It was another ordinary day, or as ordinary as it could be for an invading force despised by everyone who’s deep in enemy territory. The command hut, which was a ramshackled wooden structure due to the speed of the advances, was filled with smoke and stress, the latter causing the former. In the center of the main room stood a massive table, on it lies a map, and surrounded by a number of men. The interesting thing among the assembled was that there were no kriegmeister pilots, and barring a certain diminutive and otherwise unremarkable figure there were also no members of the warrior class.

It’s a different type of war being planned out and conducted. Gone were the showy set piece clashes between the gifts of the gods themselves, and their wrath upon the unwashed masses. The sport of the chosen has been replaced by the grind of the workers. It’s dishonorable, disgraceful, and disgusting…

… but then, it was always like that, just that for the first time in centuries that the veil of nobility of war has been ripped away, leaving the ugly reality lying beneath. It was just as well that this new ugly form of war is being waged far away from the eyes of civilized folks.

In the absence of honor, the forsaken and the condemned only thought of the immediate future: the next resupply, the next battle, the next day. Mulling about anything bigger only encourages the demons of the soul.

“... while basic foodstuffs and equipment could be foraged from the surrounding hamlets the same could not be said for munitions and primary weapon system supports.” One of the now staff taskleader, a former depot chief, droned on. The flat tone of his voice did not completely hide the concern, which was made rather obvious by the expression on his face.

“We cannot simply continue our reliance of salvaging enemy combat systems.” Another taskleader, this one a former tactical mechanic, chipped in, “The enemies we’re facing now simply don’t have that level of technological sophistication.”

With that all eyes present were pointed at Walter, who nodded in acknowledgement before he spoke.

“There’s no point in beating around the bush.” He began. “We have done all that could have been done. Now the so far unsaid choices are between a final pointless sacrifice and digging in for the long haul.” He took a short breath before continuing. “While it would be in the moral interest of those above us to send us to send us to die for their personal glory I cannot in good consciousness agree to that.”

Another pause as a silence descends in the room. It was one thing to have those cowardly and treasonous thoughts, but quite another to voice them, even out here where the stars don't shine.

“Well, better start thinking of excuses.” Walter spoke again as he looked around, hearing the growing faint sounds of footsteps in the distances. “Weird. What could be going on at this time of the day?” He asked rhetorically as he turned around from the table towards the door, straightened out his jumpsuit, having long abandoned the more formal parade uniforms that the aristocracy prefers. There’s simply no one to show off to, not to mention that it’s a pain in the ass to get into and out of them.

Suddenly the flimsy door to the room was blasted open, and even before the smoke cleared a squad of gold clad troops barged in, the Righteous Guardians of Peace and Justice, the de facto secret police of the empire. Without a word one of them walked up to Walter, and without a word smashed the butt of his rifle into his stomach.

As he collapsed Walter thought to himself that sometimes it would be more convenient to be in a story, where getting smashed in the gut like that would have been enough to knock a person out. As it was, the GWFG agents took their sweet time as they continued the beating, all the while casually shooting everyone else present, the large caliber expanding bullets simply popping bodies like water balloons.

His, or rather, James’s last thought as unconscious finally came to Walter was that I should have seen this a mile away…

------

“Huh, you are so disgusting that even death refuses your pathetic carcass?” The voice of Therese droned on in the damp dungeon cell.

Walter attempted to open his eyes, and after a few minutes of effort managed to open one a crack, them being too swollen for him to do more. The pain of the rest of his body he had long accustomed to.

“This is all your fault of course.” Therese continued, in the same mildly bored voice. “But it’s not too late for you, for I can still find some use for you…”

“So what are the bullshit charges?” Walter asked, in between coughs of blood. Therese rolled her eyes.

“High treason.” She said casually. “Do you really think your exploits out there would go unnoticed?”

“Of course. For all the talks of honor and morals it seems that no one in the imperial palace has actually seen any such thing within living memory.” Walter snorted, coughing up more blood onto the floor in the process. Thankfully the lighting in the cell was dim, or else the amount of blood and other bits would have been a rather… unsightly sight.

“That’s some rather seditious talk there.” Therese said, narrowing her eyes. Walter merely shrugged.

“The punishment for high treason is death, condemnation of memory, and obliteration of the soul. It’s rather hard to tack on more to those.” He pointed out.

“You have already accepted your fate?” Therese asked. “Hardly what I expect from someone so adamant fighting for his life before.”

“It’s- not the same circumstances.” Walter said, looking for words to explain. Therese merely shrugged.

“Well, since you’re about to die in every sense of the word, why not make your death a useful one?” She asked, and continued before a reply could be given. “As you’re about to pay for the crime, why not commit said crime?”

“You speak of actual treason?” He couldn’t believe the words he’s hearing, though James was slightly less surprised by this turn of events, but only slightly.

“It’s not treason when I do it.” Therese snarled, reeking of narcissism and ego even more than usual in James’s opinion. “You might have forgotten it with your head being banged around too much, but I am still of imperial blood.”

“Good for you, princess.” Walter muttered sarcastically, James having hijacked the body for a moment to make that off the cuff remark, much to the original owner’s annoyance. Therese spat in his direction.

“I don’t need you or your rabble of fellow losers to succeed either.” Therese snapped back. “I’m just offering you a chance at extending your worthless life for a little while more.”

“So I will end up dying a traitor regardless.” Walter pointed out the implication between her lines almost immediately. “Except I will die as an actual one if I go along with your plot.”

“What’s the difference? You’ll be dust to be swept away regardless.” Therese shrugged, not seeing the big point of what really amounts to the internal workings of some defective machinery.

“So what’s the incentive then?” James asked with Walter’s voice.

“Incentives, incentives! How dare you pathetic waste of flesh ask for such a thing?!?” Therese exploded, shocked at the audacity of the trash in front of her. “Where is that supposed moral spine of yours?” She asked in a mocking tone.

“The moral path is often the difficult one, and the easy way out would be to take your offer.” Walter said through clenched teeth. “I have, and am still willing, to sacrifice everything for what is right.”

“But you’ll sacrifice nothing.” Therese replied icily, the words piercing into his soul. Her mouth contorted into the snarl of someone who just played her trump card. “I know you believe in that reincarnation nonsense, but since you believe it, that means that you are not actually risking your immortal soul, thus making the whole point of sacrifice trivial.”

With those words she turned around. “Die a meaningless death then.” She said as she walked out of the door of the cell, leaving Walter in silent darkness saved for the shards in his head.

……

“She… she has a point.” Walter thought, the princess’s last words festering in his mind. While she certainly didn’t make her point in good faith, it doesn’t mean the point itself isn’t valid.

“And everything you have suffered, is suffering, and will suffer, doesn’t matter?” James asked back.

“All Inconsequential when immortality or reincarnation is a known factor, which your existence proves.” Walter explained, not liking his own thoughts. The world was much easier when there was nothing to gain and everything to lose: in that case the motives for moral virtue were never in doubt.

But now? There was little to be lost, and potentially something to be gained in the long run. Thus is his path truly the one of virtue or merely the most selfish one of all?

There was a long moment of silence before James responded.

“Then there’s nothing left but intention,” He finally replied, “and that’s between you and the stars, or whichever deities on the other side. I don't know.” A pause. “What do know is that based on your warped sense of morality is that giving in now would be selfish regardless. Perhaps it was always out of reach-”

“That’s it. If it was always out of reach, then it’s worthwhile.” The realization, or perhaps the rationalization of the deluded and the hopeless, hit Walter. It was comforting, in its own twisted way.

“Sure, whatever buddy.” James was far more leaning on the latter, but as he was more along for the ride, had accepted his fate sometime ago.

After all, it won’t be the first time he gets to die, though this time it’s shaping up to be… more uncomfortable.