Chapter #61: Rebirth Among the Ruins
Buccaneer dropped to his knees as the thunder finally faded and the echo of the explosion died among the mountains. Before him stretched a trail of fire, twisted metal, and blackened snow. The valley—only hours earlier a living, roaring battlefield—now looked like a frozen graveyard. Drachma tanks reduced to smoking scrap, abandoned weapons, motionless bodies slowly being covered by the falling snow as it returned.
The Major could not hold back.
Tears spilled from his eyes without permission, mixing with dried blood and soot on his face. It wasn't only the horror of the slaughter that broke him, but the certainty of the sacrifice. General Falken—that arrogant, harsh, impossible man—had given his life so that Briggs could stand.
"Damn fool…" Buccaneer murmured, slamming his automail fist into the snow. "You said we'd survive…"
Around him, the soldiers of Briggs began to stir. Some sat on the ground, staring into nothing, unable to process what had happened. Others staggered to their feet, searching for comrades, calling out names that would never be answered. More than one broke down openly, without shame. The North did not judge tears—it understood them.
The cold slowly reclaimed the battlefield, as if nothing had happened. Steam rose from the still-hot wreckage, forming a thick mist that wrapped around the men like a shroud.
Then, through the smoke and ruins, a figure began to rise.
Colonel Olivier Mira Armstrong emerged slowly, walking with unyielding resolve despite her visible wounds. Her coat was torn, her uniform stained with blood—her own and others'—and her silver hair whipped in the frozen wind. Every step looked as though it had been torn from hell itself.
The soldiers saw her.
The murmurs died.
Olivier advanced to a natural rise formed by the remains of a collapsed wall and melted metal. She climbed it without assistance, ignoring the pain coursing through her body. From there, with Briggs at her feet, she raised her sword.
The sun—hidden behind gray clouds and war smoke—broke through at that very moment. A beam of light struck the bare blade, making it shine as if forged from pure fire.
"Listen to me!" her voice thundered, clear and commanding, overpowering the wind.
Every eye locked onto her.
"This is not the time to cry!" she continued. "This is not the time to kneel before death!"
Some soldiers clenched their jaws. Others wiped their tears with the backs of their hands.
"Today we saw brave men fall," Olivier said, her tone unsoftened. "We witnessed the highest sacrifice a soldier can make. But that sacrifice was not so that we would surrender! It was so that we would move forward!"
She lifted the sword higher.
"General Falken died for Briggs. He died so this fortress would remain impregnable. He died so the North would never bow to Drachma."
Her gaze swept across the troops, one by one.
"Do not stain their memory by weeping without purpose. Honor the fallen by standing up. By rebuilding. By preparing for tomorrow. Because as long as Briggs stands… their sacrifice will have been worth it."
She drove the sword into the ground with a sharp удар.
"We are relentless!" she roared. "We are the North! And Briggs stands supreme!"
There was a moment of absolute silence.
Then, one by one, the soldiers began to rise.
First those closest. Then the wounded who could still move. Finally, even those who had been paralyzed by shock. As if the colonel's words had breathed life back into them, they began to gather weapons, clear debris, and help the injured to their feet.
"Move!" someone shouted.
"For Briggs!" another answered.
Medics and stretcher-bearers arrived shortly after, descending from the fortress with practiced speed. They began treating the wounded, sorting the fallen, and restoring order amid the chaos.
Olivier descended from the rise and walked straight toward Buccaneer, who was still on his knees. She extended her hand without a word.
The Major looked up. His tears had frozen on his cheeks, forming tiny, shining crystals.
"Come on," she said firmly.
Buccaneer nodded and took her hand. With effort, he stood.
"Thank you… Colonel," he murmured, his voice breaking.
"Don't thank me," she replied. "We're not finished yet."
Together they walked toward the improvised infirmary inside the base. Buccaneer was treated immediately, forced to sit while his automail and wounds were examined. Olivier stayed only long enough to ensure he would be stable.
Then she left.
Despite the fractures in her bones and the exhaustion threatening to bring her down, she began to help. She carried planks, cleared stones, and lifted bodies with care. Where orders were needed, she gave them. Where strength was required, she supplied it.
At one point, she stopped, staring at the massive crater left by the missile launcher's explosion. There, in that blackened void, Falken and Armd had died.
The wind blew hard, reminding her where she stood.
"So this is the North…" she thought. "Cold. Cruel. Relentless."
Her lips curved into a faint, hardened smile.
"Just as they told me in Central."
She turned and went back to work.
Because if she had learned anything that day, it was this:
You do not survive the cold of the North by retreating.
You conquer it by advancing.
End of chapter