Inside a forest outside Sicar…
A thick layer of snow blanketed the icy land, like the hard-as-iron icy land was granted a suit of armor. The leaves of the pine trees were sharp, like small little daggers, poking and cutting anyone who walked through.
Every year, there would be one or two unlucky bastards in the patrol team who suffered cuts and from there, the team would grow rapidly.
Carl was the unlucky one back in his days.
During his first patrol, he rejected his captain's offer to wear a thick gunny mantle, insisting on wearing his own armor, therefore the body parts which his armor couldn't cover were all poked and cut into a bloody state.
As for the parts the armor covered, they weren't any better either.
