The Logistics Zone Under Fire

On a modern battlefield, was it a blessing or a curse to be utterly incapable of sensing the fluctuations that emanated from activated magical artifacts?

Lin Yu was merely a half-trained mage, a novice who had stumbled into the craft; she hadn’t even committed a handful of incantations to memory, let alone heard of esoteric texts like “The Magical Principles of Natural Philosophy” that those foreign mages so readily mastered.

Rapid spellcasting, potionology, alchemical principles, enchantment — among the myriad abilities a mage could wield, she possessed but a single, rudimentary healing spell, effective for only three uses.

Consequently, she was left to navigate the complexities of magic entirely on her own, without the benefit of systematic training or the wisdom of experienced mentors.

Nangong had instructed her only once, and even then, she had neglected to inform Lin Yu whether this particular trait of a mage was ultimately an asset or a detriment.

In Lin Yu’s estimation, it was unequivocally a flaw.

She likened it to a deaf person from her past life thrust onto a battlefield: the inability to discern the ‘sound’ of gunfire was, by any measure, an exceedingly perilous predicament, far more challenging than navigating a video game without audio cues.

This deficiency now manifested acutely within her; she remained utterly ignorant of the number of artillery pieces, their precise direction, or the rate at which they unleashed their barrage, relying entirely on the warnings of others.

Tearing aside the cloth curtain, she revealed a scene of frantic motion as countless figures stirred within the pervasive darkness.

Every soul had been jolted from their slumber, and from outside, the urgent shouts of night watch soldiers echoed, urging everyone to seek cover.

She and the ‘Idiot Gentleman’ exchanged bewildered glances, both utterly uncertain if they had somehow miscalculated the designated time for their planned offensive.

“It’s the Lanforthians’ shelling!” a voice boomed as someone burst in from outside, followed quickly by several more individuals seeking refuge.

The cramped dugout, designed for only a few, instantly became a suffocating crush of over a dozen bodies.

After many days of respite, the potent magical fluctuations of artillery once again ravaged the battlefield.

Yet, this time, the grim distinction of being shelled belonged to them, at the hands of the Lanforthians.

Though a burning curiosity gnawed at her, wondering why the enemy had suddenly commenced their bombardment, the paramount concern now was to remain huddled within the shelter, awaiting the cessation of the shelling.

Several soldiers pressed in beside her, lifting the cloth curtain to settle onto her small cot.

As she sat amongst them, it seemed none recognized her as the radiant battlefield angel who had shone so brightly in recent days.

The Lanforthians’ initial barrage, however, did not strike their immediate position.

The ensuing explosions, though dense and relentless, resonated from an alarming distance.

They sounded too far to be impacting their own lines, suggesting other positions were bearing the brunt of the assault.

Yet, inexplicably, the sounds emanated from behind their lines.

“Damn it, just how far forward have they advanced their artillery? They’re even hitting the logistics zone…”

Amidst the chaos, an anonymous whisper caused her heart to seize in her chest once more, propelling her to abandon all caution.

She bolted through the doorway, scrambling up the firing position atop the parapet of the trench.

The Staff Sergeant, comprehending her reckless intent, immediately gave chase, but Lin Yu had already reached the firing position.

Standing on tiptoes, she pivoted, her gaze sweeping towards the distant rear wall.

Shells rained down like a relentless deluge upon the logistics area, a place she had called home for over a month.

The resulting explosions painted half the sky with their furious, incandescent glow.

Medical tents, bathhouses, Commander Yang’s quarters, supply warehouses—even her mentors, Nangong, and Commander Yang himself.

Every person she had encountered, every place she had visited within the logistics zone before her deployment to the front lines, was now engulfed by the Lanforthian barrage.

Conversely, the trench itself remained untouched by a single shell, an eerie silence pervading it, mirroring the countless tranquil nights that had preceded this terror.

As the shells continued their relentless descent, their explosive flashes seared into her eyes, and a profound sorrow etched itself onto the corners of her gaze.

“Why are they shelling the logistics zone…?”

Wrestled down from the firing position by the combined effort of two men, Lin Yu tumbled onto the grimy, earthen floor of the dugout, her cheeks instantly caked with dust and grime.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed? Rushing out during a bombardment!”

The Staff Sergeant’s furious reprimand reverberated through the confined space of the dugout, a chilling echo of similar words she had heard long ago.

In that distant memory, she had been roughly kicked by an old veteran, then forcibly dragged back into the shell-proof dugout by the scruff of her collar.

She truly harbored no desire to die… yet, a perplexing question arose within her: why, at this very moment, did she wish it was *her* enduring the bombardment?

The firing position Lin Yu occupied had been engineered to withstand direct artillery strikes; as long as it wasn’t hit by two consecutive shells, survival from the bombardment was all but assured.

The probability of two shells striking the exact same crater was infinitesimally small; only under the most exceptionally unfortunate circumstances would one suffer two successive hits, leading to a grim demise beneath planks and earth.

She considered herself extraordinarily fortunate, having traversed the arduous journey from her mountain village unscathed to reach this present moment.

Blessed with such an abundance of good fortune, she felt an undeniable compulsion to share it with others.

Given the formidable range of the Lanforthian artillery, it was understood that their current position was well beyond its reach.

Consequently, the logistics zone had been left devoid of any facilities designed for shelter from bombardment—a fact that underscored Nangong’s earlier promise that Lin Yu would remain out of harm’s way.

Yet, whether it was the medical tent where Nangong resided, or the small hut that housed her medic seniors, both would be violently tossed skyward by a direct shell impact, only to descend in a devastating crash.

The grim fate of those sheltering within was agonizingly self-evident.

The two men who had pulled her back now retreated to their original positions.

The Staff Sergeant fixed her with a stern, warning gaze, while the other soldier simply sank back to the ground in silence.

She struggled to her feet, a heavy, laborious movement, then slumped onto the cot, her head bowed as if her very soul had been wrenched from her body.

Her disheveled hair fell forward, obscuring her vision entirely.

It was as though her spirit remained tethered to the firing position outside, perpetually gazing back towards the devastated rear.

This was the first occasion the war had directly impacted those she held dear, the first time she truly comprehended the profound anguish endured by civilians caught in its merciless grip.

Was this the agonizing sensation of knowing friends and family were being relentlessly pummeled by high-explosive shells? Was the grief of losing cherished companions truly so unbearable…?

A little over ten minutes later, the artillery fire gradually subsided.

The Staff Sergeant promptly herded all the soldiers out of the trench, ordering them to man their firing positions and remain vigilant for any potential offensive.

Lin Yu, too, was assigned a post, where she braced her rifle within the small, curtained alcove she had fashioned, maintaining a vigilant watch outwards.

Due to her inadequate height, she was forced to stand atop her cot, allowing her to rest the barrel of her rifle precariously on the sandbags lining the firing port.

The unyielding rifle stock pressed cold against her cheek, the icy trigger met her trembling fingertips, and through the rear sight, her sorrow-laden brown eyes strained to pierce the impenetrable darkness ahead.

Her gaze encompassed nothing but barbed wire and an absolute blackness, while the only sound that registered was the ragged rhythm of her own heavy breathing.

The crosshairs offered an empty tableau: no living creature, no discernible movement, and certainly no Lanforthians mounting a charge.

This, in fact, was the expected outcome; not a single shell had impacted the front-line trenches, leaving their defensive and vigilance forces utterly unscathed.

If the Lanforthians were to launch an assault at this very moment, even without the assistance of flares, the Diacla army could effortlessly pick off the red-clad Lanforthians, one by one, like hunters stalking turkeys.

Just as the Diacla army’s previous white uniforms had been glaringly conspicuous, the Lanforthian army’s vibrant red attire offered equally little in the way of concealment.

Gripping her rifle, she stared intently into the oppressive darkness, desperately seeking to conjure courage from its depths.

Alas, the stark truth was that she possessed neither the fortitude to fire her weapon nor the audacity to flee.

Trembling with an pervasive dread, she simply waited for everything to conclude, for the Staff Sergeant to grant her permission to return to the logistics zone, for the agonizing moment when she would personally witness the fate of those she knew.

“Are you afraid?”

She lifted her head, her grip on the rifle loosening imperceptibly, and turned to face the young man who shared her cramped firing port.

The young man maintained a flawless firing posture, his left eye tightly shut, his right wide and unwavering.

His face remained utterly devoid of expression, as though the question had never passed his lips.

“What…?”

“If fear grips you, simply join me in silently intoning, ‘For His Majesty.’ Once you’ve surrendered your entire being to the Emperor, there remains nothing left to dread.”

“What in the world are you rambling about now…?”

The ‘Idiot Gentleman,’ ever the purveyor of his peculiar brand of right-wing humor, continued, “For my entire being is consecrated to His Imperial Majesty, and to perish on the battlefield in His service would be an unparalleled honor.”

“I would never squander my life on such utter futility!” Lin Yu retorted, her voice tight with indignation, her teeth practically grinding as she bit down hard on her lip.

“Then where do you intend to expend your life? To whom does your entire being truly belong? And in what tangible form is your loyalty to His Majesty manifested?”

He uttered, quite uncharacteristically, a few words that held an unexpected kernel of logic.

“Regardless of whose cause you champion on this battlefield, if you still harbor a profound fear of death, it serves as undeniable proof that your mind and spirit have yet to fully surrender to him.”

Lin Yu couldn’t help but feel as though he had been possessed, his transformation from an ‘idiot’ to a right-wing philosopher occurring with disorienting suddenness.

Staring intently at his profile, fixed steadfastly on the front, Lin Yu pressed her counter-argument: “My mind and spirit have never belonged to anyone, nor do I tremble from a fear of death.

My dread stems from the possibility of Nangong and my mentors perishing in the bombardment, from the prospect of all those I know falling victim to this war.”

“I fear that the Diacla Emperor will utterly ruin my entire life—”

Such overtly disrespectful remarks, surprisingly, garnered no attention at this moment.

Everyone was too engrossed, staring intently into the pitch-black void before them, with no time to act as Imperial Guards and apprehend this minor blasphemer.

Frankly, it was the Lanforthian shells that were truly ruining her life, yet in her mind, she had now attributed this calamity to the Emperor who initiated the war.

“Therefore, we must diligently fulfill our duties, give our utmost, and bring this war to a swift and victorious conclusion.

Only by defeating the Lanforthians will your friends be spared from death.”

A flare ascended from the rear, casting a stark, pallid light upon the scarred earth.

The barbed wire fences cast monstrous shadows, and the no-man’s-land beyond lay utterly silent.

Speechless and choked with emotion, she realized the night ahead was still long.

So long, in fact, that she could never foresee its end.