The Emperor’s Angel of Death

"Go on! You little bastard! Keep going!"

Hayes turned his head towards the source of the voice. A crowd had gathered there, so he walked over, pushing through until he saw an "Heretic" trembling beneath a crumbling wall.

The person looked to be about Hayes's age, fifteen or sixteen. The red carapace armor hung loosely on his thin frame, his short brown hair matted with dirt and blood, and his face similarly soiled. Only a mark on his right cheek was faintly visible. He looked around at the encircling crowd in panic, his trembling lips seeming to mutter something under his breath.

Looking at this boy who should have been his "enemy," Hayes felt a strange sensation, as if he were seeing another version of himself in the world.

What was his name?

And why was he on this battlefield?

Was he scared and regretful now?

"Little heretic bastard, weren't you running fast just now?"

A rough voice broke through Hayes's reverie. He turned to see another sergeant from the camp, a fierce man with stubble who seemed to be from a hive city gang, known for his volatile temper, but also his loyalty.

The man had a cigarette in his mouth and raised his lasgun. The boy instinctively tried to dodge, but the laser blast hit the wall in front of him, leaving a black scorch mark and stopping him in his tracks.

He turned around, seeming to explain something, and raised both hands.

The next second, a laser blast struck his left knee with pinpoint accuracy, causing him to scream in agony.

His leg was shattered, the burnt stump smoking.

"I won!"

A soldier shouted, then held out his hand to someone nearby, who reluctantly shook his head and handed over a military scrip from his pocket.

These newfangled things had been issued to them before heading to the front lines. The quartermaster had said at the time, "These are a special favor from the great Expeditionary Force's High Lord Commander, Lord Solzhenitsyn Alexei himself, for which you should be grateful and serve to the death." Hayes didn't understand what use these unique pieces of paper were, but everyone seemed to like them.

"My turn this time."

Another soldier raised his gun, but this shot went wide, grazing the downed boy's thigh and hitting the ground.

"Damn it!"

The soldier cursed and handed over a military scrip to the other person.

The pain made the boy wail. He raised his right hand to wipe away tears or cover his eyes, but a laser bolt hit his elbow, severing his hand amidst his screams.

The soldiers roared with laughter as they watched the boy rolling on the ground. Hayes felt a mixture of emotions. He couldn't quite understand the boy's accent, but was he perhaps calling for his mother?

He wanted to stop them, but he didn't dare. Various emotions churned in his mind, the inexplicable hatred from the battlefield giving way to his inherent kindness, even making him feel nauseous.

Suddenly, a rough hand covered his eyes, and he heard a gunshot. The boy's cries ceased.

"Hashet, what the hell are you doing, you old bastard!"

"Dimal, you idiot, you're still playing games here? Playing your mom! Didn't you see our Lord Commander coming? Want to eat a commissar's bullet?"

"Crap, he's really here. Everyone scatter!"

Then Hayes felt Hashet turn him around, and as the old soldier's hand left his face, he heard a low voice.

"War turns people into beasts, kid. That's why I always desert. Don't let the war corrupt your soul. Stick with your teammates, and don't wander off."

Hayes grunted, the joy of victory now completely gone. He began to realize that he wasn't suited for the battlefield.

Following Hashet to a cleared area, he saw the others in his squad had already found places to sit, drinking water and chatting. His squad had been lucky; they had suffered no casualties in the first battle. Hayes found a warm rock to sit on, put his gun aside, hung his helmet on the muzzle, and took a few swigs of cold water from his canteen.

Calming down, Hayes turned his head and saw a group of well-equipped people several hundred meters away setting up a cordon. Inside the cordon, soldiers were piling up the relatively intact enemy corpses. A young officer in a heavy greatcoat, radiating confidence, walked onto the mountain of corpses with a sword in hand, while three soldiers behind him held the regimental flag in a flag-planting pose, and two photographers buzzed around the pile like busy bees.

This was the first time Hayes had seen their commander. He was someone who looked completely different from them, both in appearance and demeanor, so he unconsciously muttered to himself:

"Truly a noble gentleman."

"Pah! A young master who doesn't know anything, treating war like a private game."

Hashet, who was closest to Hayes, heard these words. He turned around, leaned on his gun, and spat on the ground in disdain.

"Following someone like that usually leads to big trouble."

"Why?"

"Because in their eyes, we're not even ants. They don't care how many of us die."

Then the whistle blew, and Hayes quickly jumped up from the rock.

It turned out that their commander was going to visit the first two battalions to participate in the battle.

The survivors of the two battalions quickly stood in three rows. Arnie walked past them with steady steps, giving a military salute, something he had learned from the writings of Macharius, which stated that after every key battle, no matter how tired he was, Macharius would visit the soldiers who had led the charge, which was very useful for boosting morale.

When he walked in front of the wounded soldiers, he would shake hands with them and offer brief words of comfort, and every soldier who shook his hand would shout "For the Emperor!" -- something all the officers had arranged in advance.

When he walked in front of Hayes, Arnie stopped. This soldier, who looked even a little young, caught his attention.

"What's your name, Private?"

"R-Reporting, sir! My name is Hayes!"

Hayes's heart was in his throat when the man stopped in front of him. He had never spoken to someone of such high status before. The highest-ranking person in his world had been Officer Ai.

Nervousness made his face tense, and sweat broke out on his forehead.

Arnie looked at the other party again, then asked:

"How old are you this year?"

"Fifteen, n-no, sixteen!"

"Sixteen? So young to enlist? Was your father a soldier too?"

"Father..."

Hayes didn't know how to answer for a moment. The word even felt foreign to him. Suddenly, Arnie seemed to have a new discovery, reached out and lifted Hayes's helmet, and the thirteen conspicuous strands of hair were immediately exposed to everyone's view.

"Oh, quite a unique hairstyle."

Many people laughed. Hayes lowered his head a little embarrassedly, but then Arnie put his arm around his shoulder and led him out of the line.

"So young and already fighting for the country, it's clear that this little gentleman with thirteen strands of hair must be from a military family. Only the most loyal soldiers have such loyal descendants. Your courage and fearlessness will be an example for the entire army."

Hayes was stunned and didn't know what was happening. Then he stood blankly next to his commander, watching the photographer take several pictures of him.

This left him in a semi-daze for the next few hours, so much so that he didn't remember a single word of Arnie's self-proclaimed brilliant battlefield speech.