Chapter : 12 Revolutionary Army
EMPIRE
[SOMEWHERE FAR SOUTH OF THE CAPITAL]
[REVOLUTIONARY ARMY MAIN HEADQUARTERS]
(Support Squad Department)
The hall was functional and minimalistic, with walls painted in neutral tones of grey. The space exuded efficiency, designed purely for utility rather than aesthetic pleasure. Revolutionary slogans and symbols representing freedom and justice adorned the walls, subtle yet constant reminders of the ideals the Revolutionary Army fought to uphold.
Dominating one side of the hall was a large map of the Empire's territories. The map was marked with strategic notations and points of interest, serving as a tool for planning and coordinating support operations. Beneath it, two recruits busied themselves, sorting through storage cabinets and drawers filled with documents, supplies, and equipment.
One of the recruits, visibly irritated by the tedious nature of their work, muttered under his breath.
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"What the hell? Why is it that only our support unit has to handle all the backbreaking work? Sorting statistics, organizing reports, and delivering supplies to the other squads? We're stuck here like drones while the Infiltration, Regional, and Assault squads fight on the front lines, gaining all the glory by slaughtering the Empire's forces!"
Jiro slammed a stack of papers onto the workstation, his frustration evident. "If only I were stronger, I'd be standing among the heroes in those squads instead of being stuck here doing grunt work."
His companion, Mira, sighed as she methodically organized a pile of documents. She had grown tired of Jiro's complaints over the past week.
"Don't be so quick to dismiss the importance of our work, Jiro," Mira replied firmly. "The support squad is the backbone of the Revolutionary Army. While we don't fight on the front lines, we ensure the army has the logistics, resources, and supplies they need to carry out their missions. Without us, the entire structure collapses."
She glanced at him pointedly. "Transportation, supply distribution, base maintenance—all of it is vital. So stop grumbling and focus on your job. We're just recruits. We have to earn our place here."
Jiro opened his mouth to retort, but before he could speak—
SLAP.
"Ahhh!" Jiro yelped as a heavy hand struck the back of his head. He whirled around, ready to confront whoever had dared to hit him, but his defiance faltered when his eyes landed on their superior officer.
---
The man standing before them exuded authority. His bulky frame, scarred features, and hardened expression bore the marks of countless battles. Everything about him—from his dark military-style jacket adorned with the insignia of the Revolutionary Army to his stern demeanor—screamed "veteran." Jiro's face paled as he quickly saluted.
The superior ignored the gesture, snorting dismissively before turning to Mira. She instinctively straightened, prepared to apologize for the earlier conversation, but her superior surprised her by placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Excellent work, recruit," he said, his voice gruff but approving. "You've done well to remind this fool of the value of our work. Even as a new recruit, you've shown the right mindset. Keep it up, and supervise this one to ensure he doesn't waste any more time complaining."
Mira nodded, stunned by the unexpected praise. The man then shifted his attention back to Jiro, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.
"Recruit," he barked, his tone cold, "engrave my words in your heart, for I'll only say them once. Many young recruits have made fatal mistakes by not understanding the importance of their role. Those mistakes have cost the lives of their comrades on the front lines."
The room seemed to grow heavier as his words sank in.
"The only thing that reigns supreme on the battlefield is blood and carnage. While you work in this safe environment, others are out there fighting the Empire's forces, making sacrifices every day. Most won't even have the luxury of a proper burial. Their bodies will be displayed as warnings to anyone daring to oppose the Empire. If you think glory is waiting for you on the front lines, think again. Death is the only certainty there."
Satisfied that his point had been made, the superior retrieved a document from a nearby cabinet and left the room, his heavy footsteps echoing in the silence he left behind.
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Jiro stared after him, the weight of the man's words settling heavily on his shoulders. Mira resumed her work, though her hands trembled slightly.
"He's right," Jiro muttered after a moment. His earlier bravado had evaporated. "I didn't realize..."
"Now you do," Mira replied quietly. "Let's get back to work."
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In another part of the headquarters, Geralt, the stern assistant to the head of the support squad, handed over the document he had retrieved.
"You should cut the new recruits some slack," the department head said lightly, his tone teasing. "They've only been here a week. You can't expect them to shoulder the full weight of the Revolutionary Army just yet."
Geralt shook his head, his expression unyielding. "Overcoming that burden is the only way they'll grow into responsible soldiers. I don't want them to make the same mistakes I did, sir. If playing the bad guy means they'll learn faster, I'll gladly take on that role."
The department head chuckled, accepting the document. "Fair enough. Now, did you bring yesterday's infiltration squad report?"
"Yes, sir," Geralt said gravely. "It concerns the hidden research facility they investigated. The facility belonged to one of Honest's researchers, who was conducting human and Danger Beast experiments."
The department head's lighthearted demeanor vanished instantly. "How many prisoners were kept there? How many did they manage to save?"
Geralt's voice was heavy as he replied. "The documents identified thirty-eight hybrid mutant Danger Beasts, all originally children between the ages of three and sixteen. None retained their humanity. They were euthanized by the squad to end their suffering. Only one child, who still resembled a human, was recovered."
Geralt hesitated before continuing. "The child was unconscious, kept in a tank with cables extracting his blood. The purpose of the blood extraction wasn't detailed in the files. The infiltration squad retrieved him, and he's now in a medical facility. He remains comatose."
The department head's expression darkened. "And the incinerator?"
"There was one," Geralt confirmed bitterly. "We don't know how many children were already... disposed of."
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The department head sighed heavily, his earlier optimism gone. "What is the child's condition?"
"The doctors estimate he's around six, though malnourishment makes it difficult to be sure. He has grotesque red spots across his skin, but his hands remain strangely smooth and unblemished. The doctors expect him to wake in two or three days."
The department head nodded. "Report to me as soon as he wakes. And Geralt—rest. You can't help anyone if you collapse from exhaustion."
"Yes, sir," Geralt replied, saluting before leaving.
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As Geralt walked to his quarters, his mind lingered on the child.
'Will he ever overcome his trauma... or has the Empire already destroyed him?'