Parallel (A Virtual Gamer's Story) [Vol.1 - Vol.4 Complete]

Chapter 132: Arrogance of the Strong

The End of War. A glorious achievement, a moment, of which every soldier, revolutionary and extremist dreams. They hear the stories from their commanders, fathers, teachers, leaders, and more; tales of the great euphoria that arises from emerging victorious and the crushing despair that accompanies defeat. Hence they fight with all they have to emerge the victor.

But no one ever tells them the truth.

No, no one ever does.

The truth of the harrowing despair that immediately follows momentary joy. The misery that crushes your soul as you look upon the mangled body of your best friend. That hellish, hollowed laughter chokes you upon realizing the rivers of blood paid for the celebrated victory.

No one ever tells them. There are no real victors or losers in a war. Only Survivors. And in the end, it falls to the survivors to pick up the pieces no matter the outcome and strive for a future where they would not have to watch their brethren perish.

Still—Still, despite all this, there do exist a few occasions; battlefields where despite the drowning grief, there arises a small, minute surge of pride. Not the shallow satisfaction of one who congratulates himself for surviving. No, this is the subtle pride that surges up a soldier's chest as he gazes at his fallen brethren.

A pride that arises from realizing that every one of those fallen brethren is the only reason they still live. An overwhelming joy quietly consumes, fuelled by the knowledge they were able to fulfill their slain brethren's wishes, obtaining victory and ensuring their lives did not go to waste.

This silent pride, purposeful yet subtle, is the most intoxicating of drugs to the grief-laden soldiers. It gives meaning to what would otherwise be a meaningless end. Provides hope that one day, when they too are claimed by the flames of battle, their souls would not be forgotten. They would be able to walk proudly in the afterlife, carried by the pride and gratitude of their brothers-in-arms who lived.

And for those warriors left behind on the earth, the subtle pride within their hearts would give them the courage to step onto the next battlefield. Yes, because no matter how mangled their bodies got, they would be able to continue steadfast in the knowledge that their deaths would not be meaningless.

This was an emotion that transcended reason, orders, and purpose. It did not matter if the soldier was an honorable general or a conscripted slave. As long as there was a brother beside them, they would be able to fight, spurred on by the knowledge that should they perish, their deaths would serve as a platform for their brothers to survive, and vice-versa.

So it was for Yngvar Kernode, who watched with a steely gaze as weeping dwarfs covered their fallen brethren's corpses with tarps to protect their bodies from the scavenging birds. The old general frowned. His throat, constricted tightly by forcefully blocked emotions, managed to squeeze out, "Many good brothers and sisters were lost."

Absalon, who stood by his said, uttered not a word, gaze similarly cold. Although they had managed to obtain victory, the dwarfs had simply lost too much in this war. Of their six thousand armies, approximately two thousand had perished. That was about a third of their full number! Similarly, Absalon's troops had also lost a third of their number, but most of them were Summoned. So although it was quite irritating, he could take solace in the fact they still lived in the other world.

The dwarfs had no such luck.

"Stand proud," Absalon finally spoke, voice slightly hoarse. As a side effect of staying too long with the Maggots, he had long stopped viewing the residents as computer programs. The pain in his heart was no less than when his brothers died during the short, six-month techno-wars. "They have paid the ultimate price to ensure your freedom.". "Rather than mourn, you should celebrate their sacrifice and pay as much of this debt as you can."