Why am I still here? This question spins inside my mind like a musket ball, relentless and agonizing. To be honest—I am weary. There is only one way to describe my current state: I am a living corpse. My body moves, my heart beats, but the spirit within me turned to ash long ago.
I cannot say this endless war has made me a man. It simply murdered the child inside me, replacing him with the taste of cold iron and constant dread. My only desire is to pass away. But I do not want to fall by a human hand, nor by their lead. I wish to surrender to God. If only the Creator would send His greatest, most powerful angel to strike my sinful soul with that 'Black Book' and drag me out of this hell...
It has been over a month since I last saw the sun. The sky is perpetually choked with grey clouds, devoid of warmth. Only the croaking of crows pierces the air; they, like us, seem to be waiting for the scent of death. Meaningless days and nights bleed into one another. No color, no dreams—only grey.
My only treasures in this cursed life are a single musket, a saber, an axe, a bit of gunpowder, and thirteen bullets. To survive here, you only need to know how to count. Tens of seconds, hundreds of paces... In ten seconds, you either die or commit an act you will regret for the rest of your life.
I am John Joyce. Every morning, I lie to myself, promising a new beginning. Every day, I vow, 'I will not kill anyone today.' I have turned twenty, yet this age brings no joy. I do not run from men out of fear, but because I no longer wish to drown my hands in blood.
But if I ever lose my mind... may God grant me the chance to drown and choke those who forced me to break my vow. Oh, God, can You hear me?!