Returning to the familiar grassy expanse to resume her grand endeavor of slacking off, Lin Yu righteously succumbed to slumber.
It was all the fault of the magic stones and their mana; her drowsiness stemmed from physical discomfort, not from a poor night’s sleep, and the Lanforthians were entirely to blame.
This time, she wasn’t dreaming of iron pot stewed goose, having only recently finished breakfast, but was instead jolted awake by someone calling her name.
“Private Lin Yu!”
“Here!”
Hearing her rank and name shouted loudly beside her, Lin Yu immediately sat up from the grass, raising a hand to wipe the drool from the corner of her mouth. “Do you… do you need something from me…?”
In an instant, she grasped the dire situation she was in—caught red-handed in the act of her blissful loafing.
The officer before her was an absolute stranger, as were the civilians trailing behind him, making her utterly bewildered as to why such a peculiar group had approached her.
“Private Lin Yu, medic directly attached to the 224th Territorial Defense Brigade, that would be you, correct?”
A lengthy string of unfamiliar terms spilled from the officer’s mouth, his insignia clearly indicating a high rank, concluding with her own name.
At first blush, it sounded like the formal designation of Commander Yang’s front-line unit.
‘Wait, what in the world? I’m in another dimension now, so why is the Territorial Defense Brigade still hounding me?’
Dormant memories began to stir, assaulting her mind; she had never forgotten the enemy unit’s designation stationed on the battlefield the day she transmigrated, a designation that, in a cruel twist of fate, differed from Commander Yang’s unit by only a single character.
Beyond the uncanny resemblance in names, specifically “Territorial Defense Brigade,” Lin Yu was stunned by the word “Brigade” itself.
‘Good heavens… a perfectly respectable brigade-level unit, yet he managed to pad the payroll so egregiously that only a few hundred combat personnel remained; there was definitely a reason why the entire defensive line collapsed.’
“It’s me…” Sitting on the grass, Lin Yu nodded subtly, confirming her identity to the officer. “But, you…”
“You were quite hard to find,” the officer said, beckoning to her. “We asked our way from the front lines to the command post and then all the way here. If we hadn’t found you, we would have had to get someone to impersonate you.”
He and the two civilians turned to walk back, revealing a military convertible that had appeared on the grass at some point, leaving distinct tire tracks behind it.
Noticing Lin Yu hadn’t followed, he urged her in a low voice, “Come quickly.”
Lin Yu, looking utterly bewildered, climbed into the car; the driver and the officer occupied the front, leaving her to squeeze uncomfortably into the back with two burly men dressed as civilians.
What made her even more uneasy was the inexplicable summons itself: what matter was so critical that a Major—a rank Lin Yu deduced from the single four-pointed star on his collar, one less than Commander Yang’s—would come to the front lines alone, without guards, and accompanied by two civilians, merely to seek out a “Private Lin Yu” like herself?
The car started, moving with remarkable quietness across the grass, then turned around to enter a dirt road, where only its suspension creaked.
“Where are you taking me… I only slacked off for a bit, is it really that serious…?”
Her timid words drew a soft chuckle from the officer in the front seat. “Don’t be nervous; we’re not arresting you, we’re giving you a medal.”
“A medal?” She blinked her large brown eyes, utterly perplexed as to what she could possibly have done to merit such an award.
‘It couldn’t be a combat wound medal, could it? A brief period of unconsciousness hardly counts as a serious injury.’
“However, slacking off is also strictly forbidden in the military, so it’s best not to be caught by anyone else, especially during such a critical moment on the front lines.”
“But I haven’t done anything to deserve such a sudden medal… Wait, could it be…?”
Lin Yu recalled a significant accomplishment she had achieved: accompanying Yang Xi, they had, with a single decisive blow, annihilated thousands of Lanforthian artillery shells poised to rain down upon the left bank’s defenses.
“On November twenty-sixth, yesterday—no, the day before yesterday afternoon—you and a Private First Class attacked the Lanforthian heavy artillery shell depot, correct?”
The Major in the front seat recounted her meritorious deed, seemingly having also noted the contribution of that idiotic Private First Class.
“Yes… we destroyed an enemy ammunition storage point, creating a huge mushroom cloud.”
Nodding, she acknowledged her and that idiot’s moment of glory, then tilted her head back, awaiting the officer’s next words.
“Private Lin Yu, Private First Class Yang Xi, your names have already begun circulating within the military. Our purpose here is to mold you both into exemplary figures and combat heroes for the army, serving as a primary focus for military propaganda.”
‘It’s over.’
Her vision momentarily dimmed.
As the saying goes, ‘Man fears fame just as a pig fears getting fat’ (TL Note: A Chinese idiom meaning that becoming too prominent can attract trouble). If she were to become a widely known combat hero, she would likely be assigned even more arduous and intricate missions.
Furthermore, her carefully concealed magical talent might be discovered by keen-eyed individuals, just as Nangong had found her out.
She would then be dragged to the medical station, forced to become a human machine, daily imbibing mana potions and tirelessly casting healing spells.
“Could I…?” she cautiously addressed the Major in front of her, her voice laced with pleading. “Could you possibly not publicize my deeds? I simply wish to be an ordinary medic, fulfilling my duty of healing and saving lives, without having to consider so much else.”
A medic only needed to heal and save lives in the tents at the rear, Nangong had told her, and she had firmly believed it.
Even though she had endured confinement, accusations of treason, heavy artillery bombardments, and bayonet charges, she still clung to the belief that one day she would work in a hospital far behind the front lines.
She longed to be free from the chaos of mingling with the grunt soldiers on the front, constantly worrying if a shell might fall from above, sending her to another transmigration.
‘Was it wrong to seek a tranquil retirement in a war-torn alternate world?’
Lin Yu couldn’t fathom the answer to that question, yet she knew deep down that if she were publicized as a combat hero, she would never escape the very essence of “combat.”
She wasn’t some ace pilot who could accumulate enough merits to comfortably become an instructor in the rear. Given Diacla’s current system and military ethos, it would likely embody the utter lack of ethics of the former British Empire (TL Note: A sarcastic or critical reference to the British Empire, implying a ruthless exploitation of resources and personnel.)—using capable individuals until they were utterly spent.
The exhausted face of the medical company commander, looking as if he might drop dead at any moment, flashed before her eyes; she would soon follow in his footsteps, becoming a healing mage reliant on constant potions.
“Well said,” the officer replied, “Everyone has their duties. Yours is to heal and save lives; mine is to handle public relations.”
With those words, it became clear he had no intention of granting Lin Yu’s request.
“Let’s reintroduce ourselves, Private. I am Major Liu Kaiqi, Deputy Director of the Diacla Empire Army’s Propaganda Department and its Press Spokesperson. These two gentlemen are reporters, responsible for photography and writing articles. Please cooperate with their work shortly, take some pictures, and share your thoughts.”
‘It seems I’ve caught the attention of a rather influential officer… and there appears to be no room for resistance.’
‘Was this truly a bad thing?’
‘It all depends on the bonus accompanying the medal; if it’s merely a pittance, then becoming famous is definitely a bad omen. But if it’s thousands or tens of thousands of coins, then a little notoriety might just be worth it.’
The car continued eastward, nearly circling the small hills of the right bank, finally stopping beside an open field where several individuals were already waiting.
As the occupants opened their doors and disembarked, Lin Yu was finally freed from the awkward predicament of being squeezed between them.
“The second protagonist has been found. How are things on your end?”
“The clothes are already changed; we’re just waiting for photos and interviews.”
“Alright, step back and let the reporters take a joint photo of them.”
The figure surrounded by several soldiers was none other than the other “combat hero” mentioned by Commander Yang—the idiot who had pestered Lin Yu for days, and the Yang Xi who had saved her on multiple occasions.