587 Redemption Part 1 (1/2)
Snow fell from the sky and landed on Charles' hair.
He looked down at the pale face in the pool of blood and watched as the soldier on the ground struggled to breathe. The last remaining heat of the soldier's body turned into a white mist and rose from his nose and mouth, flying into the sky. It then condensing into frost in the wind and fell silently, freezing the blood that was gradually turning cold.
The pain caused the soldier's face to convulse. He groaned and gazed at Charles, reaching out with all his might, trying to touch Charles. His lips moved weakly, but no sound could be heard.
”Hold on for a little longer.” Charles gripped the soldier's hand hard, feeling a bone-chilling iciness, the coldness seeped into his bones, causing him to panic. ”I'll find someone to attend to you right away, just hold on for a little bit longer. Doctor! Doctor! There's one more person here...”
In the hustle and bustle, only groans in the distance responded. The snow continued to fall from the sky as if it would never stop, sprinkling all over the frozen soil. On the plains that had survived the war, the fires from the battle had yet to be extinguished, but the bodies had already turned cold completely.
Was it thousands of people that had died? Or was it tens of thousands?
For their new country, they fell in this war, fell in this place that was cold enough that even hell would be frozen. They looked up to the sky until death took them until the powder-like snow covered their faces.
The medics staggered as they made their way through the plains, moving the soldiers who were still breathing onto the stretchers, one by one. Then, they used their swords to stab the soldiers whose injuries were too far gone for them to be saved through their hearts, one by one. This way, the soldiers who had next to a zero percent chance of surviving need not suffer any longer.
Charles' shouts were drowned out by the shattered snow, and no one responded. Not far behind Charles, Wolf Flute was smoking a cigarette. He wrapped his coat tightly around himself and simply watched on without saying a word.
Charles withdrew his gaze dismally but saw the dying soldier smile.
The soldier smiled as if heaven was in sight.
”Ah, ah, the Holy Son...” He held Charles' hand, his dry lips moving, and exhausted the last of his strength as he implored, ”Please... bestow redemption upon me...”
Charles opened his mouth but didn't know what to say. He didn't have the heart to avoid the man's gaze, hesitating as he tried to compose his thoughts into words. In the end, he could only nod wordlessly. The soldier, who was missing half of his body, smiled as if he had finally gotten silent acquiescence to pass on.
The gates of the kingdom of heaven opened in front of him.
He closed his eyes with satisfaction.
His last breath dissipated.
His body had no more warmth in it.
Charles let go and watched the soldier's arm fell onto the frozen pool of blood. Even though the man was already dead, he still seemed to be holding something in his hand, but his palm was empty as if he was clutching on to invisible hope.
For a brief moment, Charles saw it. He saw a faint and vague figure rise from the man's body. Just like the last cloud of white mist that was exhaled from his mouth and nose, the figure slowly rose into the sky.
He didn't only see one figure but hundreds and thousands of them. Innumerable blurry figures soared in the sky and walked into an invisible doorway. It was as if they had really walked into the kingdom of heaven.
Charles thought that the illusion plaguing him had returned once more, but when he looked at his hands, he found that no illusory blood was on them—the blood on them was real—and when he looked up again, he couldn't see the figures anymore.
They had already left. The wind and the snow were all that was left, sweeping across the plains, covering the battlefield, and eliminating the last remaining traces.
”Are those real?” Charles looked at the sky blankly.
Wolf Flute didn't get it. ”What?”
”Nah.” Charles shook his head, gave a laugh of self-mockery, and withdrew his gaze. ”Nah, nothing.”
Wolf Flute sighed and handed him a packet of cigarettes. Supplies were short on the battlefield. Food was allocated on a per capita basis. Every two persons would get a cotton shirt to share between them and must take turns to wear it, but only tobacco was in unlimited supply.
The inferior tobacco leaves produced in East India were chopped with a sickle and cured in a simple and rough manner, then wrapped with white paper that was very thin and coarse. The cigarettes didn't even come with filters.
”Too bad there isn't any wine.” Charles ignited the cigarette and inhaled deeply. Pungent smoke gushed into his lungs, scraping his throat like sandpaper, and brought a sense of misery similar to that of swallowing gravel. Smoke spurted out of his nose and mouth and flew into the sky.
Is it flying to the place the souls are at? Charles couldn't help wondering.
”Allow yourself to relax, we're at war.” Wolf Flute patted his shoulder. ”It's not the first, nor will it be the last, and there's definitely more to come in the future. The war will continue for as long as it takes for the countries to recognize the revolution that has taken place here.”
”I know,” Charles replied.
”But you have to understand.” Wolf Flute sighed. ”How many times have you done it? On our way here, how many men have you tried to save? You are a leader, you are their hope, but you are not a medic. Just give up. You can't save everyone, but you can ensure that they died a worthy death.”
Charles was silent. After a long time, he asked softly, ”Do they truly believe that I am some Holy Son?”
”Yes,” Wolf Flute replied curtly.
”But I'm not.” Charles shook his head. ”I know that I'm not. I have no-goddamn-thing to do with that bullshit of a god. He has never loved me.”
Wolf Flute pondered quietly for a good while and finally found an answer. ”Then maybe you're not His own?”
Charles said nothing.
Wolf Flute shrugged with a fair amount of disappointment. ”I thought the joke was good.”