Chapter 498: Chapter 498: Silence (3)
Reiner POV
The war has painted the world in shades of gray. As I walk through these broken towns, the air is thick with sorrow. Buildings, once sturdy and proud, now stand as hollow echoes of what they used to be as only debris litters the streets.
Civilians, their faces etched with pain, cast glances my way. Their eyes, weary and sad, speak volumes of the hardships they've endured. The weight of their struggles hangs in the air, a heavy cloak that no one can shake off.
The streets echo with the muted sounds of a town that has lost its vibrancy. The laughter of children, and the chatter of neighbors, were all silenced by the relentless march of war. Now, the only sounds that persist are the distant rumbles of conflict and the soft sobbing of those left behind.
I pass by a group huddled together, their faces etched with loss. A mother cradles her child, their eyes mirroring the pain that stretches far beyond their tender years. They have become refugees in their own land, seeking shelter where there is none.
In the midst of this desolation, I can't help but feel a knot tighten in my chest. The responsibility weighs heavily on my shoulders. I witnessed the consequences of a war I couldn't prevent. The simple townsfolk, innocent and caught in the crossfire, bear the scars of a conflict not of their making.
The extremists were making a faction of their own, and any of the civilians who opposed them suffered the consequences.
I walk on, each step a silent vow to bring change. The once-bustling markets are now reduced to rubble, and the fields lie fallow. The landscape, scarred by the relentless dance of destruction, bears witness to a world that has lost its way.
Quietly, I stepped into the makeshift haven of tattered tents filled with those who dared to resist the extremists that plagued both human and demon factions. The air hung heavy with the stench of wounds and desperation. Injured civilians, their faces etched with pain, lay on makeshift beds of hastily assembled blankets.
The wounded, their bodies battered by the brutality of war, bore scars that told tales of a fierce struggle against both human and demon extremists. Some clutched bandages tightly, while others lay still, their eyes clouded with the weight of their ordeals.
I moved among them anonymously in a hood to not get attention just so I could hear things that I usually don't hear, the actual truths.
The tent's atmosphere held a fragile sense of solidarity. Injured humans and demons, side by side, united by the common struggle against the extremists who had hijacked their respective factions. The wounds, both physical and metaphorical, transcended the divides that had driven their world into chaos.
A hushed conversation caught my attention. A group discussed plans for the future, their voices a blend of determination and uncertainty. They spoke of rebuilding, of forging alliances that defied the boundaries set by extremists. In the midst of despair, a seed of resilience took root.
In the quiet solitude of my thoughts, I reflected on the irony that now enveloped my existence. As a prince, the clamor of war reports and the resounding cheers of victories once filled my ears. In those days, each positive report was hailed as a step closer to triumph, a sign that our efforts were not in vain.
Now, as I moved anonymously through the shadows, witnessing the aftermath of the war, I found myself yearning for a different kind of silence. The world I once knew had been drowned in the echoes of conflict...
In the midst of this quiet haven, where the wounded sought refuge and the hopeful whispered of rebuilding, I discovered a longing for silence. No longer did I crave the noise of triumphant reports or the cheers that once accompanied them...
Now, what I wished for was a quiet world, one where the scars of war could heal in peace.
Why couldn't demons and humans find common ground, a shared understanding that transcended the artificial divisions created by extremists?
Towns reduced to rubble, lives shattered, and families torn apart, the toll of a conflict that seemed devoid of reason.
Why did it have to be a perpetual struggle, a ceaseless battle fueled by animosity and distrust? Couldn't there be a world where demons and humans coexisted, each recognizing the shared humanity in the other? The arbitrary lines drawn in the sand, dividing races and fueling hatred, seemed to crumble in the face of the devastation around me.
The demons and humans I encountered, wounded and seeking refuge, shared a common thread of suffering. Their pain was not exclusive to one faction or the other; it was a collective agony that defied the narratives of hate perpetuated...I've helped spread this...
I used my position to advocate for the extermination of demons...
The power I possessed had become a tool for division, a force that fueled the flames of animosity between humans and demons. Each decree, every proclamation had contributed to the cycle of conflict that now scarred the land.
"I wish that I was muted," I muttered, my voice tinged with remorse.
If only I could silence the echoes of my own past, the words that had sown seeds of discord. The desire for a different reality, one where my influence had been wielded for harmony rather than discord, gnawed at my soul.
"Are you the volunteer?" A nearby healer asked
"Yes," I responded for some reason.
The healer, their gaze a mix of weariness and gratitude, nodded in acknowledgment.
It seems that most of the healers ran out of mana and had to use regular medicine and other materials to help the patients.
"I'm not very knowledgable though."
"That's fine." the healer said, "Just come, as long as you can face blood and disfigured bodies, you'll be fine."
"I've come from quite a distance, was it always this many?"
"No..." she admitted, "That village is the target now, so we're suffering very lightly since before it was the demons invading us every week."
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
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