Chapter 65
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: The Weight of Choice
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Shaking.
My legs, my arms, my values.
Ad’s breathing grew ragged. He hadn’t fought a serious battle or marched for long, yet his breath came in increasingly harsh gasps.
The soldier's screams, his desperate struggles to escape the giant's grasp, echoed relentlessly in Ad's mind.
He began to doubt if what he was doing was right.
Nausea churned in his stomach.
“What's the purpose of this mission? That parchment the general keeps hiding in the ground, what does it do?”
Ad asked in a low voice.
He had to know. What was the purpose of a mission that required them to let a man—someone's brother—die?
What great deed were they accomplishing that allowed Bel to walk on so unfalteringly?
“It's a matter of security. I can't tell you.”
“Security, my ass. You've been planting the parchment in the ground right in front of us. Surely you can tell us what magic is inscribed on it.”
At Ad's sharp tone, the other soldiers' eyes widened.
A private talking back not just to any officer, but to Bel Artois himself.
Did that moron not have a brain?
“I said it's a security matter. Shut your mouth and watch your surroundings, Private.”
“There has to be a good reason, right? Tell us, so we can understand. So we can at least console ourselves that there's some greater good to this mission, a reason we had to let our comrade die…”
“Did we have to let him die?”
“What?”
“I'm asking if there was truly no other choice but to let him die.”
Bel Artois's voice sharpened instantly. From the depths of the mage's heart, a profound disgust boiled up, its target unclear.
“…What do you mean?”
“There is always a choice, Private. We abandoned our comrade and chose the mission. Don't run from that fact by hiding behind pretty excuses like 'the greater good.'”
The other soldiers, listening to the exchange through the runes on their gas masks, swallowed hard.
“…”
Ad wanted to ask, ‘So you're saying we should have saved him, even if it meant endangering the rest of us?’
But strangely, the words wouldn't come out.
…Was he scared of Bel?
‘No.’
He wasn’t scared. He couldn’t be.
Bel had simply made an unavoidable choice to complete the mission, even if it meant sacrificing the comrade at his side.
In that situation, wasn't the correct answer, for anyone to see, to pretend they hadn't seen the captured soldier?
It was absurd.
It was a choice made for the good of all.
An unavoidable choice for the greater good.
‘…For what greater good?’
Ad didn't even know the true purpose of this mission. All he knew was that he had to protect the mage in front of him.
‘Right, Bel Artois is a general. A hero of the continent. And I’m a hero protecting a hero…’
A wave of something surged up.
Something was trying to climb up from his stomach.
He couldn't vomit with the mask on. Ad forced down whatever was trying to rise in his throat.
…Bel paid no mind to Ad's nausea and quickened his pace.
They moved diligently and cautiously through enemy territory.
After the brief argument between Bel and Ad, no one spoke.
Thanks to their silent focus on the mission, they were able to hide the seventh parchment in its designated location by the time dusk began to consume their surroundings.
“Two more to go. Stay sharp until the end.”
It had been a long, twelve-hour operation. Moving stealthily through enemy lines for such an extended period was an incredibly nerve-wracking task, and all the soldiers were on edge.
One mistake could cost all of them their lives. In the best-case scenario, they would die. In the worst, their bodies would melt down and become part of a mutant.
No matter how brave they were, it wasn't easy to stay sane in such a situation, and it was especially hard on Ad, who had no experience in such a horrifying warzone.
He had lived his whole life as an adventurer. He thought he had seen his fair share of gruesome sights, but the landscape that had enveloped him since the mission began told him that his past experiences were nothing.
It was impossible to tell if the lumps of flesh before him were someone's corpse, a mutant, or a demon. Perhaps they were a mixture of all three. The ground was littered with chunks of meat that looked as if a giant monster had swallowed everything around it and vomited it back up before it was fully digested.
…But something else tormented him more than the nauseating sights.
‘There is always a choice.’
‘Don't run from the truth with pretty excuses like the greater good.’
Bel's words, like daggers, had lodged themselves in Ad's chest and remained there.
It felt as if his heart was rotting and his lungs were hardening, but Ad had no idea how to pull the daggers out.
Disgusting things kept trying to rise from his stomach, but since he couldn't vomit in his mask, he had been forcing it all down.
“…Shit, shit.”
The voice of one of the soldiers echoed inside his mask. It was a corporal with short hair.
It was grating.
Just listening to that unstable muttering—the breathing, the tone, everything—was enough to stir up anxiety that wasn't there before.
He already felt sick because of what Bel had said, and having to listen to that constant muttering made his temper flare.
Ad wasn't the only one who felt that way. The other soldiers, and even Bel and Menes, were just as irritated by the soldier's voice.
Yet none of them told him to be quiet. They feared that provoking him further might lead to an irreversible situation.
Those eyes.
Ad and the other soldiers had seen them. Those glazed-over eyes that were looking at something far away, not at them or the situation at hand.
Provoking someone with eyes like that would lead to no good. Everyone here knew that.
If they were in the barracks, they could have him rest for a while or even remove him from the field entirely, but…
This was enemy territory. There was no place to catch their breath, no place to rest.
“…Only one left. Just a little more.”
Bel urged them on, and they continued to press forward through their anxiety.
Less than thirty minutes after hiding the seventh parchment, Bel pulled the eighth one from within his robe.
…By now, Ad no longer cared what the parchment did.
Knowing its purpose wouldn't pull the daggers from his chest anyway.
The parchment fell to the ground and sank into the mud with a faint glow.
“Shit… Shit, Danny… I’m sorry. You saved me back in Belgium, I know. I know, yeah, I haven’t forgotten…”
While Bel hid the parchment, the short-haired soldier's mumbling grew clearer. He stared into the empty air with his glazed eyes, chattering as if talking to someone.
The soldiers, pushed to their mental limits, could only close their eyes and try their best to ignore his ramblings. No one thought to comfort the short-haired corporal. Ad included.
“It’s done. Let’s move. I want to finish this as quickly as possible and get back to the barracks, so everyone, keep your heads straight…”
*BOOM!*
Another massive explosion roared from the distant front lines. It was the sound of a mana mine, but no one knew who had triggered it. It could have been one of the continental soldiers, or perhaps one of the demon mutants.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay! Danny, but I! I saved you once, too. Don’t you remember the battle at Dallin? Just leave me alone, Danny.”
The short-haired soldier, who had been cursing under his breath, trembled at the sudden blast and collapsed to the ground.
A stream of pathetic excuses poured from his mouth.
“Shit, shit.”
“…Hah!”
The other soldiers were no better, their legs shaking as they sighed and clutched their chests. They couldn't understand why the explosion, which normally wouldn't have bothered them, felt so deafeningly loud.
Perhaps it was because they had been operating in silence for twelve straight hours, but the nearby explosion had thrown every last one of them into a momentary state of chaos.
“Shut up, please…”
The sound of the explosion faded, and a hot wind brushed against their collars. The short-haired corporal's voice grew quieter, but it never stopped.
“We only have to do this one more time. Let’s make it back alive.”
It was Bel who rallied the soldiers, who were still struggling to regain their composure. Menes was already far ahead of the formation, scouting for a safe path.
“Corporal.”
“…Co-Corporal, Citadel Kraya.”
Bel sighed as if he had no choice and approached the short-haired corporal.
Citadel managed to state his rank and name in a trembling voice, but that was it. His mind was elsewhere.
Bel grabbed Corporal Citadel by the shoulder and forcibly pulled him to his feet.
Only then did his eyes, which had been staring into space, turn to Bel.
“Once this mission is over, I will personally see to it that Corporal Danny, now a mutant, is put to rest.”
The robe fluttered, revealing a glimpse of his arm, which was covered in scars all carved in the same direction.
Ad caught a brief glimpse of Bel's scars and felt a sense of puzzlement.
It was common for anyone who stood on the battlefield, whether mage or warrior, to have a scar or two, but the scars covering his arm were all neatly aligned in one direction, as if someone had carved them intentionally.
“…Really? You’ll end Danny’s suffering yourself, General?”
“I promise. So hold on just a little longer.”
“Danny… Promise Danny directly. To Danny, who’s right next to you, right now.”
“…What?”
“Promise Danny, right in front of you! General, General. Tell him you’ll put him at ease. Quickly…”
A chilling silence fell over the soldiers.
Second Lieutenant Menes, listening to their conversation from a distance, barely managed to suppress a sigh that threatened to escape.
Some of the soldiers thought it.
Perhaps it would be better to just kill this madman here and now.
If they left him like this, it wouldn't be surprising if he caused a major incident that would get them all killed…
“Alright. I promise, Corporal Danny.”
The soldiers, who had been gripped by anxiety and had unknowingly reached for their weapons, froze in place.
Because Bel had said it while looking at empty air.
“…You hear that, Danny?”
A cold wind blew. The sky was pitch black, and the air was thick with the stench of rotting corpses.
Citadel slowly turned his head, his gaze following Bel’s to the empty space. The other soldiers couldn't help but look there as well.
“The General said he’ll end your suffering, so just hold on until the mission is over. Isn’t that great? Yeah. That’s great, right?”
Of course, there was nothing there.
“Idiots, I found a path.”
“Let’s move. Just hold on a little longer, Corporal.”
Bel gave Corporal Citadel’s shoulder a light pat and took the lead.
For some reason, Ad felt an indescribable sense of shame.
***
The general’s tent, without Bel, was the very picture of tranquility.
Saintess Grisha, even after finishing a grueling thirteen-hour shift, was repeatedly summoned by officers to tend to the wounded. She would sit down to write reports, get called away, take a short breather, and then be summoned again.
She was a saintess in name only; her life was no different from that of first-year doctors being worked to the bone in a hospital ward around the clock.
I sent her a look of pity, but she didn't even glance my way.
An officer had just opened the thick blanket flap and entered the tent again.
Heh, you’re working hard…
“I’m here on business with General Bin.”
Uh, me?
Not Grisha?
Grisha, her beatific smile still forcibly plastered on her face, finally looked at me.
…That smile might have seemed benevolent to someone who didn't know the truth, but to my eyes, Grisha’s face looked utterly pitiful and pathetic.
“What is it?”
I slowly got up from the bed and asked the officer.
“Lord Bel left a mission for you, Lord Bin, before he departed.”
“A mission?”
“Please gather an escort. I’ll explain the operation on the way.”
“What? Right now?”
Seriously, if there was a mission today, couldn't he have given me a heads-up?
Meticulous security is one thing, but the person actually going on the mission should at least be in the loop.
“…Ad isn’t here.”
“That doesn’t matter. Gather all available personnel and report back here in ten minutes. Once everyone is assembled, I will brief you on the operation as we move.”
“…Where are we going?”
I asked, a sense of unease growing as I called out to the officer’s retreating back.
He lifted the thick blanket flap and answered in a low voice.
“The battlefield.”