Chapter 463 The Western Fron (1/2)
CHAPTER 463
THE WESTERN FRONT
Fields of green had vanished, withdrawing in the presence of scorch and soot, leveled cleanly with the earth beneath it. Occasional rock stood erect in the otherwise open field, providing tepid cover hardly worth a mention. Hundreds of corpses, some whole and some less so, lay strewn about, their disemboweled innards combined in the flowing rivers of blood and gore. An occasional shout of command echoed throughout the otherwise silent world, while the living slowly sorted somberly through the dead, combining pieces into a whole.
Ion stood to the side, garbed in silver-cast armor, holding an elongated, thin and sharp spear in his right hand. Crimson ran dried over his chest, a few strands of his hair plastered to his forehead, the rest fluttering in the hazy wind. Half his face was covered in thick, bushy beard, the other half marred with nearly six grating scars, eyebrows missing above both his eyes. He had long since lost his previous innocence and youthful looks, replacing them with grit and anger.
”Commander, reporting!” a young soldier walked up to him, saluting in a bow, barely standing still.
”Speak.” Ion tore his eyes away from the field and focused on the young man whose name escaped him.
”We have managed to chase the enemy General down,” the young man said. ”Do you wish to interrogate him?”
”Lead the way.” Ion said simply, putting the spear and the helmet he was holding away into the void treasure before following the young man.
They passed through a recently-cleaned path, winding through piles and mounds of the dead, or at least of remnants of weapons and armors dyed scarlet. The grass had been trounced completely, seemingly having never grown here, while the horizon was entirely shielded by smoke.
Their journey wasn't long, lasting barely a few minutes, until Ion came to a halt in front of a kneeling, caged Devil of ashen skin and destroyed horns. Dull, black blood flew freely, seemingly acidic based on the smoke rushing out of it. Surrounding the cage were a dozen soldiers clad in leather armor who immediately saluted when they saw Ion, withdrawing into the background as he stepped forward, crouching in front of the cage.
”… I'm getting really sick of these.” Ion said. ”Aren't you lot?”
”—sick of what?” the Devil grinned, meeting Ion's gaze. ”Of watching you cretins squirm and weep like newborns? Hardly.”
”You have lost all significant battles thus far,” Ion said. ”It is clear your homeland doesn't give a rat's ass as to what happens to you. You're a temporary distraction, a buffer, while they condense their forces elsewhere. How pathetic can you be to accept that role with a grin?”
”—ha ha, lad, save your preachery for some who may give a shit,” the Devil laughed, coughing a mouthful black blood in the process. ”We're a distraction? Good! We're doing a great job, aren't we? Dumbass. Why are you talking to me? Kill me already. Isn't that what you're good that?”
”I'm good at plenty things,” Ion responded, smiling lightly. ”Kissing my Master's ass, exploiting the fear of his wife to get my way, and I'm certainly good at ending the pointless lives of wretched morons like you. But, I won't be the one to kill you. There are plenty here angry, broken and torn enough to allow you to enjoy the last minutes of your wasted life in a rather particular fashion. Have fun, you scum.”
Ion simply got up and walked away, shutting off whatever sounds may have come from the cage after. Though he may have believed in proper military conduct during the war, sometimes… it wasn't enough. War was hardly a romantic tale of heroism, and him expecting every soldier to be similarly able to separate themselves from the horrors would hardly be reasonable.
He withdrew to the temporary headquarters, a medium-sized cloth tent centered around a large fence. There was only one other person currently inside, his second-in-command, Vyrove, who just recently came back to the army even though Ion hadn't expected him to.
”Yo.” Vyrove smiled lightly at him and called him over to the map of the nearby area, stacked to bits with small figurines depicting soldiers from both sides.
”Any changes?” Ion asked, glancing at the figurines.
”No,” Vyrove replied, shaking his head. ”Their movements are still the same. It's definitely on purpose.”
”It's fine. Just continue chasing and cutting.”
”Any news from the powers-that-be?” Vyrove asked.
”Nope,” Ion replied. ”You can always go back, you know?”
”… I know,” Vyrove said, smiling lightly. ”And if things truly turn dire, who knows, I just might leave your ass out here alone.”
”—who does it say about more, me actually believing that slightly?” Ion said, cracking a grin.
”Definitely you, definitely you. Anyway, I'll go and start swapping the soldiers. You rest for a while. It's been a long day.”
”… still shorter than many before it.”
”Long nonetheless. Take a nap, at least.”
”…” Ion said nothing as Vyrove sighed and walked away, leaving the tent and Ion alone in it.
The latter glanced at the figurines once more before moving toward the corner and sitting on one of the tables, taking out a gourd of wine, downing half of it in one go. He hadn't even realized how parched his throat was until then, nor how hungry he was. Taking out some dry rations, he gobbled them up rapidly before leaning back into the chair once more.