I was Drafted Into a War as the Only Human

Lucy exhaled slowly, his eyes locked on the ten-foot-tall Shadow Wolf before him. Its oily fur rippled like liquid obsidian, and its smoky mane lashed the air in slow, writhing motions. It paced around him in a slow circle, eyes gleaming with hunger—but more than that, with understanding.

It knew him.

It felt his fear, his strategy, his hesitation.

But Lucy had a new strategy now.

Emotional whiplash.

He smiled, cocky and arrogant—projecting confidence. The wolf’s muscles coiled, sensing a preemptive strike.

Then he staggered, eyes wide in mock fear, body posture loose and panicked.

The wolf lunged.

Lucy spun out of the way with a shout of fake desperation—only to immediately channel pure rage, slamming a gust of wind beneath his feet and surging back toward the wolf, blade raised.

The beast reeled, confused for the first time.

His mind raced. His emotions spun.

Joy. Fury. Regret. Serenity. Panic. Determination.

He kept cycling through them, like an actor slipping between masks mid-scene.

The wolf flinched—not physically, but mentally, unable to read him, unable to predict.

And then—

A crack echoed in his mind.

Time slowed.

A sudden weightlessness overtook his thoughts as a pulse of divine energy rippled through his chest. A light, soft, and golden bloom appeared behind his eyes like a dawning sun.

The Manual opened.

It wasn’t a book in the traditional sense, but it felt like one—pages turning in a void. Glyphs scrawled themselves across parchment suspended in midair within his consciousness.

A new Chapter.

SOULTHREAD READING - Page 16/16.

A diagram formed—figures locked in battle, surrounded by glowing threads of emotion, subtle and delicate. Descriptions followed, not in words, but understanding. A feeling. A truth:

Emotion is not a weakness. It is a current—read, bend, and ride it to victory.

Lucy blinked.

The world snapped back into motion.

And now, he saw.

The wolf snarled and lunged again. But Lucy no longer needed to guess its next move.

He felt the flare of aggression, the twist of calculation behind its motion, the anger, the doubt.

Its intent.

His body moved before his mind had fully caught up—blade slicing across the wolf’s flank, just outside the range of its counter.

The wolf staggered back, now on the defensive.

Lucy pressed the advantage. Every flicker of emotion the beast threw off lit up in his awareness like torchlight in fog. It tried to feint? He cut the feint. It wanted to bait him with false panic? He ignored the bait.

They weren’t fighting anymore.

Lucy was dismantling it.

He feigned a falter—let his knee dip, faked exhaustion.

The wolf leapt with pride.

But Lucy surged upward, riding a wind burst straight into its chest. He drove his blade deep, not fatal, but firm. His other hand flared with a final, explosive pulse of wind, launching the wolf backward into the dirt.

It skidded across the silver grass, snarling, smoke trailing from its body—but didn’t rise again.

It looked up at him.

Its eyes weren’t full of hatred now.

Just quiet... respect.

Lucy stood over it, chest heaving. The Manual still glowed faintly in his mind, the Soulthread threads dancing around him like falling ash—the battlefield now a map of emotion.

He exhaled through a grin.

"Well," he muttered, brushing soot from his coat, "that was one hell of a performance."

Lucy turned toward the last ongoing fight—if you could even call it that.

Fenric stood there, sword in hand, glaring at the pint-sized shadow wolf before him. The little thing couldn’t have been more than a foot tall, with tufts of foggy fur that puffed when it moved, stubby paws that barely made a sound on the ground, and ears that flicked like it was chasing butterflies instead of engaged in battle.

There wasn’t a single scratch on Fenric’s silver armor. Not a dent, not a smear. His pale skin gleamed with sweat, but not blood.

The same could be said for the tiny shadow pup. Its inky fur looked freshly groomed, and it didn’t have so much as a singe.

But something was off. Lucy squinted, tuning in with his newly awakened Soulthread Reading.

Only Fenric was attacking.

Slash after furious slash, his blade tore through the air like it had a vendetta. Rage rolled off him in waves—raw, blistering, and loud in Lucy’s senses. It made his skin prickle.

The little shadow wolf? It just... danced. Every time Fenric struck, the pup dodged with playful spins and sideways hops. It didn’t look scared. It looked like it was having fun.

"Why are you just dodging?!" Fenric snarled, his voice cracking with frustration. Another swing missed, and the wolf pirouetted out of range with a wag of its smoky tail. "Attack me, damn it!"

Lucy raised a brow. "Yeah, real terrifying. Better watch out before it rolls over and dies of cuteness."

But the emotional thread Lucy sensed from the wolf made him pause. It wasn’t faking.

Joy. Affection. Curiosity.

What the hell?

’It’s... happy? And it likes him?’ Lucy frowned. ’That can’t be a trick—Fenric can’t read emotions. There’s no point in faking it...’

Fenric roared and brought his blade down in a final, vertical strike aimed at the wolf’s tiny head.

The pup moved.

Blindingly fast.

It darted sideways, then lunged—not at his throat or chest—but straight for Fenric’s face.

"Shit—!" Fenric flinched.

Lucy bolted, wind launching him forward, but he stopped halfway there.

The two collided, but not in the way he expected.

Fenric hit the ground hard with a grunt, tumbling backward in a clatter of armor and curses. When he stopped, the little shadow wolf was standing on his chest like it had just conquered a mountain.

Its eyes shimmered like obsidian marbles, and its fog-like tail wagged enthusiastically.

Then, with a gleeful huff, it leaned down...

...and licked his face.

"UGH—WHAT THE HELL?!" Fenric shouted, half choking, half sputtering. He grabbed his sword with his right hand, instinctively swinging upward—only to freeze.

The blade stopped inches from the wolf’s throat.

Because instead of fangs or claws, all Fenric felt was a warm, wet tongue dragging across his cheek again—a long, slow, slobbery lick.

The pup tilted its head, tongue hanging out the side of its mouth in a goofy pant.

Fenric stared at it.

It stared back.

"Will you STOP THAT?!" he roared, flailing as the wolf gave him a third enthusiastic lick. "I’m a warrior, not a chew toy!"

Lucy just stood there, hands on his hips, grinning ear to ear.

"Face it, Fenric," he called out. "He likes you."

Fenric sat up with a grunt, and the pup flopped unceremoniously into his lap like a sack of foggy potatoes. He blinked down at it, then shot a glare at Lucy.

"If it liked me, it’d know I want a fight, dammit!"

Before Lucy could reply, Eri popped up behind Fenric, brown hair tousled by the breeze and eyes sparkling.

"Aww, he’s so cute!" she squealed, reaching toward the pup with both hands like she was about to scoop up a baby squirrel.

Bad idea.

The pup’s expression twisted in an instant—playfulness gone. It bared tiny black teeth and snarled before snapping at Eri’s fingers.

"OW! You little demon!" she yelped, jerking back and holding her hand.

Fenric snorted—and then grinned.

"Maybe this guy isn’t so bad after all."

Eri’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Oh, because he bit me, now you like him? Typical mutt behavior. You two deserve each other!"

She slugged Fenric over his head, making a loud thunk. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"Hey!" he barked, spinning toward her. The two were now nose-to-nose, practically growling at each other like territorial cats.

Before it could escalate into a full-blown sibling squabble, Bruma strolled over, arms crossed, a contemplative look on her massive green face.

"I see," she muttered, eyeing the pup on Fenric’s lap with a squint. "That all makes sense."

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "What does?"

Bruma turned, walking over to the now lifeless corpse of the giant shadow wolf Lucy had fought. Its body was no longer shrouded in fog—just thick, coal-black fur, still and heavy.

"These two wolves-the ones you and Fenric fought—weren’t normal," she explained, kneeling beside the body. "They’ve transformed. Usually, Shadow Wolves are just beasts—dangerous, but manageable. But these two had just evolved into magical beasts. That puts them on par with some generals."

Lucy blinked. ’Well,’ he thought, ’that makes my humiliating near-death experience slightly less humiliating.’

Llarm, ever curious, popped up between Eri and Fenric, pointing at the pint-sized pup, who had resumed snarling at Eri with the protectiveness of a guard dog.

"So... what do we do with this guy?"

Lucy walked over and crouched beside the pup. "Hey, buddy." He extended a hand.

The snarl vanished like a magic trick. The pup immediately nuzzled into Lucy’s palm, tail wagging like a fog machine on overdrive. He could feel the warmth of its emotions—happiness, comfort, trust.

"We’re keeping it," Lucy said, smiling faintly.

’Another general-tier ally’, he thought. ’Even if it’s the tiniest one I’ve ever seen.’

Llarm gently lifted the pup, holding it above his head like a victorious treasure. "Yay! The hero always needs a pet!"

Gindu stepped forward, his eyes softening as he gently took the pup from Llarm’s hands. The little shadow wolf blinked up at him, then licked his thumb with a foggy little tongue.

"Aww, look at this one," Gindu murmured with a grin. "Reminds me of a wyrmling I once raised.

Then Bruma cupped it in her massive green palm. The contrast was absurd—the shadow wolf looked like a dot of ink in her hand—but Lucy still felt a hum of joy.

"A pet Shadow Wolf," Bruma mused. "I’ve never heard of such a thing. This could be... very interesting."

Eri threw up her hands. "Why does it like everyone but me?!"

As if to punctuate her words, the pup gave her a side-eye... then leapt out of Bruma’s hand, bounding up Fenric’s arm like a puff of wind.

It nestled atop his head, mane flickering like smoky flames, and yawned once before curling into a sleepy ball.

Fenric stared upward in disbelief. "Do I not get a say in this?"

Lucy smirked. "Nope. But you can name it. He thinks you’re his master."

Fenric rolled his eyes dramatically, the way only someone pretending not to care could.

"Fine... Carlos."

Lucy blinked. "That might be the worst name I’ve ever heard."

He gently patted the pup’s head as it dozed on Fenric’s silver hair.

"But welcome to the team, Carlos."