As a child, I was someone who didn't stand out much in the family.

There was Boris, my capable and leader-like brother; Cory, my kind and warm sister; and then there was me, Maris, always chasing after the two of them. My brother excelled in his studies, and my sister stood out in public activities like volunteering. In contrast, I struggled with school and was so timid that I couldn't even meet the eyes of the servants to say a proper word.

Just as I reached adulthood, Bardora invaded our motherland.

Naturally, conscription papers were sent to Boris, and my parents, citing the honor of chivalry, willingly pushed him toward the battlefield. When my brother was filling out his enlistment forms in front of the whole family, I suddenly declared that I would follow him into the army.

The reaction was disastrous. My parents' faces turned grim with anger, and my sister screamed at me, asking if I had lost my mind.

In the army I was dragged into, I was at the bottom in every aspect. The rifle was too heavy, and my neck throbbed under the weight of the helmet. From physical fitness to tactical understanding, I couldn't escape being dead last overall.

But actual combat was ruthless. I saw upright comrades, who were always top of the class in training, die meaningless deaths without even knowing why. From reckless charges into enemy trenches to grand offensives to hold key strategic points, I crawled and endured tenaciously just to survive.

Three years after enlisting, I received news that my brother, who had been deployed to the 1st Frontline Army, had finally fallen in battle. He was serving as a tank loader, and they said his tank was hit by an anti-tank gun during a fierce offensive, burning him so badly that no one inside could be recognized.

Even when rumors of peace negotiations began to circulate, we just waited endlessly at the trench defense lines. We dug holes just large enough for a person to fit into walls crudely woven from wood, spread old blankets on the floor, and tried to sleep. For food, there was only bread as hard as stone and bland soup.

Clean water was a luxury. Usually, it was chalky tap water; in the worst moments, we filtered muddy water through cloth just to wet our throats.

Just one day before the peace treaty was to be signed, a final battle broke out under the pretext of securing a slightly more advantageous position. In that chaos, a shell landed near me, and I was swept away by a massive blast.

When I opened my eyes, my right leg was mangled beyond recognition, and my left eye had lost its light forever. Tinnitus rang in my ears, and my jawbone was shattered, making it difficult to even groan in pain. It felt as if I had spent all the luck I had squeezed out and held onto for seven years in that single day.

When I headed to the capital where the Emperor resided, the emotion that crossed my mind wasn't relief. It was only the emptiness that it was finally over, and a sense of hopelessness, not knowing how to live from then on. I returned home with a few shiny medals pinned to my chest.

The moment my sister saw me, she collapsed in tears, and my parents kept their mouths tightly shut, unable to look me straight in the eye.