Free Web NovelWar awakened in an instant.
Like a beast that had slumbered for too long.
Roused by an instinct it could not resist.
It opened its turbid, bloodshot eyes.
Pavela stood where she was.
Watching it all happen.
The souls were no longer quiet.
They stood up.
Crawling out of shell craters.
Stepping out from behind sandbags.
Emerging from the shadows of mecha wreckage.
They picked up their weapons.
Rifles, bayonets, grenades, shovels.
Some even just picked up a stone.
Then they began to walk.
Toward the direction of the artillery fire.
Toward each other.
No one gave an order.
No bugles.
No drums.
Not even a shout.
Only footsteps.
The sound of countless feet treading through the mud.
"Squish, squish, squish."
Like some slow, heavy heartbeat.
Pavela saw a soul wearing a grey-green Usar military uniform.
He was very young.
Perhaps seventeen, perhaps eighteen.
The left side of his face was missing.
From his cheekbone to his chin, there was only a blurry phantom image.
But his right eye remained.
Though there was nothing in it.
He held his rifle.
Muzzle pointed forward.
Stepping mechanically.
Left, right, left, right.
Like a wound-up toy.
Opposite him.
A soul in a deep blue Victoria uniform was walking toward him.
Equally young.
Equally broken.
There was a hole the size of a bowl in his chest, its edges still slowly crumbling.
Equally holding a weapon.
Equally expressionless.
The two walked closer and closer.
Fifty meters.
Thirty meters.
Ten meters.
Then, they fired at the same time.
Followed by a dull 'thud,' like the sound of cotton being torn.
A hole blasted open in the Usar soldier's chest.
Half of the Victoria soldier's skull shattered.
Both fell at the same time.
Slamming into the mud.
Splashing up two blossoms of black mire.
But they did not dissipate.
In a tower like this, it was difficult for a soul to truly die.
They simply lay there.
Facing the grey sky.
The hole in the chest was slowly healing.
The shattered skull was slowly reconstructing.
Perhaps in a little while.
Perhaps after a long time.
They would stand up again.
Pick up their weapons again.
Walk toward each other again.
And kill each other again.
This was their eternity.
Pavela looked at that Usar soldier.
He lay in the mud.
His remaining right eye was open.
Staring hollowly at the leaden sky.
His lips twitched slightly.
As if saying something.
But there was no sound.
But Pavela didn't need to hear it.
She knew what he was saying.
Because she had seen those lip movements too many times.
In trenches, in ruins.
In the final moments of everyone she had personally seen off, or failed to see off.
They were all saying the same thing, or something similar.
"I want to go home."
...
The war spread quickly.
Like a plague.
When one soul stood up, the souls around them would follow.
When one soul fired, the surrounding souls would follow suit.
In the distance.
The wreckage of a mecha suddenly moved.
That steel body, severed at the waist, propped itself up with two arms and slowly rose from the mud.
The ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) cockpit was empty.
But the mecha's eyes lit up.
A dark red light.
Like some dying embers.
It began to crawl.
Using its two arms.
Dragging its severed lower half.
Leaving a deep furrow in the mud.
Crawling toward the nearest enemy.
Further away.
The sound of artillery grew denser.
Pillars of black and red smoke rose one after another across the grey horizon.
The earth trembled continuously.
As if the battlefield itself was in pain.
An artillery shell whistled in from afar.
The sharp sound of breaking air tore through the atmosphere.
Exploding not far from Pavela.
Boom—!
Mud splattered everywhere.
Specks of black mud splashed onto her snow-white skirt.
Leaving filthy blossoms on the silk.
The shockwave lifted her long silver hair.
Those strands with tips already dyed red fluttered in the wind.
Like burning banners.
Pavela did not dodge.
She didn't even blink.
She just stood there.
Watching the battlefield.
She suddenly remembered a saying.
It was something her "comrade-in-arms" Grigori had told her.
He asked, do you know what the most terrifying thing on a battlefield is?
It is habit.
When you get used to killing, used to being killed, used to the people around you disappearing one by one.
You are no longer human.
You become a part of the battlefield.
Just like the souls here. freewebnovёl.ƈom
At this moment, Pavela finally understood.
She understood exactly what was wrong with Boria's words.
The Gatekeeper was indeed correct this time.
These souls do not belong on the battlefield.
No soul should belong on a battlefield.
A battlefield is not home.
A battlefield has never been home.
A battlefield is a meat grinder.
A machine that stuffs living people in and spits out a pile of shredded meat.
Pavela sighed.
She lowered her head.
Looking at the mud stains on her skirt.
On the white silk, the black stains were like ugly scars.
"Your Highness!"
Boria's voice came from behind her.
Urgent.
Fearful.
She turned her head.
Boria stood there.
His eyes under the iron helmet were full of anxiety.
Behind him, eleven knights had spontaneously formed a defensive formation.
Surrounding Pavela in the center.
Their fists were clenched tight.
On their bare bodies, those scars looked exceptionally hideous in the grey light.
"Your Highness, please head to a safe place first!"
Boria's voice was hurried.
"We will handle the situation here!"
"Just give us some time to mobilize more knights for support—"
"Boria."
Pavela interrupted him.
"No need."
She said. freewebnøvel.com
Boria froze for a moment.
"Your... Your Highness?"
Pavela turned around.
Facing that burning battlefield.
The wind blew from afar.
Carrying the scent of gunpowder and earth.
Her long silver hair fluttered in the wind once more.
The red tips of her hair were like drifting sparks.
The mud-stained court dress flapped loudly in the wind.
She raised her hand.
Slender fingers gently opened in the air.
"We're in a hurry, I'll handle it this time."
