The last vestige of Zhang Dao’an’s life, sustained only by source energy, was fading. The head training instructor of Regiment 425 was about to die.

This man had drawn nothing but resentment and frustration from others for years. He always held his head high and kept his back ramrod straight.

They watched as that same man’s head drooped, and his back buckled. His tall, imposing frame crumpled over the pillar sword that had been driven through his abdomen.

Everyone grieved in silence. They seared the image of his blood-drenched figure standing alone against the Glowing Blue Sharpie into their minds.

No one truly understood the peace Zhang Dao’an felt at that moment. Not a single person present did.

In the haze of his final moments, he saw his old platoon leader and comrades again, the people who had died in part because of his mistake. He saw the strongest platoon in the history of the 425th Regiment, the Red Erasers,...