The Truth of the Fifth War (I)

"He has a problem," Sevatar said. "I've never seen a Remembrancers stand amidst a pile of corpses and speak to me as calmly as he has."

Karyl glanced at him, then suddenly smiled, "Besides him, which other Remembrancers have you seen, Sevatar?"

"That's not important," the first reserve officer said, sticking out his neck. "The point is he has a problem, instructor, he definitely has a problem!"

Karyl nodded, temporarily withdrawing himself from the complex pre-battle tactical planning. He straightened up from the tactical sand table, casually tugging at his collar in preparation for changing clothes later.

Although "Blade" could leap directly from the Shadow and become armor, attaching itself to his body, he didn't want to go to the battlefield wearing one of his few good clothes.

Watching his actions, Sevatar felt a sense of unease for some reason.

"Well then, in your opinion, what is Mr. Bellros von Sharp's problem?" Karyl asked slowly.

"He killed several traitors without flinching," Sevatar said, tilting his head back. "Karen Orfion can attest to the unusual zeal he displayed in battle, and his familiarity with the weapons of his opponents."

"Okay, continue."

He said it was the first time he had ever seen such a short shotgun, but before Valtek could even tell him how to use it, he had already figured it out himself.

"How else can guns be used?" Karyl couldn't help but chuckle. "Aside from the slightly complicated safety procedures, even Ogryn ape could learn how to use them."

"But he was very accurate, instructor. All six traitors were killed with a single blow at close to medium range, even though the traitors were already fleeing at the time."

Sevatar raised his hand and tapped his helmet.

"But didn't the documents from the Departmento Munitorum say that the Remembrancers were all poets and journalists? And sculptors too? How could these people possibly have received weapons training?"

"Perhaps he was a militiaman before," Karyl replied noncommittally, bending his arm and beginning to take off his coat.

Sevatar fell silent, vaguely sensing something from the instructor's attitude.

After a moment, he asked, "Does this involve some kind of secret, instructor?"

"No," Karyl said. "Bellros von Sharp's life story is clearly documented in the documents sent by the Departmento Munitorum. He merely lived a long life; he wasn't at the level to involve anything classified, let alone become classified."

"Then why?" Sevatar hesitated, pursing her lips.

"Because you asked," Karyl said without even looking up. "So I have to answer you; it's one of my duties to answer your questions."

Sevatar finally had nothing more to say. He silently gave an Aquila Salute and left. Karyl watched him go, then shook his head in the command room where he was alone.

Sometimes, the Emperor is not just the Emperor.

--

The counterinsurgency campaign against Cappadocia was launched by the Eighth Legion three hours after the destruction of the New Hope. However, by the time Bellros von Sharp landed from orbit in his Storm Eagle, a full six hours had passed since the start of the war.

To be honest, the process was not comfortable for him. He was strapped tightly to the seat, but the violent jolting almost made the Remembrancers vomit.

Sevatar sat opposite him, grinning, and scoffed with a hint of smugness, "Is that all you're capable of, Mr. Bellros? We've already slowed down."

The Remembrancers took a deep breath and spoke with difficulty and trembling hands, "I've never tried anything like this before."

"You'd be a fool to even try," Sevatar muttered to himself, but said nothing more.

A few minutes later, they landed smoothly. The hatch of the Thunderhawk slowly opened, and he and Bellros stepped out together.

Before them lay a city being destroyed. Broken bricks and rubble, corpses littered the ground. Smoke obscured the sky, and the sound of intense, rapid gunfire echoed from afar.

Sevatar looked down at Bellros, trying to find some unease in him, but only saw calm and familiarity.

Yes, it sounds familiar.

Sevatar shook his head and picked up the chainsaw.

He glanced at the radar map displayed in the upper left of the eyepiece, then looked down at the Remembrancers and said, "You'd better come with me, sir. Of course, if you want to move around freely, I have no problem with that either."

"Is the latter risky?" Bellros asked cautiously.

"The former too." Sevatar grinned, a deep laugh escaping from his breathing grille. "I usually only go to the most dangerous places."

"The traitors' foundry, or barracks?" Bellros guessed.

It will only get worse.

"Then I'll go with you, Captain Sevatarion."

Sevatar shook his head with a hint of sarcasm, saying nothing more.

The Thunderhawk that had brought them to their landing quickly took off; it and its pilot had other tasks to complete. Air currents dissipated, and black smoke billowed. Sevatar turned and, with the Remembrancers in tow, began walking through the city, now almost entirely ruins.

He felt it was a difficult task, but since the Remembrancers were appointed by the Emperor himself, he had to let Bellros do his job.

They walked through the dilapidated streets, Sevatar heard the constant clicking of cameras. He couldn't help but be curious about what Bellros was photographing, so he asked him directly.

"How would you describe this war?" Sevatar asked casually.

"I don't know right now, Captain Sevatarion. I'd love to answer you, but I have to experience this war firsthand before I can tell you my thoughts," Bellros replied, his expression serious, taking photos incessantly.

He photographed ruins, scattered furniture, and children's toys consumed by flames. He also photographed corpses—men, women, and the elderly. He documented almost everything, yet offered no comment.

Watching his movements, Sevatar suddenly had an idea. He subtly turned and led the Remembrancers to the other side of the ruins. A dozen minutes later, they arrived at the ruins of a factory. There, an execution was taking place.

Thousands of unarmed rebel soldiers, screaming and crying, are being executed one by one by the Night Lords.

The method wasn't cruel; in fact, it could be described as swift. They didn't skimp on the explosives, trying to ensure each soldier died painlessly. Nevertheless, the scene was still extremely horrifying.

Waiting for death is always one of the most prominent images in human fears.

People screamed, cried, and begged for mercy like livestock within the cordoned-off area. Some watched indifferently, their minds already shattered. Others screamed and ran around frantically, wishing they could sprout wings and fly away.

All of this was rejected by the cold and ruthless midnight giants. The cold muzzles of the Boltgun were pointed at them, numbers were called, names were read, and executions were carried out. Such a chaotic scene was even handled with a certain sense of order.

"So, what are your thoughts?" Sevatar asked with a light laugh. "How will you describe this in your manuscript, Mr. Bellros?"

The Remembrancers didn't answer, but simply took photos silently. A few minutes later, he finally sighed.

"Actually, my descriptions aren't important," he said seriously. "Those people in the propaganda department will review all the manuscripts I send back. Only the positive reviews will be published in the newspapers or books."

So, what are your thoughts on this scene?

"Are you really curious, Captain Sevatarion?"

"Yes," Sevatar nodded and said softly. "I'd like to know."

"My view is—" the Remembrancers calmly shook his head. "—this is nothing unusual in war, quite commonplace. Whether these people were coerced, incited, or harbored rebellious intentions from the start, they are all rebels."

"Traitors don't deserve to live; they don't have that right. There can be no Mercy in this matter, or it would set a bad precedent. Remember, traitors are often more hateful than enemies, Captain Sevatarion."

"Don't you think this is cruel?" Sevatar asked.

The Remembrancers smiled, a smile no different from his usual one, but Sevatar noticed a subtle difference. Bellros raised his hand, removed his gold-rimmed glasses, and placed them inside the lining of his bulletproof armor.

The wind, carrying the smell of gunpowder, blew by, and the screams of the rebels filled the air, yet he maintained his smile and nodded to Sevatar.

"They deserved it," the Remembrancers said with a cold laugh. "In fact, I was even somewhat surprised by the Night Lords' level of Mercy."

"You call us Mercy?" Sevatar scoffed. "What are you talking about, Bellros? Have you lost your mind?"

"You haven't tortured them, nor their families, and the damage to the city caused by the civilians is negligible; some important nodes and energy transport routes haven't even been destroyed. And I haven't seen any colonial fleets coming from afar in orbit, which means you intend to let the civilians continue to live in their homeland. If this isn't Mercy, then Mercy is?"

Sevatar was silent for a moment, then asked, "Who exactly are you?"

Bellros didn't answer the question; he simply crouched down and picked up a small pebble from the ground. He put it in his pocket and then put his glasses back on.

"I am a Remembrancers, Captain Sevatarion," Bellros said. "That's all."

Sevatar stared at him and slowly nodded.

"Very good, come with me." He turned around. "You probably want to go see the front lines, don't you, photographer?"

"I couldn't be happier, dear Captain Sevatarion!"

Update complete.

Don't worry, Chaos doesn't appear in this volume.