Chapter #51: Steel for Those Who Do Not Retreat
The pain was gone—or so Olivier Mira Armstrong believed when she opened her eyes. The white ceiling of Briggs' infirmary offered no comfort: cold, straight, impersonal, like everything in that fortress. The scent of antiseptic mingled with metal and stone, and the distant wind battered the walls, a constant reminder of where she was.
A soldier stood guard beside the bed, motionless, attentive to every breath the colonel took. When he noticed her stirring, he stepped forward.
"Colonel Armstrong, you should—"
"Buccaneer?" she interrupted, her voice hoarse. "Where is Captain Buccaneer?"
The soldier hesitated for a second. He didn't answer with words—only nodded and gestured for her to follow.
Olivier rose without waiting for help. Her wounds were bandaged, her body still sore, but her posture remained unyielding. She moved through the corridors of the base with steady purpose, ignoring the silent looks of respect from the soldiers she passed. Briggs had already learned something essential: this woman did not break.
They reached an observation room. Through the glass, a gurney lay surrounded by medical equipment. Buccaneer rested on it, unconscious, his torso wrapped in bandages, his left side covered up to the shoulder. Where an arm had once been, there was now only absence.
A doctor in a white coat turned as she entered.
"Colonel Armstrong," he said with a tired smile. "I'm glad to see you on your feet so soon. To be honest, considering you killed a giant bear, you got off pretty lightly. Who would've thought?" He chuckled softly.
Olivier did not react.
"How is Buccaneer?" she asked, bluntly.
The doctor sighed.
"He'll live. He lost the arm… but he survived."
Olivier nodded slowly. She showed no relief, but something in her eyes loosened—just a fraction.
"Can he continue serving?" she asked. "Is there an option for him to live normally?"
The doctor studied her before answering.
"Yes. But the decision isn't ours. When he wakes up, the Captain will have to choose: immediate retirement with a pension… or an automail implant. With rehabilitation, he could return to active duty."
Without another word, Olivier opened the door and entered the room.
She stepped closer to the gurney and looked at Buccaneer in silence for a few seconds. Without his full uniform, without his usual imposing presence, he seemed smaller. And yet, he was still a soldier of Briggs.
"Hey," she said suddenly, raising her voice. "You miserable piece of trash. Don't you dare die."
The silence broke with a faint movement.
"Piece… of trash?" Buccaneer muttered, opening his eyes with difficulty. "Is that what I get… for saving your life?"
Olivier frowned.
"Saving my life?" she replied. "Don't exaggerate. I killed the bear."
Buccaneer tried to move—and then felt it. The strange weight. The absence. Slowly, he turned his head toward his left side. The empty space was impossible to ignore.
"…Where…?" His breathing quickened.
Suddenly, his shout echoed through the room.
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, DAMN BEAR!" he roared. "I'LL RIP THE ARM OFF YOU AND EVERY BEAR I SEE FROM NOW ON!"
He launched into an endless stream of insults, threats, and vows of vengeance against an entire species. Olivier watched without flinching. Strangely enough, it reassured her.
"Good," she said. "You're still you."
The doctor stepped in before Buccaneer could attempt to sit up.
"I'm glad to see that spirit, Captain," he said. "Now, let's get to the important part. You have two clear options."
He explained calmly: honorable retirement with a lifelong pension, or an automail implant with months of recovery and constant pain.
Buccaneer didn't let him finish.
"I want automail," he said without hesitation. "With an axe. A sword. And if it can fly, even better."
The doctor laughed.
"It doesn't fly… but it is modular."
He turned and brought over a prototype: an automail arm with interchangeable components, designed for combat in extreme environments. Hooks. Blades. Reinforcements.
Buccaneer's eyes gleamed.
"That one," he said. "That's perfect for me."
Olivier crossed her arms, watching the scene. She didn't intervene. There was no need. The decision had been made the moment Buccaneer raised his thumb while bleeding out in the snow.
Hours later, the operation began.
Olivier remained there, standing still, watching as steel replaced flesh. It wasn't a pleasant sight. It was raw, mechanical, brutal. But it was also… honest.
Briggs did not offer happy endings. It offered second chances to those with the will to take them.
When it was over, the doctor removed his gloves.
"He'll survive," he said. "And when he fully wakes up… he'll be even more dangerous than before."
Olivier nodded.
She turned and left the room. As she walked the steel-and-stone corridors of the fortress, a single thought settled with absolute clarity in her mind:
Buccaneer wasn't just a captain.
He was the kind of man Briggs needed.
And so was she.
In the North, steel was not just a material.
It was a promise.
(End of the chapter)