Chapter 2 — What Is This War For?
The military truck stopped on a forest road at the outskirts of Fors. Leaving the child inside the vehicle, the soldiers climbed down and began moving about in a flurry of activity. Before long—barely a few hours later—the child was lifted like a piece of luggage by a massive man.
The place they arrived at was a tent. For something assembled in such a short time, it was surprisingly well set up.
“I don’t like asking twice.”
Holding out a sheet of yellowed paper and a pen nib, the man gave a curt command.
“A name. Don’t you have one?”
“……”
He asked again.
Letting out a brief sigh, his gaze lingered for a moment on the child’s pale, plump cheeks—still not yet fully grown—before drifting away.
“…Let’s call you Sasha, then. Well, you don’t seem inclined to talk, so it’d be better if you washed up first.”
“……”
“You can bathe on your own, right?”
At his rather blunt remark, the child—who had suddenly become Sasha—furrowed their brows and nodded. The man nodded along absentmindedly and pressed a bell with a bored expression.
“Yes, Major.”
As if waiting outside, the tent flap opened immediately and a soldier bowed respectfully.
“Go prepare some bathwater.”
The soldier looked back and forth between the child and the man for a moment, then saluted sharply.
“Yes, sir! I’ll prepare it right away!”
He hurried out of the tent.
Once he left, silence settled over the tent again.
“…Tsk.”
Clicking his tongue, the man rose from his seat.
Even at his slightest movement, the boy never let his guard down. Yet inside, countless questions swelled in his chest.
What are they going to do with me?
Are they sending me to a camp?
The child already knew how terrifying those places were.
Mother, Father, and even Theo—older brother Theodor—had been struck by a bombing while following the refugee convoy, all to avoid being sent there.
Then he remembered something his father had once said.
Salvatorians are ruthless and violent. If they see someone from Inferna, they’ll go mad and kill them all.
The child still remembered those words clearly.
Which made it even harder to understand why the man in front of him had bothered to give him a name.
If he was going to be sent there anyway—
If he was going to die—
What use was a name?
The man picked up a cigar from the desk inside the tent and began chewing on its tip.
Excuse me… what are you planning to do with me?
He wanted to ask.
But strangely, no voice came out.
Since when had it been like this—this inability to make a sound?
“Why are you staring like that? What? Want one too?”
“……”
At the question, the child frowned.
Is he serious?
Perhaps Sasha’s thoughts had shown on his face.
The man, who had remained expressionless the entire time, suddenly burst into laughter.
Ruthless Salvatorian.
Even with such a label attached to him, why did that laugh bring a fleeting sense of relief?
As if the taut string of tension had snapped, cold sweat dampened the child’s forehead. The tightly wound body gradually loosened.
The room began to spin.
His stomach churned. His eyelids, heavy for some time now, slowly began to droop.
“…Hey, kid. Kid? Hey—hey!”
Then why did you give me the name Sasha?
The words he wanted to say never escaped his mouth, only circling silently inside.
As his vision darkened, he heard a dull thud.
Did my head hit the ground?
But it felt soft.
There was also the faint, sharp scent of tobacco—like the smell that once clung to his father.
Lost in those faint thoughts, the child recalled that day from the past.
A tiny child.
In the ruined city of Fors.
For fifteen days he had remained there with what was left of his family—nothing but hollow shells.
Sometimes he cried, wondering if they were truly dead.
Sometimes he laughed, seeing visions of them as they once were.
And in the end—
He saw a pair of vivid gray eyes.
He saw tightly pressed lips.
The child had never in his life seen a man so large, so cold.
A man who resembled falling rain.
The very man who had given the child the name Sasha.
* * *
“Major. Keeping an enemy child at the garrison makes no sense. In wartime, a situation like this is unprecedented—”
“Adjutant Aizen.”
“Yes, Major.”
Under the chill of the man’s gaze, Aizen lowered his eyes to his boots.
Though the major was far younger than he was, Aizen had no means of matching the sharpness of the man’s eyes or voice.
“Weren’t you also hesitant when you learned the child couldn’t speak?”
“But still—!”
“More importantly, if we hadn’t heard about the mines laid up ahead, we’d all be dead by now.”
At that single remark, Aizen’s brows furrowed.
“War is an act of force,” the major continued calmly. “It exists to completely subdue the opponent and render future resistance impossible.”
“Yes, but what does that have to do with—”
“Do you remember the day we lost the First Battle of Fors, when a large number of our rank-and-file soldiers were replaced?”
“….”
Aizen couldn’t understand why the major was bringing this up now, but he recalled those past events.
Countless soldiers flying fighter aircraft had died trying to capture Fors, a strategic stronghold.
Inferna’s resistance had been far stronger than expected.
To bomb Fors, the Salvator Air Force had no choice but to fly dangerously close to the Fors headquarters.
Unexpectedly, Inferna’s anti-air defenses were far more advanced than anyone had imagined.
The attacking aircraft that passed near the headquarters were shot down one after another, crashing to the ground.
It had been a controversial incident.
Yet the high-ranking officials simply declared that capturing Fors would become an honorable legacy for the fallen soldiers, praising their patriotism and sacrifice while declaring a national mourning period to win public sentiment.
“Countless soldiers died,” the major said quietly. “They coerced young recruits into aircraft through threats and persuasion, then held mourning ceremonies for the dead to gain public favor.”
“…That is a separate matter.”
“I know. The root cause of this war was mineral mining rights.”
At that moment, Aizen’s entire body stiffened.
Mineral mining rights.
The implication was obvious.
Those mines would become a key to enriching the nobility.
In other words, apart from defending the nation, the soldiers had been sacrificed for the vanity and luxury of aristocrats.
“……”
“A superior officer is supposed to inspire honor and morale in his troops,” the major continued. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at that. Over a single mining region in a foreign land… both we and that child are tossed around by orders from above, our lives hanging by a thread. Don’t you find that ridiculous?”
“…Even so, we can’t keep a child in a place this dangerous.”
Aizen looked at the man’s ash-gray eyes, filled with quiet reflection.
The major was only twenty years old.
Not a colonel—merely a major.
His rank was technically too low for Aizen to serve as his personal adjutant, and his years in military service were far fewer than Aizen’s.
Yet somehow, he always seemed to understand the situation better than anyone.
When they had once been deployed to seize Inferna’s harbor, the man had carried out his plans with overwhelming decisiveness.
Wherever he stepped, victory followed.
Most of the soldiers under his command survived the battlefield.
Aizen had thought he was a man destined to surpass the rank of colonel before long.
Never had he imagined that such thoughts occupied the man’s mind.
Did Marshal Dwight, who held the major in such high regard, know that he thought this way?
“…So you’d rather send the child to a camp?”
After a long silence, the major murmured softly.
A faint smile touched the corner of his lips.
Aizen had no answer.
Sending the child to a camp was practically the same as sentencing him to death.
The boy looked to be about the same age as Aizen’s own young son back home.
Which made it all the harder.
In the end, Aizen decided to respect the major’s judgment—for now.
Even if the child was from Inferna, he had no desire to drive a child to his death.
Perhaps they could stall for time, place him in a childcare facility, or even arrange adoption overseas.
After dismissing the conversation with Aizen, the major turned toward the field hospital cot set up inside the tent.
Watching his superior’s back, Aizen couldn’t understand how a nobleman of high status could be so weighed down by such doubts.
Yet as he stepped outside the tent, he gave a formal salute to the superior who had already turned away without receiving it.
Aizen had always harbored resentment toward the nobility.
But for the first time, he found that a noble officer—the young major—was, just a little, likable.
