"Sigh! Even though my dreams are shattered, at least I can live out the rest of my life in peace…" Ryan gazed at the ceiling and let out a deep sigh. To be honest, he had only joined the military out of spite, but after truly stepping onto the battlefield, he finally understood its brutal reality.
Just a year ago, Ryan was an ordinary high school senior preparing for his graduation exams. If everything had gone smoothly, getting into the Federal Naval Academy wouldn't have been a problem for someone with his excellent grades. Once admitted, he could have become a fighter pilot, or maybe even a starship pilot.
However, fate had other plans. The day before his graduation exams, he was set up—someone drugged him with a sleeping pill, causing him to miss his first subject. Without a complete exam record, there was no way he could be admitted to the Federal Naval Academy.
Watching his childhood sweetheart get accepted into the academy while he was left behind on a backwater colony planet, destined for an ordinary life, Ryan knew their futures would take them down separate paths. Unwilling to accept this fate, he decided to enlist, starting from the lowest rank with the hope that by the time she graduated, he would have earned enough merit to become an officer himself.
Unfortunately, with only a high school diploma, Ryan had no chance of qualifying for any technical military roles. His only option was to enlist as a lowly mobile infantryman—the expendable cannon fodder of the battlefield.
During his year in the military, he had contacted his girlfriend through a few interstellar video calls, but the high communication fees made daily conversations impossible. At first, he could still feel their connection, but as time passed, the distance inevitably drove them apart. Relationships couldn't thrive without companionship, and their love gradually faded.
Ryan didn't blame her. She was already a student at the prestigious Federal Naval Academy, destined to become an officer after graduation, serving aboard clean and well-maintained starships. Meanwhile, he was just another grunt crawling through the filth of battlefield trenches.
Eventually, he came to terms with reality. His only wish was to survive until retirement. Losing his girlfriend had drained him of the motivation to strive for military honors. But now, fate had given him a way out—he had lost an arm in battle, giving him a legitimate reason to be discharged early.
"Hiss… Why is it so itchy?" Ryan frowned. The area where his shoulder connected to his mechanical arm felt unbearably itchy, as if thousands of ants were gnawing at his skin.
Since his shoulder was entirely encased in the mechanical prosthetic, scratching it was impossible. He could only grit his teeth and endure it. He knew the military doctors wouldn't bother with such minor complaints. As a wounded soldier awaiting discharge, his priority for treatment had plummeted. The medical staff would focus on saving those who could still return to battle. As long as he wasn't dying, they wouldn't waste resources on him.
"Private 1573, you are cleared for discharge!"
Sure enough, just as he was about to call for a nurse, someone had already arrived to usher him out. The battle on Alpha Star was intense, and wounded soldiers were being brought in every moment. Someone like Ryan, who was no longer fit for combat, had no right to occupy a hospital bed any longer.
"Alright…" Ryan nodded, knowing there were soldiers in greater need of medical attention. He obediently vacated the bed, gathered his prosthetic maintenance kit and a few anti-inflammatory pills, then left the medical ship on a small landing craft. He needed to return to his assigned warship and officially file his discharge request.
"Private 1573, severely wounded during the Isis Beach Landing Battle on September 9, Year 107. After emergency treatment, he lost his right arm. Classified as a Level 3 disabled veteran…"
A military affairs officer flipped through Ryan's documents, occasionally glancing up at him.
Ryan sat straight in his chair, waiting for the officer's decision.
"Hmm… Your documents are in order. Return to your barracks and wait for further notice. You should receive an official response within three to five days."
The officer nodded. Ryan wasn't the first injured soldier to apply for discharge this week—this was just routine procedure.
"Yes, sir!" Ryan saluted before leaving the office and heading back to his barracks.
"Sigh…"
Looking at the empty barracks, Ryan let out a long sigh.
When his unit first arrived in the Alpha Star gravity well, this barracks had housed thirty-six soldiers, including himself.
Now, he was the only one who had returned.
And he had lost an arm.
But in a way, he was lucky. His comrades had lost much more—they had lost their lives.
"I wonder when the next batch of mobile infantry recruits will arrive…" Ryan muttered as he stared at the empty bunks.
In the entire Federal Interstellar Navy, mobile infantry soldiers were the most expendable.
Despite his sorrow, he knew that in just three to five days, once his discharge was approved, he would leave with the supply fleet, bringing an end to his military career.
On the fourth day, an announcement echoed through the barracks:
"Private 1573, report to the Military Affairs Office immediately."
"The order is finally here!" Ryan's heart surged with excitement. Finally, he could leave this wretched battlefield behind.
With barely contained enthusiasm, he rushed to the Military Affairs Office. The same officer from before was waiting for him.
"Private 1573, your discharge request has been denied."
"…What?"
Ryan was stunned. Federal military law clearly stated that soldiers classified as Level 3 disabled were eligible for immediate discharge.
"The military command just issued an emergency order. Due to critical battlefield conditions, all combat-capable injured soldiers are to remain in service indefinitely."
"…This…"
Ryan was dumbfounded. He had been so close to leaving the battlefield—only to be dragged right back into the hellish trenches.
"Enough, soldier. You've been reassigned to the 7th Mobile Infantry Battalion, under the 106th Mechanized Infantry Division. Report to your new unit immediately."
The officer wasted no time, swiftly updating Ryan's military record and tossing him a navigation map. A starship was vast—without directions, it would take ages for Ryan to find his way.
"…Yes, sir."
Ryan had no choice but to salute and accept his orders.
His discharge had been denied.
And that meant he was still a soldier.
And a soldier must obey.