The light of war shone in the boundless darkness.
In this silent stretch of outer space, no extraneous sounds could be heard, nor any screams and roars laden with sorrow and resolve between different races.
Naturally, in this space where even light collapsed, there were no rivers of flowing blood to be seen, no mountains of corpses, nor vast quantities of smoke, light, and heat.
Yet to Roland, this felt more like a war than his battles on the dead planet against the Old Deus's vanguard and the God of War who was, quite literally, war come to life.
After all, although the environment, intensity, and influence of one's companions could produce different understandings of what constituted war, it still depended on subjective human judgment.
Even a military operation that returned in triumph was undoubtedly a war to a wounded recruit.
Even a large-scale attack that cost many lives was merely an international conflict reported on the news to those untouched by it.
Emotions and convictions alone could not sway war itself.
Whether anger or sorrow, even hatred was of no use, but to an individual, they were precisely the markers that defined war.
They were the criteria for deciding whether to stake life and death, soul and existence, on this slaughter.
"Phew-!"
Roland drew a deep breath.
Then what was prompting him to define this moment as a war?
The courage to survive?
The excitement of encountering a powerful enemy and finally being able to go all out?
Or... his lingering resentment, his desire to wash away that defeat?
Humanity's starting point was both insignificant and immense.
When something did not concern them, many people would laugh it off, no matter how righteous the conviction or how true the facts, even when it involved the suffering and death of