Scars

Mark frowned, clearly disapproving of Elton's "live for today" attitude, and said seriously:

"Elton, your thinking is wrong. We soldiers fight every day, we don't know what tomorrow will bring, so we need to get married early and leave a bloodline, otherwise... um... you..."

Elton, however, nonchalantly took another swig of his drink and laughed, "It's precisely because being a soldier is dangerous that I'm willing to spend money and enjoy life to the fullest!"

"Think about it, what if I'm unlucky enough to die on the battlefield one day, and all the money I've worked so hard to save hasn't been spent? That would be such a loss! I'm not going to do something so stupid! I never save money anyway. As soon as I get my salary, I find time to spend it as soon as possible, and that's when I feel better!"

He spoke with such conviction, as if this were the wisest philosophy of life.

Mark and Elton clearly didn't see eye to eye. He shook his head helplessly and turned to Roderick, asking, "Roderick, what about you? You're so great, a platoon Platoon Leader at such a young age, and you're good-looking too. Lots of girls must like you, right? Why haven't any of them made a move?"

Roderick, who was skewering a sausage with his fork, smiled upon hearing this, a bright smile tinged with a subtle nonchalance, "Me? I'm still young, no rush, we'll talk about it later."

Mark teased, "Come on, you're still young? With your looks, all the families in the Tunbao with daughters are probably already eyeing you."

Roderick took a bite of sausage, chewed, and mumbled, "It's their business if they're after me. I haven't met the right person, so I'll let it go. You can't force these things."

His gaze seemed to flicker, sweeping across the noisy crowd, and then drifting off somewhere else.

Mark looked at him and seemed to understand something. He smiled and tapped him with his finger, "Hehe, it seems our Platoon Leader Roderick still yearns for true love. How pure and romantic!" His tone was good-natured teasing.

Roderick simply smiled, neither confirming nor denying, and instead raised his glass. "Come on, come on, the wine's served, and the food'll be here soon, let's not talk about this anymore, let's drink!"

The crowd laughed and raised their glasses, the clinking sounds drowned out by the tavern's clamor.

Oliver silently raised his glass, looking at the shimmering, foamy amber liquid inside. He glanced at his old comrades around him, chatting about everyday life, worrying about the future, and full of vitality. His heart, hardened and cold by his disability and rigorous training, seemed to be quietly melted by the warm, lively atmosphere of the tavern.

He tilted his head back and downed the slightly bitter yet sweet ale in one gulp.

The conversation went on about all sorts of things, and naturally it turned to Tommy, the youngest of the group.

Mark pointed at Tommy with his fork, a genuine, slightly envious smile on his face, and said, "Hey, Tommy, you're really making it big now, you've got a bright future ahead of you!"

"I heard you're no longer with our frontline combat troops, right?" He paused, as if recalling news he'd heard. "You did a great job in that large-scale recruitment drive in Fran City last time, you performed exceptionally well, didn't you?"

"It seems he was personally handpicked by the head steward Edgar, and transferred to his newly established... what's it called again? Oh right, the ' Culture and Propaganda Department '?"

Mark's voice unconsciously rose a little, tinged with longing. "That's a fantastic job! It's easy, safe, sheltered from the wind and rain, and I heard the pay is even more than for us soldiers rolling in the mud!"

"All you do all day is carry around a tin megaphone or hold up propaganda posters, going from Tunbao to recruit camp to preach our policies and heroic deeds. How impressive! You've really fallen into a lucky hole!"

However, to Mark's surprise, Tommy, who was envied by everyone, did not show any pride or happiness on his face. Instead, he sighed deeply, his young face filled with depression and disappointment that did not match his age.

He listlessly poked at the now-cold sausages on his plate with his fork, muttering under his breath, "What's so impressive about that... Mark, stop teasing me, I don't want to do this kind of talking."

"I want to fight! I want to fight like before, with real swords and guns, against you, against the Sauron! That's what being a soldier is all about! That's what it's like to be a soldier!" His tone was somewhat agitated. "Spending all day holding a broken megaphone and reading scripts to new recruits or civilians is so frustrating! I'd rather go back to the front lines and be a lowly soldier!"

Oliver, who had been silently drinking as if detached from the situation, paused slightly in his hand holding the glass when he heard Tommy's heartfelt complaint. A rare, uncontrollable, faint but incredibly genuine smile flickered across his weathered, serious face.

The emotions contained in that smile were extremely complex, including understanding, approval, and even a fleeting hint of envy that he himself was unaware of.

He understood Tommy's feelings all too well—the intense and pure urge to fight alongside familiar comrades, to shed blood on the battlefield, and to prove his worth! And wasn't Oliver feeling the same way?

Even more than Tommy, he longed to stand under the battle flag again, to feel the thunder of the War Drum, the crisp sound of clashing swords, and the brotherhood forged in life and death.

However, this smile was like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, creating only a tiny ripple before quickly sinking and being replaced by deeper bitterness and loneliness.

Because his situation is fundamentally different from Tommy's.

Tommy was transferred to a civilian position because of his outstanding performance. It was a temporary job change and another form of "promotion." He could be transferred back to the front line at any time if the war required it and take up arms again.

Tommy's greatest asset is his youth; he possesses limitless possibilities and a bright future.

But what about Oliver?

His gaze involuntarily and subtly swept over his right leg, which seemed somewhat unnatural even under the table.

That crippled leg, its knee completely destroyed by Crossbow Bolt, was destined to stay with him for the rest of his life.

It was because of this damned, irreversible disability that he forever lost the right to be a soldier and to charge alongside his comrades.

Tommy lost an opportunity to return to a familiar battlefield; Oliver, on the other hand, lost his entire future as a full-fledged soldier.

This kind of loss is permanent and can never be recovered.

The thought of this caused a sharp, bitter feeling, a mixture of helplessness and intense resentment, to clench his heart, making it hard to breathe.

He instinctively picked up his glass and downed the slightly bitter ale in one gulp, as if trying to extinguish the surging emotions in his heart with the icy liquid.

The perceptive Roderick kept a close eye on the emotional changes of everyone at the table.

He keenly caught the fleeting, complex smile on Oliver's face, followed by a deeper sense of desolation.

Seeing Oliver's slightly hurried and forceful movements while drinking, he understood about 70-80% of what was going on.

He knew that Tommy's unintentional words must have touched a raw nerve in Oliver's heart.

To break the slightly tense atmosphere and to pull Oliver out of his negative mood, Roderick raised his glass, looked around, and said, "Come on! Let's drink! To... to the fact that we're all still alive and can sit here and drink! Cheers!"

"Cheers!"

"To survive!"

The others immediately understood, raising their glasses and loudly echoing the sentiment. The crisp clinking sound rang out again, temporarily dispelling the gloom that had been hanging over Oliver's heart.

But everyone knows in their hearts that some wounds are so deep that they reach the bone, and cannot be easily healed by a few words of comfort and a glass of strong liquor.

Oliver's future, like the nights in the Northern Territory, remains long and cold, requiring more warmth and strength to sustain him on his journey.

And what these old comrades-in-arms can do is perhaps to have an extra drink with him on nights like these, and to give him some seemingly insignificant but crucial companionship.