—The most civilized power is destined to breed the most barbaric of faiths.
The lieutenant was unceremoniously shoved into a Republic car, secured in the back seat as if he were being paraded through the streets. He found himself unable to condemn their impudence. After all, Xuanji Star had been the first to blatantly disregard the ‘Valois Prisoner of War Convention,’ and Vega was merely mirroring those very actions. Besides, Vega had only bound him and secured him in the back seat—a fate considerably more lenient than anything Xuanji Star had inflicted.
The lieutenant had no idea where the Republic car was destined. Most likely, it was carrying him to face judgment, though the venue remained a mystery. Perhaps a war crimes tribunal, or perhaps a swift execution in a roadside ditch—a fate Xuanji Star often meted out, where one might even be forced to dig their own grave.
The city, it was safe to say, lay in utter devastation. Buildings were almost entirely demolished, leaving behind only towering, broken walls, devoid of even the dubious value of being labeled ‘unsafe structures.’ The roads were a treacherous expanse of potholes, scattered rubble, and makeshift barricades. Everywhere he looked, the acrid smoke of battle still clung to the air, while the sun above blazed with an unrelenting, blinding intensity.
Vega soldiers traversed the streets in abundance, and a notable portion of them were women, comprising at least a fifth, if not a quarter, of their ranks.
Given the superior physical prowess of players, both male and female were generally capable of combat. Old folk, however, presented a different scenario. Even when conscripted, it was predominantly male old folk who were called to arms. Female old folk, if conscripted at all, were relegated to logistical roles: archival management, driving, medical assistance, or operating searchlights—strictly non-combat positions. The stark contrast in treatment between female players and female old folk stemmed primarily from the fact that female players possessed physical attributes largely comparable to their male counterparts. Furthermore, they exhibited physiological traits markedly different from female old folk; in essence, they were not subject to menstrual cycles, enabling them to engage in high-intensity combat year-round.
Conversely, female old folk generally possessed physical constitutions inferior to male old folk, making it challenging for them to perform heavy physical labor with the same ease. This disparity was rooted in physiological differences, including unavoidable biological cycles, and was not a subjective discrimination born of patriarchy. Indeed, for the fundamental demands of total war, the Academy of Sciences would have eagerly seen every woman charge into battle alongside men. Yet, reality was unyielding, making such an aspiration impossible to achieve…
Moreover, the vital production work in the rear still required dedicated hands. Deploying as many men as possible to the front lines already pushed the Academy of Sciences to its absolute limit. If even women were to be sent into combat, who would then shoulder the crucial responsibility of maintaining production behind the lines? This, of course, also encompassed the myriad tasks of bearing, nurturing, and educating the next generation, given that men, after all, could not bear children. War inevitably inflicted severe demographic losses, and thus, women remaining behind the lines offered substantial aid to future population recovery. This was not a matter of discrimination against women, but rather an objective reality confronted by the Academy of Sciences, and indeed, throughout the entire history of human warfare.
Vega, however, presented a starkly different reality…
The lieutenant observed that numerous women within the Vega army were actively engaged in combat duties. This diverged sharply from the Vega auxiliary troops encountered at the war’s outset, who were, at best, students or volunteers ‘working part-time to gain experience’ within the ranks, and their numbers had been relatively small. As the war dragged on, the proportion of women in the Vega army steadily increased, and their responsibilities gradually converged with those traditionally held by men—a grim evolution, all thanks to the horrific massacres perpetrated by Xuanji Star…
The lieutenant had long held the conviction that war, in itself, possessed no inherent right or wrong; only its ultimate outcome could truly validate or condemn its origins. In simpler terms: ‘the victor writes the history, the vanquished endures it.’ Only the victors possessed the privilege of writing history. While this might seem inherently unfair, and detractors would argue such narratives invariably favored the triumphant, should history truly be penned by the vanquished instead? Those who voiced such objections rarely paused to consider the very reasons that allowed the victors to emerge victorious…
The lieutenant found himself sinking into contemplation…
‘Did the victors embody universal truth? Or was it merely because they had slaughtered more?’
Now, reflecting upon it, the very assertion ‘war has no right or wrong’ seemed to crumble under scrutiny… Especially amidst these desolate, war-scarred ruins, it felt utterly impossible to voice the sentiment ‘war has no right or wrong’ to any of the people he passed.
Occasionally, the female soldiers would cast sidelong glances at the passing Republic car, their eyes invariably settling on the lieutenant in the back seat. The uniform worn by this Xuanji Star officer, his lower face a grotesque ruin, seemed to blaze with an almost offensive brightness in that moment. As the Republic car proceeded down the street, carried on the bracing wind, the lieutenant even overheard the words of a limping female soldier, leaning heavily on another for support.
“—Even Xuanji Star’s lackeys get to ride in a Republic car, yet we must hobble to the hospital on foot…”
The lieutenant remained silent, a prisoner of war with no agency over his own grim circumstances.
The Republic car continued its journey along the river, where a column of Xuanji Star prisoners of war was being marched forward under escort. Their faces were etched with profound exhaustion, their tattered uniforms caked with dust. Many bore bruised and bloodied visages, likely the result of beatings from enraged Vega soldiers. Dragons were embroidered on their cuffs, dragons on their collars, and even their armbands bore the fierce imagery of dragons… Yet, these symbols, so profoundly sacred on Xuanji Star, offered not a shred of comfort or assistance in their present, wretched circumstances. The once arrogant and indomitable Xuanji Star soldiers, when unarmed and confronted by Vega’s firearms and bayonets, could only bow their proud heads. They were driven forward dejectedly, like roosters vanquished in a duel or eggplants withered by frost, resembling nothing so much as farmers herding their livestock…
Such a scene was far from unprecedented; it had been ubiquitous when Xuanji Star launched its initial assault on Vega. Now, however, the positions were simply inverted: those who had once stood above all others were now reduced to common prisoners. At the war’s inception, who could have possibly envisioned a day when Xuanji Star would suffer such a relentless string of defeats? Just as no one had anticipated Southern Dipper Star’s unwavering resistance against Xuanji Star, continually orchestrating large-scale engagements on the southern front to relieve pressure on Vega, thereby compelling Xuanji Star to repeatedly divert forces to reinforce that southern theater… This, ultimately, had led to their crushing defeat at Cloud Mountain Peninsula… Even with Southern Dipper Star shouldering part of the immense pressure, Vega had paid an exceptionally heavy price to reclaim Cloud Mountain Peninsula…
The Xuanji Star prisoners of war occasionally cast sidelong glances at the lieutenant, yet after a brief look, their eyes would invariably return to the path beneath their feet. Perhaps a flicker of bewilderment crossed their minds, wondering why the lieutenant enjoyed the privilege of a Republic car, but just as swiftly, they dismissed it with the resigned thought: ‘What concern is it of ours? All officials across the world are the same…’
It appeared they were about to turn right, which would entail a detour around the ruins up ahead, leading them in the direction of Heting City’s southern districts. As the vehicle decelerated and rounded the ruins, the lieutenant’s ears were assailed by heart-wrenching wails of lament.
“—Мать! Мать!”
He cast a sidelong glance towards the ruins, where two girls in military uniforms were frantically digging through the rubble for bodies with their bare hands. Their hands were already shredded by the debris, palms and backs alike caked with blood. One of them bore distinct features of alien descent, while the other appeared to be of the Blaze Clan, looking no older than seventeen or eighteen—an age when she should have been attending school.
Clutching a severed hand they had unearthed from the debris, they collapsed onto the ruins, weeping inconsolably and attempting to comfort one another. The lieutenant couldn’t comprehend their words, but the anguished cry of ‘Mama’ resonated clearly—a sound universally understood across the world. Even for those of alien descent, whom Xuanji Star deemed to have committed monstrous crimes against the Blaze Clan, their profound sorrow for their lost kin was no less potent than that of the Blaze Clan, who prided themselves on being a land of benevolence and righteousness…
The girls looked up, their gazes catching the Republic car as it passed, then falling upon the column of Xuanji Star prisoners marching in its wake. The Blaze Clan girl instantly surged to her feet, scrambling down from the ruins. She seized the leading Xuanji Star officer among the captives, kicked him to the ground, and then swiftly drew her pistol.
“—Сестра, перестань!”
The alien girl quickly followed, seizing the Blaze Clan girl and wrestling the pistol from her grasp. Nearby Vega soldiers immediately intervened, pulling the two girls apart.
“—Stop! Do you wish to repeat the incident with the 29th Division from a few days ago?”
The lieutenant failed to grasp the meaning. ‘What happened with the 29th Division a few days ago?’ He knew only that Vega’s 29th Division had been among the forces spearheading the current assault on Heting, but how could that possibly concern him…?
As the Republic car rounded the ruins, the lieutenant turned his head to the other side, enabling him to continue observing the unfolding scene by the river. The prisoners resumed their march, while the Blaze Clan girl, having thrust the pistol back into the alien girl’s hand, broke free from the restraining soldiers. She surged to the very front of the captive column, blocking their path, and pointed fiercely at the ruins she had been excavating, her voice rising to a furious shout.
“—Look at what you devils have wrought! Look at these ruins! This was our home! Look at the corpse on the ground—that is our mother!”
The soldiers escorting the prisoners began to quicken their pace, intending to restrain her. Yet, upon hearing her impassioned words and observing that she held no weapon, their steps involuntarily slowed. The prisoners stood frozen, watching her, listening to every word she shrieked—a raw, guttural roar erupting from the very depths of hell.
“—Remember this! Remember! When we reach Xuanji Star, we will transform every single one of your cities into ruins just like these! We will turn all your loved ones into corpses upon the ground! We will fill every mountain gully with your bodies, and drain every river with your blood! We have no tears left! Vega has no tears left! We will rip out everything you cherish by its very roots! We will drag all your pride and your perceived greatness from its hallowed altars! We will utterly annihilate your homes and your nation! And reduce them all to ashes!”
The escorting soldiers finally restrained the girl, and the prisoners resumed their march. She continued to shriek hoarsely at the retreating prisoners, as if determined to purge every last ounce of grief from her ravaged heart.
“—Thirty million! Thirty million!! Thirty million!!!”
The lieutenant remained utterly silent. He simply watched, transfixed, as a homeless child hurled a deafening, earth-shattering judgment at the perpetrators who had visited every conceivable suffering upon her.
Thirty million…
Everything around him seemed to fall into an unnatural quiet, a profound stillness, yet one insistent sound stubbornly refused to vanish. The Republic car continued its relentless journey, pressing onward into an unknown distance.
Throughout this war, the lieutenant had borne witness to countless human tragedies, and each time, he had observed them with a detached calm, attributing them to the objective unfolding of events.
Thirty million…
But now, he found he no longer wished to see… nor wished to hear… yet the relentless sound stubbornly refused to recede… He dimly realized that he could no longer view everything before him with his former detachment; his heart was no longer calm. He simply longed to be judged as quickly as possible, and then to die—just like the soldiers he himself had once condemned.
Thirty million…
The lieutenant slowly closed his eyes, his consciousness receding into an endless darkness, yet the sound persisted, unabated. The road to judgment, it seemed… would never truly end.