Crocodile Island has long forgotten why it fights.
It's laughable to say.
On the brink of death, the fleeting memories of indulgences appear like shadows, but only the profound experiences of survival and heart-wrenching agony make a lasting impression.
The once vibrant and intense memories of military campaigns, those fragments and scenes all surface, but the motives for killing are impossible to recall. Merely fragmented shadows, like undeveloped camera negatives,
This may be the Aran Army.
One becomes a systematically engineered war machine, with a half-life of reward and punishment systems, turning one into a soldier through and through.
Nothing else remains, just a soldier.
Crocodile Island attended military school, but beyond military matters, its cultural level is not high.
People often say living as a symbol is a failure, but if not embodying a symbol, how can one prove they've lived?
Fulfilling the soldier's duty to the last moment.
Fighting...
Thrilling.
