A pool of mangled flesh and steel lay on the ground.
The wind carried the nauseating stench of blood through the air.
The soldiers stared in stunned silence at the unrecognizable corpse of their commanding officer.
As they took in the horrific state of his death, a single question rapidly formed in their minds.
'Did I take part in the massacre of Flevance's civilians?'
Among the soldiers present, roughly 60% had an immediate answer.
'Yes.'
But—but it was the officers' orders!
They were just ordinary soldiers—they had no choice but to obey! It wasn't their fault!
...Was there really no other choice, though?
When facing those civilians, they could have easily pretended not to see them and let them go.
Sure, sometimes killing them was justified as preempting an ambush—but what about the ones who posed no threat at all?
Children stabbed to death with bayonets.
Sick women slaughtered without mercy.
Healthy women dragged into military camps, only to face even crueler fates.
As for the men and the elderly—without exception, they were all killed.
And to add some excitement to this one-sided, meaningless war, they had even organized various 'competitions'.
These sins were undeniable.
The weight of blood and corpses pressed down on them, now transforming into the gates of hell, beckoning them inside.
A brilliant gold flashed in Jake's eyes as he surveyed the soldiers before him, his expression growing colder.
Though he had been given the "priest" template, in Dungeon & Fighter, before reaching level 15 and choosing a specialization, all characters had access to the basic skills of the four major class archetypes.
The ability to perceive an enemy's sins was one such foundational skill from the 'Crusader' archetype.
In Jake's vision, he could clearly see the overwhelming weight of sin clinging to these so-called "innocent" soldiers—enough to drown them where they stood.
And those bearing sins of such magnitude weren't just one or two—there were hundreds. Thousands.
Jake raised his hand slightly, his voice devoid of all emotion.
"I know you are all soldiers from countries affiliated with the World Government, and I also know that the Marines have no right to punish you privately."
Upon hearing Jake's words, the crowd collectively let out a sigh of relief.
They turned to look at Jake, about to say something to forgive his earlier rudeness, when his voice rang out again.
"But the sins you carry make me sick. If I let you leave here alive, I would spend the rest of my life drowning in guilt and regret. Compared to that torment, I would rather face punishment from my Marine superiors. Your lives are too filthy—allowing your tainted lives to continue would be a disrespect to the innocent civilians of Flevance who perished, and a disrespect to me as well."
"So here, I do not act as a Marine Commodore, but as an ordinary man, to deal with you all."
"Now, please die."
With those words, Jake raised his arm and brought it down decisively.
A series of sickening thuds echoed as soldiers were crushed as if by an invisible, colossal hand.
Blood and matter splattered everywhere, and in that instant, the stench of death enveloped all the enemy troops surrounding Flevance.
Witnessing the grotesque and horrifying deaths of their comrades, the soldiers' morale shattered completely.
They dropped their weapons, tore off their armor, and discarded anything that could identify them, desperate to flee the scene of this terrifying massacre.
But their efforts were utterly futile.
To Jake, the overwhelming weight of their sins clung to them like beacons in the night, impossible to ignore.
However, if left unchecked, a few might still slip through the cracks.
Glancing at Monet, Jake silently conveyed his intent.
Understanding immediately, Monet didn't hesitate.
A chilling aura radiated from her, and within moments, a raging blizzard engulfed the entire area, trapping everyone inside.
The further toward the edges of the storm, the more ferocious the winds became.
Escape was impossible—even standing within it for mere minutes would freeze them to death.
And they soon realized that freezing to death wasn't an escape either.
The Marine named Jake was already targeting those who tried to flee into the storm, ensuring they met the same gruesome fate as the others.
No escape.
No retreat.
The blizzard isolated them from the world, and at its center stood Jake, bathed in a radiant golden light.
In this moment, he was the judge of this world, deciding who lived and who died.
Under the crushing weight of this terrifying power, the soldiers fell into utter despair.
They dropped to their knees, kowtowing in Jake's direction, praying for divine mercy.
But the only thing that could have saved them was never divine intervention—it was the choices they had made long before this day.
After the last sin-laden soldier was crushed into a pulp, the blizzard ceased.
A golden ray of sunlight tore through the clouds and slowly fell upon the blood-soaked land.
Jake's voice rang out.
"Those who deserved to die are all dead. As for the rest of you, the sins you've committed are not enough to warrant such a fate. Go back."
With that, Jake didn't give them time to respond.
He simply turned and left with Monet.
The surviving soldiers looked at each other, then at the mangled corpses of their former comrades.
They opened their mouths and began to weep loudly.
Even they themselves didn't know why they were crying.
Perhaps it was tears of joy at having survived?
Or maybe they were moved to tears as if they had truly witnessed a deity?
The soldiers didn't know.
But the only way they could vent their emotions now was through tears—the most primal, deeply ingrained method of emotional release in human genes.
Blood stained the ground, and golden light descended from the sky, illuminating Jake's figure.
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