He had only one arm and one leg.
His face was covered in thick, messy stubble, alongside several clearly visible knife scars.
Desperate, weather-beaten, and tragic.
A body ravaged by years and the flames of war—it left Soren deeply shaken.
The two men stepped out the door. Just as Delin turned to close it, he suddenly remembered that Lieutenant Commander Brown had asked him to pass a message to Dixie.
Standing in the light, he looked at Dixie on the sofa and said solemnly, "Lieutenant, Lieutenant Commander Brown asked me to give you a message."
"He said:"
"'Your son is proud of you.'"
The door slowly closed, and gloom filled the room once more.
"Proud of me?"
On the sofa, Dixie stared at the obituary stained with alcohol on the floor.
The young Navy face in the photograph was gazing back at him with a smile.
"Rice, Rice, my son..."
He lunged forward like a madman, collapsing to the floor. Sharp shards of glass pierced his flesh, but he felt nothing at all.
A faint, reddish seep emerged from his long-numb, mutilated body.
"The one who should be dead is me, Rice. I should have died ten years ago."
"Why, why was it you..."
Lying prone on the ground, Dixie slowly reached out to wipe the alcohol and debris from the obituary.
The boy in the picture said nothing, only looking at him with a smile.
"Rice, I am not your glory. I am a stain, a humiliation, a piece of trash that should have died long ago."
Tears streamed down his scarred, aged face. Pressing the obituary to his chest, …
Chapter 43