The shrill whistle of the charge stabbed viciously into Levi's eardrums.
Before he could even process the shocking fact that he had copied Wolverine's abilities, someone rammed a rifle butt hard into his back. A tremendous force sent him stumbling straight out of the shell crater.
"Move it, rookie! You want to stay here and be target practice?!" a hoarse voice roared beside his ear.
Levi's mind went completely blank. His body moved purely on instinct, stumbling after the swaying figures ahead of him as he ran through the churned-up, muddy ground.
He clutched the cold, heavy rifle in his arms. In his hands, it was no different from an iron bar—he didn't even know how to fire it. Right now, it served only as his last shred of psychological comfort.
The moment he left the protection of the crater, the entire world turned into a living hell.
Bullets whooshed past his head, ears, and legs, the piercing whistles making his scalp tingle with dread.
Explosions thundered nonstop in the distance. Every blast was accompanied by towering fireballs and thick black smoke, scorching shockwaves hurling dirt and straight at his face.
The air was thick with the stench of gunpowder and blood, choking tears from his eyes and burning his throat, as if he weren't breathing air at all, but shards of glass.
He saw a young soldier who had been charging forward beside him just moments ago suddenly lose his entire upper body—blown into a mist of blood by a shell from nowhere.
The warm liquid splattered across Levi's face, sticky and reeking, sending his stomach lurching violently.
An unprecedented terror reached out from all directions, clamping around his throat and nearly suffocating him.
As someone who'd grown up in an era of peace, how could he have ever seen something like this? Compared to a real battlefield, movie wars were nothing more than children playing house.
He wanted to scream. To turn and run. To dig a hole and bury himself alive.
But in this chaotic meat grinder, he could do none of that.
The only thing he could do was hunch over like everyone else and run forward with everything he had.
His gaze instinctively locked onto the most eye-catching figure on the field—the burly, bearded man with a cigar in his mouth and bone claws flashing from his fists.
Logan.
This guy charged straight ahead, completely ignoring the interwoven German fire.
Bullets struck his thick chest, kicking up small sprays of blood, yet he merely staggered slightly and continued roaring like a beast.
Stick with him! I have to stay close to him!
That was the only thought left in Levi's mind. On this battlefield of certain death, this unkillable monster was his only lifeline.
He poured every ounce of strength into his legs, staying close behind Logan.
Logan drew the majority of the enemy fire, and with him shielding the way, the pressure on Levi dropped sharply.
Even so, danger was everywhere.
A stray bullet came from nowhere and slammed into Levi's left shoulder.
"Ah!" Levi screamed as a searing pain exploded through his body.
It felt like a red-hot iron had been pressed into his arm. His entire shoulder went numb, and he stumbled, crashing hard into the mud.
Lying there, trembling with pain, he looked down to see a hole torn through his uniform, blood gushing out as if it cost nothing, quickly staining the mud beneath him a dark red.
"It's over…" His mind emptied as dizziness and a terrifying weightlessness washed over him. He knew the signs—excessive blood loss.
Where was the healing factor? Why wasn't it working?
Just as his consciousness began to blur, a familiar, bone-deep itch rose from the depths of the wound. It was even worse than the pain of the bullet itself—like countless ants gnawing madly at his flesh and bones.
He let out a muffled groan, but wild joy surged through him.
There was sensation!
The healing factor was kicking in!
Gritting his teeth against the unbearable pain and itch, he stared at the wound. He could feel muscles and blood vessels writhing, knitting themselves back together at a frantic pace.
The bullet lodged near the bone was forcibly squeezed out by newly grown muscle, dropping into the muddy water with a clang.
He moved his left arm. Aside from some lingering numbness, there was no pain at all.
Only then did he understand—this healing factor didn't numb pain, and it certainly didn't make him invulnerable.
"Damn it… this ability can't even block pain. Trash," Levi muttered through gritted teeth as he dragged himself up from the mud.
After surviving that ordeal, his fear strangely diminished.
If he couldn't die, what was there to be afraid of?
He lifted his head, searching for Logan. Soon, he spotted him pinned down behind a blasted dirt slope ahead.
A German MG42 heavy machine gun had been set up behind a crude sandbag emplacement, spewing long tongues of fire.
The horrifying rate of fire formed a wall of death, keeping Logan trapped behind cover as dirt and碎石 exploded around him.
Logan tried again and again to charge out, only to be driven back by the dense hail of bullets, fresh wounds constantly opening across his body.
Even his formidable healing factor was starting to look stretched thin under such relentless firepower.
Levi's heart leapt into his throat. He knew full well that Logan was his only shield. If Logan got pinned down for good, Levi wouldn't be far from death either.
Help him? How?
He didn't even know how to chamber a round with his rifle. Charging straight in would just get him riddled with bullets.
His eyes darted across the battlefield until they landed on an entrenching shovel lying beside a corpse at his feet, its edge glinting faintly in the firelight.
A crazy idea suddenly surfaced in his mind.
His greatest advantage was simple: he couldn't die.
If that was the case, why not use it?
He didn't hesitate. Gritting his teeth, Levi grabbed the mud-caked shovel. Staying low, he used the uneven terrain and scattered bodies as cover, inching closer from the flank toward the roaring machine-gun nest.
His heart hammered so violently it felt like it might burst from his chest. Every step felt like dancing on a knife's edge.
Several times, bullets grazed past his scalp, the wind from them stinging his cheeks.
The German gunner's attention was fully focused on Logan. He never imagined someone would dare crawl in from the exposed flank.
Closer. Even closer. Levi could clearly see the gunner's flushed face, twisted with tension and excitement.
Now!
Taking a deep breath, Levi summoned the greatest courage of his life. He sprang out from behind a dead horse, gripping the shovel with both hands and letting out a hoarse roar even he didn't recognize, swinging the heavy blade down with all his strength toward the gunner's skull.
Bang!
A dull, sickening crunch. The German soldier's head caved in like a smashed watermelon, his helmet collapsing inward. He didn't even have time to grunt before slumping lifelessly onto the machine gun.
The assistant gunner froze in terror at the sudden turn of events. Staring at Levi as if at a demon from hell, he instinctively reached for the pistol at his waist.
By now, Levi was seeing red. He yanked the shovel free and, without even looking, swung it sideways. The sharpened edge slammed solidly into the man's neck.
Crack.
The assistant gunner's head lolled at an unnatural angle.
With both men down, all the strength drained from Levi's body. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the blood-soaked mud, the shovel slipping from his grasp.
Staring at the two corpses at his feet, his stomach churned violently. He vomited with a loud retch, emptying whatever little oatmeal he'd eaten that morning. His entire body shook uncontrollably—whether from fear or the physical reaction to killing, he couldn't tell.
The machine gun fell silent. For a brief moment, the battlefield seemed to go quiet.
Logan immediately sensed the change. He leapt up from behind the slope and charged over in a few strides. He took in the two fallen Germans, then Levi sitting on the ground, pale and shaking, vomit beside him.
A complicated expression crossed Logan's ferocious face. He said nothing—just reached out with his massive, scarred hand and hauled Levi to his feet.
"Not bad, kid," Logan said hoarsely, giving Levi's shoulder two heavy pats. "You've got guts."
The blows nearly knocked Levi over. He forced a dry laugh, unable to say a single word.
Half an hour later, the battle ended. At a terrible cost, they took the position. The surviving soldiers collapsed where they stood, exhausted, no one speaking. The air was filled only with labored breathing and the groans of the wounded.
Logan somehow produced a bottle of whiskey, twisted off the cap, and took a deep swig before handing it to Levi.
After a moment's hesitation, Levi took it and copied him. The fiery liquid burned its way from his throat to his stomach, making him cough violently—but the heat drove away some of the chill in his heart.
Logan squatted beside him, a cigar clenched between his teeth, squinting as he studied Levi. After a long pause, he spoke.
"I saw you get shot. Shoulder, right?" His eyes were sharp. "Where's the wound?"
Levi's heart skipped a beat. He knew this was coming. He'd already prepared an excuse and replied calmly, "I don't know why. Been like this since I was a kid. No matter how bad the injury, it heals after a nap. Faster than normal people."
Logan stared at him deeply, eyes keen enough to pierce the soul. He didn't press further—everyone had secrets, especially in a place like this. Staying alive was what mattered. From Levi, he sensed a familiar scent… the scent of a monster like himself.
Logan exhaled a smoke ring and extended his calloused, scarred hand.
"You saved my life. Name's Logan."
Levi looked at him and firmly shook his hand.
"Levi."
From then on, Levi and Logan became inseparable partners.
One charged head-on like a tank, drawing fire and tearing through enemy lines. The other moved like a ghost along the flanks, exploiting his inability to die to harass and ambush.
Over the next two days, their combination proved terrifyingly efficient in several engagements.
On the third evening, after repelling another German counterattack, they leaned against the trench wall, sharing a can of beef.
An officer wearing a bowler hat and sporting a distinctive toothbrush mustache approached them, escorted by several soldiers.
His uniform was immaculate, boots polished to a shine—utterly out of place amid the mud and blood. He looked down at the dirt-covered Levi and Logan, who were wolfing down their food, a faintly amused smile on his face.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice clear and firm, "how would you like to change locations… and do something a little more interesting?"