Chapter #50: Blood on the Snow, an Oath in Steel
The bear's final roar faded into the frozen air at the same moment its massive body collapsed onto the snow. Olivier Mira Armstrong's sword had pierced its skull with flawless precision—but victory demanded an immediate, brutal price.
A wet, tearing sound shattered the silence.
Olivier turned her head just in time to see the bear's enormous jaws snap shut violently around Buccaneer's left arm. The crunch of bone was clear, unmistakable. There was no scream—only a dull, heavy impact, followed by a torrent of blood spilling onto the white snow like an impossible stain.
The arm was torn free along with the bear's head, still clenched by the beast's final spasm.
Buccaneer dropped to his knees.
For a fraction of a second, the world seemed to stop. The wind, the cold— even pain—hung suspended in an unnatural pause.
"Damn… bastard…" Buccaneer murmured, his face pale but eerily calm.
Olivier did not hesitate.
She sheathed her sword at once and knelt beside him. Blood flowed at an alarming rate. Shock would follow soon—and if it did, Buccaneer would die there, in the middle of the ice.
"Do not pass out," she ordered firmly. "Look at me."
Buccaneer lifted his gaze with difficulty. He smiled—a clumsy smile, stained red.
"Well… done… Colonel…" he said, raising his remaining arm in a thumbs-up. "That's… how you fight… in Briggs…"
Then his eyes began to lose focus.
Without thinking, Olivier tore a strip from her own jacket. Her movements were fast, precise, almost mechanical. She pressed hard against the wound, ignoring how blood soaked into her gloves.
"Don't die," she said. "I haven't given you enough orders yet."
She fashioned a tourniquet from Buccaneer's belt, tightening it until the bleeding slowed. The Captain growled in pain, but he did not lose consciousness entirely. That was enough.
With effort, Olivier stood and—without ceremony—began dragging him using her jacket, leaving a red trail across the snow. Every step was heavy. The cold bit deep. The delayed pain from her own blows began to flare.
She did not complain.
Briggs did not listen to lamentations.
Time passed strangely, distorted. Olivier no longer knew how long she had been walking when she heard the hum of engines approaching. Two snowmobiles emerged from the blizzard.
"Captain Buccaneer!" one of the soldiers shouted upon recognizing him. "Damn it—what happened here?!"
"Local wildlife attack," Olivier replied without stopping. "Take him to the base. Now."
The soldiers asked no questions. In Briggs, explanations came later—if there were survivors. They carefully loaded Buccaneer onto the vehicle. One of them looked at Olivier, startled by the blood staining her uniform.
"And you, Colonel?"
"I'll walk," she answered.
She did not wait for a reply.
As the snowmobiles disappeared into the storm, a lone figure watched from the crest of a distant hill. Wrapped in dark clothing, a Drachman spy had witnessed the entire scene. His eyes narrowed as he saw the woman walking alone toward the fortress, bloodied but unbowed.
"So that's her…" he murmured. "Olivier Mira Armstrong."
The Colonel kept moving, unaware that she had already been marked.
Hours later, as the sky began to darken, Olivier finally reached the massive gates of Briggs Fortress. Every step was an act of sheer will. Her wounds burned. The cold cut to the bone. Yet her back remained straight.
The gates opened.
A man stood waiting on the other side, applauding slowly. His expression was relaxed, almost amused. Tall, authoritative, with calculating eyes.
"Colonel Armstrong," he said with a light laugh. "What an unusual welcome officers from Central receive."
General Markus Falken.
Olivier looked at him for a moment. Her face was dirty, her uniform stained, her breathing heavy. She said nothing—simply walked past him and continued deeper into the base.
Falken stopped clapping. He watched her in silence as she moved away.
"Interesting…" he murmured.
"General," Olivier said without turning around, "one of your captains just lost an arm defending this border. I suggest you send a report to High Command… and reinforce the outer patrols. The wildlife is not the only thing moving in these mountains."
Falken raised an eyebrow.
"Is that a suggestion… or an order?"
Olivier stopped and glanced back over her shoulder.
"It's a warning."
The general smiled—this time without mockery.
"Very well," he said. "Escort the Colonel to her quarters. See to her wounds."
Two soldiers approached immediately. Olivier did not resist. She had arrived. Briggs had tested her… and had not rejected her.
As she disappeared into the steel-and-stone corridors, a single certainty settled in her mind:
In the North, there were no second chances.
But she had come to stay.
(End of the chapter)