The war began over a patch of land most people had never even heard of.
A rugged region, rumored to hold resources so rare they could fuel the creation of weapons no army could stand against.
Whoever claimed it… would dominate the continent.
So the Federation of Ostwald and the Kingdom of Virelia went to war.
And the killing never stopped.
I've been a front-line medic for three months.
Long enough to see things no one should—
Men with half their bodies gone.
Faces burned and mangled until they were barely human.
And somehow… I got used to it.
Then I was transferred to Unit 8.
That's when I first saw him.
An expression as still as ice.
Eyes sharp enough to cut.
His name was Myro`s.
Officially, just a chief soldier.
Our orders: defend the northern front—Region IV—from a Virelian assault.
At 04:00, the first explosions shattered the morning silence.
Winter's bite clawed through our coats as the fighting began.
The dead piled up day after day.
Reinforcements thinned to almost nothing.
I saw exhaustion written across every face in the trench.
Every face but his.
Myro`s never looked tired.
Not once.
And that… was the part that scared me the most.
---
Snow drifted lazily in the early morning light.
Through the fog of gunpowder, Myro`s knelt in the trench, calmly feeding rounds into his rifle.
"Hey, Myro`s, what are you doing?"
"Attacking from the front."
"…What? We barely have ammunition, and our gear's—"
He didn't wait for me to finish.
He rose, slung his rifle forward, and climbed out of the trench like the bullets didn't exist.
The first burst of enemy fire cracked overhead.
He didn't duck.
Didn't flinch.
I cursed under my breath and scrambled after him.
The world narrowed into the thud of boots against frozen soil.
The sharp exhale of his breath in the cold.
Then—
BANG.
A soldier fell.
BANG. BANG.
Two more.
Every movement was clean, efficient, almost rehearsed.
No wasted motion. No hesitation.
(They're low on ammo too… just like us.)
(But then… how is Myro`s still this strong?)
He reached the first trench in a single bound, landing amidst the enemy.
The rifle barked again—short, controlled bursts.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Each target dropped before they even had time to scream.
And his face…
Calm.
Empty.
Like he wasn't killing men, but ticking items off a list.
He advanced to the next trench without so much as a glance behind him.
A machine disguised as a man.
BANG.
Reload.
BANG. BANG.
Move forward.
Every shot found its mark.
Every step pushed us further into enemy territory.
Without orders, our men began to follow.
Shouts turned into war cries.
And in minutes, our defensive line surged forward, swallowing their positions.
The Virelian troops broke.
Weapons clattered to the snow as they ran.
Our victory was sealed.
When it was over, the air smelled of cordite and blood.
I found him leaning against a wall of sandbags, his sleeve soaked crimson, shrapnel buried deep in his shoulder.
I hurried to treat him.
His breathing was steady.
His eyes, unblinking.
Like pain was a foreign concept.
(What is this guy? A machine?)
"Hey, Myro`s. We beat them back."
"Beat them back? No…" His tone was cold. "We didn't fight them. We erased them."
"…Eh? What are you talking about?"
The wind howled.
Snow thickened.
And then, as if the world itself wanted to bury the battlefield, a blizzard rolled in.
---
The blizzard swallowed the battlefield whole.
Snow fell so heavy it erased footprints in seconds, burying the dead and the living alike under a blanket of white.
By the time it cleared, the war in Region IV was over.
Our side held the ground.
The Virelian forces… were gone.
Weeks passed without a single attack.
Then the news reached us—
The enemy's troops in Region IV had been completely annihilated.
Not a single survivor returned.
The victory stunned the continent.
How could a battered, under-supplied force hold against the might of Virelia?
Historians would one day call it the War of Thorns.
(Did he know the storm was coming?)
(And how did he keep firing without running out of ammo?)
(No… I saw it—he switched to enemy weapons mid-fight. But still, his condition… Didn't he ever get tired?)
But victory wasn't enough to shield Myro`s.
He was arrested for disobeying direct orders.
When he was finally released, instead of being discharged, he was promoted to corporal—
A first in our country's history.
From convict… to decorated soldier.
A corporal commands ten men.
And I… was assigned as his medic.
"Hey, Myro`s, congratulations on your promotion!"
He didn't answer.
Didn't even look my way.
(Yeah… he's still as cold as ever.)
(But I can't help wondering… what happened to make him like this?)