Apocalypse respawn

Time passed. His group left, replaced by another enforcing the mandatory curfew imposed even before dinner. Soon, only a few people remained, including Rargnes and the commander, who, once the crowd had left, had been watching the scene from the corner of their eyes and had stayed for long hours in front of the spectacle, eyes wide open, as if never wanting to forget this vision. The allied guards repeatedly asked them to leave, and finally, they complied after the commander offered to support him.

"Hey, do you think we can win?" asked Rargnes.

The commander looked sideways as if to hide from the answer. Then, he said gravely, "Reports show that the noble is waging war outside his territory. You must have seen it: the aristocrats fear him, and it's mutual. Apparently, he has left his power in the hands of his brother and sister, explicitly repeating that neither could rule without the other, and if that wasn't enough, he surrounded them with three high-ranking figures from different factions who hate each other: a goblin, a foreigner, and a local."

He patted Rargnes on the shoulder.

"It'll be okay; we will avenge their deaths for what they did to each of our families for a future."

He sensed false excitement in his words. They were words he distributed to his soldiers. Did they really believe them?

Rargnes walked beside him before coldly uttering words of hatred, "We will get revenge."

Then, no words were exchanged for a long moment. The cityscape...

"You mentioned that the noble took a foreigner under his command?" asked Rargnes. "Was it someone from our countries or another noble?"

"A traitor to us. We don't know much, only that the noble must trust him well since he entrusted him with the protection of his palace in the capital and all the guards there."

Rargnes was pensive.

"Hey?"

"Hmm?"

"I really don't feel good about this."

"It's not like we have the choice to go back."

Rargnes didn't reply.

"In any case," the commander continued, "there will never be perfect moments, and it's never the best who succeed. I've known many exceptional recruits in a specialized battalion—individuals with impressive speed, strength, endurance, precision, and control for normal humans. They knew how to work in a team, analyze situations well, sometimes better than I could have imagined, and yet, because their battlefield was particularly violent, it didn't prevent them from dying faster than an inferior soldier who jeopardizes his team."

Rargnes had flashes of the heads he had smashed with his mace, bodies falling, spilling a small amount of blood amid the horrified screams of their loved ones. His hatred suddenly seemed less justified.

"Even these average soldiers had roughly the same mortality rate on the same battlefields... There's a great notion of luck, and the basic reactions of fleeing, denial—soldiers needing to be repatriated and denied any future role in the army—are sometimes the most intelligent."

"It sounds like you want to flee the fight."

The commander shook his head. "It just means we shouldn't put too much pressure on ourselves. Humans developed mainly through their imposing size and physical advantages but remain very fragile. The noble can be defeated by a single negligence on his part, and even if it costs us, even if we are much weaker, with enough attempts, we will catch that negligence. Whatever it takes."

They walked silently, and the commander added one last time, "I prefer to work with men who want it rather than let my men suffer the unreasonable choice of a coward or, worse, a traitor. In the end, we don't even know the origin of the powers, so don't put too much pressure on yourself. If you're asking questions, it means you still care, and believe me, that's important. So if one day you want to leave, you will have my support."

Rargnes took it as a test or the words of a man drunk on the events. Maybe he wanted to understand it that way. That way, it wouldn't be his responsibility. He would have been forced.

"I see, thank you," he said naturally, which surprised him.

The commander patted him amicably on the back and offered him a cigar, which he accepted before returning together.