《Ashes of Gunpowder: Rebirth of the forgotten soldier》 Prolog In the year 1930 of the Aurelian Calendar, a great and devastating war erupted, claiming countless lives across the nations involved. A war so horrifying that humanity would never forget the scars it left behind. The true cause of the war remains a topic of heated debate, even to this day. Many historians argue that it all began when the Nationalist Faction, led by Prince Reinhardt von Felsburg, staged a coup d''¨¦tat in 1921, overthrowing King Albert II, his own uncle. Historians support this claim because, upon seizing power, the Nationalist Faction immediately launched fiery propaganda, rallying the people of the Kingdom of Felsburg to reclaim the territory that had been taken from them¡ªVeldenmark. Veldenmark had long been a contested land between the two nations. Though its population was ethnically mixed, its lower-class citizens had historical ties to Noirval. The Republic of Noirval exploited this division, secretly supplying separatists with weapons and equipment while spreading anti-Felsburg propaganda. In the year 1919 of the Aurelian Calendar, after years of escalating conflict and mounting international pressure¡ªled by Noirval under the pretense of human rights violations¡ªKing Albert II was forced to cede Veldenmark. Ironically, just one year later, in 1920, Noirval annexed Veldenmark under the guise of "stabilizing the region." This betrayal further fueled the growing discontent within Felsburg, giving rise to the Nationalist Faction, which gained popularity by condemning the king''s weakness. Initially, the Nationalist Faction was composed of border officers stationed along the Felsburg-Noirval frontier, but it rapidly expanded as various nationalist groups joined forces. Their influence surged when Prince Reinhardt joined the movement and was ultimately chosen as its leader. By late 1921, Reinhardt led the coup, marching his forces from the border to the capital in what would later be known as the March on Felsburg. The royal army offered no resistance, as if silently declaring that the king had already lost his authority. That night, the garrison in the capital, Kronfeld, put up only minor resistance, while at the same time, King Albert II and his family fled the kingdom, seeking exile in the Western Continent of Columbara, specifically in the United States of Columbara, where he would spend the rest of his life in peaceful obscurity. However, what shocked many was that Reinhardt did not proclaim himself king. Instead, he declared himself: This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. "Arch-Regent of the Kingdom of Felsburg and Supreme Commander of the Army" (Erzregent des Felsburger K?nigreichs und Oberbefehlshaber der Armee). To this day, historians still argue over who was truly responsible for starting the war. Was it Reinhardt, with his aggressive nationalist rhetoric? Or was it Noirval, whose expansionist ambitions and desperate need for maritime access led to reckless political maneuvers? As a landlocked nation, Noirval sought an open route to the ocean to strengthen its economy and secure its survival. However, the Coastal Crown Alliance held firm control over all maritime access, ensuring that Noirval could not establish a trade corridor without invading another nation''s land. With diplomacy proving ineffective, Noirval saw Felsburg as the perfect target. They engaged in risky political maneuvering, attempting to undermine Felsburg''s influence. But instead of securing an advantage, they ignited a catastrophe that would consume not only themselves but the entire world. No matter how many years have passed, this war remains a subject of heated debate. But lost amidst all the discussions and political arguments is a far darker truth¡ªone that nations would rather bury in history. Many governments were willing to commit unthinkable atrocities in their pursuit of victory. Among the most terrifying and forgotten truths was the practice of abducting war orphans from the streets, subjecting them to brutal military training, and sending them to the front lines as support units¡ªor, in rare cases, as frontline combat soldiers. A grim reality. A truth that, over time, has faded into obscurity, as no nation wishes to expose its own past sins to the world. --- ?? Seventy Years Later after The Great War, The Forgotten Trench of Veldenmark "What the hell is this!?" "You''ve just found something incredible..." In a long-forgotten war trench, its edges softened by time, two young historians¡ªa man and a woman¡ªstared at the object they had unearthed. The woman carefully lifted it: a weathered book, wrapped in a cloth that had protected it for decades. Though dirt-covered, the book had remained intact. "This isn''t just any cloth... Someone must have wanted this book to survive..." the man murmured as he examined the material. Seventy years had passed since the war''s end. The trenches of Veldenmark had become a historical site, where researchers searched for artifacts of the past, hoping to educate future generations about the horrors of war. But what they had found today was unlike anything before. A soldier''s diary¡ªa firsthand account from the era of the great war. And what shocked them even more... was what was written inside. "Born in 1921... began military service in 1931..." the woman read aloud, her voice trembling. "This soldier was one of the child conscripts... forced into battle." Silence hung between them. The man exhaled deeply before muttering: "This might be the only surviving diary of a child soldier..." And it made sense. Those who had been forcibly recruited were mostly street orphans, abandoned by their families and left to survive in the alleys. They never had access to education, many of them couldn''t even read or write. Yet somehow, this child had written a diary... The book was thicker than expected, given that it was written by a child. From the way the author described their experiences, it was clear¡ªthe writer was a girl. But so far, there was no mention of her name. Like most personal journals, it had been written in the first person, with no introduction. The woman slowly closed the book, brushing off the dirt covering the cover. The original color had long since faded. But as she wiped away the last layer of dust, words began to emerge on the surface. Her hands trembled as she read the title aloud: "MY DAYS IN THIS GODDAMN WAR?" === World map ilustration: https://postimg.cc/v135Ln3r War Scars --- War is, at its core, a disaster caused by humanity itself¡ªone that could be avoided, yet human pride often stands as an unyielding barrier against reason. The year is 2054, and once again, Europe is engulfed in war. This time, the chaos spreads across Eastern Europe and the Balkans. Extremist groups have risen to prominence once more, fueled by the failure of governments to manage their nations. Some countries have risen, while others have fallen. The geopolitical landscape is in turmoil, and war has become inevitable. It raged on for four long years, finally grinding to a halt in early 2058¡ªnot because of peace, but because exhaustion had set in on all sides. Even though the war has ended, its scars remain visible everywhere. Soldiers still patrol the streets. War victims sit on the roadside, begging for scraps. Opportunistic criminals take advantage of the disorder, while war criminals hide among the common people, trying to escape judgment for their atrocities. And here I am¡ªjust another man shopping for groceries in a city still haunted by war. It has been three months since the fighting ceased, yet it all still feels like a nightmare. Then again, losing my right arm and my left eye serves as a constant reminder that it was all too real. "Um¡­" "Hm?" As I place my items on the counter, the cashier¡ªa young woman, barely more than a girl¡ªseems hesitant. She clearly wants to ask me something, but her nervous expression makes it obvious that she''s afraid her question might offend me. "It''s fine. We live in a free country¡ªat least for now. So go ahead and ask whatever''s on your mind." She looks startled by my response, as if she wasn''t expecting me to be so open. Then again, this is exactly why we soldiers fought in that damned war¡ªto protect people like her. "Well¡­ Are you a veteran? Did you fight in the war?" "¡­" "Oh! I''m sorry! If you don''t want to answer, it''s totally fine!" I follow her gaze and notice she''s been sneaking glances at my prosthetic arm. She must have also seen how much trouble I had just trying to get money out of my wallet. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I was the one who encouraged her to speak freely, so I''d feel guilty if I refused to answer now. I have no intention of going back on my words. "Yeah, I served in that cursed war. But why do you want to know, miss?" "I see¡­ I''m sorry for your loss." "No. If you only asked to pity me, then you''re not just insulting me¡ªyou''re insulting my comrades who died on the frontlines. So keep your sympathy to yourself." "Ah! I''m so sorry!" She panics, bowing her head apologetically. She must think she offended me. What a na?ve and innocent girl¡ªfar too soft for this cruel world. "But¡­ That''s not why I asked." "Hm?" "Actually, my late father¡ªwho used to own this store¡ªleft me a request. He told me that when the war was finally over, he wanted every veteran who shops here to get a fifty percent discount. And you¡­ You''re the first veteran to visit since the war ended." "¡­Is that so? If there were more people like him, maybe war wouldn''t happen in the first place." "Haha¡­ Maybe you''re right." "But¡­ If you don''t mind me asking, how did your father pass away? Was he a soldier?" "Oh, no. He was just a civilian. My father had a medical condition, so even if he wanted to enlist, he wouldn''t have been allowed. He¡­ He died in an accident. On his way home, his car was hit by a military truck. The driver was a drunk soldier celebrating the end of the war." "I''m¡­ sorry for your loss. If you tell me who that soldier was, I might be able to¡ª" "Oh, no need for that. I heard he was given a heavy punishment, though I don''t know the details." "¡­I see." After a few more exchanges, she hands me a simple form¡ªnothing complicated, just basic information about my service. Name, age, years of service¡­ The usual questions for veterans. ''7th Armored Cavalry Division¡­'' "¡­Something wrong?" "Ah! I-I''m sorry! I didn''t mean to peek!" "I don''t mind." After filling out the last few blanks, I hand the form back to her. True to her word, I only have to pay half the price. "Thank you for your service, sir!" "Haha, stop that. Look at me¡ªI''m just a washed-up, one-armed old man. But thanks, miss. See you around." She gives me a warm smile as I take my groceries and head for the exit. --- I step outside, the weight of my grocery bag shifting in my grip. The air is crisp, laced with the lingering scent of rain, and the streets are quieter than usual¡ªalmost eerily so. Then, suddenly, heat blooms in my chest. It''s not just warmth. It burns. A searing, unnatural fire spreads through my ribs, up my throat, down my limbs¡ªlike molten lead coursing through my veins. My breath catches. My vision flickers. What the hell is¡ª A deafening pulse. A force slams into me, not from the outside, but from within, rattling my skull, my bones, my very being. My knees buckle. The grocery bag tumbles from my hand. The world around me bends, warping like ripples in a pond. The streetlights stretch into jagged streaks, buildings distort, and the pavement beneath my feet disintegrates into nothingness. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out everything else. No. This isn''t a heart attack. This isn''t PTSD. This is something else. I try to breathe¡ªbut there is no air. There is no ground beneath me. No sky above. No sound, no time, no sensation except for the unbearable pressure crushing my existence. And then¡ª Light. Blinding. Infinite. All-consuming. It devours me, reducing my body, my thoughts, my memories to something weightless, something untethered. I try to scream, but I have no voice. No body. Just¡­ awareness. For how long? Hours? Days? Months? Years? Then¡ªsound. A voice. Distant, muffled, yet clear. "Oh, it''s a girl! I was hoping for a boy so he could serve the kingdom as a loyal Soldier¡­ But I suppose a daughter isn''t so bad either." What¡­? "Haha, I had a feeling it would be a girl from the moment I carried her in my womb. And now, my sweet little angel¡­ I shall name you Erina." My head is spinning. My thoughts are sluggish, fragmented. My body feels wrong. No, not wrong¡ªsmall. Weak. Helpless. Panic surges through me, but I can''t move, can''t fight back. And that''s when it hits me. The voices. The warmth. The weightlessness. This isn''t a hallucination. I''ve been reborn. "¡­Eh?"