battle hadn't alarmed him. Vorn Cain—his most trusted and powerful general—was known for his cruel amusement in dragging out fights. He delighted in breaking opponents piece by piece, rarely finishing a battle quickly. But this time, this was different. The prolonged conflict lacked purpose. It wasn't dominance—it was restraint.

A dangerous thought crept into Ithriel's mind.

'This is no longer a game... Vorn, you've reclaimed your will.'

His expression darkened as obsidian cracks formed around the arms of his throne, his divine pressure leaking through his control. 'You must know, once this war is over, you will be mine again. So tell me, what are you after? What is it you're trying to do?'

Down on the battlefield, the obsidian beneath Lucy's feet shimmered with residual heat and scattered blood. His boots scraped against the glassy surface as he steadied himself, breathing hard. Bruises bloomed across his arms and torso beneath the battered silver of his armor. Fist-sized dents marred its surface—a testament to the punishment he'd endured.

But his hands were glowing now.

Ever so slightly, wisps of white mana trickled along his forearms, spiraling up like veins of light under his skin. He had finally reached page 4 of 100 in the mana circulation manual. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

It had not come easily. It took more than twenty skull-shattering punches from Vorn—each one a lesson etched into his body through sheer agony—before his mind had begun to click into place. His lungs screamed. His muscles trembled. But his mana was flowing faster now, stronger.

Pain still surged through every joint, but the difference was clear.

He could see Vorn's movements a little better now. The blur of fists wasn't quite as invisible as before. The sharp, thunderous pain of every hit no longer blinded him. Slowly, painfully, he was adapting.

Yet it still wasn't enough.

Vorn Cain, even while holding back, fought at a level that reminded Lucy of Fenara's monstrous strength and speed. It was like trying to strike at a whirlwind armed with steel. Every time Lucy tried to land a blow, it whiffed against empty air or was met with brutal retaliation.

Still, this newly flowing mana made him feel stronger than he'd ever been before. He hadn't surpassed Vorn but was inching forward, step by painful step.

Lucy ducked under a high kick and raised his arms in a cross-guard just in time to block a hammering punch. Even so, the impact jolted through his bones, and he stumbled backward, boots skidding against the cracked obsidian. A sharp pain flared in his ribs.

'Worst acting job I've ever seen," he thought bitterly, his jaw clenched against the pain. "What kind of role is 'human punching bag' supposed to be?!'

He spat out blood and took a deep breath, tasting iron and dust on his tongue.

'No distractions. No complaints. If I'm going to kill gods, then this pain is nothing. Circulate faster. Focus, dammit—focus!'

Within Vorn's mind, thoughts stirred like storm clouds.

'This brat... he's already learning the basics. I can feel it in how his weight shifts and his breathing rhythm. He's adapting. Damn it all, he's doing it faster than I ever did.'

The elf's gaze lingered on Lucy—battered, bloodied, but still standing. There was power in that kind of resolve. His silver armor was caved in at the chest and shoulder. Blood seeped from his nose and lips. Yet his feet stayed planted, and his eyes burned with a spark.

'He did in hours what took me years... I see now why Seraphine chose him. If I'd had someone like him beside me in my time, maybe I wouldn't be a slave to my god."

Then Vorn's gaze drifted, just slightly, over his shoulder.

Behind him, Ithriel sat upon his black throne like a specter of judgment, his gaze sharp as a blade and heavy with divine fury.

'Ah, it seems he's finally noticed. What a pity. At least I was able to pass on a few tips to my new student.'

Vorn twisted his hips with one fluid motion, sending a vicious right hook straight into Lucy's jaw. The sound of the impact echoed like a cannon blast.

CRACK!

Lucy's head snapped to the side. The world spun. Pain exploded along his jawline. Several teeth loosened—one flew free, spinning into the bloody obsidian dust. Blood spewed from his mouth in a wide arc, mingling with the drying stains from soldiers who had fallen days before.

He collapsed to one knee, clutching his face. Red dripped between his fingers. The air smelled of sweat, smoke, and iron.

And still, he rose.

"I'm close to the next page... I know it."

Lucy's thoughts pulsed with urgency as he narrowed his focus inward, tuning out the battlefield's chaos. All around him, the obsidian plain shimmered beneath drifting ash and magic sparks, but Lucy's attention tunneled into the glowing core of his body.

A gentle warmth began to build within his chest. It expanded outward, pulsing with his heartbeat, and his mana—pure, white, and faintly radiant—started moving faster. What once trickled like an older woman's shuffle now flowed like the steady pace of a determined teenager, quick and surefooted.

He clenched his fists. His fingers ached from strain, bones sore from blocking so many strikes.

"It's not enough. I need more."

The clash between Lucy and Vorn Cain resumed with thunderous rhythm. Each strike echoed like a hammer on steel, each dodge barely escaping destruction. To onlookers, it looked like an epic battle between a divine knight and a deathless warrior. But beneath the surface, it was something else entirely—a teacher transferring his legacy in blood and pain, and a student clawing his way up from mortal limits toward something transcendent.

Vorn's strikes were no longer as merciless. There was rhythm now, a pace to them—controlled brutality designed not to kill but to push Lucy deeper, hard—a lesson wrapped in fists.

Across the battlefield, however, a darker plot simmered.

High above, hidden within the jagged cliffs where Ithriel sat on his throne of blackened stone, shadows twisted beneath the rock. The wind screamed against the cliff face, but Ithriel remained eerily still, watching the fight with cold, narrowed eyes. The god's Icy blue armor shone bright in the windless air around him—an illusionary grace covering something far more ruthless.

Beneath his feet, the earth had been hollowed.

Using the powers of one of his children—a creature born with the gift of tunneling through stone like a serpent through sand—Ithriel had created a massive tunnel that stretched from his perch, under the obsidian battlefield, all the way to the opposing cliff where Seraphine stood.

A secret artery of war.

Within the shadowy tunnel, over a thousand soldiers crouched in perfect silence. The air was thick with tension, damp with the smell of sweat, steel, and churned earth. Torchlight flickered off their weapons, casting dancing shadows on the carved walls. They were ready—silent wolves, waiting for the howl to pounce.

Above ground, the soldiers who appeared to stand by Ithriel's side were nothing more than illusions. Ghosts conjured by another of his children's talents—phantoms of light and smoke, unkillable, unthinking.

Ithriel had no intention of playing fair.

Seraphine, after all, had already violated the sacred rules by drafting a human into the divine war. That act alone had tilted the balance. So why, he reasoned, should he restrain himself with honor?

And so he sat, calm and cold, cloaked in shadows and deception, masking a betrayal that could instantly change the course of the battle.