The trenches pulsed with silence.
That voice still echoed in everyone's ears:
"If a participant kills an ally… the killer inherits the victim's penalty."
It was like a bomb dropped into the group. Suspicion spread instantly. Every glance became dangerous. Every shadow a threat.
Aya clung desperately to Arata, her eyes darting. "Arata-kun, they'll… they'll start killing each other—"
Arata placed a hand on her shoulder, calming, but his smile never reached his eyes. "Good. Let them."
The battalion marched deeper into the trenches. Mud clung to their legs. The air grew colder, thicker with the stench of blood. Every corner held corpses, slumped against walls, weapons fallen uselessly in their hands.
But the danger wasn't just ahead anymore. It was beside them.
A man shoved another, snarling. "You're eyeing me! You want to kill me!"
The other screamed back, "You're the one carrying a knife!"
Then the knife flashed.
One second later, a scream tore the air. The man who'd struck clutched his throat, choking, as black veins crawled up his skin. His body shriveled like paper set aflame.
The killer dropped the knife, howling, the same black veins consuming him. In moments, both corpses lay rotting in the mud.
Aya gagged. Haruto cursed. Riku froze, horrified. Ren tilted her head, fascinated. Sayaka's eyes narrowed.
Arata only smirked. So that's the penalty.
The fear doubled. Whispers rippled.
"Don't get close."
"Don't trust anyone."
"If someone looks at you wrong, run."
The battalion was fracturing.
That's when Arata moved.
He leaned casually against the trench wall, his voice low but cutting through the panic. "Do you see now? This isn't about killing the enemy. It's about killing trust. That's the real battlefield."
Gasps. Eyes flicked to him.
He smiled faintly, cruelly. "So let me give you advice. If you don't want to die… stay behind me. I'll take responsibility for your lives. All of them."
It worked instantly.
Terrified survivors clung to his words like a lifeline. They shuffled closer, eyes wide, desperate for protection. Some murmured, "He's right." Others whispered, "Better him than me."
Aya clutched his sleeve, trembling. Ren grinned, whispering, "You're making them kneel already…" Sayaka's smirk was almost imperceptible, but her eyes gleamed with respect. Haruto looked torn. Riku looked furious.
"Don't you see?!" Riku shouted, shaking. "He's manipulating you! He doesn't care about saving anyone—he only cares about control!"
No one moved. No one answered.
Because deep down, they knew Riku was right.
And yet… they still edged closer to Arata.
Riku's voice broke. "You're all idiots. He's not your savior—he's the devil!"
Arata tilted his head, amused. "Devil, savior, god, monster… call me what you want. The truth is simple: when the flag falls, I'll be the one holding it. And you'll either be standing beside me… or rotting in the mud."
The silence was absolute.
Then Ren started to clap, slow and mocking. "Ahhh, beautiful. Watching trust rot away… this is the best kind of love story."
Aya's nails dug into Arata's arm. "You're not a devil," she whispered desperately, almost pleading. "You're not…"
Sayaka adjusted her glasses, her voice low but steady. "Maybe he is. But in war, devils win battles. Saints die first."
The voice above boomed again:
"Half the battalion eliminated.
Flag objective remains.
Proceed."
The trench stretched ahead, darker, deeper, the sound of gunfire echoing from somewhere unseen.
And as the group moved forward, one truth became clear:
They no longer feared the enemy most.
They feared Arata.