The Battlefield Within
"From now on, never do that again."
"...Yes. I'll keep that in mind."
Eryk looked at me and told me never to speak ill of my own body or apologize when he was the one who should be receiving the apology. I stared up at him, a question mark hovering in my mind, but I answered that I would do as he said. Satisfied, he reached toward my head only to freeze mid-motion.
"Lieutenant Colonel?"
If he was going to hit me, he should just do it. Wondering why he was hesitating like that, I called his name, and Eryk frowned.
"Tsk... Forget it."
"...?"
I had no idea what I'd done to make him swing back and forth like this. Little by little, every single one of his actions was beginning to irritate me. I couldn't figure out what he was trying to do at all.
He's been strange lately.
It was about time for something to break. Five years on the battlefield. How many people could stay sane after racing madly across ground where blood and flesh flew in every direction, watching the people around them change one by one?
In the game, you could watch the original Eryk slowly accumulate an irremovable debuff called PTSD and fall apart because of it. Of course, I had never imagined I would suffer that PTSD far more severely than he ever did.
It was a blessing that I had Eryk with me. If I had been left alone, the PTSD might have driven me completely mad.
Things like torturing myself in the shower room. Even after washing, the guilt refused to leave, and the illusion that my whole body was still filthy would wash over me. It felt as if the hands of my dead comrades were reaching out to drag me down into the abyss. Those hands gripping my body, slowly pulling me into deeper darkness. It was filthy. So filthy I thought I would lose my mind. It felt like someone's hand had seized me and was dragging me straight to the bottom. As if everyone whose blood I had drunk was now scheming to kill me.
They were no longer of this world. Enemy bullets and my own small, pathetic fangs had made sure of that. Yet the illusion of them tugging at my body made my limbs heavy. My stomach churned. My vision slowly began to blur.
My steps grew heavier, and I could no longer keep up with Eryk who had already moved ahead. The further one moved from the battlefield, the worse the war PTSD became. It had not been that long since I left those trenches, yet here it was again, stretching out its demonic claws toward me. Even when I tried to resist, the PTSD would not stop. Every external stimulus triggered an overreaction. The sound of a window rattling in the wind became falling artillery shells. Each one of Eryk's crisp footsteps made me flinch violently. Breathing was becoming difficult. Dizziness swept over me. The sunlight flashing across the window looked like a flare grenade. The surroundings blurred, and my mind pasted hallucinations over the haze. In an instant, the corridor transformed into a battlefield.
"No... No, Valentine."
I muttered the words to hold onto my sanity, but keeping a grip on my mind was not easy. It was terrifying. So utterly terrifying. This long corridor that had suddenly become an endless trench. I was so scared I could barely think. I could not see my black sword. The only friend that protected my body was nowhere in sight. This was a battlefield. Inside a trench. And inside that trench, bombs were exploding one after another with deafening roars. It was dizzying. My head refused to clear.
"Haah... Haah... I can't... breathe!!"
My lungs burned. It felt as if my departed comrades and subordinates were covering my mouth and nose with blood-soaked hands. Dozens of layers seemed to be blocking my airways; I could not draw a single breath. I could no longer tell whether this was reality or PTSD. I wanted to live. Bermann's figure appeared before my eyes. Bermann was coming toward me, his face full of worry.
Bermann......
What had Bermann been thinking in his final moments, when I bit him? When he realized that the superior he had fought so hard to save, the superior to whom he had sworn loyalty, was a vampire—what thoughts filled his mind as his body grew cold?
They say the dead do not speak. Because Bermann had sealed his lips, I could never ask him what he had wanted to say after realizing I was a vampire. Regret? A curse? Resentment? Sorrow? Rage? I was tormented by curiosity over what words he had tried to utter. Even now it kept me awake at night. I had wondered whether he might have offered me words of blessing instead, but I soon gave up on the idea. Everyone whose neck I had pierced with my fangs had poured curses upon me, so the thought that Bermann would be any different kept crushing my mind.
Bermann's trembling eyes overlapped in my vision, and my knees buckled.
"Urk...!!"
Drool spilled from my mouth as I collapsed to the floor, clutching my throat with one hand. I could not breathe. It was suffocating. Was this what it felt like to face death? The shadow looming over me seemed ready to drag me into eternal darkness. The thought of being hauled down to hell and punished as many times as the number of people I had killed sent chills racing across my skin. Yet part of my body seemed to welcome it. Maybe it simply wanted release now, because my breathing would not return. But I wanted to live. I had to live and witness the ending of this world no matter what. Glory of Victory 2 had to be a happy ending. For the sake of everyone who had died, I had to make it one. With the fleeting wish that someone had already decided the future, I looked straight ahead. A space filled entirely with blackness. Within it I saw the trench, and Bermann sprinting out of it, racing toward me.
Don't come!! If you come—if you come, you'll die!!
"Guhk...! Krrk...!!"
I tried to speak but no words emerged. It felt as if my throat had been crushed shut. Because I kept coughing, Bermann approached with a grave expression. Then he seized my shoulders and shook them roughly.
"Major Valentine!! Are you all right?! Get a hold of yourself!"
His face was deeply furrowed. It looked like someone I knew. ...Who was it again? I could not remember. Who had that person been? Only a slow, creeping irritation rose inside me. If this was how I felt, perhaps the person had not been that important after all. Then why does it feel like I must remember? If I wanted to survive, it seemed I would have to call that person's name. Even though I was clearly lying in Bermann's arms, in the embrace of my trustworthy subordinate.
Right now we were inside the trench. I was looking at Bermann from within the trench. Yet it felt as though Bermann was not Bermann. A sense of wrongness.
"Major Valentine! Answer me!"
"...!!"
It was a voice I had heard many times. I did not know whose it was, but the sound suddenly cleared my head. I drew in a deep breath.
"Cough...!!! Major Valentine, reporting... Did you call for me...?"
Right before losing consciousness, I stated my rank and name.
"Major! Major!"
Eryk gently shook the small vampire in his arms, calling her name. While they had been walking, Valentine suddenly collapsed. From her lips came someone's name as she coughed again and again, her eyes unfocused with pain.
"Be...rmann... Run away...."
Bermann. The name existed in Eryk's mind as well. As Valentine's adjutant, he had always supported her alongside Kriha, like the Sword Saint's prized disciple. In truth, Bermann had wielded a sword as his primary weapon, making him a memorable soldier.
I heard he died on the battlefield last year.
To think it had happened right before Valentine's eyes. That would certainly leave a trauma. Thinking so, Eryk called her name with desperate urgency. He had to bring her back to reality. From the way she spoke, she seemed to be struggling inside a delusion.
"Major Valentine, answer me."
"Kuhuk!"
Even when ordered to answer, Valentine only drooled from the corner of her mouth, veins standing out on her neck. Seeing that she could not breathe, Eryk shouted louder. He wanted to call for help, but in this cursed, sprawling imperial palace, it was wiser to abandon any hope that someone might be passing through such a remote corridor.
"Major Valentine, answer me! That is an order!"
When he raised his voice, Valentine finally showed a reaction. Confirming that her unfocused eyebrows twitched, Eryk patted her shoulder firmly and kept calling her name. Still she continued coughing and calling for Bermann.
"I am not Bermann. Remember who I am."
Even then, Valentine only made choking sounds and gave no reply.
"Major Valentine! Answer me!"
Seeing her look as though she might die at any moment, Eryk shouted with raw desperation. Perhaps that earnestness reached her, because a faint focus returned to Valentine's eyes.
"Cough...!!! Major Valentine, reporting. Did you call...?"
With a frail voice she stated her rank and name, then lost consciousness and collapsed once more.
"...!!"
Fearing she might have died, Eryk quickly pressed his hand to the left side of her chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. He felt the vibration against his palm.
"Haa......"
The small heart was beating fiercely, working hard to send oxygen through the tiny body that had been starved of it. Only then did Eryk breathe easier. He wiped the cold sweat from Valentine's forehead, carried her to the bed in her quarters, and laid her down.
"Looks like I'll have to attend the audience alone."
Adjusting his hat once more, Eryk closed the door and headed toward the emperor's audience chamber by himself.