Chapter 440 The Soul Falling Into the Abyss

Strictly speaking, the somewhat dry and empty words of encouragement from Lavrinenko were of little practical help to Malashenko, who had traveled from the future.

In that era when everyone wore a mask to hide their true feelings and showed a false face, living like a walking corpse was a bit exaggerated, but it was also a reflection of reality. Malashenko, who came to this unexpected world in this state, did not completely change himself.

At least before this, Malashenko always felt that perhaps only the most ideal world could truly achieve complete mutual understanding between people without barriers and obstacles.

However, from the corner of his eyes to gradually looking at Lavrinenko's face, Malashenko's heart was quietly changing. This inexplicable feeling seemed to be shortening the distance between the hearts of each other.

Looking at Lavrinenko's sincere face filled with anxious eyes beside him, Malashenko, who still could not get rid of the shadow in his heart, finally turned his head.

"What difference does it make whether we are trapped or not? Lavri, maybe all of us will die, today, tomorrow, or even the next minute, on this cruel battlefield. When Yakov died, he was holding a PPSh submachine gun and leading the charge. Do you think he had a premonition of his own death? Or did he regret it at the last moment before his death?"

The collision between materialism and idealism sparked fierce sparks at this moment.

Lavrienko did not expect that Malashenko would say such a negative word that he had never heard before. He realized that his old classmate might be trapped deeper than he thought. He never thought that Malashenko would be so far away from him. He couldn't help but lose his composure on the spot, grabbing the collar of the person next to him with a mentality of disappointment and anxiety for Malashenko.

"You sat here and thought for a long time and came up with these? Yakov used his death to exchange for our final victory. Maybe it was not a qualified group battle, but at least he was a firm Red Army soldier who died for his faith, just like every one of us! And you, who survived because of him, are here to question everything he has done. What qualifications do you have!?"

Lavrinenko, who was so anxious that he was a little angry for a while, grabbed Malashenko's collar and pushed him forward. After being grabbed by the burly Lavrinenko, Malashenko, whose center of gravity was unstable, rolled down immediately.

Following the large-angle tilt of the T3457 medium tank's upper armor plate, it rolled and rolled in the snow like a slide. Malashenko, who had no displeasure or anger on his face, sat up from the snow with one hand without saying a word. Malashenko, who was a little tired of the feeling of wandering on the edge of death day after day, was at the lowest point of his desire to survive.

"You're right, Lavri, I'm not qualified to question these, but I think I may be qualified to follow the same path as Yakov. I've had enough of this feeling. If possible, I even want to die before all of you. I don't want to continue on this path anymore."

The huge ideological gap between the two worlds cannot be completely eliminated by being on the same timeline. From the initial desperate desire to survive by all means to the later boredom and numbness, until now I want to die first to get rid of it all.

The changes that quietly occurred in Malashenko's heart are not simply described as water dripping through stones and sand gathering into a tower. Yakov's sacrifice and Kirill's uncertainty about life and death are more like a fuse that triggers the final great change. The negative emotions accumulated in Malashenko's heart that have been suppressed for a long time are like a flood that breaks the dam and instantly tilts down, unstoppable.

In the distant future, this situation is generally called war psychological trauma syndrome.

Standing on the turret, he looked down at Malashenko, who had been sitting cross-legged on the snow for a long time like a scarecrow.

Lavrinenko, who felt that he was walking side by side with Malashenko a moment ago, felt that the distance between them was pulled to an unprecedented distance. At this moment, Malashenko was like a stranger, making Lavrinenko, who wanted to pull him back, feel unprecedented helplessness.

Lavrinenko's back against the sunset looked a little manic due to his fluctuating breathing. He didn't understand why Malashenko could be so different in just a few minutes. He only knew that he would never and could not give up so easily, so he jumped down from the turret.

"You can die, but not now! Kirill is still lying in the field hospital with his life or death in doubt. Your crew is still waiting for you to lead them to move forward. I, all of us, and our entire First Guards Tank Breakthrough Regiment are still counting on you to lead us to victory!"

"Responsibility is not something you can shirk, Malashenko. The dead entrusted you with what they failed to complete so that you can continue to move forward, not to be crushed by these responsibilities! What should I do after you die? Will I be as decadent and helpless as you? If everyone is like you, then there is no need to defend Moscow. Our ancestors couldn't even survive the October Revolution and the White Bandits! Do you want Political Commissar Petrov to give you a lesson in person!?"

The words blurted out at a high speed, focusing only on the anxiety in front of him, but he didn't expect the footsteps behind him to gradually approach.

When Malashenko, who was still calm, and Lavrinenko, who was angry, looked in the direction of the footsteps, an unexpected figure appeared in the common focus of their eyes.

The look he cast towards Malashenko, who looked decadent and lost his soul, was inexplicably sad and immersive. Because of Malashenko's familiar expression, he thought of some long-forgotten memories. After a sigh, Political Commissar Petrov blurted out the words that could pull back the soul that fell into the abyss.

"Kirill is fine, he is out of danger. I just came back from the field hospital. The first thing he did when he woke up was to ask his driver how he was doing."

In the strange atmosphere of silence and silence, only the sound of the bleak wind was rustling.

Malashenko, whose brain had just recovered from a brief freeze, almost thought he was hallucinating. He staggered more than a dog chewing shit and struggled to get up from the snow, running at his fastest speed towards Political Commissar Petrov who was close at hand.