White Sniper (1)
The alias that had stuck to me was the White Sniper.
Still, I never expected a spotter to survive after seeing my hair color. Did Misty miss one?
White Sniper….
It was a little disappointing—nowhere near as cool as something like the Annihilation Star or the Hollow Star—but a Star’s name was probably out of reach for me either way.
You only got one of those by developing a unique magic of your own, after all.
Still, even so—White Sniper? Wasn’t that a bit much?
There had to be something more poetic, more elegant.
Well, soldiers are usually short on imagination.
They were too busy scrambling just to stay alive. Couldn’t really blame them.
Anyway, in the week since I’d arrived at the front and started working with Sergeant Misty, my officially confirmed kill count had reached twenty-nine.
Two officers, four spotters, three radiomen, two snipers—the rest unconfirmed.
The record went up with Sergeant Misty’s signature and notes, a confirmation stamp from the forward observation post, and a review from the frontline command post.
And a copy of it ended up in Sergeant Müller’s hands….
The orders he held. What did they say?
Private First Class Chloe Winterland, in recognition of her service during sniper operations on the Western Front—specifically the elimination of numerous enemy spotters and officer-grade targets, thereby reducing unit casualties—is hereby granted a wartime field promotion to the rank of Corporal.
“…….”
“Congratulations.”
Well, he didn’t sound even remotely congratulatory.
I stared at him blankly for a moment.
Corporal. Corporal, huh.
Was this pace normal? I hadn’t even been enlisted a few months yet.
“Isn’t this a little too fast….”
“It is.”
“And that’s acceptable?”
“It isn’t.”
“Then….”
“Orders from above.”
Orders from above—truly a magical phrase.
His expression’s gotten even harder, though. Sergeant Müller.
I couldn’t properly read his face. He hid it too well. I had no idea how solid a mask he was wearing.
Still expressionless, Sergeant Müller pulled out the next document.
“By the way, your shooting record has also reached the inspection unit.”
“Has it?”
“Explain your use of D Magic.”
“…I only used it once.”
“You expect me to believe you killed twenty-nine men without using magic at all?”
“Yes.”
Sergeant Müller set a small rank insignia down in front of me. A Corporal’s chevron.
Kill people, and your rank went up. Results showed immediately.
Unlike those days of dying a little more every day as an office worker, this life actually felt rewarding!
“If you’re not lying, then fine.”
“…….”
“How do you feel right now?”
I weighed my answer.
Proud? No, that wasn’t it… Afraid? Indifferent?
All of them were technically possible.
How I felt. Why was he asking about my feelings right now? To check whether I felt any guilt?
I glanced sideways at Sergeant Misty. Unfortunately, she offered no hints.
Ha. I didn’t even know what I’d been hoping for.
“I’m not sure.”
“…I’ll be going.”
Cough.
I deliberately coughed.
Sergeant Misty immediately handed me my inhaler.
Hss, huu….
Through the white smoke, I could see Sergeant Müller’s expression.
It looked angry, and it looked sad. Neither emotion was unwelcome.
And in the trenches of the Empire’s enemy—the Federation army—a very strange rumor began to spread.
Sergeant Müller kept his word about leaving, right down to the letter.
I’d thought he would stay a little longer…!
If I’d known, I should’ve skipped the buildup and just coughed up blood on the spot.
A little nudge of mana through my circuits and blood would come right out of my nose or mouth.
Sniff.
So sad.
At the same hour, on the Western Front.
The forward trench of the Federation’s 31st Infantry Regiment did not sleep even at night.
By day, shells and snipers woke the men; by night, rats and the groans of the wounded did the job.
So the soldiers never truly slept. They closed their eyes and simply tried, somehow, to rest.
Sergeant Thomas Reed was one of those who had adapted to this hell of a trench.
He leaned against the trench wall, scrubbed the mud off his notebook with a rough swipe of his fingers, and turned the page.
He was updating today’s casualty list.
William Connor, Alan Brooks, Joshua Milton, Patrick Wayne, Howard Phillips….
All of them had had their heads or chests blown clean off.
[ Suspected White Sniper. ]
Sergeant Reed chewed the tip of his pencil and read the alias “White Sniper” over and over again.
“White Sniper, White Sniper, fuck….”
From deeper in the trench, someone answered—must have overheard Reed muttering to himself.
“That white bitch again?”
“Watch your mouth, Carter.”
“But I’m right! The spotter said she had white hair!”
The waste of a private currently yelling at the sergeant was Samuel Carter, whose specialty was complaining with a wet blanket draped over his shoulders.
“Hair and face, both pure white, he said!”
“Ghosts can’t shoot.”
“Then what is she? The Empire’s dead Star has clearly come back!”
Star.
The moment the word left his mouth, the soldiers in the trench turned sharp looks on the tactless private.
The Imperial Stars—monsters that flipped entire battlefields. Mages outside every standard. Superhumans who had proven that a single person could be more dangerous than a whole battery of guns.
Sergeant Reed closed his notebook.
“It’s a rumor.”
“But she looks just like her!”
“Like who?”
“The White Silver Star!”
The White Silver Star—the Empire’s twelfth Star, officially announced as dead.
She had been a monster who commanded mercury on the battlefield, and the number of Federation soldiers who had fallen to that flowing silver liquid was beyond counting.
That damned mercury had seeped into the trenches, slipped through the seals of gas masks, clogged gun barrels until they exploded, and shredded lungs and blood vessels.
Rumors on the battlefield always got inflated—except for rumors about the Stars. Those were always told smaller than the truth.
One of the lessons Sergeant Reed had learned in the trenches.
“…And the mercury?”
“That’s….”
“No mercury means she’s not the White Silver Star.”
“But the spotter saw her face—”
“That bastard hasn’t slept since yesterday. Insomnia. He saw something that wasn’t there.”
“…….”
Sergeant Reed’s words were a lie.
A lie he’d improvised on the spot to pull one worthless private free of delusion and fear.
The worthless private apparently had nothing more to say; he quietly withdrew deeper into the trench.
Hss, huu….
Sergeant Reed lit a cigarette and started thinking about the White Sniper again.
At first he’d just figured the Empire had rotated in a skilled new sniper—but the dead kept piling up every day.
Officers, spotters, radiomen—all of them gone.
Stick your head up and die. Lift binoculars and die. Step outside to fix a phone line and catch one in the leg.
And when someone went to pull the man with the shattered leg to safety? A hole through the head, of course.
If it were only marksmanship, that would be one thing—but the positioning, the baiting, the sense for movement inside the trenches, the reaction speed that won sniper duels by firing first….
All of it first-rate….
Carter, the worthless private who had just gone deeper into the trench, stuck his head back out.
“Sergeant, what if the Empire lied?”
“What?”
“They announced the White Silver Star was dead, but she was actually alive—and they sent her to the front under a false name! Something like that.”
“Why would the Empire do that?”
“I don’t know. Usually when an Imperial Star moves, the Federation moves a Star to counter, right?”
“Yeah?”
“And where there are no Imperial Stars, the Federation doesn’t send any either.”
“That’s also tr—”
“Exactly!”
It sounded plausible.
It sounded plausible enough that he hated it even more.
“By the way—did you deliver the report?”
“It went up to the company commander. Said the White Sniper’s appearance was similar to the White Silver Star.”
“Fuck, you looked at it in secret?”
“…….”
Private Carter avoided Sergeant Reed’s eyes.
“You actually want a court-martial?”
“You know how it is, Sergeant. You think I’d even make it to a court-martial? I’d be dead first.”
“…That’s, well. Fair point.”
Ha.
He let out a long breath.
How the hell had a bastard like this even gotten into the unit.
.
.
.
Time passed, and at last the answer found the trench.
From the rear, a messenger came sprinting through the mud, skidding and nearly falling with every step.
“Hah….”
The messenger caught his breath for a moment, then shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Message from division! The Construction Star is coming!”
The trench atmosphere immediately turned chaotic.
“…The Construction Star?”
“For real?”
“We’re saved.”
One of the Federation’s eight Stars—the Construction Star.
A monster who raised trenches and fortresses on the front lines.
The miracle that turned mud into walls. The superhuman who rebuilt a broken defensive line overnight.
Sergeant Reed felt the tension leave him without realizing it.
One word—that a Star was coming—and the soldiers had hope again.
Even Private Carter, famous as the unit waste of this trench, seemed the same; he spoke with a face that looked ready to cry.
“See? Sergeant. I told you. The Empire sent a Star, so we send a Star too—”
Thud.
Something dropped onto the trench floor.
Small.
A metal lump about the size of a palm.
Reed’s eyes, Carter’s eyes, every pair of eyes in the trench locked onto that little chunk of metal.
Before they could recognize what it was, before they could understand, before they could even check what had dropped it—
“Everyone do—!”
BOOM!
It exploded.
Heavenly Blast.
Light and heat and sound.
A magical eraser that wiped everything white flipped the trench over.
Wet earth and wood, barbed wire, scraps of human flesh flew into the sky in a fireworks display.
Sergeant Thomas Reed and his notebook burned to ash, and Private Samuel Carter died with that joyful look still on his face.
One section of the 31st Infantry Regiment’s forward trench vanished from the map.
When a Federation Star moves, an Imperial Star moves as well.
When Star faces Star across the same battlefield, that battlefield ceases to be a place human beings can endure.
Before long, the front where I stood became hell.