Volume 7 Chapter 4 Arrows and Death, and the Fading Name
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
March 29 (Saturday)
Entered the forest.
You cannot see the boundary, but you feel it under your boots. The snowmelt mud is black. It clings to the soles. The smell is wrong. It is a mix of rotting leaves, wet wood, and sour earth. It coats the back of my throat. It is sickening. I want to throw up.
I am assigned to light arms. That keeps me behind the firing line. I deal with Magitech Rifle problems. In dry terrain, a jam is just a machine failing. Here, machines and men alike lose to the mud. Grit gets into the Mana Core housing. Seals fail. The valves stick.
The cloth will not dry. Wet rags stick to wounds. When you peel them off, they bleed again. It hurts.
By day, there are many small monsters. Grass rustles, shadows dash, and someone stabs with a spear. Then it is over. The others said they were Goblins. I only see them from a distance. The smaller they are, the harder they are to track. The smaller they are, the harder it is to tell where they came from. I am scared.
The campfires stay low. They say if we raise them, we become a target. Nobody speaks the name of the enemy that targets us. When you do not speak it, the monster grows larger in your mind.
Maria passed me some hot water. “It’s warm. But it goes cold fast,” she said.
Anna took hers without a word. People who can take things like that without a word are strong. I remembered the saying. The stronger they are, the quieter they fall. I did not want to remember that.
At night, I chewed on the Black bread. Hard. My jaw aches. But I cannot swallow it. My throat is blocked. I forced it down anyway. My stomach feels like lead.
How long has it been since I ate a proper meal?
April 1 (Tuesday)
A dampness that is neither rain nor snow has persisted. Someone remarked that the shallows of the Magic Forest feel like spring. If spring is this cold and heavy, then I hate spring.
The wheels get stuck in the mud. This causes the column to stall. When we stall, frustration mounts. Frustration turns into talk. When the talk increases, the forest feels like it is memorizing our location. So I stay silent.
The day the buzzing sound came, the outer perimeter dropped to the ground in unison.
I dropped, too, out of instinct.
My knees throbbed. The freezing mud soaked through. My heart was pounding like a hammer.
A soldier who was stung screamed. When they scream, you want to light a flare for the medics. But light makes us a target. I saw hands working to stop the bleeding without turning on any lights. The fingertips were trembling.
The swelling was too fast. I saw the skin bulge. I heard the breathing become shallow.
I want to tell myself it is just the cold and the exhaustion. Even thinking it, the shaking will not stop.
Next came the threads. Not spiderwebs. They are too thin to see, yet they have the tension of wire. A soldier carelessly swiped his arm through. His skin just split. No sound.
He bled, but the blood froze almost instantly. It is the cold. Even the pain froze with it. It only thaws out at night.
It is completely impossible for me to walk in the lead. Invisible blades are strung across the path.
Heinrich Braun was hitting his rifle. “The hammer won’t reset—maybe the humidity, maybe the mud,” he said.
The reason does not matter. The fact that it will not fire is what matters.
The failures hitting the Third Company are not about “can we fix it” anymore. It is about “can we fix it before we die.”
At night, I cannot sleep. When I close my eyes, I see those threads.
I feel like the invisible blades are hunting me.
…They are not here. Not in this spot. But I am scared.
Beside me, someone is moaning in their sleep.
I want to wake them. But I cannot touch them. If I touch them, I feel like I might break, too.
April 4 (Friday)
During the day, a black mass darted past the outer perimeter. It looked like a boar with tusks. No, bigger than a boar.
The tusks were coated in mud. They deflected a torch. A shield was knocked away, rim and all. I let out a voice saying, “A shield flew!” I was shocked by my own self.
I do not usually make noise in the field. I feel like if I make a sound, my weakness will leak out.
For such a massive body, its movements were too light. It did not splash the mud. It was not even afraid of the torchlight. It is completely different from the animals I know.
In the evening, the ground rose up. A bundle of wet vines wrapped around an ankle. Other vines reached for the fallen soldier.
The shield line did not break. They just dragged the fallen back inside. They made it.
They made it, but the faces of those dragged back were all the same color. They were drained of blood. It is that color. It is the color where you open your mouth, but no sound comes out.
At night, a stretcher slid in, sinking into the mud. Rudolf just gritted his teeth and said, “My legs won’t move.”
In that moment, I saw it clearly. The medical bay had changed from a place that heals into a place where you just leave things.
They do not heal them to send them back. They just gather those who cannot move and carry them later. If they cannot carry them, they leave them here. In a forest like this, who could carry anyone?
That such things could happen during a march. A coldness settled deep in my chest.
Who is next? It might be me next.
The moment I thought that, my breathing became shallow. The fingers inside my gloves felt heavy. They did not feel like they belonged to me.
Anna’s hand movements as she pressed the bandages did not falter.
Steady hands are the most terrifying thing on a night like this. People get used to things while remaining steady.
I do not want to get used to it.
At night, I cannot sleep. When I close my eyes, I see that black mass.
I feel like those tusks are hunting me.
…They are not here. Not in this spot. I do not want this anymore. I want to go home.
April 7 (Monday)
The moment we crossed the border, the forest turned white.
There is a silence where the deep snow will not melt. Sound is sucked away. The sound of the mud in the shallows has disappeared as if it were a lie. Instead, only the sound of my own breathing remains in my ears.
My breath freezes and my throat hurts. When I try to speak, my white breath tears apart. I feel like someone is listening to even that tearing sound.
”We’ve entered the middle layer,” the person in front said.
I have not been counting the distance. If I count, I will end up seeing the future numbers on my own.
It remains winter here. It is cold even during the day.
My fingers inside my gloves are hardening. Stiff fingers slip on the screws. If I slip, it is over.
My fingers do not feel like they are mine anymore.
Even when I try to move them, they move with a delay.
My nails are still broken, and it hurts. But even the pain is far away now.
I deliberately keep my breathing shallow and just watch the steps.
Nighttime contact has increased. Monsters like wolves that do not howl. There was little sound, but their circle was precise.
A few short gunshots mixed in, but there were not enough. I cannot check the distance by the feeling in the air.
I do not know where the outer perimeter is being bitten by wolves until I hear the screaming.
”Karl cannot return to the outer perimeter anymore,” a low voice passed around.
Learning that “cannot return” is a phrase that comes before death made my back go cold.
This white forest has a kinder face than the black mud. I cannot trust a face that is too kind.
April 10 (Thursday)
The moment we passed through the wall of white fog, we were wrapped in yellow fog this time.
I broke into a sweat. It is muggy. I am sweating in my winter gear. It feels terrible.
Underfoot, it changed to damp leaf mold. Every time I walk, it feels like an extra layer of weight is added to my ankles with every step. My throat is raw from the smell. It is a mix of sweet rot and a sharp chemical bite.
A voice that sounds like neither bird nor beast has been crying out the whole time.
The forest that was quiet and scary has changed. Now it is a forest that is noisy and scary.
The metal is sweating. I know the moment I touch it. The humidity is terrible. The mechanism is jamming.
The seat for the loaded Mana Core is slipping from the dampness. The extraction is not consistent.
The workload for the Third Company has increased all at once.
”Fix it,” they say. I fix it, but the next one breaks immediately. The speed of breaking is overtaking the speed of fixing.
I do not want this anymore. I want to go home. I want to see Gretel. I want to see Mom. But I cannot go back. The path is already gone.
Will I die here?
Am I going to die here?
The camp light is low. You cannot see faces under a low light.
A face you cannot see stops being a person.
When you cannot see a face, the name slips away. The moment it slips away, a person becomes a number.
I am scared of that. But I narrowed my eyes and kept working. Because it is scarier if I stop working.
From here on, I cannot write several days’ worth at once. I cannot wait until night.
It happens while I am waiting. Before I can wake up, the next thing comes.
April 11 (Friday)
Suddenly, arrows flew at us. It was a surprise.
Invisible arrows. Arrows that strike without knowing where they come from.
The sound of the moment they struck was small. But the sound of them falling was louder.
The sound of falling becomes duller the wetter the leaf mold is. The dull sound felt like a dream. It lacked reality.
Even though there is no sense of reality, only the blood is warm.
Right after Clara Weiss exhaled her white breath, an arrow was sticking out of her chest.
”Clara…” I gasped. Clara’s chest.
”Hear the shot?” someone said. Then they immediately fell silent. Because there is no answer.
Clara’s name vanished from the roll call.
Clara died.
We touched the sealing twine together. She had a habit of keeping her breathing shallow. To keep the black and white from mixing.
Is she not here anymore?
The response to the roll call is thinner than it was yesterday. I do not want to count the people. But the number of voices answering keeps decreasing.
As the Third Company, I wiped the tools. The cloth I use to wipe them turns black immediately. The speed of it turning black has increased.
I want to blame the humidity and the mud. But the reason my hands are shaking is not the mud.
From today on, I will write in my diary every night.
If I do not write, today will melt into yesterday. I will not know where I am.
At night, I thought about Clara.
Tomorrow, it might be me. Next, it might be my turn.
Scared. I do not want to die.
I cannot sleep. When I close my eyes, I see arrows. I see Clara.
Even when I open my eyes, it is dark. I cannot see anything.
But I cannot close my eyes. If I close them, I feel like I will die.
April 12 (Saturday)
At the place where the messenger lines enter and exit, arrows sprouted again. One person fell. I do not know her name. She was a female messenger soldier.
Arrows do not howl. Monsters howl, but arrows do not.
Things that do not howl grow larger in your mind on their own.
I cannot turn off the medical light. If I turn it off, I cannot see. If I cannot see, my hands stop. If they stop, I die.
Because I die, I leave the light on. If I leave it on, arrows strike again. “Who is the one shooting the arrows?” I asked.
Elza Haffner, who was out on the outer perimeter, was carried away. “My legs won’t move,” she said.
I felt like if I grabbed her arm, I would be pulled in. So I did not let her grab me.
The pain in my chest is not kindness. It is because I am a coward.
The holes in the roll call have increased. The positions of the holes started lining up like a pattern. I felt sick.
When you see a rule, even the escape route disappears.
April 13 (Sunday)
Maria took an arrow within the circle of the torches.
”Maria…!” I cried.
It took so long for her to fall that people gathered to try and help. That moment is the most dangerous.
I pulled my hand back. The fingers I pulled back were shaking.
Maria. She gave me a piece of cloth. She was kind.
I wanted to run over. But my legs would not move.
”I’m a coward. I am a coward. Maria, I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I told myself it was the cold. As long as I can blame the cold, I am still alive.
Anna ran. That woman does not usually run. Her hands, when distributing hot water or pressing bandages, are always at the same speed.
The nights when that Anna runs are usually bad. Something that cannot be stopped is already happening.
At night, a whisper went around near the messenger lines. “Retreat is the topic,” they said, “but we’re moving forward.”
The word “topic” lacked any sense of reality. That makes it all the more terrifying. It is like a choice decided on paper.
While the direction of “returning” still existed as a word, I wanted to return.
Writing that I want to return is weak. But being weak is who I am right now.
April 14 (Monday)
It was big. The ground shook violently at the front.
The arrows increased during the chaos.
Mern Schmidt from the same repair unit was carried off. They could not stop her bleeding. In the end, I was told, “There’s no choice but to leave her behind.”
Sending them back is impossible. The line to carry them, the road to return. There is no way to build those anymore.
Still, the line is pushed forward.
I wonder in the back of my throat, after losing so much, are we still moving? If I put it into words, I feel like I will break. So I swallowed it.
The Third Company’s repairs became “just make it move, don’t worry about fixing it.”
If I change the way I say it, I feel a little lighter. Feeling lighter is terrifying.
Rumors are fast. The rumors of retreat. And the feeling that we have dropped the idea of retreat.
The faster the rumor, the less anyone shows their face.
April 15 (Tuesday)
It was a day that was too quiet. It became quiet before it came.
The birds’ voices grew distant. The sound of the wind thinned. Only our own breathing stood out.
Everyone makes their breathing smaller. Even if you make it smaller, the arrows come.
At night, a large shadow lunged in.
A real monster appeared. Many died.
When everyone gathered over there, a rain of arrows fell.
In the rain of arrows, I saw Heinrich Braun collapse.
He fell and did not move. It was a collapse without a sound.
The voice of someone calling out cracked midway. A cracked voice does not return.
I tried to grab someone’s shoulder, but pulled my hand back. I felt that if I touched them, I would collapse too.
I could not run over.
Heinrich. His way of handling things was brief. He was a man who understood. He did not do anything unnecessary.
I ran away again. I left them behind again. I am the worst.
I tightened the screw. It is all I can do. Even after I finished tightening it, my hands were shaking.
It is not the cold. The shaking of my hands will not stop.
April 16 (Wednesday)
In the morning, the faces of the technical unit vanished from the roll call again. My chest feels empty.
At the end of the messenger line, someone said, “We’ve abandoned the retreat.”
”Abandoned? What does that mean?” I asked.
It sounded like an order. It was as if the outside of the forest no longer existed.
I cannot go back anymore.
I am going to die here. Scared. I do not want to die.
The circle of torches has become smaller. There are few soldiers left.
The medical light remains low. You cannot see faces under a low light.
The toolbox has become lighter. That is not because the tools have decreased. It is because the owners have decreased.
Fights arose in turn. Water, cloth, fire. When the order breaks down, soldiers become rough.
When they become rough, their voices grow louder. Loud voices are not absorbed by the forest. The unabsorbed voices come back and strike my chest.
April 17 (Thursday)
”Waiting for repairs,” they shouted. A mountain of them. “Shouting. Striking. Only words. Yet, it hurts.”
I kept stamping the ledger. The stamps increase. The people do not increase. The stamps are sturdy.
Nobody counts the holes in the roll call anymore. There is no meaning in counting them. That there were five thousand people seems like a dream.
The smell of the ground has changed. The rotten sweetness has thinned. Now there is a smell of dry roots.
There are places where the wind passes through.
Just that makes my chest feel a little lighter.
”Soon,” someone said. I do not ask what. I do not want to hear it.
I cannot write anymore today. My hands are shaking.
Scared. People are decreasing. The names are disappearing. I am disappearing too.
Scared. Scared. Scared.
April 18 (Friday)
I could not wait until night. I am writing during the day.
Even if the paper gets damp or the letters blur, I will write.
I do not feel like I can write tomorrow.
The forest’s sound is strange. It is noisy, but only the necessary sounds disappear.
Today, I counted what I could not fix more than what I could.
Since then, every night, that monster and the rain of arrows come.
We have come to a place we should never have come to.
I cannot think about anything anymore.
It has become normal to keep moving even as we decrease.
This is my last diary.
I definitely will not live to go home.
I cannot see Gretel. I cannot see Mom.
Sorry.
I am sorry.
But, only my hands are moving.
I tighten the mouth of my tool bag again.
This is still my job.
This is still me.
I might die today.
But, for now, I am still alive, Mom.
───────────────
Holy Arcadian Empire Third Legion Technical Magic Unit
Magic Engineer Erika Schmidt (Rank: Sergeant)
Sacred Calendar 1366, April 18
In the Magic Forest
───────────────
—
Summary:
Erika Schmidt chronicles the horrific reality of the Third Company’s march through the lethal Magic Forest. As the environment turns from freezing winter to oppressive, humid decay, soldiers vanish into the shadows, casualties mount, and the unit’s hope for retreat is cruelly abandoned. Erika fights to maintain her identity as a magic engineer while her sanity and hope for returning home dissolve in the face of relentless, invisible death.
—
Trivia:
The Magic Forest actively memorizes the location of the soldiers based on their noise and activity levels.
The “threads” found in the forest are sharp enough to cut skin upon contact and are described as having the tension of wire.
The roll call serves as a grim record of the unit’s diminishing numbers, evolving into a pattern that implies no escape.
The medical protocol shifts from healing to mere placement of the incapacitated, signaling the end of any real hope for the wounded.
Notes:
• Man – A roughneck wearing a hat who participated in a group assault. He suffers the loss of his right arm and later his left arm during an experiment by the protagonist before being stored.
• Goblin – Goblins are hostile creatures inhabiting the village, armed with primitive weapons such as sticks, axes, and spears. They can be male, female, and include Hobgoblins. Some are pregnant, as seen in the hut.
• Karl – A mechanic with a hunched back who works in the underground workshop alongside Erika.
• Gretel – A blonde-haired female soldier who acts as Erika’s roommate. She is energetic and attempts to maintain a sense of normalcy in the barracks.
• Elza – A blunt vanguard archer and precision construction director who coordinates teams with absolute teamwork. Operating out of the barracks, she uses light-based arrows to bypass heavy armor and strike structural cores directly, blending architectural precision with lethal battlefield coordination. Despite her sharp military focus, she shows blunt concern for Erika’s appearance and health.
• Erika – A twenty-three-year-old female mechanic with golden hair dulled by oil, blue eyes, and dark circles under her eyes. She carries a burn scar on her left arm and struggles with dissociation.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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