The Western Front, France.
Mud and the smell of gunpowder are the eternal themes here.
A young soldier pulled a frayed, folded copy of "The Stars and Stripes" from his chest pocket.
On the front page was a man wearing a red, white, and blue skintight combat suit, holding a circular shield.
He had a brilliant smile, with cheering crowds and fluttering national flags behind him.
"Hey, look, it's Captain America! My little sister said in her letter that she saw the Captain with her own eyes—he bent a steel beam with his bare hands!"
"My mom spent all the milk money on war bonds just because the Captain said on the radio that every penny is a bullet fired at the fascists."
The soldiers' faces were filled with a fanaticism bordering on worship.
This fanaticism was completely different from the awe and fear they felt when looking at another "god."
Not far away, Soldier Boy leaned against a destroyed Tiger tank, expressionlessly wiping his shield.
The soldiers' chatter drifted into his extraordinary ears, every word clearly heard.
Captain America?
A monkey in a costume, jumping around on stage?
His story—the fairy tale of a scrawny kid gaining power—was spreading among the soldiers faster than a virus.
It even overshadowed the battle record he had just written with blood!
Soldier Boy's movements paused.
He remembered what Lynn had said to him before leaving.
"A bigger stage."
But now, the spotlight of that stage was shining on someone else.
He was the one who crushed the German Army positions with his bare body amidst a hail of bullets, the hero who smashed the enemies' heads with his shield.
He was the god of war who made the enemy tremble in fear and made the Allied Forces soldiers kneel and pray!
Why?
Why should a performer hiding in the rear, selling smiles, share this glory with him?
No, that wasn't sharing.
That was theft.
"Click."
He unconsciously increased the force with which he wiped the shield, and the solid edge of the shield was actually dented by his grip.
A nameless anger quietly ignited in his chest.
...
Allied Forces frontline command.
Colonel Phillips was spitting as he deployed the next phase of the battle plan.
Soldier Boy sat at the head of the long table, boredly fiddling with a captured Luger pistol.
Since Lynn left, Phillips had been terrified of this master.
He was afraid that if he said the wrong thing, his own head would be knocked off like a baseball.
The atmosphere of the meeting was oppressive and tense.
"...In short, those puppets of HYDRA have caused us immense psychological pressure, and the soldiers' morale is very low."
A staff officer concluded with worry.
Colonel Phillips cleared his throat, trying to liven up the atmosphere.
"It's not all bad news."
He picked up a briefing report from the rear and squeezed a smile onto his face.
"War bond sales in the rear are hitting record highs, all thanks to Captain America's national tour. The public's enthusiasm is at an all-time high, and our supply lines will be greatly supplemented."
He even showed the photo of Captain America from the newspaper to everyone with great interest.
"Look at this young man; he has the whole United States going crazy for him. He represents hope, which is exactly what we need the most right now..."
"Bang—!!!"
A loud noise.
Phillips's words came to an abrupt end.
Everyone looked in terror at the source of the sound.
The long conference table in front of Soldier Boy, made of heavy oak, had snapped neatly in the middle.
Wood splinters flew everywhere.
He stood up, looking down at the grim-faced Phillips.
In those eyes, there was no longer the usual arrogance and disdain, but a rage and murderous intent capable of freezing a person solid.
"I am here, crushing the HYDRA scum one by one like bugs."
"And you, you are praising a coward who wears a skintight suit and sells his ass on stage?"
All the officers froze in place, even forgetting to breathe.
They looked at the man radiating a terrifying aura, feeling as if they were facing a prehistoric beast that had been thoroughly provoked.
Cold sweat broke out on Colonel Phillips's forehead.
He could sense that the tangible murderous aura had locked onto him completely.
If he dared to say a single "yes," his head would suffer the same fate as this table in the next second.
"You are saying..."
Soldier Boy approached step by step, the shadow he cast completely enveloping Phillips.
"...a hero who kills enemies is not as good as a performer?"
His hand was already pressed on Phillips's shoulder.
Phillips felt his shoulder blade groaning under the unbearable weight, and the intense pain made him want to faint.
He had no doubt that this madman would really tear him apart alive in front of everyone.
"No... of course not..."
The instinct to survive forced a few dry syllables out of his throat.
"Soldier Boy... you... you are our only god of war..."
Soldier Boy stared at him for a few seconds, as if examining a bug he could crush at will.
Finally, he snorted coldly and let go.
"Tell Lynn."
He turned around, kicked open the door to the command post, and walked out without looking back.
"My patience is limited."
Only when his figure completely disappeared did the people in the command post dare to breathe deeply.
Colonel Phillips touched his shoulder.
It was already bruised purple.
The fear of having survived a disaster made his whole body tremble uncontrollably.
"Spare transmitter... quick!"
Phillips roared hoarsely at his adjutant.
"Immediately! Use the highest level of encrypted telegram to contact that bastard!"
...
At this moment, Lynn was holding a glass of champagne, thinking about his next development plan.
Captain America's tour was a huge success.
The sales of war bonds were only the most insignificant part of it.
Through this tour, his connections, wealth, and influence were expanding.
Howard, that genius, finally lived up to his expectations.
Guided by those "manuscripts," he gradually translated the complete formula of the Super Soldier Serum into "plain language" that he could understand.
Everything was according to his plan.
A secretary in a black suit walked in quickly and respectfully handed over a newly decoded telegram.
"Sir, it's from the European front, highest encryption level."
Lynn took the telegram.
There was only one short line on it.
[The beast is out of the cage and urgently needs a tamer to soothe it. Return quickly.]
Sender: Phillips.
Lynn looked at the telegram, the smile on his face not changing in the slightest.
He held the telegram paper to the nearby candle flame, watching it turn into ashes.
Soldier Boy is throwing a tantrum?
That is... truly wonderful.
A tool only demonstrates the value of its "user" when it is difficult to control.
To him, Colonel Phillips's telegram was not a cry for help.
It was an invitation.
An invitation for him to go to Europe and collect more rewards... an invitation.
"It seems it's time to go see how my other piece of art has been sculpted now."
Lynn drained the champagne in his glass in one gulp.
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