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墨書 Inktalez
Two-Star Hunter Menechdar
Taking matters into his own hands and displaying such bravery, the Hunters behind him watched in awe as the young man clad in a tight black suit executed his moves with precision. The cold chill ran down their spines as they witnessed him slice an incoming insect in half with a single stroke.
"Hold the line! Are your eyes just for decoration?" Menech shouted, turning his head. "Get out there and look for any defensive weaknesses! Don’t just stand around! I’m really fed up with this—today’s younger generation has no sense of discipline. Can’t they find something to do?"
They all knew that this war could not afford any losses. The two-star hunters understood better than anyone that if the casualties among the Hunters Association's members were too high, it could lead to a disadvantage in future alliance ratings. However, retreating was absolutely not an option under such ambush conditions. Their enemies, the Zerg, were waiting to wipe them out completely, dragging their bodies back for incubation or food reserves. The lack of livestock nearby was likely due to the Zerg's occupation.
"Brothers, hold the line! First squad, take a break; second squad, move up! Hold your ground! Third squad, be on standby—rotate in whenever there's an opening! Don’t give those beasts any chance to break through!" The voice of Ramel Sergeant Major rang out as the Gatling Gun roared almost non-stop. Soldiers stood on either side, with ammunition handlers and water bearers constantly assisting in cooling down the barrel.
Meanwhile, inside the tent, hearing the fierce battle outside, Good showed no signs of stopping. He donned the plate armor hanging on the wall, which looked somewhat heavy and clumsy. With his long sword in hand, he resembled a warrior; however, his movements suggested he was somewhat fatigued.
It was hard to gauge what kind of burden his limited ability of negative seven times imposed on him, but it certainly wasn’t pain or a reduction in physical capacity. As stated by the rules, it was a weakening of his Ability.
Despite his demeanor being somewhat weary and his face pale, he donned the cumbersome armor that trembled slightly. He glanced at Freyr's outfit; Freyr had chosen a piece of chainmail to protect his chest this time. However, it was uncertain how this chainmail would fare against the claws of the Zerg.
Nonetheless, the protective gear and weapons produced by the human army were still somewhat inferior to those developed by certain associations. This was primarily because these weapons and protective gear were designed for internal conflicts among humans and could not play a decisive role in warfare. The army's purpose was to intimidate and secure borders, preventing the Zerg from breaching their cities.
Typically, new recruits for the army were male civilians aspiring to become citizens; however, there were exceptions like the Flower of the Overlord—a unit composed entirely of fierce women warriors.
Despite being female, their combat prowess often surpassed that of men due to their serious nature. They believed that whatever men could do in the future, women could do as well: war and combat. Meanwhile, some men appeared too soft and delicate, better suited for staying home to care for children or cook.
Freyr turned back and asked calmly, "Are you alright? With your condition, even walking seems unsteady. Good, why don’t you take a break?"
"I'm fine," Good replied curtly with a huff. "I don’t need you reminding me. When it comes to strength, you’re still not my match right now. So don’t expect me to help you on the battlefield; whether you survive depends on your luck and ability." Good took a few uncomfortable steps before stopping abruptly and turning back sharply.
Freyr felt he had misjudged the situation and nodded lightly, "Uh, alright, I understand."
After donning his chainmail, the two of them stepped out of the military tent, one after the other.
Outside the tent stood a tall and imposing man clad in plate armor and wearing rugged white trousers. He kicked a sluggish soldier in the rear and shouted angrily, "Don't walk so slowly! Get moving!"
"Don't act like you've lost your parents' honor. If you don't hold this position, your wives and children will die. You need to be prepared to fight to the death to defend this place. Hurry up, run!"
Such voices had echoed countless times within the tent just moments ago, booming loudly. He glanced at the two emerging from the tent; upon seeing their demeanor and the gear they wore, his attitude shifted dramatically. "Gentlemen, please move a bit faster. We've already lost many soldiers, and we absolutely cannot afford to lose this position. I'm begging you."
In the face of war, no one’s demeanor was friendly. The towering man was missing a leg; otherwise, he would have charged into battle with heavy weaponry, fighting tooth and nail against the Zerg.
Reality was cruel. Not long ago, he had been whole and healthy, but now he was the only survivor among a dozen men from that patrol. If it hadn't been for timely rescue and proper cover from a Gatling Gun during a fierce assault by numerous hunters, he wouldn't have escaped from the Spider Swarm.
However, all his comrades had perished. During the retreat, his leg had been sprayed with venom from a Juvenile Spider. To prevent further corrosion of the wound, he had sacrificed one leg to save his life. After that incident, he was reassigned to logistics for support tasks. Now his mission was to scour the camp for any soldiers hiding in corners.
He could no longer transport the wounded or deliver ammunition quickly enough. All he could do now was check every nook and cranny for survivors. If he couldn't find anyone, given a gun, he might even block an explosion hole with his own body as a makeshift barrier.
"We are hunters; we know what our purpose is," Good said, a slight smirk appearing on his lips as his agile aura flared once more.
Freyr genuinely felt that this aura emanating from Good was incredibly impressive; it reminded him of something familiar.
Indeed, it felt somewhat recognizable; deep in his subconscious, this person had unleashed an ability that saved his life. Now observing Good up close, Freyr noticed that the aura surrounding him radiated an isolating sense of loneliness.
After observing for a while, Good suddenly said, "Have you seen enough? Let's go, we shouldn't keep them waiting. War comes with sacrifices. Once you're on the battlefield, there's no need to be afraid. You're fighting for the principle of human survival. If you sacrifice yourself, someone will erect a monument for you. Even in death, you won't be alone; they will honor you as a martyr and remember you."
"Yes, I know. I understand. I'm not afraid," Freyr replied, nodding gently. He had actually experienced this kind of scene a long time ago. He knew that being on the battlefield meant putting his life on the line; if he didn't run fast enough at any moment, he might meet his end.
Good looked into Freyr's eyes and saw no trace of fear. He smiled lightly and turned back to draw the ancient black longsword above his head and said, "That's good."
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