Oxanun Down

The boy soldiers seemed to carry a vague unease, thrown together without purpose.

They must feel the dissonance of their current state. The danger they were in.

Yet they had no choice but to follow orders. Too pure. Too voiceless.

—I became squad leader by lottery.

At first I was told a lieutenant from the academy would arrive—sir.

But it just… happened that way.

One of them said that.

Their placement, treatment, chain of command—all arbitrary. The underlying message was clear: as long as they didn’t interfere with the main force, that was sufficient. And that was the best arrangement for everyone.

Cases like Crewk McGabban were apparently rare. Boy soldier units carried out whatever tasks they were told each day, yet no one took responsibility for them.

It should have been fine. Frontline soldiers never fired weapons at them. Naturally. They were protected.

The problem was the situation in Karaf had reached this point, and no one had the capacity to care.

—I heard it. Squad 2200 was left behind at the Springmornas defensive line. They were wiped out.

Everyone else retreated. Only they were abandoned.

Even if we were in the way, was that acceptable?

—No. Worse.

No one remembered Squad 2200 at all.

How strange. Io clenched his molars.

The world sometimes did truly bizarre things.

A situation that could have been avoided if just one of a hundred had remained calm, had fulfilled their duty—now it happened without hesitation.

A hundred people, all losing their composure, choking on mud and blood, that was Karaf now.

No matter who died, or how many, they would all mourn intensely—then resume the same routine as if nothing had happened.

Eventually, a memorial monument would be erected, and people would breathe easy, satisfied that they had repaid the fallen.

—It was nothing more than self-congratulation.

Where do they go? Who inherits their belongings? Who remembers their names?

After enduring agony under orders from a stranger whose face they never saw, is that all they do—just die?

Is it really just death, without a single trace of happiness, as if it were natural?

The hand clutched tightly was hot. A sudden tap on the shoulder.

—Sergeant, what’s wrong?

—Ah, nothing.

—Your face looks terrifying.

Suddenly, he snapped back to himself.

He slowly unclenched the hand he’d gripped so hard the blood had drained from his face.

Fingers trembled slightly. Io forced a bitter smile.

Too much immersion. Even roleplay has its limits.

Relax—there’s no problem.

Honestly, he’d been unsure what action to take toward this event, yet the words slipped out effortlessly.

Our lieutenant has survived far worse trials. And the plan for 3552’s escape was entirely her idea.

Audar has already prepared for your arrival. Everything is proceeding as scheduled.

Multiple communication windows. The tense faces of the young recruits unclench abruptly.

The hero image crafted by media coverage proves surprisingly useful. With absolute confidence, he declared it—without hesitation, they believed Io.

Leave it to the lieutenant and us. After all, night escapes and desertions are our specialty.

Kukuk—unwillingly, I must admit that’s true.

Crouke delivered his performance with absolute confidence.

Commanders, prepare thoroughly. The Salomah Volunteers will deploy equipment even to units without comms. This tactical seminar will soon grow into something formidable.

— I’ll handle the details. How to slip through the night, navigate chaos, escape from Karaf.

—

An order summons Io. Headquarters of the Oxanun garrison, junior officer duty station.

A staff officer, apparently under Yuaris’s command, activates a briefing holographic desk.

“Sergeant, you’ve apparently been flagged for capture.”

Huh? Io raises an eyebrow.

Terrain data around Oxanun, force deployment, and a rudimentary enemy distribution map appear on the holographic desk.

“Currently, no large-scale combat is occurring between our forces and the Weedran.

Only sporadic skirmishes persist.

There, on the captured enemy terminal and various data—your photo was found.

I didn’t authorize the lizards to take pictures of me.

I know. But they’re intensely interested in you.

The large-scale offensive last week. And before that—your coordination with Sinclair.

The Weedran are gathering intelligence on you. That’s certain.

Look at this, the colonel continues, immediately displaying new data.

A photograph believed to be from the final sweep of the Corwell city sector.

Your face is clearly visible. Apparently, this was the clearest shot. Every captured terminal contained identical text data alongside this image.

According to the analysis team…

You want me dead?

That’s right. I don’t care about the linguistic nuances of those lizards… but the one who kills you will be granted ‘Supreme Honor’—ah, what’s this? Some translation issue, but apparently ‘Wisdom to Become a Star.’

Supreme Honor… and Wisdom to Become a Star?

No idea what that means. Even as enemy language, the translation makes no sense. Is this even accurate?

Io narrows her eyes. The colonel dismisses the hologram.

“We’re concerned about your death right now. Utterly absurd, really.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You’ve become too famous. In this fragile state of Oxanun… a hero’s death would lower morale among soldiers and civilians alike. Unacceptable level.”

“So I shouldn’t have given that press conference.”

“Whether you did or didn’t makes no difference—just a negligible margin.”

The high command of the field army, evacuated to Audar, is already urging you to be moved to the rear without delay.

Living diamond frame. That title carries more weight than you imagine."

"That would be a wasteful use of resources."

"I agree. So, sorry about this, corporal—should you die, we’ll hold a grand state funeral to boost morale."

"Whatever. Go ahead and make it flashy."

The lieutenant did not respond to the insolent words meant for a superior officer.

——

"Recovery operation for stranded civilians has been planned. No one knows if they’re still alive."

Black armor. Skull emblem burned into the shoulder plate.

The Syndicate Assault Team detachment remains scattered across all directions, engaged in special operations.

"Why the sudden change?"

"Because we’ve just opened the substation at Oxanun."

How do you think the civilian population sees the additional deployment of rescue convoys?

……Well, fine. Can I join the picnic?

You have your own duties.

A temporary cafeteria set up for Sinclair. The Charger picks up the helmet left on the table and rises.

Over twenty million civilians are confirmed missing. The number will grow once the data is sorted.

How many of them are still alive? Covering the entire Karaf region is impossible.

The lizards take pleasure in skinning humans they find. Many are infected with the Karaf virus.

This is nothing but a futile effort.

Io tightens his grip on the cup until the plastic groans.

Better not say that in front of the Reaper.

He’s composed. He knows what needs to be done.

……Charger, have you heard this before? What do you know about the Kharuf Virus?

Current information only. No further details available.

……Fine. We don’t know how much we’ll achieve, but we’ll use the Oxanun Subsupport regardless. You just slip the boy soldiers in during the chaos.

Appreciate it. The operation just got easier.

Then, launch.

No—wait.

Change of question.

Ioh spoke sharply, stopping Charger from walking away.

What do you think of the Kharuf Virus?

Destroy it. Along with those who created it.

Ioh nodded, satisfied.

——

The free mission contact is lost. The event seems to be nearing its final phase.

(Goblet, when will the enemy move?)

Data insufficient. Calculations will not be precise.

Oxanun Command expects the enemy's major assault in one week.

(What about you?)

Five days. Four, if possible.

(A brief peace?)

Too soon for mountain retreat.

A small vehicle stood before the command headquarters. The assigned driver waved at Sergeant Io.

As the lieutenant had said, Io was now treated as VIP. Convenient, that.

No doubt they still see him as a troublesome rebel.

Io entered the vehicle. The landscape blurred past.

The driver chatted cheerfully.

Sergeant Io, it is an honor to drive you.

Is that so. Hearing that eases the burden slightly.

I double as your guard. Hartie Goodman, Sergeant. Pleasure to serve.

Same rank. You’ve been in longer than me, it seems.

Not just that. I served two years on the front line in Kharuf. Never returned home.

Certified in rescue, explosive disposal, and advanced marksmanship. Volunteered for more demanding missions lately.

You’re saying I’m your guard?

No. QRF and sabotage assignments.

Seems like different fields.

Sounds arrogant, I know. But I’ve got diverse qualifications.

Recently, I’ve been assigned high-profile protection duties. Like this one.

Talks too much about himself. Leave him alone, and he’ll keep yammering until he hits the bed.

Dark skin. Shaved head. Body built thicker than Ioh’s, clearly.

Face carved with sharp features, a leopard’s intensity in the gaze.

Well, your accomplishments overshadow all that.

You said you’ve never returned home. Not from Kharuf, then?

Born in southern Karalia, Adasel region. South hemisphere. Well, you probably don’t know that.

Sorry about that.

No matter. Where you’re from doesn’t change the fact that you fight the Weedran.

Hartie grins, rough and sharp. Iou grins back.

Almost there. Strange. Traffic jam.

There shouldn’t be many people left here.

A traffic jam at the checkpoint. Hartie tilts his head.

Something’s wrong.

Soldiers are locked in a brawl. Blood is drawn.

The fight is fierce. They’re clawing at each other like they’ve lost all reason.

Iou’s spine prickles.

Hartie, stay calm. I’ve seen this before.

Yeah?

Infected.

…? …What?

A soldier lunges at a comrade’s neck.

Damn it!

Hartie’s judgment is quick. Swerving the wheel, he immediately reverses the vehicle.

Fortunately, no following vehicles are present.

“Proceed to the designated facility per the Virus Emergency Protocol!”

Seems like an event has triggered. Good thing this dive wasn’t wasted.

Io turns back, watching the checkpoint recede. Soldiers still grapple violently.

…Quite a number.

Countless figures dart past the checkpoint perimeter. Io’s enhanced vision catches them—teeth bared, saliva smeared across their faces.

Six, seven, eight—growing steadily.

Agent Io

Goblet swims through the field of view.

Unusual electromagnetic output detected. Likely enemy weaponry.

Hartie, stop the vehicle!

At the moment the car nearly passes a small apartment block, a massive explosion erupts.