It was his first battle.

He didn't actually participate. He was forced to stay at the camp while his comrades were engaged in the fight, but well… someone had to be the one cooking the meals and tending to the stables. That person just happened to be him. His fellow soldiers put him in charge of it because of the great amount of trust between them.

To guard the camp alone took a lot of bravery– more bravery than his comrades even!

That was what he told himself but the courage he had been so proud to boast was nowhere to be seen right now.

His fingers hesitated as he pointed the end of the barrel at the enemy's head.

When the war first broke out a decade ago, the Elam Empire was but a young doe trying to stand on its hind legs. Landlocked between larger and more powerful territories, its fields were stepped through and fought on each time the other empires clashed. Its men were killed and its women, if they were lucky to survive, were taken as slaves.

War was a disease that wrought the small nation with terror. Wherever war spread, death followed and sadness grew.

It was a time of darkness for Elam. Even when the sun shone, its people were chained by a gloomed depression.

… However, should it be known, night never reigns forever. When it seemed like all hope was lost, a ray of shine peaked through the meadows and warmed the skin of the nation.

A mercenary group, dubbed Sasin, joined the front lines of battle. They were mere commoners, banding together to protect their families and homes. Without proper training, supply, or funds, their survival chances had looked slim; their spouses attempted to dissuade their efforts.

But should luck exist, or maybe it all relied on the pure, animalistic instinct of wanting to live, Sasin did not perish. They swayed tides wherever they set their feet, and at long last, the fight that seemed not in their favor began to tilt.

It didn't take long for the emperor to recruit the mercenaries into the imperial army, and though it came with a lot of backlash, in the end, it felt like the right decision.

Back then, the Elam Empire would throw elaborate parades to welcome them back from battle. The streets filled with people pushing and shoving, all to catch the tiniest glimpse of the victorious soldiers marching past. Children would even scale their parents' shoulders while confetti fell from the sky onto the walkway.

Indeed, there was once a time like that.

Now, ten years later, the people had grown bored of celebrating victory.

In spite of never having lost a single battle, the war still continued to rage. The nation learned to adapt, eventually forgetting the fears of bloodshed that formerly held them captive; they were sure as long as Sasin stood, they would not fall.

And the timid soldier was the newest recruit of that legendary army. He couldn't let them down no matter what. His pride and the years he'd spent as their fanatic supporter would not allow for it.

It'd been a while since Sasin returned from battle. With them, they brought back a few hostages to question, however, as there was no further information to obtain, this lone soldier was tasked with ridding them. Or in more comprehensive words, he was ordered to kill them.

Was he really supposed to do this? He'd never taken a life before. Especially not one that was just… there. When he was still just a trainee, he imagined a thousand times what it would feel like to kill the enemy– how it would feel to be a real soldier.

This was not it.

The men who'd just returned from the grips of death were celebrating– drinking, bathing, sleeping, whatever. All he knew was that they were certainly not paying attention to him. No one was going to help him do this.

He gulped then re-aimed his gun, closing his eyes.

"Just shoot. Yeah, just keep your eyes closed and shoot. They can't move anyways. You won't miss." Those were his thoughts.

Yet the moment he built the strength to do so, he was suddenly interfered.

"Don't waste your bullets on them," came an unfittingly sweet voice for the battlegrounds.

The timid soldier shot an uncertain look. "T-then..?"

With her palms clasped behind her back, a maiden girl- probably no older than 20 years old- walked behind a kneeling hostage before kicking him hard. His body limply fell forward and the man whimpered every time the crunch of her boots leisurely stepped nearer... and nearer.

One sole of those same boots settled gently on the back of his head. She looked down at the hostage with an unexcited gaze-- not like she was bored or apologetic about the situation. Rather, she seemed indifferent to it all, like their existence did not mean much to her one way or another.

Still, for a dying man, her tone was nice to hear when she said, "If you don't wish to die while suffering, close your eyes and bite the curb."

Then, that thick boot slammed against his skull. Within a single second, blood had splattered everywhere.

"G-General!"

Mil turned toward her subordinate. Tilting her head, her gaze traveled from the wisps of his hair to the bottom of his polished shoes. As if discontent with the image she saw, the general pursed her lips.

After tying news of their victory onto a messenger bird, Mil had left her tent with the intent to grab a quick round of drinks with her boys. Being their commander, it was naturally the dutiful thing to do. However, coming across the spectacle displayed by this wimpy, little soldier… what a fucking sight to behold.

She leaned one leg out and hooked it around the back of the next hostage's neck. "Hm..? Is this perhaps a little too inhumane?"

Kkak!

A hot spurt of liquid splashed against her jaw. Shame– since she just finished washing up.

The girl confronted the soldier once more. An apathetic expression remained unchanged across her face. "Finish up the rest of the work here. I won't be doing a body count but know that your corpse will be added if you cannot even complete this simple task by daybreak."

With that, she turned her back and departed, leaving only a trail of blood with every step.