Chapter 28 – The Battlefield Between Hope and Ruin

  The War Front

  The insider led Grim away from the camp, away from the laughter and warmth—towards the frontline.

  It wasn’t the hellscape Grim imagined.

  No corpses piled up. No trenches drowning in blood. Instead, it was just people.

  Men and women in worn-out uniforms, some barely more than teenagers, sitting around campfires, sharpening knives, loading weapons.

  There was fatigue in their eyes, but no despair. They laughed. They talked. They lived.

  It reminded him of the refugee camp.

  And that’s what disturbed him the most.

  He expected killers. Hardened soldiers. The kind of people he grew up around in Duskwatch—mercenaries, bounty hunters, assassins.

  But these soldiers?

  They were just farmers, teachers, brothers, sisters.

  Fighting because they had to, not because they wanted to.

  A soldier slapped him on the back, grinning.

  "So you’re the guy bringing us the goods, huh? We owe you one, stranger."

  Grim didn’t know how to respond.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Another shook his hand.

  "You have no idea what this means to us. Really. Thank you."

  The sincerity in their voices made his stomach tighten.

  He’d done a thousand jobs before.

  Smuggled weapons to people he didn’t give a damn about. But this?

  This felt different.

  He actually wanted to help them.

  For the first time in his life, Grim wasn’t just an outsider watching from the shadows.

  For the first time—he wanted to be part of something.

  They gathered in a large tent, unrolling maps over a wooden table. The insider pointed at the terrain, explaining the strategy.

  The city loomed in the distance, built atop a plateau, surrounded by jagged cliffs that made a direct assault nearly impossible.

  The enemy had fortified the only accessible roads, turning them into kill zones. Watchtowers lined the horizon, equipped with spotlights and mounted guns. Any approach would be met with fire and death.

  But the enemy had a weakness.

  The only way they could sustain themselves was through supply routes running through tunnels in the cliffs. Narrow, winding passages, difficult to navigate but vital for food and ammunition.

  "If we can cut off those tunnels," the insider explained, tracing a line on the map, "we can starve them out. But the moment we do, they’ll know where to strike."

  Grim’s eyes followed the path of the enemy’s counterattack.

  Straight to the camp.

  His stomach twisted.

  The camp.

  That homey, warm, beautiful place.

  The people. The families. The kids.

  He gripped the table, feeling his nails dig into the wood.

  "That won’t happen."

  And then—

  A sound.

  Loud. Piercing.

  A gunshot.

  No, not a single gunshot. A burst.

  The sharp, mechanical brrrrt of an automatic rifle tearing through the air.

  Grim froze.

  For the first time since leaving Duskwatch—his mind went blank.

  The warmth? Gone.

  The sky? Gone.

  The wind, the grass, the people? Gone.

  In his head, he was back in Duskwatch.

  Back in the streets where gunfire was the city’s heartbeat.

  Back in the shadows, where survival meant being faster, colder, deadlier.

  The people around him reacted, soldiers rushing out of the tent, grabbing their weapons—

  But Grim?

  He just stood there.

  Expressionless. Emotionless.

  Like something inside him just shut off.

  And he didn’t realize it yet—

  But he wasn’t leaving this war the same person.

  End of Chapter.