Transmigrated to Game World with SSS Wife-Chapter 82: Path of Annihilation—Bottles

[Glynt's PoV]

After 50 damned bottles, scenes and memories should become blurred.

After 5,000 damned wars, faces and names should become blurred.

Glynt set down his latest bottle shakily, far too weakened to throw it to the ground in disgust. When he first came into this stupid tavern he had hoped to drown out everything in his brain.

He wasn't dumb. He knew that this dungeon wouldn't be peaceful for long.

Not a damn thing was peaceful.

Childhood, love, charity, peace.

Nothing was peaceful.

Most were lucky and never had to learn a lesson like that. They never grew up in a country constantly battered by civil war; they never substituted learning how to walk with learning how to carry a weapon.

Sighing as he pushed himself off the counter, Glynt made his journey over to the alcohol rack once again. Soon, there wouldn't be many journeys left as only 5 bottles remained. However, until that future came to pass he was going to drink to his heart's content.

At some point, the damned alcohol would have to do its job.

All he wanted was a peaceful death, yet all that followed him was war.

Screams of some civilian being torn to shreds rang through the tavern, forcing Glynt to squeeze his eyes shut as he grabbed another bottle.

'No more memories. Please. The present sucks enough as it is.'

He heaved a hearty and heavy sigh as he uncorked the battle, taking a second to look at the swirling and tantalizing liquid inside. For many years ale had been his friend. Though he had always been told that war was an endlessly turning machine, that it always caught up with anyone caught in its fire. Still, he prayed that its nightmares would go away.

His request was denied as soon as he took the first sip.

Suddenly, he was back in the barracks from a time long ago. Back before he was Glynt, back in the times when he was just child number 6,231,437.

The ground itself quaked from the overwhelming power of magic raining down upon him. Off in the distance, shamans from a rival tribe summoned great meteors from the sky.

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Even though he couldn't see them, 6,231,437 knew exactly where the meteors had hit. Just like any soldier trained since a baby, his senses were unfathomably sharp. The first meteor had landed exactly 542 yards to the west, the second had landed around 1,484 yards to the north, and the last had landed just 100 yards to the south.

Now, the shamans had to wait to recharge their energy, giving the orcs in his camp another minute to live.

For just a second, he wondered if 349,215 had somehow survived. Though it was blasphemy, they had talked about life after war a few times and even theorized how much better it would be. Luckily, none of the generals overheard these nightly talks or they'd already be dead.

Neither of them had the battle experience yet to be true soldiers, so they were only used as cannon fodder. Cannon fodder, even if it came in the package of a young boy, was easily expendable.

That's why for every true camp, the generals had set up 100 fake camps. It wasn't impossible for the shamans to hit the true enemy, but it was very improbable.

So far today, 6,231,437 had counted 57 of these doppelganger camps destroyed and 0 of the true ones. It was possible that by tomorrow the war would be over.

'Just for a new one to start.' Glynt thought as he drained the last bit of his bottle.

It was true that the war had ended the next day. This was because his tribe had been completely annihilated the second it made its advance.

Somehow, out of the thousands of doppelganger camps, his was one of the 5 that had survived. The other tribe had simply left, not bothering to check the vast expanse of a wasteland for a few beings only good for target practice. Not when there was a whole new plot of land to own.

Suddenly, they were left without any commander to follow and no place to call home. A few had suggested taking on their ancestor's call, fighting a war that had already been lost.

Glynt was pretty sure those kids just died. He wouldn't know, as he did his best to leave that life behind.

'What good that's done me.' Glynt thought as he got another bottle. He wasted no time inspecting its contents like he had before.

Instead, the liquid poured down his throat just as quickly as the years of his life passed by in his mind.

Like for any orc, the concept of simply evading battle was completely out of the question. He was drawn to war like a human was to water.

Gates had become his new home, an endless labyrinth of conquests to win. Most of the time, these gates were simply a way to let off steam. They were a horde of monsters that needed to be slaughtered, which he was more than happy to do.

However, some of these gates mysteriously seemed to be a sort of gateway to the past, to wars that had already been fought and won. It was the raider's job to either ensure the victor remained the same or to change history.

These were gates he had hated for quite a long time, as they reminded him of the days he was simply a number. Then, one day, he met a certain dwarf and a certain vakir, 2 kids who were trying to kill each other because their parents decided they were enemies.

As Glynt's shadow loomed over them, the 2 quickly stopped as Magnus readied his fire and Sylus nocked an arrow. 2 kids were just moments ago attempting to kill each other now banded together to face this common enemy.

That was 20 years ago now.

Glynt sighed as this bottle was empty. Only 3 were left.

Yet the only stories that remained and he cared about lay beyond the walls of the tavern. Sylus's story as a dwarf who overcame his hatred for Magnus to fight the demons, and vice versa for Magnus.

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And then one more... somewhere.

Maybe the kid, the new one that had impressed him. Something about him reminded Glynt of himself.

...

Nick couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Demons dived from the sky in thousands as they tried to attack the children on the hill. If it wasn't for the extension of his aura killing them in the air, each of those children would die.

Because Yck was a coward, through and through.

He would let them die just to save his own skin.

Yck, who had surrounded himself with 3 of the kids and used them as shields, laughed as he looked at the sky. He probably thought he was saved.

Before he knew what happened, the [Fang of Finality] had slit his throat.

As his vision darkened, the only light left was the purple of Nick's eyes, their murderous glow permeating through even the haze of death.

The last words Yck heard were: "Thanks for being a piece of shit. Now, I can be happy that I killed you."