J_Win

  I am not alive, nor dead. I am standing in between—in limbo—and so do these soldiers who fight for all that’s left to them.

  —SHINKU, RECOLLECTION OF THE PAST

  Location: ? Republic of Libérédóry – Eastern Front – Northern Region ?

  Date: ? 2001 – May 18 – 08:00 a.m. ?

  The Republic of Libérédóry, once a kingdom shackled by monarchy, had cwed its way to freedom six decades ago. It became the continent’s first republic, a beacon of progress in both culture and magic.

  That light, however, was snuffed out when, on September 1st of the previous year, the Fehlerfreint Empire began its conquest. Southern nations, neutral or not, fell in quick succession—no treaties, no warnings, just fire and steel carving new borders in blood. The Republic’s era of globalization colpsed overnight, its skies bckened not by clouds but by the smoke of war.

  Along the eastern front, the ground quaked under relentless artillery fire, sending tremors through the bones of every soldier in the trenches. Their dark blue uniforms, stained with mud and blood, clung to their exhausted bodies. Faces, gaunt and hollow-eyed, stared into nothingness—minds dulled by sleepless nights filled with the death throes of the unfortunate ones.

  Some slumped against the trench walls, fingers trembling too much to reload their rifles. Others cleaned their weapons with mechanical precision, clinging to the ritual as if it could hold back despair. Even those who cracked jokes did so with voices heavy as stone, their ughter forced and fleeting.

  Inside a dimly lit command tent, a lieutenant hunched over a cluttered desk, the flickering ntern casting jagged shadows across his face. His dark blue hair framed sharp amber eyes that scanned a report, the scratch of his pen blending with the distant thunder of artillery.

  The tent fp rustled, and a cold morning breeze swept in, thick with the scent of damp earth and blood. A figure stepped inside—a young woman cd in a metal breastpte over her dark blue uniform. Her violet eyes gleamed with quiet resolve, her luminous hair, tied in a ponytail, swaying slightly with her movements. Loose sidelocks framed a face still youthful but hardened.

  “Unit stood-to, Lieutenant,” she reported, voice steady, tempered by the battlefield.

  The lieutenant gnced up, nodding in acknowledgment. “Good. Prepare the mage ptoon for a sortie. We move out as soon as I finish this report.”

  She nodded, her hand raised in a swift salute. Yet as she turned to leave, she hesitated. Her fingers lingered on the edge of the tent’s fp, her expression wavering ever so slightly for a split second.

  “What’s wrong?” the lieutenant asked, his voice a low murmur. His eyes narrowed, all while wearing a wry smile. “Iustitia, go get the others. This war won’t be a repeat of the st one.”

  She forced a smile—thin, unconvincing. The doubt in her violet eyes hadn’t faded. “Of course, sir.”

  She stepped out into the brisk air, leaving the faint echo of his words hanging like a promise she desperately wanted to believe.

  ? ? ?

  Nine months had passed since the Fehlerfreint Empire plunged Pthéa into chaos. The invasion spread like a pgue, devouring country after country. History, it seemed, was doomed to repeat itself.

  Just as they had twenty-six years ago, the Republic of Libérédóry and the United Kingdom of Téssera éthni stood side by side, reforming the United Alliance in a desperate bid to resist. But as the echoes of war rolled across the eastern front, Iustitia couldn’t shake the bitter truth clinging to the air like the stench of rotting corpses.

  “Nothing has changed.”

  The thought burned through her mind. The horrors of the past bled into the present—each gunshot, each explosion, proof of a cycle that refused to break. A sughter without end.

  “Don’t think about it…” she whispered, shaking her head, trying to will the memories away as she shifted the watch-like device on her left wrist.

  Iustitia navigated through the camp, her .303 bolt-action battle rifle slung over her shoulder—its weight familiar, almost like a lover’s embrace. Around her, Libérédóry soldiers shuffled, some in armor, others in the simple, worn blue uniforms bearing the tricolor fg of blue, yellow, and red.

  A few offered nods of recognition as she passed.

  “How nice for you to travel all the way here to aid us, Ms. Beautiful,” one of the soldiers called out, his voice cking the mockery that might have accompanied such words in brighter times.

  Iustitia didn’t break her stride, letting out a dry, hollow ugh. “You better not lose your head ter during the sortie!”

  The soldier’s chuckle followed her, forced, as if it were a joke shared at a funeral.

  In the distance, the mechanical roar of engines stirred the acrid air. Tanks lumbered across the scarred earth, their tracks carving deep gashes into the soil. Around them, ptoons gathered, murmurs weaving through the ranks as they clustered around their commanding officers.

  Iustitia quickened her pace, her boots squelching in the mud as she neared her unit’s tent. Inside, her soldiers were already gearing up. The dim light caught the sheen of their armor—modernized pte designed to deflect bdes more than bullets, but any protection was better than none.

  “Tch, this armor’s a pain,” grumbled a soldier with unnatural orange hair streaked with red, his blue eyes narrowing as his fingers fumbled with the straps. “Can’t I just skip this part?”

  Iustitia simply smiled wryly and replied:

  “Sure, but don’t come crying to me when a spear finds your gut. Bded weapons are still prevalent in magic combat, Corporal Bir. Wear the armor—light or not, it makes a difference between life and death.”

  He groaned but continued fastening the straps, muttering under his breath. Around them, the soldiers exchanged hushed words as they prepared.

  “I hope this war ends soon,” one of them said quietly, strapping on his sword. “Got a girl waiting back home. Thinking of proposing when I get out of this hellhole.”

  Another soldier snickered. “You? A girl? Since when?”

  “It won’t st long,” another one chimed in, his voice low and grim. “The number of Imperial soldiers on the front lines are thinning. That’s what I’ve heard from the sentries.”

  “Seriously?”

  The brief flicker of conversation died quickly, repced by the distant thud of artillery fire. Iustitia tightened her grip on her rifle, her violet eyes scanning the horizon.

  The stench of smoke and death thickened in the air. But something else lurked beneath it—something nameless, pressing in at the edges of her mind. A formless dread, gnawing at her insides.

  “It won’t be like the st war,” she muttered, almost to herself, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “The Réseaux de Maréchaux will slow them down. We won’t be overwhelmed like before.”

  The mention of Libérédóry’s Réseaux de Maréchaux—a colossal fortified defensive line built on the eastern border of Libérédóry after the st world-scale war—its presence was enough to calm the jittering nerves of the soldiers, but memories of the Empire’s unstoppable advance still lingered.

  “Sarge’s right,” one soldier said, as if trying to convince himself. “We’ve got a fighting chance. The king probably knows that. Maybe that’s why he only sent two hundred thousand of us here to aid the Republic.”

  But no matter how much they spoke of hope, the gnawing sense of dread in their stomachs refused to leave. Considering that the monster called war cared little for what they wanted… Will it progress like they hoped?

  “Get ready your grimoires and magic staves. Load up your guns in your sides,” Iustitia commanded her tone now stern.

  The soldiers sprang into action, their movements swift and practiced. Some reached for long swords or broadswords, while others clutched their magic staves, just as vital as their rifles. Their armor gleamed faintly in the dim light, but deep down, they all understood the truth—no amount of steel or bullets would shield them from the true terror of this war.

  Magic.

  An ancient power, wielded only by mages. Modern schors defined it as:

  “The art of creating something from nothing, shaping what exists, bringing convenience or disorder into reality.”

  Abstract. Incomprehensible. Yet in war, it was everything. Nations rose and fell on the strength of their mages. Here, on the battlefield, magic was as much a weapon as any rifle or sword.

  Now fully armed, the unit stood before Iustitia—twenty soldiers, each marked by vibrant, unusual hair and eyes, marking them as mages.

  “For what’s left to us… For those who died before us… To live life to the fullest… Let us fight.”

  ? ? ?

  Location: ? Somewhere in a remote location of Libérédóry ?

  Date: ? 2001 – May 25 – 06:00 a.m. ?

  “Why send me?” The question dripped from his lips in a monotonous tone that blurred the line between man and monster.

  In a dim office, where the windows were sealed with thick, weathered boards and dust clung to every corner, a young man stood before a desk. His long, untamed hair was loosely tied back with a fraying gray knot, the messy right sidelock brushing against his face, nearly veiling one of his lifeless crimson eyes. Those eyes, glowing faintly in the dark, fixed coldly on the man sitting opposite him.

  Behind the desk, the old man scratched at his gray hair, the dog-like ears atop his head twitching in irritation. His sharp yellow eyes, feral and intense, locked onto the young man’s gaze. “Why you? You know you’re the only one capable do considerable damage to the Empire.”

  “What about Erich?”

  “Erich? Don’t be an idiot. Sure, he’s strong, but I’m not about to send him into that kind of hell alone. Besides, he’s taking care of his mother.”

  “But you’re fine with sending me?” There was no bitterness in his voice. No rejection. Just quiet, unnatural acceptance.

  The older man grinned, his dog-like ears perking up. “Not my fault you can’t die easily.”

  In one fluid motion, the older man flung a knife across the desk, the bde slicing through the air toward the young man’s head. However, he didn’t flinch nor blink. His hand shot out, swatting the bde aside as if brushing away a bothersome insect. The knife cttered harmlessly to the floor, preceding a short silence.

  “See?” the older man said, his grin widening. “By the way, your pak sao has improved.”

  The young man heaved a sigh, his expression unchanging. How crude, he thought.

  “I wouldn’t mind going,” he admitted after a pause. “But I’m supposed to go alone? No backup?”

  “None,” the older man replied, leaning back in his chair. “We’re already spread thin, relocating therianthropes and keeping our heads low. That idiot Emperor’s made sure of it.”

  The young man remained silent as the Empire’s ideology—human purity is supreme—echoed in his mind.

  “That Emperor…,” the older man muttered, his voice thick with frustration. His dog-like ears drooped as he clenched his fists. “He branded us the enemy simply because we are different. Fear makes monsters of cowards.”

  The young man’s eyes narrowed. He had no patience for such empty grievances. The Empire’s ideology was less a doctrine and more a tantrum dressed as conviction. Spite turned into w. Fear made flesh.

  Silence settled between them, heavy. The older man’s bitterness was palpable, and while the young man understood it, he couldn’t share in it. He wasn’t one of them to begin with.

  To pity someone, to cim understanding when he truly couldn’t, to mourn for them as though they had already lost when they haven’t even started yet—such things were nothing but unintentional cruelty.

  Mortals had their pride. Their fleeting lives forced them to cling to their convictions, to fight for what little time and things they had left. He had no right to take that from them, just as they had no right to take his fight from him.

  “So?” the young man pressed, his voice cutting through the silence like a cold bde. “The Réseaux de Maréchaux has fallen. The Imperials are closing in. You want me to turn their ranks inside out—dey them long enough for the United Alliance to extract their remaining forces?”

  The older man leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he expined. “The battle’s been raging for weeks. A few days ago, the Réseaux de Maréchaux fell from some new weapon of the Empire. But the United Alliance is still holding out in a coastal city—trapped. We expect the king of the United Kingdom to order a rescue mission any day now.”

  “Right,” the young man muttered.

  “I told you, you’ll be fine,” the older man replied with a dismissive chuckle. “Besides, you’re still looking for that, aren’t you?”

  The young man’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He heaved another sigh—shallow and empty. Without another word, he turned to leave, his boots muffled against the worn floorboards.

  “This little organization of ours isn’t affiliated with parties of war, you know,” the young man said as he reached the door. His tone was as lifeless as always, ft and cold. “I don’t mind going as it serves my interest. But you’ll be responsible for whatever happens if we interfere in this war.”

  The older man leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk pying at his lips. “Just get back in one piece. Hit and run. That’s all I ask.”

  The young man paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Pray that your pns will work, Einn.” With that, he left the office, the door closing softly behind him.

  Einn, now alone, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His yellow eyes flickered toward the boarded-up windows, where thin rays of light seeped through.

  “You have nothing left, and yet you’re still alive,” he whispered to himself, sorrow threading through his voice. “Perhaps death has become a comfort to you, Shinku… but for your sake, I hope you won’t be swallowed by it.”

  The light filtering through the boards dimmed as the morning sun continued its slow rise, casting long shadows across the floor. Outside, the world continued to burn, and the fmes of war crept ever closer. They were all pying their part in the fmes.

  ? ? ?

  Location: ? Republic of Libérédóry – Dunéglise ?

  Date: ? 2001 – June 04 – 11:20 p.m. ?

  The coastal city resonated with the thunderous roars of cannons, filling the air with their staccato rhythm. Bombs fell like rain, screaming as they plummeted toward the soldiers who teetered around the chaotic fray, dancing between life and death.

  “Damn it all!” a wounded soldier cursed as he crawled across the narrow road. His words were abruptly silenced beneath the crushing tread of an Imperial tank, blood painting the fractured pavement.

  The Réseaux de Maréchaux—once an unbreakable fortress line—had colpsed in three pces, its myth of impenetrability shattered. With those openings, three army groups surged forward, dark red uniforms sweeping through the byrinthine streets like a violent tidal wave.

  Their advance was methodical, their circling maneuvers forcing the Alliance’s dwindling forces into tighter and tighter pockets of resistance. The rumble of their war machines filled the air, tanks grinding over barricades, their turrets swiveling like executioners choosing their next victim.

  “Fall back! Fall back! Withdraw to the beach! All units that can still fight, hold your lines—!”

  The retreat had turned into a desperate gamble. What remained of a battered Alliance army group scrambled toward the shore, seeking salvation in the distant silhouettes of warships waiting offshore. The wounded were carried first, while those still able to fight braced themselves against the encroaching tide.

  They crouched, chanting in unison:

  “““Barrier!”””

  Shimmering, translucent shields enveloped them just as the fiery projectiles struck from above in an arc. Smoke billowed, obscuring their view, but their magic had held… for now.

  “Damn it, move!”

  Despite the order, fear rooted many in pce. It was a miracle they had survived the initial barrage, but will the next one be the same?

  A distant, guttural rumble split the night—Imperial heavy artillery, its engines howling as fresh ordnance was unched.

  “Take cover! Magic barriers won’t protect you from that!”

  The incoming shells shrieked like banshees. A moment ter, they struck. The magical barriers fractured, then shattered—crystalized mana dispersing into the air like dying stars. Explosions ripped through the ranks, sending bodies and limbs into the night. Blood spattered against the ruined buildings, the echoes of screams drowned beneath the cacophony.

  Through the settling dust, figures in dark red uniforms emerged. No hesitation. No mercy. Their bdes gleamed under the firelight as they closed in for the kill.

  “Hold your lines!” shouted a female soldier—Iustitia—who was attaching a bayonet to her battle rifle.

  The blue-cd soldiers braced themselves as the opposition lunged, the street erupting in the csh of steel. Magic crackled behind their formations, soldiers with staves unching fming arrows toward their enemies.

  Iustitia charged through, her battle rifle acted as a ranged and melee weapon. Her movements were quick, her body enhanced by an unnatural energy. She parried a dark red soldier’s strike, sidestepping and driving her bde into his gut, pulling the trigger to finish him off.

  Just as she withdrew her weapon, a group of Imperial soldiers aimed their magic staves at her.

  “““Fming Arrow.”””

  The incantation rang in unison. Their staves—each distinct in design yet glowing the same ominous red—unleashed a barrage of bzing arrows. The projectiles cut through the air at blistering speed, searing a path toward her.

  Iustitia didn’t flinch. Instead, she invoked her own spell. “Crystelrize!”

  The earth shimmered beneath her feet, and in an instant, a wall of luminous violet crystal erupted from the ground, intercepting the incoming fmes. The fire spshed harmlessly against the crystalline surface, filling the air with embers and steam.

  She flicked her left wrist, eyes darting to the flickering dispy of the watch-like device strapped around it.

  [ MANA: 45% ]

  “Just ten minutes left…”

  She gritted her teeth. Ten minutes wouldn’t be enough—not with how the battle was unfolding.

  The supposed weakening of the Fehlerfreint forces had been a comforting lie, one that made them feel that that the tide was shifting in their favor. But now, standing amidst the relentless enemy advances, that belief felt dangerously na?ve.

  She moved to break from cover—only for a sharp glint to fsh at the edge of her vision. An Imperial soldier lunged from her blind spot, give swinging in a brutal arc.

  She barely had time to react. The bde crashed against her rifle, wrenching it from her grasp. The impact sent her stumbling, and in an instant, she was down. Ft on the cold, bloodstained ground. Defenseless.

  Is this my fate…?

  Her mind slowed, each heartbeat stretching into eternity.

  This was it. The end. No one was coming.

  Her comrades were barely holding their own—too far, too occupied to help. She could try to cast another spell, but the enemy’s give was already raised, moments from falling. It felt as if the world itself had slowed, offering her one st moment. And then—

  Tap, tap, tap, tap.

  Huh? Were those… footsteps?

  Light, fast, almost lost in the chaos. Before she could even process them, the world snapped back to speed. A figure swept in like a predator, kicking the gve’s face with a loud, dull cng.

  The soldier staggered back as a dark figure stepped between them. It was a young man with long, messy crimson hair, cd in a jet-bck jacket and dark brown boots. His other foot raised up from the kick, both his hands were raised in an open palm like bird’s wings—pointed toward the Imperial soldier. His stance was straight and narrow, though it looked a bit stiff.

  It’s Shinku.

  Iustitia watched, eyes gleaming as she y gaze upon his confident stance. It was such a strange calm stance to the point it bewildered Iustitia. The soldier in red, however, charged with a shout as he plunged his give forward.

  Shinku simply sidestepped and warded of the bde by raising his elbow and swinging it, swatting the gve’s face. He took a step forward and seized the gve’s shaft with one hand while his other swept the soldier’s grip from it, disarming him swiftly.

  Seizing the give completely, Shinku swung it upward to the gap of the soldier’s armor—the armpit, severing his entire right arm before he beheaded the soldier in a one swift pivot. It was quick, almost practiced, as if killing was natural to him.

  He discarded the give as if it were nothing, turning his eerie, almost mechanical crimson eyes to Iustitia. “Take cover,” he simply said, his tone monotonous yet as serene as a flowing river, calming Iustitia’s nerves.

  Gunfires suddenly rang louder and the young man moved swiftly… He was so fast…

  Too fast, even if his speed is bolstered with mana, Iustitia thought, caught in a temporary trance.

  He danced through the battlefield like a storm, each movement decisive, each strike lethal all while his crimson mechanical eyes tore through the fming night.

  “Don’t attack the man in bck!” Iustitia shouted, finally snapping herself out. The remaining soldiers in dark blue rallied to assist him.

  Shinku kicked the ground, unching himself up and spun his whole body around to send a kick on an Imperial soldier’s neck, unching him twenty meters away, while another fell to his blindingly fast jabs, bending literal metal armor beyond repair.

  His strength, speed—everything about him was overwhelming. He mowed them down, tearing through them as though they were made of paper.

  So strong!

  Iustitia stood up and unsheathed her short sword. She cut down any enemy Shinku left behind, her movements quick but noticeably slower compared to his supernatural speed.

  How is he this strong and fast? Strong magic enhancement!? she thought, taking in the scene littered with fallen Imperial soldiers. Wait… Their numbers are dwindling!

  A dark red soldier lunged, and Shinku sidestepped again, then crouched to dodge a beheading swing. He shot up and delivered a powerful vertical jab that dented the soldier’s chest pte, sending him crashing backward.

  “Fire!”

  Remaining Imperial soldiers unched volleys of fming balls toward him.

  “Stone Pilr!” Shinku chanted, raising a stone barrier that absorbed the attacks. Without pause he chanted a follow-up magic. “Let There Be Light!”

  An orb of blinding light floated above the pilr, disorienting the Imperial soldiers.

  “Quick!” Iustitia ordered.

  The dark blue soldiers shouted in unison:

  “““Stelr Bst!”””

  From their hands erupted a bright blue light and white bluish projectiles shot forth and rent the Imperial soldiers to pieces, their limbs flying off in a crimson mess.

  Hmm?

  Imperial soldiers began to retreat.

  Static.

  “Do you read me?” a voice sounded from the handheld radio in Shinku’s breast pocket.

  He took the radio and replied:

  “Loud and irritatingly clear. What’s going on?”

  “Leave the rest to us.”

  “I thought I’m supposed to be dealing with this alone?”

  “Aww, didn’t miss me, Shinku? Well whatever, change of pn. Seems like you’ve been too absorbed with the assignment. We’ll proceed with the mopping-up operation. Proceed to your next assignment.”

  The communication ended abruptly, leaving Shinku with a heavy sigh. “Damn you, Erich…”

  Surrounded by the remaining soldiers of the United Alliance, Iustitia stepped forward, confusion written all over her face. “You… Why…?”

  Shinku met her gaze with unwavering, almost eerie calmness. “I’m from a freence armed humanitarian agency aiding the Therianthrope Resistance. I was ordered to contact the United Alliance to rey intel.”

  Iustitia’s eyes narrowed. What a fancy way to say you’re working for a mercenary agency…

  She was grateful for his intervention and aid, however he’s still an outsider. But she gave him the benefit of the doubt, asking him:

  “How would we know we can trust you…?”

  The young man heaved a sigh, realizing that he wasn’t able to gain their trust when he aided them. He understood that they’re wary since a war is raging on where a little slip up could cost the life of thousands. But nevertheless it’s inconvenient for him and his assignment.

  Before he could respond, a soldier gasped, his expression shifting from shock to awe. “That dark crimson hair… Those cold, lifeless crimson eyes… You…”

  Shinku looked at the soldier who muttered those words. His eyes nded on a soldier with orange hair streaked with red, cold sweat rolling down his face, his blue eyes wide and red.

  “That makes this easier.” Shinku looked at Iustitia. “We have the same enemy. That’s all you need to know. I am Shinku, the Crimson Devil.”

  Soldiers’ eyes widened as his words sunk in, their faces grew pale. It was obvious from his appearance that he fights for no country, he has no side, and yet that nickname invoked dread within them—Iustitia in particur.

  “Y–you’re the one who kept making trouble on the Empire’s side…” she managed, “why did you aid us? You have a purpose, don’t you?”

  Before anyone could respond, reinforcements from the beach arrived—most were medics. “Fresh fleets have nded! Time to pull out, ds!” one of them said, waving a hand.

  The remaining Alliance soldiers began their retreat. Iustitia lingered for a moment, staring at Shinku.

  “…”

  An awkward silence hung over till Shinku broke it coldly. “I wish to bring news to the king.”

  Iustitia nodded, understanding his intent. At least, he's not with the Empire.

  “I’ll help you. But we need to get out of here. Libérédóry has fallen…”

  “Lead the way.”

  ? ? ?

  Location: ? United Kingdom of Téssera éthni ?

  Date: ? 2001 – June 05 – 11:50 p.m. ?

  The United Kingdom of Téssera éthni, a despotic monarchy, looms in Pthéa’s frigid north, severed from Libérédóry by a narrow, storm-tossed sea. Though only thirty-three kilometers apart, the passage across the turbulent waters was fraught with peril. Natural barriers—waves, jagged rocks, and sudden squalls—turned even a brief journey into a grueling ordeal.

  The soldiers of the United Alliance, extracted from the beach of Libérédóry, had endured almost an entire day of relentless travel, crammed into the fleets like sardines. Exhaustion weighed heavy on them as the endless hours passed.

  By almost noon, they had finally made ndfall on Téssera éthni’s shores. The wounded were whisked away for medical treatment, and the weary found soce in food, though the lingering tension from their skirmishes still clung to the air like a miasma. Iustitia, however, had no time to rest as she soon went to take care of Shinku’s request.

  “I’ve made contact with his superior. Clearance is granted. You are to escort him to the King.”

  Iustitia, now with no armor, stood within the gss confines of a telephone booth. Outside, the street pulsed—cars and coaches rattling past, their cmor dulled by the thick panes. She tilted her head, listening, her mind sifting through every word.

  “What’s known about their group?” Her tone was neutral, though curiosity threaded through her words.

  “Not much. They don’t even have a name. For now, we just call them FAHA.” He scoffed and continued. “But we do know they’re tied to the Therianthrope Resistance. Heh, that Emperor really is a piece of shit.”

  Iustitia couldn’t ugh even though she agreed with the st part. Her eyes narrowed and asked further:

  “Can we trust this agency?”

  “We have the same enemy. And besides, I do want to trust them. They’ve got just as much to lose if the Empire wins.”

  She sighed softly, gncing out at the bustling street beyond the gss. “Alright. I’ll escort him, Lieutenant.”

  She hung up, stepping into the open air. The wind grazed her skin, carrying echoes of st night’s rain and the sea’s faint bite. At the coach, she swung the door wide. Shinku sat within, his gaze adrift, lost in the crowd’s blur—haunted, perhaps, by shadows only he could see.

  “We’ll go to the capital now—Ludinium,” she said, closing the door behind her as she settled into the seat across from him.

  His crimson stare lingered on the world beyond the window, lifeless. “Sorry for the trouble,” slipped from him—mechanical, hollow, like a ghost reciting from a faded script.

  Iustitia blinked, surprised at the sudden apology. His voice was ft, detached, almost like an echo of something long forgotten. It wasn’t the apology itself that jarred her, but the way it felt so devoid of emotion—as if he were reciting a line from memory rather than offering genuine sentiment.

  “It’s no trouble,” she murmured, her voice softening as her mind wandered. “I got separated from the other troops of my unit but… I trust they’re safe… somehow.”

  The coach jolted as it began to move, the wheels cttering against the cobblestones. Shinku’s gaze traced the city unraveling outside—untouched by war’s scars.

  Ancient fa?ades, ornate and towering, stood alongside sleek gss spires, a seamless dance of old and new. Terraced houses with iron-framed windows fnked modern roads, while in shadowed corners, cobblestone veins defied the encroaching steel. Preservation breathed here, a fragile truce between eras.

  Shinku’s gaze flickered, absorbing the crowd below. Humans, demis, the occasional dwarves, and the rare elves moved as one in the morning bustle. The ‘United’ in the United Kingdom’s name was more than just a title—it was reflected in the faces of its people, a kingdom where races mingled freely.

  So different from that Empire…

  “Like what you see?” Iustitia asked, a passive smile pying on her lips.

  “Mhm. I do,” Shinku replied curtly, his voice a monotone murmur.

  There was something haunting about the way he spoke—brief, conic, yet never truly present. As if his body was there, but his mind lingered somewhere else, perhaps back on the battlefield or lost in a faded memory.

  An awkward silence settled between the two once more, heavy and lingering like the clouds that loomed over the distant horizon. Iustitia shifted in her seat, unsure how to bridge the growing gap between them.

  Shinku had saved her life, but his detachment made him a difficult figure to understand, let alone engage in casual conversation with. Still, the journey to the capital was long, and leaving the silence to fester would only make the ride feel even more unbearable.

  She cleared her throat, grasping for a thread. “How are you holding up? The crossing took nearly a day. Hungry at all?”

  Shinku’s gaze remained distant, his expression unchanged. “I’m fine, don’t worry. It can’t be helped. The sea serpents are more active in the channel with summer approaching.” He shifted slightly, his crimson eyes briefly meeting hers. “We cannot be too careful.”

  The world beyond human borders was full of dangers, creatures born from ancient magic or nature’s wrath—beasts that roamed the skies, seas, and even the deep recesses of the earth. These weren’t just obstacles to be overcome with technology or ingenuity; many of them were lethal forces, predatory creatures that actively hunted anything daring to cross their territory.

  For centuries, such threats had shackled nations in isotion, trade and connection reduced to whispers—until Libérédóry carved fragile paths through the chaos, a progress stitched only recently.

  Silence thickened between them, heavy and jagged. Iustitia shifted, grasping for an escape. “Uh… Erm… Mister…?” she began, hesitating. What do I call him?

  “Shinku.”

  Her smile twitched, clumsy. “Right, Sir Shinku—anything you’d like to know about me?”

  The question dangled, unanswered, swallowed by the void. Iustitia cringed internally, feeling her words had hit some invisible wall. Did I ask the wrong thing? Was I being too friendly? Her thoughts raced, and she suppressed the urge to groan aloud at her perceived mistake.

  Meanwhile, Shinku’s gaze slid to the two-bar chevron on her uniform just below a purple fg, crisscrossed with green, bearing a unicorn’s head superimposed on a crown. “You’re a sergeant, aren’t you?”

  She blinked, startled. “Oh—yeah. How’d you guess?”

  “That orange-haired guy on the fleet called you by that rank.” His finger drifted to the three-bar patch. “And… that.”

  “Corporal Marty Bir,” she murmured, brushing the chevron with a faint smile. “Yep, sergeant—second-in-command of my ptoon unit.”

  Shinku’s eyes, glowing faintly crimson, swept over her, taking in her countenance. She looked about nineteen of age. Gncing back at the streets, he asked:

  “How long have you been in the army?”

  Iustitia felt her breath hitch in her throat. She knew what he was getting at. Quickly regaining her composure, preparing her answer.

  “I was fourteen when Fehlerfreint was in the midst of rearming its forces. That’s when I enlisted.”

  Shinku’s gaze held steady, a faint sigh slipping from him as if slotting a piece into pce. He crossed his legs, voice low but insistent. “After the first world-scale war, Ragnar?k, Téssera éthni veterans have thinned out. It’s been twenty-two years since the war ended and yet this country’s military force still hasn’t recovered from the damage.”

  Iustitia’s smile withered, her eyes dipping as she nodded. “Pretty much.”

  It had been a common sight—young soldiers, barely adults, being thrust into the front lines. The shortage of veterans in both Libérédóry and Téssera éthni had resulted in armies of fledglings, too inexperienced but were allowed to enlist to make up for the loss of the past.

  “You were fourteen,” Shinku said, his gaze now focused on her. “Saving your country shouldn’t have been your responsibility. Why did you enlist?”

  Her eyes flicked up, meeting his—his gaze a bde, slicing to her core. “Why…?” she echoed, almost incredulous.

  “Why did you choose to fight at that age? This is war you’re getting into. Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose your life?”

  A bitter smile crept onto Iustitia’s face. Such a stupid question.

  To someone like him, it probably seemed like the system was forcing children into battle, exploiting the children’s loyalty and naivety, cloaking its cynicism in the mantle of patriotism.

  But he missed something, because he deliberately gazed into the darkness.

  Her smile regained its strength as she answered with a firm, resolute tone. “I was a child at the time… I am not obligated to y down my life for my country… But if I didn’t, all that’s left to me would be swallowed by the fmes of war.” She raised her head high, proud and obstinate, a look befitting someone her age. “For that, I fight. That’s all.”

  Ahh…

  From those bittersweet words, he realized something. Iustitia wasn’t bound by obligation or fear, nor was she a pawn of a heartless system. Her strength wasn’t forged in the fire of obligation, nor was it a product of fear or coercion. Instead, it sprang from a deep, abiding sense of purpose—a desperate need to safeguard her roots. In her eyes, that purpose—however small it may seem to others—was worth ying down her life for.

  The same can be said for the majority of the young soldiers. They weren’t forced to fight, but were forced to only have that as an option. If the children won’t fight, all will be lost.

  “I see.” His response was as ft as ever, yet somehow, it carried a warmth that hadn’t been there before. “I assumed something, and almost pitied you for it. I was wrong. You’re a strong person.”

  Iustitia’s cheeks flushed pink, a smile spreading across her face as she felt an unexpected warmth fill her chest. For a moment, the horrors of war faded into the background, and she felt certain: her fight was just.

  “Thanks…” she murmured, her voice soft. Eager to keep the thread alive, she turned it back on him. “What about you? That organization you work for… it’s dangerous. And now you’re deliberately getting involved in the war. Why? Do you want to protect something too?”

  “…” Shinku stilled, his gaze drifting to the window, hollowing out as it tched onto nothing “There’s nothing for me to protect… Not here…”

  His answer sent a chill down her very core. It was vague, yet there’s hollowness in his voice. Like a deep hole inside him. She wanted him to crify, yet it felt so wrong to push the topic further. While Iustitia stared at him, his gaze never left the window, his deadpan expression felt more somber.

  There was nothing for him to protect here. He had nothing to begin with. And even if there were, he had long forgotten. His involvement wasn’t driven by a need to safeguard something precious, but rather by an unspoken desire to find something—something he cked—something that will give him strength to confront life and death. He had never shared this with anyone. His frigid heart had long been closed, and it would remain so for a long time.

  Iustitia caught the shift in his face—bnk yet brittle. She had touched on something she shouldn’t have.

  The warmth of others harms him… she thought, staring at his distant gaze.

  She stayed silent, letting the quiet envelope them as the coach rattled toward the capital.

  J_Win

  AnnouncementI will be a bit busy this second semester in college so next chapter might take longer than this one to be released. Thanks for those who are still reading this garbage!