War Beyond the Obelisk

Chapter 5: Smiling Gas — 02

The line advanced again.

As they passed the black military sedan, Yu Feichen turned his head slightly.

Inside sat the profile of a young man. His back was straight, his body resting lightly against the black leather seat in a posture that looked almost deliberate in its elegance.

A spotless white glove covered his left hand. The glove from his right had been removed and held loosely while he cleaned the chamber of a silver pistol.

According to the guards, this “Black Crest captain” had graduated from Xiyun Military Academy only that month. Yet in Yu Feichen’s judgment, even a firearms instructor might not have developed such effortless, refined movements.

Besides, only a weapon that was fired often needed to be stripped and cleaned.

Once the pistol had been reassembled, it remained across the young officer’s knees. He rested his bare right hand on the half-open window. The gesture was languid and arrogant, as though he—not the colonel—commanded the camp.

The fine white glove slipped from his fingers, spun several times in the wind, and landed on the frost-covered earth.

One of the guards cursed. Their own gloves were stained and worn, while this newly arrived officer discarded supplies without a thought.

The wind suddenly wailed louder. Several snowflakes drifted down and swirled through the open window.

The platinum-haired captain lowered his head, covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, and coughed several times. At last, he turned toward the prisoners.

His eyes were a pale, icy green.

His gaze swept over the line. Yu Feichen was certain their eyes met for a brief instant.

Neither of them showed any expression.

A moment later, the captain turned a small crank beside the window. Dark brown glass rose into place, hiding everything inside.

The snow lasted only fifteen minutes. Above them, the sky was as gray as the worn base of a porcelain teacup.

Then it was the married couple’s turn.

The officer seated at the center of the long table wore a colonel’s insignia. He lifted his chin toward the wife.

Humiliating women appeared to be one of the Black Crest Army’s preferred amusements. Men were permitted to keep their trousers. Women were ordered to remove everything.

A full-length mirror had been positioned before the tables. It reflected not only the prisoner being searched, but the entire line behind her, magnifying private shame beneath hundreds of watching eyes.

“Don’t be afraid, Liana,” her husband whispered repeatedly. “It’s all right.”

Sobbing, she removed her outer garments and began loosening the ties beneath them.

“You’re pregnant?” asked one of the doctors in a white coat.

Her abdomen was barely rounded. If Yu Feichen had not watched her protect it throughout the journey, the slight curve might have been mistaken for ordinary weight.

She looked anxiously at her husband, then toward the two groups on the left.

One held women, elderly prisoners, and children.

The other contained women near delivery, a lame man, a person with albinism, and a newly arrived dwarf with a severely disfigured face.

The doctor had a kindly round face. A thick woolen blanket rested over one arm. He smiled at her.

“Dr. Xibei and I will take care of you and your child.”

Her husband patted her shoulder, signaling that she should join that group.

The doctor’s kindness appeared sincere. Yet no one had ever heard of an internment camp that cared for pregnant women while forcing every female prisoner to stand unclothed in the winter wind.

No one knew which choice was safer.

Her gaze shifted between the two lines. At last, she bit her lip.

“I’m not pregnant, sir.”

The doctor gave an apologetic smile and waved her away.

“Then I’m very sorry.”

She joined the women, children, and elderly prisoners. A guard handed her a long flannel garment that looked little different from a sack.

The colonel turned to her husband.

“Name?”

“Grode Hilding.”

“Occupation before you came here?”

“I taught at a secondary school.” He hesitated, then added, “Chemistry.”

“Useful,” the colonel said.

A clerk recorded his name, and he was sent to the line of adult men clearly intended for hard labor.

After Grode moved away, Yu Feichen stepped forward.

He gave his name and profession, then saw his reflection clearly for the first time.

He appeared twenty-five or twenty-six, tall and straight-backed, dressed in a black shirt, waistcoat, and gray-blue checked overcoat. His hair was deep golden chestnut; his eyes were a dark ink-blue.

His features seemed somewhat similar to the face he wore in Paradise. Given his poor ability to recognize faces, however, the resemblance could not be trusted.

He removed his coat and began unbuttoning his shirt while one guard searched his trouser pockets and the soles of his boots.

Yu Feichen lowered his face slightly. With his right hand, he offered the shirt to another guard, who simultaneously held out a coarse gray uniform.

At that exact moment, Yu Feichen flicked his left wrist.

The guard glanced up.

A platinum wristwatch caught the light.

During that single distracted second, the silver-plated lighter and sharp folding knife Yu Feichen had already transferred into his shirt pocket slipped into his palm, disappearing beneath the gray uniform.

The exchange was completed.

The guard moved roughly to Yu Feichen’s left and removed the watch.

At the same time, the knife and lighter slid into the side pocket of his trousers.

No one noticed.

With his shirt gone, the young man in the mirror was lean and powerful, his muscles firm and cleanly defined.

“Well, look at you.” The colonel gave a hoarse, unpleasant laugh. “A brothel could use a fine specimen like you even more than the brickyard could. You could keep that troublemaking, consumptive Xiyun pretty boy occupied.”

His bloodshot eyes bulged slightly.

“But Koroshan scum and lawyers can go work the damn kilns.”

His aide and the surrounding soldiers laughed.

Yu Feichen regarded him coldly.

Crude jokes were common entertainment in some armies. But the colonel’s protruding eyes, inflamed veins, twitching eyelids, and disordered, breathless speech all suggested that something was wrong with his mind.

In the previous zombie world, this would already have qualified as the beginning of mutation.

From everything Yu Feichen had seen so far, however, this still appeared to be an ordinary world.

When the colonel’s muttered a***e finally ended, Yu Feichen joined the laborers.

Bai Song came next.

The former corporal was only slightly shorter than Yu Feichen, with a balanced frame and well-developed muscles.

He was awarded the title “coal-eating Koroshan bastard.”

The next few prisoners received variations including “frog-eating Koroshan bastard,” “coal-eating Koroshan frog,” and “bastard-eating Koroshan coal heap.”

The women and children were taken beyond the wall. The pregnant women and the prisoner with albinism disappeared in a car on the same side.

The laborers were divided into four groups.

One would gather acorns on Oak Mountain. Another would cut timber on the northern slope. A third would construct barracks. The fourth was assigned to the brick kilns.

Night had already fallen, so the camp did not put them to work immediately. Instead, three trucks carried them to their quarters.

They were led into a long concrete building. Twenty small cells had been built along each side as barracks.

The rooms were cramped and damp. Each contained more than a dozen straw mats, with a thin blanket thrown over every one.

“You live there, bastards.”

Yu Feichen was assigned to the deepest room in the far corner, directly across from the washroom.

There were seven men in total: Yu Feichen, Bai Song, the chemistry teacher, the “frog-eating Koroshan bastard,” and three strangers.

Yu Feichen chose a place near the door, where he could see outside. Bai Song settled beside him.

The guards moved down the corridor, kicking each iron-barred door shut and locking it.

“I hope all my Koroshan frogs are still here when I wake tomorrow.”

The barracks overseer was a huge, fleshy man carrying a basket of bread. He moved from cell to cell, throwing in black, horn-shaped loaves so hard that they struck the floor like stones.

“Some bastard is always trying to escape. Every time one man gets away, ten people here are executed.”

His voice came closer.

One loaf struck Bai Song on the head with a solid knock.

The overseer pressed his face against the bars and found himself looking directly at Yu Feichen.

Shadows blurred his features. In the lamplight, his silhouette stretched into a long vertical shape across the wall.

“This door was properly locked,” he said in a high, sinister voice, “but two men once vanished from this very room.”

He smiled.

“Want to guess what happened to everyone else?”

It was not difficult to guess.

They had been executed.

Every other room in the forty-cell building already held longtime prisoners. Only this one had been completely empty.

Bai Song shifted closer to Yu Feichen.

That was evidently the reaction the overseer wanted. He chuckled, then pulled the cord and extinguished the electric light.

Darkness filled the building.

Only a fist-sized window near the ceiling admitted a trace of pale light.

The overseer’s boots receded. A final heavy lock sounded as the main door of the concrete building was secured.

Water dripped steadily in the washroom opposite them.

Muted voices came from other cells, too distant to distinguish. Their own room remained silent, apart from Bai Song gnawing at his bread.

It sounded exactly like someone chewing coal.

“Why isn’t anyone talking?” Bai Song asked after a long while.

Yu Feichen did not answer.

He was assessing his situation.

As in countless previous missions, he had been placed in a world beyond Paradise.

This time, however, he knew neither the objective nor the reward.

An internment camp holding civilians during wartime could produce only a few likely missions: rescue someone, destroy the camp, or obtain intelligence.

If no objective had been specified, he could simply attempt all three.

At last, someone broke the silence.

It was the “frog-eater,” a delicate, thin monk.

“Why do they call us frog-eating bastards?”

“The Black Crest Army believes the Koroshans betrayed the God of Truth,” Bai Song said, “and that the betrayal made their country barren.”

“Korosha has never worshiped the God of Truth.”

Bai Song bit into his bread and said nothing.

Another man spoke.

“Korosha is filled with coal mines. They’ve wanted them for years.”

“What are you doing?” Bai Song stopped chewing and looked at Yu Feichen.

Yu Feichen was examining the lock.

After studying the thick iron mechanism, he tested the tightly fitted bars.

Both were solid.

“Two men escaped from this room,” he said.

“Probably not from here.” Bai Song touched the bars as well. “They could have run while gathering acorns or cutting timber.”

Unfortunately, both of them had been assigned to the kilns.

But Yu Feichen clearly remembered the overseer’s emphasis: the door had been properly locked.

That was unusual.

And sometimes, the smallest inconsistency was the key to breaking open an entire situation.

“The God of Truth teaches that prisoners should be treated with mercy,” the monk said.

“Let us hope so.”

His companions appeared to have no intention of escaping.

After inspecting the room by moonlight, Yu Feichen closed his eyes and entered a shallow sleep.

He ignored the bread. He had no interest in chewing coal. Perhaps a night in the damp air would soften it by morning.

He slept lightly.

It was a habit shaped by countless missions. Any suspicious sound would wake him. Even when nothing happened, he woke once every hour.

After one hour, another prisoner began crunching his bread. Bai Song started snoring softly.

After two hours, all six of the other men were asleep.

After three, the prisoners in the neighboring cell were still whispering.

After four, a distant bell sounded once.

Midnight.

In the darkness, Yu Feichen opened his eyes.

The dripping from the washroom had stopped.