86 - Volume 10 - Chapter 1.7

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The Thirty-Fifth Sector’s first defensive unit, the Halberd squadron, never returned from that dispatch.

But that was an ordinary occurrence in the Eighty-Sixth Sector. The hangar stood empty and hollow, with all the Juggernauts it housed just a day ago now gone. Looking around the barren, vacant hangar, Guren sighed heavily.

What he wouldn’t give for a smoke right about now. Especially at times like these. But of course, this being a battlefield for humanoid pigs, no one delivered those kinds of goods here.

This was a battlefield of certain death. The Eighty-Six’s only lot in life was to fight and die. So at this point, seeing others die shouldn’t even be painful anymore. It felt like a foregone conclusion. At least, it did to the big, proud Alba safely behind the walls.

Sliding along the pillar he was leaning against, he sank to the concrete floor.

“God fucking dammit…”

Back when the war first started, he would sit in front of all the maintenance records, tormenting himself over if he and his crew had made some kind of mistake. But he’d stopped by now. And he’d long since given up on trying to come up with some kind of modification that might make those aluminum coffins any safer.

Back then, he couldn’t help but ask himself if there wasn’t anything more he could do to help those who died… If, perhaps, they could have changed things. But no longer.

There was no such thing he could ever do. He’d realized that by now. After seeing all those deaths, all those bodies piled up before him with such offhanded ease, it’d driven that realization into his heart like a stake.

We are powerless. We don’t have the strength to overturn even one iota of this fate forced upon us. And the Eighty-Six, being the inhuman lowlifes that they are, aren’t allowed to so much as have the privilege of thinking they can.

Hearing the fidgety footsteps of a pair of safety boots, the maintenance-team members sluggishly raised their heads. Their faces were unshaven from when they’d realized no one was coming back that morning. One of the crew members ran into the hangar from the entrance leading to the barracks.

“Guren,” he said.

“What do you want…? There’s nothing left to be flustered about, is there?”

The crew member was clearly out of breath, and he looked utterly bewildered. After struggling to speak through his labored breaths, he finally said it.

“—One of them just came back.”

Guren widened his eyes in disbelief.

The Juggernaut’s canopy was badly assembled, and even when closed, it left a small gap along the unit’s body. But even so, that gap would disappear if the canopy was to be crushed into place. Apparently, the juggernaut kept moving even after its power pack ran aground and the combat was over.

As the falling snow melted against the unit, Guren picked up a metal rod and thrust it into the small gap that just barely remained in the canopy. Using it as leverage, he forced the canopy open.

And upon peering inside…he gulped faintly.

“…Captain.”

Just as it’d risen in the east, shining brilliantly in stubborn defiance of the maintenance crew’s emotions, the sun went on to selfishly set in the western sky. The gloaming’s light was a dark crimson as a shadow crept across the snowy field, illuminated by the evening glow.

He trod through the snow that had built up in the night, seemingly unaware of Guren and the rest of the maintenance crew hurrying over to him.

The Juggernaut was sluggish compared with other Feldreß, but it was still faster than a human, to say nothing of a prepubescent boy. A whole day and night had passed since he’d sortied. And during that time, he’d been marching nonstop, likely forgoing sleep. He’d sneaked past the prowling Legion, dragging his exhausted body all the while.

His camouflage uniform was too big for his short limbs. His black hair and azure scarf were moist from the snow. And most striking of all were those bloodred eyes, which stood out even in the gloaming’s crimson glow.

“Nouzen…”

But none of them approached him. Everyone, Guren included, was fixed in place as they watched him with breaths held.

At the sound of that voice, Shin stopped and looked up. He’d been looking down at a round object he was carrying cradled against his bloodstained chest.

It was covered in a cloth that was red with discolored blood. Only half of its beautiful features remained, but the size of it made it clear what it was.

It was one half of Alice’s head.

“…!”

It was a sight that made Guren doubt the boy’s sanity, but his bloodred eyes showed no signs of madness. Quite the contrary, in fact. They were clear to an almost cruel extent. His lips were pursed, like he was holding back rage, but his cheeks, dirty as they were from dust and blood, were dry of tears.

But when he settled his emaciated eyes on Guren, it felt like his gaze softened somewhat with relief. Even so, Guren and the others couldn’t move. They were probably wondering how and why, but his reasoning wasn’t that difficult to intuit.

The human body was heavy. And though she was a girl, she was tall and the oldest of the group, which only made her heavier. Shin, small as he was, couldn’t possibly carry the weight of an entire person. And after a battle with the Legion, her body was likely in no condition to be transported anyway.

So at the very least, he had to bring back a part of her. Since he couldn’t return with her entire body, he probably thought he could at least return her severed head.

That wasn’t an idea a sane mind could come up with. It was a product of the mind-numbing madness of the battlefield. But at its core was nothing but the kindness of a boy who wanted to bring a friend home. And so the truth was…

Guren found himself unintentionally gritting his teeth.

The truth was they ought to praise him. Good on you for at least bringing Alice back, they should’ve told him, you really do care for your squad mates. They should’ve thanked him, commended him for what he did.

If we… If I… If Shin… If Alice… If the Eighty-Six were at least human…

Dammit. Guren looked up to the sky. God, oh, God… Just what…?

What sin did we commit…? Why do we have to say this to him…?

“Nouzen, you…can’t do that.”

Shin blinked his bloodred eyes in a way that seemed almost inappropriately childish. His expression showed that he clearly didn’t understand what Guren was talking about. But Guren looked down at him and continued speaking.

Guren’s words were ruthless. Words that went against both common sense and human decency. But this was one thing he couldn’t allow.

Shin survived, all alone. He survived, even if he was the only one to do so. And so Guren couldn’t let him die after this.

“Alice can’t come back to the base like…that. We can’t collect the Eighty-Six’s bodies. You know that already. The Eighty-Six have no graves…and we aren’t allowed to dig them any.”

This was the humanitarian, progressive battlefield with zero casualties that the Republic took so much pride in. And the Republic wouldn’t let anyone or anything shatter its facade of infallibility. Casualties that don’t exist can’t have graves. They can’t dig graves for someone who never died—at least as far as the documents are concerned. And so…

“So you can’t do that. We can’t let you bring Alice back to base.”

“…”

He blinked his bloodred eyes. In confusion. In bewilderment. Guren grit his teeth as he watched him. Yes, he could tell. Shin was hanging on to his sanity by a thread. All his squad mates—all the friends he’d lived with, even if only for a few months—had died before his eyes in the space of a single night. Murdered in a ruthless, one-sided atrocity.

How could he remain sane? Going mad felt like the natural course of action. And as he teetered on the edge of insanity, he could only cling to the duty of returning his comrades home. He could only try to protect his mind by clinging to his human ethics.

“…But—”

“No buts… You remember what Alice told you, right? You even made a promise. She didn’t say that because you don’t leave bodies behind; it’s because you can’t bury anyone, regardless of if they leave those bodies behind or not… It’s because the most anyone can do is leave their names behind.”

His bloodred eyes widened.

Let’s make a promise, everyone. We’ll carve the names of those who died on their units’ fragments and have the ones who survive carry them.

That way, the ones who survive until the very end can bring everyone else along with them to their final destination.

That’s right. He finally understood why Alice…why Processors who survived for years in the Eighty-Sixth Sector would say that. Even if they fight to the death, they’ll never have a grave marker. And so that promise was the last bit of consolation in the face of that fate. There was no greater salvation they could hope for, and they would get nothing better.

But he still shook his head slowly. Was it denial or rejection, or…?

“Even so…there’s no reason we shouldn’t do it just because they said we can’t. We don’t have to listen to what the Republic citizens who aren’t even here would say—”

“We can’t,” Guren said, gritting his teeth.

“But—”

Why won’t this brat listen? He still has no idea…no inkling of the sheer malice of the Eighty-Sixth Sector. He won’t even try to understand the pain of those who have to say these things!

“We can’t because we can’t! If we start going against what they say and dig graves, and the Republic finds out about it, what do you think the white pigs will do?! They’ll kill you, that’s what! Even Processor kids like you!”

The Republic’s citizens might have shut themselves behind the walls, but that didn’t mean they never went out to the battlefield. They delivered supplies to the Processors and recorded unit assignments. The soldiers came all the way out to the Eighty-Sixth Sector to perform those duties.

And even the garbage collectors, the Scavengers—those were made by the Republic, too. Who’s to say they didn’t have some kind of surveillance device? Who knew where the white pigs had eyes, and if they somehow happened to find a forbidden grave, it was clear what might happen.

“They won’t kill maintenance-crew members like us because they can’t replace us, You’re the only ones they’ll dispose of. And not just the ones who dug the graves—they’ll take out the whole unit! You get that? If anyone digs a grave and it’s discovered, the Republic will kill every single kid assigned to this unit! Everyone! And it’ll all be your fault!”

For a moment, Shin’s crimson eyes widened and froze over, like he’d just been struck by lightning. Guren was taken aback by his excessive reaction and fell silent.

For a second, it seemed like his red eyes weren’t looking at Guren anymore, but at something else far, far away. At some subject of fear and obsession and impetus and even deep-seated emotions of self-condemnation and penance.

But in the next moment, Shin hung his head and took a step back, as if to hide the terror in his frozen eyes. And with his gaze to the floor, he whispered in a fading voice.

“…I’m sorry.”

Guren shook his head. He’d gone too far, and Shin had nothing to apologize for. The truth was that Shin did the correct, human thing to do. But neither Shin, nor Alice, nor Guren, nor anyone here was human. That was all.

“…Nouzen.”

Guren approached him, but Shin drew away, as if to protect Alice in his arms. His expression stiffened as pain flooded his red eyes. He couldn’t look Guren in the face.

“I’m not throwing her away,” said Guren. “I’ll be returning her to the earth… Not to the battlefield—I can’t go that far, but I’ll bury her somewhere far from here.”

Even so, this was the Eighty-Sixth Sector, and the Legion could be anywhere. It was a reckless act, but Guren didn’t say that.

“…”

“I’ll handle the rest… You did good making it back here.”

He reached out and picked up the bundle of Alice’s remains. This time, Shin didn’t resist.

“…Whoa, there.”

The moment the weight left Shin’s hands, all the tension drained from his body. The boy staggered, and Guren caught him with one hand. Apparently, he’d gone unconscious… Both the exhaustion and the mental strain had pushed him way past the limit.

“Guren.” One of the crew hurried over to him.

“Sorry, can you handle him? Let him rest, at least for today.”

Leaving Shin with the crew member, Guren walked into the east as the darkness of the dusk settled over the sky like a curtain. He carried with him Alice’s silent, unliving remains. It occurred to him, at that moment, that Shin hadn’t shed a single tear.

He somehow slipped past the Legion’s patrol lines and reached the ruins of a church, where he buried Alice’s remains in a rose garden.

“You’re finally on the side of those who leave others behind, aren’t you, Alice?”

There was so little left of Alice; the hole he’d dug for her was small. And with the snowfall of winter, there were no flowers he could offer her. But the Eighty-Six had no graves to begin with. Alice knew that well enough.

“Leaving a small kid like him all on his own…? You’re one awful woman, you know that?”

All Processors are awful in that way, honestly.

Every six months, when a squadron’s term ends, or whenever one is wiped out, the unit gets dissolved and reorganized. Now that the Halberd squadron had been annihilated, with the exception of Shin, its members would be completely replaced by new ones, while Shin would be assigned to a new squadron.

Guren saw Shin off as a transport plane full of soldiers in Prussian blue uniforms landed to ferry the boy over the minefields to his next ward. Cradled in the boy’s arms was a bundle of cloth. He carried it just like he had with Alice’s head before, but this time, it was full of metal shards. Upon seeing it, Guren parted his lips.

“Nouzen, that’s—”

“I was the last one to survive,” he replied, his voice stiff and blunt.

Shin had refused to look at Guren since. He hadn’t said a word to any of the maintenance crew since he’d come back from the battlefield. It felt like he was avoiding the living, like he didn’t have the time to bother with them.

Like he was instead using that time to face and commit his deceased squad mates to memory. The bundle he carried contained the metallic fragments that had the names of his twenty-three dead squad mates etched onto them. A cold wind mixed with snow drifted through the battlefield, rustling the azure scarf around his neck.

The last memory and memento of Alice, rich with her feelings.

For a moment, his bloodred eyes, which refused to look at Guren, felt like they contorted in grief. Bitterly and helplessly. But even so, Shin still wouldn’t shed a tear.

“I made a promise with Captain Araish and the rest of the squadron. A promise between me and everyone who died. So I’ll take all of them…to my final destination.”