He crossed the border. A bird's-eye view of a war that he had never seen with his own eyes unfolded in his mind. Soldiers falling comically, lights, smoke, flags... Boom. Boom. Boom. The enemy's cannons had already turned the plains into a sea of fog.
Boom! Boom! The sound of the gunfire was deafening. Claude's only weapon was a badly worn-out jackknife. The two bloody dog tags hanging around his neck made a clicking sound as they were attached.
The weight of the dog tag around his neck was too heavy to deny his friend's death. He could no longer be in his right mind after turning his back on his uncle's death. He could not be honest with his country, his family, or his friends. His options were already cut off. But was there any way to escape from this Trobia? He felt as if he was trapped in a snowball engraved with a battlefield. Anger rose above the fear that had risen to his throat. He couldn't tell if he was breathing or inhaling smoke.
Dang- dang- dang-
In the distance, enemy alarm bells announcing a second bombardment are heard all around. Claude has been captured.
Claude, who had been running, stepping over, and stepping on corpses, finally collapsed. He rolled around in a pool of blood. His once beautiful blond hair stuck to his face like red seaweed. However, since he was already covered in blood, he felt no repulsion at all. He was already immersed in some emotion, so he felt something.
“This is hell. It’s a temple for them, but for us it’s just hell. Claude.”
He tried to take his feet off again.
“We never had the same level of determination as them from the beginning. What makes us any different from those punks?”
The tears wouldn't stop. The price of rebellion without determination was so high. The price of war decided by the council members of the capital city of Potsel without considering this tragedy was so cruel. His ankles felt heavy. He looked down and saw a bloody hand grabbing his ankle.
The enemy soldier, barely breathing, glared at him. He continued to vomit blood, as if his airway was on the verge of occlusion. A deep gunshot wound was visible on the lower part of the enemy’s chest. Only then did Claude realize that the pool of blood he had been rolling in was this man’s life.
He was a man who looked to be in his early 30s. He was covered in blood, but his intense gray eyes were clear.
“...My life, ah, is not worth it. For the people, just a little more.”
The dying man's words are nonsense. It was the truth that he had learned by witnessing countless deaths.
“I'm a lieutenant.”
“...This ...name is.”
“There’s no need to wonder about the names of people who died today.”
A man, barely able to breathe in the widespread transition from life to death, closed his eyes.
“You’re saying... strange things.”
In the Battle of Trobia, Claude killed himself as a medic. He dug out the man's flesh, extracted the bullet, administered first aid, and walked for a long time on the edge of the battlefield as bullets rained down.
After laying him down near the enemy's camp, he fired a gunshot and fled.
It was when he woke up the next morning, after passing out in the middle of the forest, that he realized that one of his two dog tags was missing. Aaron Jenner was still there, but Claude Biscov was missing. He laughed and cried for a long time. And it was much later that he learned that the man who had not hesitated to reach out to the enemy was Colonel Nicks Hamilton, the second son of Belgrier Hamilton, the leader of the Ramrock military, and the man who commanded the fleet in the last naval battle that made Dublin a joke to the world - the so-called 35-minute battle.
When Aaron heard that the most expensive inn in Casnier had been leased entirely to Nicks, he finally realized the manpower. The room was not the most spacious of the city's accommodations, but Nick seemed unconvinced. For some reason, Aaron had the feeling that Nicks was not the type of person to complain about such trivial matters.
Leila, who had just come to her senses, held onto Aaron's hand and couldn't let go. Aaron tried to reassure her several times by saying, "It's okay," but the more he said it, the more she cried, and in the end, all he could do was hold her hand tightly.
“Mr. Claude.”
Leila cut Nick off.
“This is Aaron.”
“This is Mr. Claude Biscov. This is him.”
“No, it’s Aaron.”
Leila persisted with a face that looked like she was about to cry.
“700 gold bounty, I don’t know what crime he committed, but he’s not the same person.”
Nicks, who had been staring blankly at her as she defended him while still trembling in fear, suddenly burst into laughter.
“Miss, it’s not a bounty, it’s a reward.”
“How is that different from that?”
“It’s fundamentally different in that I didn’t come looking for Mr. Biscov to harm him.”
“I heard that Dubliners were rounded up indiscriminately and handed over to the military police. I have never heard of any Dubliners who were taken away by the military police coming back alive.”
“There’s more to it than that, Miss. I’m just trying to show you that I care, but that’s why I increased the amount of the reward and included a condition for its capture.”
"Still."
“I will swear on Hamilton’s name that Mr. Biscov will return safely from my meeting today, and the matter of the murder of those soldiers who were trying to harm you will be resolved through my efforts.”
“Aaron, can I trust him?”
“Because he is Mr. Claude Biscov.”
“No, it’s Aaron!”
Finally, Leila started to yell at Nick Hamilton. Nick smirked as he saw the sharp edge in the innocent-looking country girl’s eyes. Aaron patted Leila’s shoulder as she tried to defend him.
“It’s okay, Leila. Just look at the cut on your knee. Mr. Hamilton, can I ask you a favor?”
Nick laughed for a long time while watching Leila, who continued to grumble until the end, and then accepted. Soon, a medical officer appeared and took Leila away. Leila said the horrible words, “If you touch Aaron, you’ll die!” and left. Aaron laughed in vain. Even in these moments, Leila was lovable.
“It’s because she's worried about me.”
“It looks like that.”
Nick looked at him with a friendly smile and put his hand in his bosom. Aaron, who had instinctively been wary that it might not be a gun, soon found the dog tag hanging from his fingertips and was lost in thought. The silver dog tag, which had been polished cleanly, had lost much of its luster.
He laid the dog tag down on Aaron's table.
Dalgrak.
Lieutenant Claude Biscov
First Lieutenant, Claude Biscov
Me 3-51527-1121-89
“...This, you.”
“At first, I couldn’t remember very well, but I did remember the devilish Dubliners laughing at me and talking to me informally. I thought I was dead, but when I came to, I was in my camp.”
He thought it was really strange that he said 'my camp' so casually.
“At first, everyone was talking about how I was holding this even when I was unconscious. There were even loyalists who kept saying that the soldier who shot me might be you.”
“I really didn’t want to know that I didn’t hear anything good even after helping you.”
“...Biscov, Biscov... I thought your name sounded familiar, and I realized it soon after. Isn’t the name Biscov well-known even in Ramrock? Were you related to Biscov, who died in the Trobia War? Why on earth did you save me?”
“...”
“I kept thinking about it. If it weren’t for you, my life would have ended that day.”
“It was the end.”
Boom! Boom! The sound of the gunfire was deafening. Claude's only weapon was a badly worn-out jackknife. The two bloody dog tags hanging around his neck made a clicking sound as they were attached.
The weight of the dog tag around his neck was too heavy to deny his friend's death. He could no longer be in his right mind after turning his back on his uncle's death. He could not be honest with his country, his family, or his friends. His options were already cut off. But was there any way to escape from this Trobia? He felt as if he was trapped in a snowball engraved with a battlefield. Anger rose above the fear that had risen to his throat. He couldn't tell if he was breathing or inhaling smoke.
Dang- dang- dang-
In the distance, enemy alarm bells announcing a second bombardment are heard all around. Claude has been captured.
Claude, who had been running, stepping over, and stepping on corpses, finally collapsed. He rolled around in a pool of blood. His once beautiful blond hair stuck to his face like red seaweed. However, since he was already covered in blood, he felt no repulsion at all. He was already immersed in some emotion, so he felt something.
“This is hell. It’s a temple for them, but for us it’s just hell. Claude.”
He tried to take his feet off again.
“We never had the same level of determination as them from the beginning. What makes us any different from those punks?”
The tears wouldn't stop. The price of rebellion without determination was so high. The price of war decided by the council members of the capital city of Potsel without considering this tragedy was so cruel. His ankles felt heavy. He looked down and saw a bloody hand grabbing his ankle.
The enemy soldier, barely breathing, glared at him. He continued to vomit blood, as if his airway was on the verge of occlusion. A deep gunshot wound was visible on the lower part of the enemy’s chest. Only then did Claude realize that the pool of blood he had been rolling in was this man’s life.
He was a man who looked to be in his early 30s. He was covered in blood, but his intense gray eyes were clear.
“...My life, ah, is not worth it. For the people, just a little more.”
The dying man's words are nonsense. It was the truth that he had learned by witnessing countless deaths.
Nevertheless, tears came out. They did not have the same determination or desire as these people. They were vagabonds who ran away because they hated their parents and society.
He was a true soldier who did not even fear his own death. It is unknown whether he was determined to kill one more person until the end, or whether he hoped someone would listen to his last will. He had already decided to kill someone, but he was dying to the point where he could not kill anyone. It was more like a warning than a will.
The back of his neck, where Aaron's bloody dog tag was hanging, felt heavy as if it would break. He couldn't raise his head. The tears continued to flow. Please, let go. Please, don't frustrate me anymore. The enemy's heavy breathing was more painful than the sound of gunfire. It was to the point where he felt like his lungs were punctured.
“Save me.”
He demanded confidently, pulling out his jackknife and sitting down beside it.
“Do you want to live?”
The enemy, whose eyes were still undead, stared at him intently. The enemy did not stop there and continued to reach out to the crying man.
“Because even after seeing this hellish sight, I still want to live.”
Anything warm was needed. Any pulse from a living being, not a corpse, would do. Claude lay face down, clutching his hand and sobbing.
“You want to live while begging me, a Dubliner? Don’t you have any pride?”
The hand of the enemy soldier who was being killed by his country's soldiers fell to the back of his neck.
“...If I can live, if I can achieve it, I can offer this body to the devil. If you save me...”
He spoke hastily. It was funny how his tone became a little more formal. Judging from the way he held his weight, he seemed to be at least a lieutenant, but his clothes were covered in a pool of blood, and there was no badge, no alcohol, or anything else to distinguish him. The only certain thing was that his status was not that low.
“...Invader of my homeland, what is your rank...? What do you wish for?”
He was a true soldier who did not even fear his own death. It is unknown whether he was determined to kill one more person until the end, or whether he hoped someone would listen to his last will. He had already decided to kill someone, but he was dying to the point where he could not kill anyone. It was more like a warning than a will.
The back of his neck, where Aaron's bloody dog tag was hanging, felt heavy as if it would break. He couldn't raise his head. The tears continued to flow. Please, let go. Please, don't frustrate me anymore. The enemy's heavy breathing was more painful than the sound of gunfire. It was to the point where he felt like his lungs were punctured.
“Save me.”
He demanded confidently, pulling out his jackknife and sitting down beside it.
“Do you want to live?”
The enemy, whose eyes were still undead, stared at him intently. The enemy did not stop there and continued to reach out to the crying man.
“Because even after seeing this hellish sight, I still want to live.”
Anything warm was needed. Any pulse from a living being, not a corpse, would do. Claude lay face down, clutching his hand and sobbing.
“You want to live while begging me, a Dubliner? Don’t you have any pride?”
The hand of the enemy soldier who was being killed by his country's soldiers fell to the back of his neck.
“...If I can live, if I can achieve it, I can offer this body to the devil. If you save me...”
He spoke hastily. It was funny how his tone became a little more formal. Judging from the way he held his weight, he seemed to be at least a lieutenant, but his clothes were covered in a pool of blood, and there was no badge, no alcohol, or anything else to distinguish him. The only certain thing was that his status was not that low.
“...Invader of my homeland, what is your rank...? What do you wish for?”
“I'm a lieutenant.”
“...This ...name is.”
“There’s no need to wonder about the names of people who died today.”
A man, barely able to breathe in the widespread transition from life to death, closed his eyes.
“You’re saying... strange things.”
In the Battle of Trobia, Claude killed himself as a medic. He dug out the man's flesh, extracted the bullet, administered first aid, and walked for a long time on the edge of the battlefield as bullets rained down.
After laying him down near the enemy's camp, he fired a gunshot and fled.
It was when he woke up the next morning, after passing out in the middle of the forest, that he realized that one of his two dog tags was missing. Aaron Jenner was still there, but Claude Biscov was missing. He laughed and cried for a long time. And it was much later that he learned that the man who had not hesitated to reach out to the enemy was Colonel Nicks Hamilton, the second son of Belgrier Hamilton, the leader of the Ramrock military, and the man who commanded the fleet in the last naval battle that made Dublin a joke to the world - the so-called 35-minute battle.
***
When Aaron heard that the most expensive inn in Casnier had been leased entirely to Nicks, he finally realized the manpower. The room was not the most spacious of the city's accommodations, but Nick seemed unconvinced. For some reason, Aaron had the feeling that Nicks was not the type of person to complain about such trivial matters.
Leila, who had just come to her senses, held onto Aaron's hand and couldn't let go. Aaron tried to reassure her several times by saying, "It's okay," but the more he said it, the more she cried, and in the end, all he could do was hold her hand tightly.
“Mr. Claude.”
Leila cut Nick off.
“This is Aaron.”
“This is Mr. Claude Biscov. This is him.”
“No, it’s Aaron.”
Leila persisted with a face that looked like she was about to cry.
“700 gold bounty, I don’t know what crime he committed, but he’s not the same person.”
Nicks, who had been staring blankly at her as she defended him while still trembling in fear, suddenly burst into laughter.
“Miss, it’s not a bounty, it’s a reward.”
“How is that different from that?”
“It’s fundamentally different in that I didn’t come looking for Mr. Biscov to harm him.”
“I heard that Dubliners were rounded up indiscriminately and handed over to the military police. I have never heard of any Dubliners who were taken away by the military police coming back alive.”
“There’s more to it than that, Miss. I’m just trying to show you that I care, but that’s why I increased the amount of the reward and included a condition for its capture.”
"Still."
“I will swear on Hamilton’s name that Mr. Biscov will return safely from my meeting today, and the matter of the murder of those soldiers who were trying to harm you will be resolved through my efforts.”
“Aaron, can I trust him?”
“Because he is Mr. Claude Biscov.”
“No, it’s Aaron!”
Finally, Leila started to yell at Nick Hamilton. Nick smirked as he saw the sharp edge in the innocent-looking country girl’s eyes. Aaron patted Leila’s shoulder as she tried to defend him.
“It’s okay, Leila. Just look at the cut on your knee. Mr. Hamilton, can I ask you a favor?”
Nick laughed for a long time while watching Leila, who continued to grumble until the end, and then accepted. Soon, a medical officer appeared and took Leila away. Leila said the horrible words, “If you touch Aaron, you’ll die!” and left. Aaron laughed in vain. Even in these moments, Leila was lovable.
“It’s because she's worried about me.”
“It looks like that.”
Nick looked at him with a friendly smile and put his hand in his bosom. Aaron, who had instinctively been wary that it might not be a gun, soon found the dog tag hanging from his fingertips and was lost in thought. The silver dog tag, which had been polished cleanly, had lost much of its luster.
He laid the dog tag down on Aaron's table.
Dalgrak.
Lieutenant Claude Biscov
First Lieutenant, Claude Biscov
Me 3-51527-1121-89
“...This, you.”
“At first, I couldn’t remember very well, but I did remember the devilish Dubliners laughing at me and talking to me informally. I thought I was dead, but when I came to, I was in my camp.”
He thought it was really strange that he said 'my camp' so casually.
“At first, everyone was talking about how I was holding this even when I was unconscious. There were even loyalists who kept saying that the soldier who shot me might be you.”
“I really didn’t want to know that I didn’t hear anything good even after helping you.”
“...Biscov, Biscov... I thought your name sounded familiar, and I realized it soon after. Isn’t the name Biscov well-known even in Ramrock? Were you related to Biscov, who died in the Trobia War? Why on earth did you save me?”
“...”
“I kept thinking about it. If it weren’t for you, my life would have ended that day.”
“It was the end.”
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