My Players Are So Fierce

Captain Iron Hand complained.

His condition wasn’t much better either, with several bandages wrapped around him.

However, because of his Moutain People heritage, he recovered faster than the average wounded soldier, and could now move on his own.

The captain was in a good mood.

Before dinner, he had played cards with that group of foreigners from Transylvania helping at the field hospital.

Using a few tricks taught by Major Ron, he won seven times in a row, earning back several months’ worth of pay.

Now he was pondering whether to use this windfall to upgrade his mechanical arm with a few attack modules.

Currently, just having the Steam Mantis Knife wasn’t fierce enough.

It would be perfect if he could add a shotgun or a flame nozzle.

If that didn’t work out, enhancing his mechanical hand into an Iron Giant Fist wouldn’t be bad either.

Those mechanics from Transylvania also developed a type of mechanical arm specifically for close combat, which they called the “Gorilla Arm.” It sounded intimidating, exactly the kind of simple and brutal enhancement classification that the Big Head Soldiers loved most.

However, just as Captain Iron Hand was holding a tray and seating himself by the bed, with a fork bringing a piece of his favorite barbecued pork close to his mouth, he noticed Major Ron lying in bed, blinking his eyes, eagerly eyeing the fragrant meat in his hand.

Drool was almost coming out of his mouth.

“Uh, don’t look at me.

You can’t eat this.

The doctor said you need to eat light recently…

Damn it!

The Major is awake!”

Captain Iron Hand was halfway through his words when he suddenly realized what was happening.

Without even having time to set down his tray properly, he hobbled out.

Several minutes later, Major Fraser and a few other commanders, who happened to be visiting the wounded at the field hospital today, rushed into the ward while wiping their mouths.

They found Ron shakily holding a fork, stuffing pieces of Captain Iron Hand’s barbecued pork into his own mouth one after another.

To hell with the doctor’s orders!

I haven’t had a proper meal in seven days, and today no one can stop me from feasting!

“Ron!

Oh my god, you’ve finally woken up.

I thought I would have to face General Soros with a death notification.

The old general would surely kill me.”

Colonel Fraser couldn’t hold back for a moment upon seeing his friend awaken.

With reddened eyes, he stepped up and hugged Ron.

The other commanders gathered around, expressing their warm concerns.

They all knew what Ron had encountered at the Blackflame Mountain Pass.

This guy and Captain Iron Hand were supposed to die in the Star-world Tear, but it was The Grand Duke of Triss who pulled them out of the collapsed position at the last moment, saving their lives.

“Dune…

Dune died, that sissy couldn’t get out.

He was trapped on Post Eight.

Damn, I didn’t even notice when I retreated.

It was my…

I couldn’t bring him back.”

Major Ron was too distraught by the sight of a group of men crying to enjoy eating any longer.

It was also probably because his now fragile stomach couldn’t handle the heavy oiliness.

He could only put down the fork and lay back on the bed.

Looking at his good brother Fraser, his first words tightened the Colonel’s fist.

“This is not your fault, Ron.”

The infantry Commander Major Reno, still with bandages on his head, said in a hoarse voice:

“Dune was carrying out what should have been my duty.

He died in place of me.

I’ve become a coward of war, and you need not worry about facing Dune’s mother.

I’ll take that responsibility.

I’ll treat her as if she were my own mother.”

“Don’t casually take the responsibility upon yourself, Reno.

You were hit on the head by debris at the time.

You actually should still be resting in bed, so it wasn’t your fault.”

The remaining two majors, both from a proper military background, also comforted.

They had experienced the death of comrades, but for these four young men, it was their first time going through such a thing.

They knew these young men needed some time to accept this dreadful sense of loss.

Nevertheless, Major Roberts still offered consolation:

“You don’t have to be so despairing.

I asked those vampires after the war, and they said that being swept into the Star Realm, while extremely dangerous, doesn’t always mean death.

Maybe…

Maybe Major Dune is still waiting for you in the Star Realm for rescue now.”

“It wasn’t an ordinary Star Realm Rift that opened that day, Major.”

Colonel Fraser, sitting by the side, said in a low voice:

“Under the chaotic currents, an ordinary person like Dune wasn’t lucky enough to enter into the Star Realm.

My friend is dead.

He died as a war hero on the battlefield against the enemies of civilization.

This is an honor, not a shame.

The issue now is not mourning but continuing to fight.

Only this way can we live up to the final time our brothers obtained for us.

Besides, Ron…

your leg…”

“I noticed it earlier.”

Major Ron lay on his hospital bed, a face full of hopelessness.

His previous feeling was correct; his left leg indeed hadn’t “grown back” because it had been amputated.

This unlucky guy was trapped under collapsing rubble while retreating from the position.

The price of surviving was that his left leg was completely beyond saving, and due to infection from the plague, it had to be amputated.

But the good news was, Major Ron had purchased the highest level of war insurance for himself back then, so he could choose his favorite type of prosthetic among all the current types made by Transylvania mechanics, and even add a lot of combat modules.

Uh, that barely counts as good news.