Chapter 105
The atmosphere inside the steel cockpit grew murky with an almost childish sense of disappointment.
Shaqar, who moments ago had been filled with curiosity and enthusiasm, now wore a half-sully expression.
His lips curled slightly in a faint sneer.
His feelings were wounded, not by the refusal itself, but by the sensation of being excluded.
To him, true friendship should know no boundaries of secrecy, especially after he himself had laid bare his deepest scars.
That subtle accusation he hurled forth, a veiled jab implying that Apathy was disloyal for still daring to play games of secrecy in the midst of a vow they had already bound together.
It was a small emotional outburst from a weary man, one who sought certainty and warmth in the form of information, as a substitute for the familial warmth he longed for.
Apathy, however, remained a reef stone, unmoved by those waves of disappointment.
He made no attempt to defend himself or soften his stance, nor did he deny his resolve to keep his secrets sealed until the appointed time.
Instead, from his position with his back still turned, he offered a solution that was thoroughly pragmatic, perfectly suited to the nature of their world.
His voice, flat yet now carrying a tone of acceptance that bordered on invitation, declared that Shaqar need not brood or grumble.
All disappointment, all buried anger toward his own past, even his irritation at Apathy's infuriating silence, could be channeled.
Not through words, but through action.
He offered a perfect target for that release.
Every Holy Being and every Angel they would encounter in the city of Thalyssra, Blessed by the Great Sanse.
The city, which he described as the economic pulse and the heart of the world sustaining satanist existence, a former prize wrested from the grasp of the Accursed One, was no longer merely a mission objective.
In Apathy's eyes, it transformed into a collective therapy, a vast arena where every inner wound and frustration could be converted into legitimate destructive force.
Every prayer, every blow, every scream Shaqar would later unleash could be imagined as a release of his disappointment toward Apathy, toward himself, toward the entirety of a life that had grown hopelessly tangled.
"If that is how you choose to guard your past, I will not force it open again.
I only hope that one day, you truly keep your promise—and tell me how a gallant, stubborn, adventure-filled youth could grow within Team Xirkuskartum… until he finally chose to stand at my side as my subordinate."
The silence that once again seized the cabin felt different.
Although Shaqar understood perfectly well that Apathy's earlier words were nothing more than a diversionary tactic, a clever and sly maneuver to convert disappointment into fuel for rage on the battlefield, he could not deny its effectiveness.
In his heart, he knew he was being subtly manipulated, guided to focus all his chaotic emotional energy toward a tangible enemy.
Yet acknowledging that cunning did not instantly erase the disappointment that had settled within him.
He remained a curious soul, one who had opened his own treasure chest yet was forbidden from peeking into his friend's.
That reality was bitter, and he had to swallow it whole.
He realized all too clearly that Apathy's will was an unshakable fortress.
No persuasion, threat, or whine could pry open that gate of secrets before its time arrived.
The strength of resolve of the man behind the wheel was as solid as the iron steering control he gripped, rooted in a discipline of self-restraint that may have saved his life countless times.
Shaqar, for all his rank and authority as a captain, was powerless before it.
Here, within this narrow, rumbling space, their formal hierarchy dissolved, leaving only two individuals with personal boundaries that had to be respected.
That disappointment had to be buried, because true friendship, in their brutal world, also meant honoring lines that must not be crossed.
Yet beneath that forced acceptance, a small, smoldering hope still lingered.
If the forbidden love story was too precious to be revealed, perhaps there was another tale that could be shared.
In the dim glow of the emergency lights, that hope took shape as a vague desire.
Shaqar hoped that perhaps Apathy would be willing to give him a fragment of another past story.
About the journey of a brave, adventurous youth within Team Xirkushkartum, before everything became complicated, before he officially became Shaqar's subordinate.
He wanted to know the fragments of Apathy's life not overshadowed by the silhouette of a mysterious girl, but by battlefield dust, training sweat, and the youthful spirit he might once have possessed.
It would be a consolation, a way to know his comrade from a different angle, while filling the void of waiting for the main story that remained tightly sealed.
"Believe me, Captain—whatever I went through back then will never be more interesting than the future you are walking into now.
The past is only a shadow.
What lies ahead of you is what truly lives."
That soft chuckle was heard again, this time accompanied by an almost bashful movement.
Apathy's left hand rose, covering half his face as though trying to hide an expression that had leaked from behind his flat mask.
The gesture, small and swift, was a rare oddity from a figure who was usually statue-like behind the controls.
Afterward, his voice flowed on, light yet carrying a deep and slightly melancholic meaning.
More or less, he stated that his past was not as enjoyable or as brilliant as the future Shaqar was facing now.
The sentence was not a refusal, but a gentle warning, a way to temper expectations while reminding that behind the promise to tell a story lay a reality that might be bitter and far less thrilling than the adventure imagined.
While those words still hung in the stifling air of the cabin, reality beyond the windshield took over.
The convoy formation of Team Xirkushkartum's vehicles advanced with cold military precision.
The steel pickup driven by Apathy, along with similar vehicles belonging to other captains, moved at standard speed, slicing through the darkness like an orderly blade.
Their positions within the formation could not change.
It was a safety and tactical protocol.
Shaqar's vehicle, with Apathy as its irreplaceable pilot, had to remain in its assigned slot.
Trailing vehicle number two at a carefully calculated distance, while slightly ahead of vehicle number four.
Every meter, every second, was maintained in a fragile balance.
Apathy's focus, once divided, now fully converged on the road, the mirrors, and their relative position within the moving line that served as their lifeline to Thalyssra.
"Maintain speed! Do not let the formation break—no matter what happens, do not stop!"
"Damn it, prayers again! The windshield is cracking, the steering's getting heavy!
Captain, we can still push forward!"
"Keep going! Ignore the noise, focus on the road!
If we slow down, they'll lock onto us!"
Baaaamm!
"Explosion on the right side! Rear tire hit—we can still hold direction, but not for long!"
"All units, stay aligned! Don't be baited into zig-zagging, they're waiting for us to panic!"
Baaaam!
Baaaam!!
"The engine's shaking! Not the terrain—this is a direct attack!
Their prayers are piercing the frame!"
"I'm losing partial control—but not dead yet!
As long as the engine's still breathing, we advance!"
Buuuum!!
"Captain, the transmission's jammed! I'm forcing the last gear—if it blows, we bail now!"
"Keep going! A few hundred meters more—we do not stop here!"
Explosion!!
To be continued…