Chapter 271: Chapter 54: Not a Game
"No—"
Werner tried to scream, but it was too late.
A gunshot rang out, and the young man fell.
Blood spread rapidly across the cobblestone street, like a blooming red flower.
The crowd erupted.
Some people rushed forward to try and save the young man. Others threw more stones at the Soviet Army. Still others began to smash the windows of roadside shops, lighting beer bottles and throwing them at the armored vehicles.
The situation spiraled completely out of control.
The Soviet Army began to fire for real.
Not into the air, but into the crowd.
Bullets whistled through the air, striking walls, the ground, and people in the crowd.
Werner heard the sound of shattering glass, the screams of the people, and Erich cursing under his breath beside him.
"Get out!" Werner shoved the car door open. "Now!"
The two of them jumped out of the car, Erich following close behind Werner.
They hunched over as they moved through the chaotic crowd, dodging flying bullets and stones.
Werner saw an armored vehicle get hit by a Molotov cocktail, black smoke billowing from its chassis.
A Soviet soldier climbed out of the turret, his face covered in blood.
He saw an old woman kneeling on the ground, weeping as she clutched a young boy lying in a pool of blood.
He saw a man in a white shirt holding a camera, frantically pressing the shutter, trying to document it all.
This was war.
The thought suddenly surfaced in Werner’s mind.
Not words in a book, not a scene from a movie, but real, bloody, in-your-face war.
’I fucking thought I was playing a game this whole time.’
Werner ducked behind an overturned car, gasping for air.
’I thought that because I knew the course of history, knew every key moment, I could just plan ahead like I was playing a strategy game, guaranteed to win.’
A bullet struck the body of the car next to him, sending sparks flying.
’But this isn’t a game.’
’These people aren’t NPCs.’
’These bullets are real. They can kill.’
"Werner! Look out!"
Erich suddenly shouted and gave him a hard shove.
Werner fell to the ground. At almost the same instant, a bullet grazed his scalp and hit the wall beside him, kicking up a cloud of dust.
He looked up and saw Erich standing in front of him, shielding him with his body.
Then, he saw a spray of blood erupt from Erich’s shoulder.
"Erich!"
Werner scrambled to his feet and rushed to Erich’s side.
Erich’s face was deathly pale. A bloody hole had been blown through his right shoulder, and blood was gushing out, quickly soaking his entire sleeve.
"Dammit..." Erich gritted his teeth, his voice trembling. "I... I’ve been shot..."
Werner caught him, his mind a complete blank.
’That bullet was meant for me.’
’If Erich hadn’t pushed me, I’d be the one on the ground right now.’
’I would have died. Actually died.’
’So what if I’m a Transmigrator?’
’So what if I know history?’
’A single bullet can still take my life.’
A fear unlike any he had ever felt surged through him.
It wasn’t the fear of failure, or the fear of loss, but the fear of death itself.
’I’m not playing a game.’
’I’m a part of it.’
’I could die here.’
"Werner!" Erich grabbed his arm, pulling him back from his daze. "Move! Don’t just stand there!"
Werner snapped out of it and looked around.
The gunfire was still going, the crowd was still scattering in chaos, and the air was filled with smoke and screams.
’I have to find a place to hide.’
He spotted the entrance to a building’s basement not far away, the door half-open.
"Come on, this way." Supporting Erich, Werner struggled toward the entrance.
Erich’s legs were giving out; Werner was practically half-carrying, half-dragging him forward.
Blood dripped onto the ground, leaving a shocking trail.
They finally reached the basement door.
Werner pushed the door open and helped Erich down the steps.
The door closed behind them, and the gunshots and screams from outside grew muffled, leaving only Erich’s ragged breathing to echo in the narrow space.
Werner switched on the flashlight he carried with him.
The beam cut through the darkness, revealing a basement cluttered with junk—old furniture, cardboard boxes, and dust-covered wine bottles.
"Sit down." Werner helped Erich lean against a wall. "Let me see the wound."
Erich’s face was as white as a sheet, his forehead beaded with cold sweat.
Gritting his teeth, he nodded forcefully.
Werner ripped open Erich’s uniform, revealing the mangled flesh of his shoulder.
The bullet had gone in from the back and out through the front, leaving two bloody holes.
’Good, the bullet isn’t still inside,’ he thought, but he was bleeding a lot.
"Brace yourself." Werner took a small first-aid kit from his briefcase—a habit he’d picked up from his time in the Black Market, always keeping emergency supplies on hand.
He took out some rubbing alcohol and poured it directly onto the wound.
Erich’s whole body stiffened, and a suppressed grunt escaped his lips.
"Fuck... Fuck..." he cursed through gritted teeth, his voice shaking.
"Don’t pass out," Werner said, quickly wrapping the wound with a bandage. "If you faint, I’m not carrying you."
"I... I won’t pass out..." Erich said with difficulty. "Budapest... was much worse than this..."
Werner didn’t respond.
He focused on dressing the wound. His technique was crude, but effective enough.
Soon, the bandage was soaked through with blood, turning a dark red.
But his hands were trembling slightly.
Not from tension, but from fear.
’I almost died just now.’
’I really, almost died.’
"Done." Werner took a step back and looked at his hands—covered in blood, they looked especially glaring in the flashlight’s beam.
Erich leaned against the wall, panting heavily.
His face was still pale, but he was at least conscious.
"Thanks," he said weakly.
"Don’t talk. Save your strength." Werner sat down next to him and pulled out his cigarette case, only to find it soaked with blood.
He sighed and tossed the case aside.
Silence fell in the basement.
Only the faint sounds of gunfire and explosions from outside could be heard, like distant thunder.
Werner leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
Images from moments ago flashed through his mind—the young man shot down, the old woman weeping over the body, the blood-soaked Soviet soldier, and the spray of blood from Erich’s shoulder.
And the bullet that had grazed his scalp.
’I always thought I was special.’
’A Transmigrator, someone who knows the future, who can plan ahead and control everything.’
’I treated it all like a game.’
’The Cold War, the Black Market, smuggling, trading political prisoners—they were all just levels in a game.’
’But in that moment, I suddenly understood.’
’This isn’t a game.’
’I’m not the player.’
’I’m a piece on the board.’
’One bullet could end all my plans, all my ambitions, everything.’
Werner opened his eyes, staring at the circle of light cast by the flashlight’s beam in the darkness.
’This is the true face of war.’
He used to do business on the Black Market, smuggle arms, and trade political prisoners, thinking he was so brilliant, that he was playing a high-risk, high-reward game.
But now he understood that compared to real war, everything he’d done before was nothing.
War isn’t a game.
War is blood, it’s death, it’s a living person falling down in front of you and never getting up again.
War is thinking you’re in control, only to have your life snatched away by a stray bullet the very next second.
"Werner," Erich’s weak voice interrupted his thoughts.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter