Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 651: New Army Recruitment

New Army Recruitment

Still, the breeze carried a new weight.

Smoke bites the air, but it is not from houses on fire.

Nothing like the thick smell of blood. Still, it wasn’t that cloying scent from killing floors either.

Smoke hung in the air, mixed with engine grease, then cut by a hint of rain-washed stone.

Burned filth.

Slowly, movement returned where stillness once held every corner. Sounds came again after years of nothing filling the air.

Footsteps echoed where kids walked once more down the road.

Standing clear of entrances. Away from shadows where people might gather. Moving through open spaces instead.

Staring out wasn’t happening from shadowed corners, no startled gaze breaking the quiet.

Running.

Laughing.

Shouting over nothing important.

A bunch of kids raced down the slope behind a rolling hoop, tapping their sticks fast, almost smashing into a wagon till they swerved off laughing loud. The smallest tripped on pebbles, tumbling headfirst into the dirt.

A smear of red spread across his hand. Fingers twitching, he watched the cut pulse faintly under skin.

Then grinned.

Up he jumped, yelling it didn’t matter, while laughter burst from the rest.

Last Monday, control of the route shifted hands - no longer under traffickers’ grip.

Chains.

Whispers.

Far too quiet, those screams always were.

Still, the sound carried silly words meant for kids.

A few steps past the road, a child waited by a wobbly stand cobbled from odd wooden scraps. Above hot coals, sticks of meat sputtered low sounds. Grease fell slow. Wisps of grey rose like quiet questions into the air.

Shaking took hold of her fingers while the meat flipped on its own. The heat made everything unsteady near the pan.

Still too much to let go just yet.

Slight, but you catch it. Not much - yet your eye stays.

Every few seconds her eyes darted toward the people walking by, like she thought one of them might take it all in a flash.

No one did.

A single copper piece dropped with a ring against her plank.

She blinked.

Looked up.

A slow grin crept across her face, though her eyes stayed heavy. She stood there, worn out, yet trying anyway.

"I’ll take two."

The lump in her throat moved as she gulped. A quick nod followed, almost shaky. One by one, the skewers went in, placed with caution. After the woman stepped away, eyes stayed fixed on the bare spot - where moments before she’d stood. Then slowly, they dropped to the coin resting in open hand.

Fingers curled shut, holding tight.

Alive.

Working.

Existing.

A little way along, one heavyset guy in his forties hunched toward a wooden crate full of fruit, pointing hard at some damaged apples stacked on top. The corner light caught the sweat on his neck.

"That one’s soft. You think I didn’t notice?"

The vendor snorted. "Then don’t buy it."

"I’m not paying three coppers for mush."

"Then go somewhere else."

One stared hard while the other held their gaze just as tightly.

One stayed still, the other did too.

Neither begged.

Words didn’t come up about food shares, where to hide, or paths out. Quiet filled those gaps instead.

Price became the reason they disagreed.

It was ridiculous.

It was precious.

It was real.

Off to the east side of the square, fresh posts stood tall, lined up like soldiers after a drill. Around each one, soil was loose and pale, clearly turned by machines just days before. Heavy cloth dropped from crossbeams above, wide sheets that swayed when wind slipped between buildings. The material twitched now and then, alive in ways wood and metal never were.

Floating above cracked earth, seven-headed serpents of gold twist tight around dark solar forms.

Leon’s insignia.

A fresh piece of fabric lay there. It had never been used before.

Too new.

No dark splashes.

No scorch marks.

No history yet.

Steps grew shorter when folks walked by.

Some stopped outright.

Some lowered themselves slowly, hesitant, not knowing how far to go. Others followed, stiff, questioning each step. A moment stretched - bodies half-bent, caught between motion and doubt.

Some whispered angry words, then spat onto the ground before moving ahead. One foot followed the next without pause.

Most simply looked.

Still, it lasted a stretch that noticed the shift.

Still too short a time to sit with those thoughts.

Folks needed more than just looking to fill their plates.

Walls stayed broken even when eyes lingered too long.

Folks soon realized that just looking wouldn’t fix a thing.

They looked.

Then moved on.

Built by needing to move. Life insisted.

------------------

Fog hung low where people had walked in from every side. Among them, voices rose before the sun cleared the rooftops.

Folks stood crowded under a washed-out sky, air puffing in small bursts from their mouths. Fear stiffened the younger ones. Years had etched deep lines into the older faces. Fists gripped shut, rough from work. Palms open, shaking without cover.

Farmers whose land was taken by drought. Fields gone, leaving only dust behind.

Folks once skilled with bow and arrow found meals harder to come by. Their children went without. Winter stretched too long. Tracks vanished in thawing snow. Hunger followed them through the woods.

Pursued by their past, they moved toward a shadow of second chances.

Folks who fought now walk streets without a home. Where once they stood in line, today they drift through cities, unseen.

Some people clutch at shadows. Others chase light, blind to the fall.

Far off, the line began - shoulders brushing, breaths slow, each person a quiet knot in something moving without sound. The crowd thinned ahead, fading like smoke where pavement met sky, held together by waiting more than form.

Carved into the rock above the metal gate, three words sat still.

New Army Recruitment.

Heavy marks carved into the page. Each one a punch. They stayed there, unchanging.

From up high, a flat surface gave view of the open ground below.

Above it stood Commander Black.

A hulking frame stood beneath armor etched deep with cracks, its once-black surface faded under grime and time. Carved trenches ran across his features, each groove a record of battle, every cut unhealed. Gaze fixed forward, those eyes held nothing soft nor any regret.

His voice stayed low when speaking.

It wasn’t required of him.

Out of nowhere, his voice echoed over the practice field, slow and low like far-off storms rumbling. A hush followed, then dust kicked up where boys stood frozen mid-step.

"You join this army; you abandon your old name."

Some people started whispering, low yet clear enough to notice.

"You steal; you die."

The murmur vanished.

"You rape; you die."

Heavy was the air now. It lay still, pressing down like a weight that had nowhere else to go.

"You betray orders, you die."

Fear crept into some new faces. Throats tightened without warning.

Feet caught their eyes instead of faces.

Fists tightened in some hands.

Quietly, dreams began to fade for a few. Their hopes slipped away without noise.

Far from shouting, Commander Black kept quiet.

It wasn’t a warning he gave. Silence carried more weight than words ever could.

Reality was spoken plainly by him.

Next to him was Vice Commander Johny.

Fists locked. Back rigid. Every face gets a glance sharp enough to slice, judging who might not last another minute.

"We’re not looking for heroes," Johny told them, voice without rise or fall.

"We don’t want nobles."

"We don’t want idiots chasing glory."

A flicker crossed his eyes, then they locked onto the people nearby.

"We want soldiers who follow orders."

Silence answered him.

Understanding was where it started.

A narrow figure near the front rocked back and forth. Though he tried to steady them, his fingers trembled. Garments hung loose, mended so often numbers lost meaning.

"Will... will we be paid?"

His neck creaked as Johny tilted his face sideways.

Looked at him.

"Yes."

A quiet hush followed after it dropped into silence.

A small gulp slid down his neck.

"Will our families be protected?"

Failing to reply, Johny stayed silent.

Something hung there, heavy, when she asked - like words gone bad between them.

Out of nowhere, Commander Black began to talk.

"If you die, your family is fed."

No comfort.

Fame never shows up. Victory stays absent.

Honor isn’t something to stretch the truth about.

Only survival.

Red fire filled the young man’s gaze.

Falling slowly at first, tears rolled off his face one by one. Then came more - quiet, steady - leaving damp trails behind.

Down went his head.

He bowed.

Folks started joining - slow at first, then a few more trickled in behind.

Thousands of bodies bending forward.

Far from reverence.

Far from blind devotion.

Out of necessity.

Out of hunger.

Because they thought this force could stand where nothing else would extinction.