"The commander has been injured!!"

Sheesh. That's why they repeatedly warned him not to step forward.

Even though he had been cautioning tirelessly, it happened.

"It's okay...! Just a minor penetration...!"

"Don't move! Medic! Over here, hurry!!"

The commander, clad in a khaki military uniform and a coat, looked severely injured to onlookers. However, he remained steadfast, perhaps out of determination or sheer endurance. Just before he could stand up courageously, a young man in a camouflaged combat uniform rushed over, restraining him from getting up and quickly summoning his subordinates.

"Again!? Why aren't you wearing body armor!"

"It's... difficult to move..."

"If you get a hole in your belly without wearing it, it won't help!"

Next to the teardrop sunglasses rolling on the ground, the commander lying down in his military attire stared silently, as if rebutting without words, but the young man just shrugged.

The medic who rushed over—supposedly a medic, though clearly a soldier with a physique fit for combat—efficiently used medical scissors to cut through the commander's military uniform and check the injured area.

"Ugh...! Hnn...!"

"How is he?"

"As you can see. It's not good."

Behind them, the Goddesses revealed an anxious and worried demeanor.

"Second Lieutenant, what do we do?"

"We have to evacuate him, Captain."

"No, we can't...! Not yet...!?"

*Tighten*

"Oh, excuse me. I have bad manners."

"You guys always say that... Fuck. But...it won't be an excuse in a trial hearing!"

The medic tore open a sterilized package and wrapped bandages around the commander's abdomen. At that moment, the commander's handsome face contorted in intense pain as the tightly bound bandage elicited a howl from him.

"If you can still howl like that, it's fine by me," the young man said as he shifted the assault rifle slung on a sling belt in front of his body and crouched down.

"Call for transport. It's urgent."

"I've already requested it. Should arrive in about 5 minutes."

"Good. Let's move."

"Wait... go slowly...! Ah, geez...! Can't you be gentle with me... damn gorilla!"

"Sorry. I'm only gentle with women. Besides, I'm not as mentally weak as a gorilla. Medic, get the lollipop painkiller..."

"I don't need it... it'll just make me feel worse...!!"

The potent painkiller, which had effects beyond morphine, could alleviate pain but often led to a hazy consciousness due to its overpowering side effects.

The young man, who effortlessly lifted the tall and well-built adult male onto his shoulders, raised his deep voice that echoed well.

"This is the breach! Don't let any of those tin cans through! Turn them all into scrap metal!"

"Understood! Heard the squad leader's orders! Squad, forward! Let's go, you bastards! Move forward! Show them the toll for passing through here is top-notch!"

The thunderous barbaric voices all joined in a chant.

Tall and robust soldiers, all of them males, moved forward in a controlled and coordinated manner, each carrying oversized assault rifles, machine guns, or recoilless rifles. Their charge was nothing short of spectacular.

"As impressive as ever...!"

"Don't talk too much. It might worsen."

"If I don't talk... I feel like... I might lose consciousness...!"

As a young man wearing a helmet, it would be appreciated if he remained silent, but he had no right to complain if the person himself said so. For now, he sprinted towards the rear where the transport would likely arrive, taking care to avoid shocks that might cause distress to the wounded.

"Beings beyond human...! The strongest soldiers...!"

"It's heartwarming when you call us human. It almost makes me want to cry."

"From where... no matter how you look at it... they seem human...!"

"We were commonly known as monsters in human skin, though."

The young man replied, his hair disheveled from the use of his favorite hair gel, dripping with sweat from the pain. Despite his undignified appearance, only his eyes continued to shine brightly as the commander spoke.

"Being able to talk that much with such injuries is something. Is it the pride of a mercenary?"

"No...! Actually, I want to cry, scream, and roll around in embarrassment, but I'm just managing to endure it somehow!"

"Even better."

It was remarkable that he could maintain such composure with a hole in his abdomen.

While being carried by the sniffling young man, the commander, struggling with irregular breathing and teeth clenched, showed no sign of stopping the stream of words pouring out.

"To be honest... I envy you guys... fighting side by side with them!"

"Don't compare us with the ladies. It's a handful even for us too. Well, if you call us fans, we'll graciously accept it as a compliment."

"Please... do so...!"

"....Oh, it was supposed to be a joke..."

The young man, who wore an indescribable expression, did not know that it was actually the truth—his fans. He raised his gaze slightly.

In the sky, a silhouette of an aircraft appeared. It must be the transport they requested.

The aircraft descended, bringing with it a powerful downdraft.

Amidst the swirling dust, the ramp at the rear of the landed aircraft opened, and the medics who hurriedly descended ran to unfold a stretcher.

"Place him there!"

"This is... terrible. With airship facilities, we'll transport him to the field hospital immediately!"

"Requesting to clear the operating room!"

The commander's body was laid on the stretcher. The medic's expression darkened briefly as he assessed the condition, but it was a fleeting moment. As those who had resumed their duties moved forward, the young man, preparing to hand over responsibility, adjusted his grip on the assault rifle.

"Wait... wait a moment!"

Turning on his heel, the young man, clad in body armor, was stopped by the hand of the man who grabbed his armor.

"What's wrong?"

"I know it's a selfish request, but please! Lead them... command them!"

"Unfortunately, I have my hands full commanding the squad I've been entrusted with. Take command yourself when you're back."

Until then, she was supposed to act as the interim commander—the words floated into the young man's mind. In that moment, the commander, who was supposed to be near death, showed a pained expression and pleaded with him.

"Please...! You're the only one I can ask...!"

"I'd be happy if you didn't ask..."

With a terribly reluctant expression—clearly showing rejection—though the commander showed no signs of backing down despite being on the brink of death. Even in this critical condition, he didn't release the young man's body armor he had grabbed.

There was no time to waste on the transport.

And if that's the case—there was no choice but to make a verbal promise to this stubborn man.

While not particularly favorable to the young man's principles, sometimes you had to make sacrifices for the greater good.

He let out a deep sigh.

"I'll consider it. I don't mind taking command temporarily until the current situation is resolved. However, if you plan to continue commanding in the future, you'll need permission from higher-ups."

"Heh, I've got your word!"

"Whatever, just quietly get transported. Some wounds don't heal if you don't let it so."

"I'm counting on you!"

The commander, with sweat on his face, finally seemed relieved. The expression, filled with anguish moments ago, seemed subtly calm down. Eventually, his eyes closed, and his body relaxed as if he had lost consciousness.

The medics swiftly carried the unconscious commander into the aircraft. Without watching this unfold, the young man readjusted his grip on the assault rifle and, with the intention of returning to the battlefield, sprinted away.

-----

.

.

.

With each scratch on the ground, a dull sound echoed.

Similar noises followed.

Then the sound of the ground being scratched again.

—The nihilister launched the wing missile and is flying at a low altitude, 120 meters above the ground.

—Guidance method, flight speed?

The sharp metallic sound resembled the opening of an oil lighter.

Then the wheel and flint rubbed together, producing the sound of sparks.

Two tall commanders—wearing khaki high-neck military uniforms and black coats, different from the predominantly brown combat uniforms—sat on the rubble of a collapsed building, using branches they picked up to spell out letters and symbols on the ground.

Silent to each other—occasionally, sighs escaped, but other than that, their lips didn't move much.

—The Rapture group that was lying in ambush appeared. They interfered in the battle.

—Leave the targets to them; I'll take care of it. I might miss a few, but I can still contain them.

—Is it possible?

—You think I couldn't?

—... Let's go with that as the correct answer. Next.

With a slight snort and a faint loosening of the corners of his mouth, the usually cold ice-blue eyes seemed somewhat softer than usual.

"They sure looked fun doing it."

"What's so fun about it? Aren't they just doodling while glaring at that commander over there?"

The witch shrugged her shoulders as if finding it amusing, while the petite yet holder of the strongest shield on the ground, without hiding her annoyance, turned around to glance over her shoulder.

Still, they remained silent toward each other—hours passed like that.

Amidst the squads and platoons commanded by both leaders, and with the flamboyantly dressed Nikke keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings, they continued busily etching symbols and letters on the ground using the branches they held.

It was supposed to be a test of command conducted verbally—so they had heard.

"Hey... Rapi, Neon. What are those two doing?"

"...Probably doing simulation with the sand."

"...What's that?"

"...Look into it later."

Though it had fallen out of use with the advancement of science and technology, one could say it was a diorama created on the ground or tabletop using sand or soil to depict the terrain, with models of buildings or vehicles placed if necessary—a miniature battlefield, in a sense.

The authentic version involved accurately determining the elevations from contour lines and replicating them, but they roughly piled up soil on the ground and placed fragments of stones or rubble instead of models.

"...Who do you think that stone represents?"

"Maybe Rapture? It looks ugly shaped."

"...who knows?"

Then, the branch held by Eden's commander, Johan, moved. He flicked away the oddly shaped stone with the tip of the branch. Immediately, Ark's commander, Moore, furrowed his brows deeply, releasing a trail of purple smoke from his cigarette.

"...Seems like it was someone from our group."

"Ugh...For real..."

Having realized that the oddly shaped stone might represent someone in their squad, Neon and Anis, one sighing and the other looking up at the sky, reacted differently.

After capturing the sight of their comrades expressing their thoughts in their own way, Rapi's crimson eyes were directed at them.

"...They truly have fun doing it, don't they?"

Faintly, to an almost imperceptible degree, his lips loosened into a smile.