He came to me when the noise had finally thinned out.
Not silence—war never truly gives you that—but the kind of quiet where men stop pretending they're fine and start staring into nothing. Fires burned low around the camp. The mountains were dark shapes against a sky that still remembered how to be beautiful.
He stood straight. Too straight.
Older. Grey threaded through his hair. Clean uniform. No blood on him. The kind of man who survives wars by never standing where bullets land.
He stopped in front of me.
"What's your name?" he asked.
I didn't look up.
"Death."
That was the name everyone used. The one whispered. The one joked about nervously. The one that followed me after Bolzano.
He paused.
"No," he said calmly. "Your real name."
I finally looked at him.
"Sir," I replied, "we're in the army. Only code names."
His jaw tightened.
"I'm a general," he said. "You should speak properly when you speak to me."
I stood up.
Not fast. Not slow. Just enough to make my meaning clear.
"Sorry, sir," I said, my voice flat. "I talk in my own way. If that's a problem, there's nothing I can do about it."
For a moment, I thought he might order someone to restrain me. Or shoot me. Men like him didn't like being spoken to without fear.
Instead, he smiled.
A thin smile. Calculated.
"Meet me at the hill point," he said. "One a.m."
Then he turned and walked away.
I watched his back disappear into the shadows.
"Budda," I muttered under my breath.
Old man probably wants a one-on-one.
I almost laughed.
"Let's see how much strength you've got left," I whispered.
The night was cold.
Not the sharp, biting cold of the Himalayas—but a slow, creeping chill that settled into bones and stayed there. I walked alone, boots crunching softly against gravel and frost. Above me, the sky was alive.
Stars everywhere.
Too many.
They burned quietly, indifferent to borders, wars, or men who thought they mattered. For a moment, I wondered how many of them had watched every war humanity had ever fought.
And how little had changed.
The hill point overlooked the valley. A natural balcony carved by time. Wind moved through the grass in long whispers. I saw a silhouette standing near the edge.
I approached.
It was him.
The general.
Hands clasped behind his back, staring at the world like it owed him an explanation.
"You came," he said.
"I was curious," I replied. "And bored."
He chuckled softly.
"Good. Men like you are always bored."
I didn't like how well he read me.
He turned to face me fully now. The moonlight cut across his face, carving deep lines into skin that had aged without regret.
"There's a group," he said. "Not officially. Not on paper. A shadow inside the shadow."
I didn't interrupt.
"They want to stop the war."
I laughed.
Not loudly. Just once.
"That won't happen," I said. "Too many countries. Too much blood. You can't stop everyone at once."
The general nodded.
"I never said we would."
I frowned slightly.
"Then what?"
He looked back at the valley.
"We don't stop countries," he said. "We remove people."
I felt something tighten in my chest—not fear, not excitement.
Interest.
"You're talking about assassinations," I said.
"Yes."
"You can't kill all leaders," I replied. "Even if you do, new ones come. Everyone's fighting everyone."
The general smiled again.
"We don't need all of them," he said. "Only the strong ones."
He turned to me slowly.
"If the leaders of the strongest countries begin dying—one after another—without warning, without claim, without explanation… the rest will panic."
I said nothing.
"Mysterious deaths," he continued. "No responsibility. No patterns. Just fear. Leaders will step back, not because they want peace—but because they want to live."
"And if they don't?" I asked.
His eyes were calm.
"Then we kill them too."
The wind howled softly around us.
I exhaled.
"Nice plan," I said. "But why tell me?"
He studied me like a puzzle he already knew the solution to.
"Because you don't fight for glory," he said. "You don't fight for ideology. And you don't fight for medals."
I said nothing.
"You fight because you want quiet," he continued. "Because you're tired. Because you want to disappear somewhere warm, somewhere far, and sleep without hearing screams."
My fingers twitched slightly.
He saw it.
"I can give you that," he said.
I finally looked directly at him.
"What do I get?"
He didn't hesitate.
"One million dollars."
The number hung between us.
Enough to vanish.
Enough to live anywhere.
Enough to stop waking up to war.
"Your dream place," he added. "Wherever that is. No uniforms. No orders. No guns."
I laughed softly.
"You really think money buys peace?" I asked.
"No," he said honestly. "But it buys distance. And sometimes, distance is enough."
I looked back at the stars.
For the first time in years, I imagined a life without checkpoints. Without blood. Without numbers attached to death.
I stayed silent for a long time.
Then I nodded once.
"I'm in," I said.
The general didn't smile this time.
"Good," he said. "Next plan is simple."
He stepped closer.
"Your flight is in the morning. You board it like any other transfer. At the airport, my people will pick you up."
"To where?" I asked.
He turned away, already walking.
"You'll know when you get there."
I watched him disappear into the dark, swallowed by the mountain like he had never existed.
The wind grew colder.
I stood alone on the hill, katana resting at my side, rifle heavy on my back.
For the first time, the war felt… different.
Not endless.
Not inevitable.
But fragile.
Like a tower held together by men who suddenly remembered they could die.
I looked up at the stars one last time.
"Maybe," I whispered, "this is how it ends."
Not with peace.
But with fear.