Holy War (1): The March Into Hell

The holy war had begun. Upon reaching the front lines, the march into hell commenced.

"Hurry up and walk!! If you collapse, I'll kill you right where you stand!" I barked at my exhausted subordinates, who looked ready to drop at any moment. In a situation where artillery shells could rain down from anywhere at any time, we continued our relentless advance.

The sky viewed during wartime was always a dull gray. War was horrific, just as it had always been. Just as it had been for the nearly five years I'd endured it. The stench of gunpowder had grown sickeningly familiar. Even the smell of my subordinates' burning flesh no longer fazed me.

"Everyone! We're all going back alive! Move faster!"

All of them. Every single one would return alive. With that desperate conviction burning in my chest, I drove my troops forward like a whip cracking at their backs. Fear gripped me. Terror surged through my veins. Yet we could not stop. Halting here meant nothing but death. Either we'd return only to be condemned and executed by the Empire's citizens, or our hearts would be pierced by the enemy's blades and bullets. If that was our fate, then at least we'd choose an honorable death. And if honorable death didn't appeal, we'd crawl back alive in disgrace.

The enemy wasn't human. They were vampires, just as they'd always been. I brainwashed myself with that mantra. Though I was a vampire myself, the memories of having once been human—and the crushing guilt that came with them—prevented me from killing humans. I could only kill other vampires. Thrashing in the midst of that contradiction, we pressed onward toward the front.

Once we reached the battlefield, it was an unbroken stretch of hell.

After shouting those words, I drew my sword and led the charge from the very front. Bullets whistled past. I was terrified. I wanted to live. Even as those thoughts flooded my mind, I couldn't allow fear to show on my face. Instead, I wore an even more brutal expression.

"Aaaargh!"

"The Sword Saint!! It's the Sword Saint!!!"

Just the sight of me was enough to make them scream and flee. Gripping my black blade tightly, I charged straight at the enemy. Allies collapsing from friendly fire. Enemies collapsing from enemy fire. Their blood soaked the ground. I ran across that blood, drank it, used it as fuel for my blood magic. All to prevent even more blood from spilling onto the earth.

I swung my sword with everything I had.

"Aaaargh!!"

"S-spare me…!"

"Guhk!"

To those who screamed and begged for their lives, I brought down a blade utterly devoid of emotion. Then I drank their blood. My stomach began to churn violently. It was revolting. These people were just like me—brainwashed by the pigs of another nation. They were someone's family, someone's lover, someone's precious person. They weren't even vampires.

Yet I brainwashed my subordinates into believing these people were no different from vampires. Through this war, I learned once again that I was no different from those filthy pigs.

Day after day, I waged war like a madwoman.

Then one day.

"Loyalty, Major. His Majesty the Emperor has sent a letter."

It was around the time the front lines were beginning to stagnate. A missive had arrived from the Emperor.

"…Leave it and get out."

"Yes, ma'am."

Inside the tent, I wiped the hot blood from my face and examined the letter. It bore the imperial family's seal.

"What is it this time?"

Not long ago, Kriha had been excitedly babbling about the creation of a new unit being just around the corner. Was this about that? With that thought in mind, I opened the letter.

The contents were nothing more than an announcement that a small special unit would be formed. Aside from our regiment's numbers being slightly reduced, there wasn't much else of note.

"…Is this a death sentence?"

But in the current situation, reducing our forces was practically the same as ordering us to die. We had no idea when this place would be conquered.

The letter essentially ordered me to abandon my subordinates and flee.

The war situation was fierce. The troops were gradually growing weary from the endless fighting. The only reason we were still holding on was our thirst for revenge. The single conviction that we would have vengeance against those who had taken our comrades, our lovers, our precious things—that was what kept us going. And once again, I was the one who had incited it.

I demonized the enemy and forced our allies into suicidal charges. I kept whispering in their ears, pushing them toward death. That was the kind of being I was. A monster who carried out merciless slaughter with words, with blades, and through the hands of others. Using my comrades and subordinates to multiply the number of victims, and finally claiming even their lives. That was who I had become.

Yet the moment I read the words ordering me to run, the first thought that crossed my mind was:

I survived.

"Crazy bitch…"

I wasn't sure whether the curse was aimed at the Emperor or at myself. What I did know for certain was that when I spat it out, my face was terrifyingly blank.

Exactly one week later.

I, who had been madly carving through enemies, was now sitting in a car wearing a spotless uniform.

"You look quite exhausted, Major."

"……."

It was revolting. The face of my superior, calmly smoking a cigarette in front of me. The fact that my own rage was fading into relief at having survived. The sheer disgust of it all was unbearable.

"…What is the meaning of this?"

The question Kyle had once thrown at me, I now hurled back at him.

"It means nothing."

"……."

The answer that came back was that it held no meaning whatsoever.

"You are a soldier."

"……."

"A soldier is nothing more than a tool, a means for those above him."

Eryk exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke as he spoke.

"Then you should already know better than anyone what you must do."

"……."

It seemed my heart had grown weak without me realizing it.

"……."

I remained silent. Watching me, Eryk clicked his tongue in clear displeasure and spat into the ashtray.

"…For a vampire, you certainly rampaged quite impressively on the battlefield."

"Was slaughtering humans that enjoyable?"

Eryk, who spoke without the slightest understanding of my feelings, made me want to kill him. Truly, desperately.

"…Does it look that way to you? Does it really, truly look that way?"

I glared at him with a blank—no, slightly furrowed—expression.

In response, Eryk let out a mocking laugh, as if dismissing me entirely.

"You can't even kill them, so what's with the glare?"

"……."

"Don't forget that your subordinates are riding in the back."

The smile on Eryk's face as he said that was utterly detestable. He stared at me blankly for a long while. Unwilling to lose, I glared right back.

"…Care for a smoke?"

With those words, he offered me one of his finest cigarettes.

…Just what is this man thinking?

He'd been tormenting me just moments ago, yet now this. I couldn't figure out what he wanted. I had intended to refuse, but—

"Was it that good?"

"…No, sir."

"Then give it back."

"……Thank you. I'll accept it gratefully."

My body had already moved on its own, taking the cigarette and placing it between my lips.

And so, my subordinates and I left the battlefield where blood flowed like rivers and the air reeked of gunpowder. It was only after we had departed that I learned the unit we'd left ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠behind had been completely annihilated.

Eryk watched the girl blankly smoking a cigarette inside the rattling car.

"…What are you staring at?"

"I'm keeping an eye on you, so don't mind me."

"……."

Even Eryk himself didn't understand why he was acting this way, so he brushed it off with that excuse. Ever since she'd boarded the vehicle, her drained appearance had kept nagging at him. The unpleasant feeling had led him to take it out on Valentine. Of course, as a result, he no longer had to witness her looking defeated and sullen.

"…Is surveillance really necessary?"

"If you're feeling any lust toward this body… I suggest you visit a hospital immediately."

"Though I'm not sure they'll be able to treat you properly."

He had to endure Valentine's sarcastic jab.

"How amusing."

"…It disgusts me."

"The feeling is mutual."

Eryk closed his eyes as he spoke.

…Don't be bewitched, Eryk.

Even as he muttered that to himself, the moment he opened his eyes again—

"…Why do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you keep looking at me? Trying to find something else to criticize?"

There was Valentine, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠watching him warily. He wanted to say something to her, but nothing came to mind. Having no idea what his own emotions even were, Eryk could only keep snapping irritably.

"…Don't speak to me, you filthy vampire."

"……."

"You should be grateful I didn't sell you off at the slave market."

Eryk clicked his tongue, his insides twisting with frustration.

…Just what the hell is wrong with me?

An inexplicable displeasure kept stabbing at his chest. How much time had passed like that?

Whether from lack of sleep or sheer exhaustion, Valentine, who had been nodding off repeatedly, finally fell asleep. Her frail body shivered from the cold, letting out faint groans. Eryk stared at her in a daze.

"…How pitiful."

"Haaah…"

"Just what do I want to do?"

Muttering to himself, Eryk removed his coat and gently draped it over the trembling Valentine.

"…Can't have you freezing to death."

She had to die by his own hand. With that thought, Eryk covered her with his coat and gazed blankly at Valentine, who now breathed in peaceful slumber.

"…Don't die."

Eryk, who had once thought it would be better if all vampires simply died, fell into deep confusion as he heard those words slip from his own lips.