The Sword Saint's Facade
The rain over the trenches showed no sign of stopping, pouring down in relentless sheets. My small body cooled rapidly, and puffs of breath began escaping my lips. It was cold—freezing and hungry. But if I stood still because of the cold, I would surely die. The trenches were already filling with bloody water.
Thanks to that, Eryk's cold attitude and the sharp words that had stabbed at my chest no longer mattered. I wrung out my soaked uniform as best I could, threw on a rain cape, and began directing the soldiers. We had to clear the water somehow. We couldn't leave the trenches—gunfire would rain down the moment we did. So we had no choice but to drag over wooden planks and lay them across the top.
If we left it like this, trench foot would set in, and the soldiers' feet would begin rotting one by one. That would mean more meaningless losses. "Move faster! Faster!!" I shouted, urging the men on. The heavily wounded had to be thrown out of the trenches. There was no treatment for them here anyway; it was better to let them die.
"...I'm sorry."
"......"
The soldier's body, which he could no longer control himself, burned like a fever. The infection had clearly gone too far. In this place without antibiotics, there was no hope for him. If only we'd had a magical medical unit. Maybe then things would have been a little better. With that thought, I hurled the burning man out of the trench.
I had taken another life, but there was no time to feel guilt. There were far too many soldiers I was responsible for right now. I distributed what little food we had left and ordered them not to neglect their watch. I scanned the surroundings myself, never slacking in my surveillance of when the enemy might strike.
...I can't feel at ease unless I see it with my own eyes.
I could only relax if I came out and looked myself. I peered through the periscope at the enemy's movements. I hadn't slept properly for even a single moment. The others were the same, so I didn't voice any complaints. Everyone was growing exhausted, trembling with fear. Simply being inside these trenches placed the soldiers on the edge between life and death.
This horrific war would not stop until one side was completely crushed.
And so, after holding the line for a full week...
"Major Valentine, a full-scale offensive will begin soon."
"......"
"His Imperial Majesty wishes for this front to advance without further delay."
"Then... will our side be deploying bombers as well?"
"No. They won't invest that much."
"......"
It was simply an order to charge. This empire had gone mad. Charging into enemy trenches that were a field of machine guns with no support? The soldiers would surely die screaming, never even knowing whether they'd been hit by friendly fire or the enemy's. Shouldn't there at least be tank support?
"Does this even make sense? Those innocent soldiers... what will become of them?"
I ground my teeth. Soldiers and officers had been expendable from the moment the war began. That was what I'd always told myself. I'd hypnotized myself into believing it. But this was different. I couldn't even imagine how many men would die in this insane operation that wouldn't advance even a single meter. It was no different from ordering them to commit suicide.
The soldiers were exhausted. It was questionable whether they could even manage a proper melee without support. And in that situation, no reinforcements were coming. They were simply being ordered to push the line. Even if they succeeded, if the enemy counter-charged, it would all be meaningless. It was just feeding more lives into the meat grinder.
"...This, this is unacceptable!! You know that too, don't you, Lieutenant Colonel?"
The wooden desk shook with a loud bang! under my fist. Eryk lowered his head, catching the pen that fell.
"Right now...! We must contact headquarters immediately!"
We had to reach headquarters. With my connections to the nobility, my ties to the imperial family, and my status as a hero, we could stop this operation. If not, we could at least secure some support. So I begged—no, I pleaded—for permission to contact headquarters. To save my poor subordinates.
But what returned was Eryk's excessively cold, expressionless face.
"...It is a direct order from His Imperial Majesty. Even if you protest, it cannot be changed. You'd be lucky if your head doesn't end up on a pike."
A direct order from the Emperor. At those words, I collapsed back into my chair with a heavy thud.
"......"
"Major, His Imperial Majesty wishes to see the exploits of two heroes. You understand that, don't you?"
As he spoke, Eryk looked at me with an expression from which all emotion had been completely stripped away. I didn't know what my own face looked like as I stared back at him. My emotions were in turmoil, yet it seemed my expression showed nothing at all.
"A unit that can return with just the two of us—you and me. That is the kind of unit His Imperial Majesty desires."
"This battle will serve as the test. Can we push back the enemy line with absolutely no support?"
The Emperor had clearly lost his mind. Was he willing to sacrifice so many lives just for that? Most of the soldiers would die. Whatever their names, whatever lives they'd lived, a tiny bullet—whether from our side or the enemy's—would put a period at the end of their stories.
The image of my subordinates falling one after another was vivid in my mind. Will I be able to survive this time too? The thought flashed before my eyes.
"......"
"...Prepare the mortars. We're going in immediately."
"...The order hasn't been given yet. Who knows, maybe His Imperial Majesty will send support troops...!!"
I spoke with vain hope, but...
"Major, abandon that hope. It's not like you."
Eryk's cruel reply came back. Then his brows furrowed.
"...For a vampire, you're putting on quite the act of hypocrisy."
"...!!"
Those words pierced my chest. For a vampire. They tore into me like claws. At the same time, the face of that clumsy private I'd spoken with not long ago rose in my mind.
...They're all going to die.
My mind began to drift. Because my eyes had met the ones in the mirror. My heart was this complicated, this sad, this filled with despair, yet why—why was the person reflected in the mirror...
"...How can you stay that expressionless?"
I was maintaining an utterly blank face. As if none of this had anything to do with me. The me in the mirror mimicked my words with the same blank expression. The person in the mirror began to feel like a stranger.
I had grown so used to the horrors of war that I'd even forgotten how to make expressions.
"At least... at least smile like a madman."
Even as I muttered that, the me in the mirror remained perfectly expressionless. A survival strategy. Hide your emotions. Conceal yourself. Yes, this blank face was what I had chosen. It was my survival strategy.
But because of that survival strategy...
"...Please, at least when I'm alone, I'm allowed to cry, aren't I?"
I was the one crumbling inside. The guilt toward the subordinates who'd fought and died for me, and toward those who would die soon—it was making me collapse. But none of that showed in the mirror.
The next day, we finally launched our assault on the Allied trenches.
Bullets rained down. Bullets that would put a period to the lives of countless young men, regardless of what meaning those lives had held. A bullet that barely missed me whistled through the air and struck the soldier running behind me. Blood. Blood sprayed everywhere. The whole world seemed dyed red.
It was disgusting. Utterly revolting. I was sorry—for forcing these men to charge without fear. The unbearable guilt turned into rage, driving my hands to sweep through the enemy.
"...Die, die, please... just die and end this war for me."
I cut them down as I spoke. I drank their blood and strode across the battlefield. The more I did, the more my insides felt like they were turning inside out. If only my mind would grow hazy. If it did, maybe this guilt would lessen even a little. I thought that constantly as I slaughtered the enemy.
Each time, blood flowed into my mouth. Even without realizing it, my unconscious mind made me ingest small amounts of the enemies' blood. Because of that, my mind never grew hazy. On the contrary, it became even clearer.
My heart began to race. The enemies' death cries pierced my ears and tormented me.
"Aaaargh!!"
"The Sword Saint! It's the Sword Saint—urk!!"
"S-Spare me...!"
But that lasted only a moment. The instant I saw them pointing their guns at my subordinates, cackling as they sprayed bullets wildly, my reason snapped.
These humans have no right to live.
Before I knew it, I had become a nightmare of terror to them as well. I mercilessly took their lives. I ignored those who had surrendered and cut them down anyway. What right did I have? I, who had survived by shamefully drinking my own allies' blood—what right did I have to judge?
Because I didn't want to think about that, I cut down even more enemies. When I finally looked back...
"...Is there... no one left...?"
There was no one. All those many subordinates lay fallen on the ground. Only a tiny handful had survived. I walked over to a man writhing on the ground.
"...Private."
The private was coughing up blood, dying. It was the same private who had lied not long ago, saying he wasn't afraid of war. His dying eyes, the light fading from them, met mine.
"...Private, are you still not afraid of war?"
I asked quietly. The private never answered. His eyes turned into the dull, rotten stare of a dead fish.
"......"
Thank you for your service.
With those words, I closed the private's still-open eyelids. At the same time, Eryk declared victory, and the few remaining soldiers let out cheers of triumph.