Note: This work is entirely fictional and belongs to the Alternate History genre, utilizing historical characters and events in a fictional context. All content is a product of imagination and does not reflect reality or political or military stance.

The story contains sensitive elements such as violence, large-scale warfare, tense political conflicts, and alternative historical depictions. It is not suitable for readers under 16 years of age or those who may be psychologically affected.

Continuing to read implies acceptance of all controversial elements within the work.

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The war had entered its final phase. The Russian army had established a vast buffer zone along with a major logistical route. According to estimates, the war would conclude by March.

The 15th Tank Battalion, led by Lieutenant Donskoy, was currently marching through a town. However, due to some technical issues, they were forced to halt their advance and stop here. More than ten tanks were parked right in the town square—this town was relatively wealthier compared to the other places they had passed through. If one were to compare, the villages and towns they had seen before were devoid of any signs of accumulated wealth among the people, while this place clearly stood out as more prosperous.

The townspeople paid more attention to the Russians, especially when a tank battalion suddenly rolled in without prior notice. It was an unusual event, but not entirely unexpected for the adventurers. Many of them had already heard about the presence of the Russian army but hadn't seen them in person until now. The soldiers were dressed in full white winter gear, with masks covering their faces and black sticks in their hands.

Their appearance drew a lot of attention, but none of the Russian soldiers seemed to care. Even though they were being stared at like exotic animals, they remained focused on their tasks, paying no mind to the onlookers.

Meanwhile, inside the Adventurers' Guild, a lively discussion was taking place, clearly centered around the newly arrived Russians.

"These guys are really strange. They've been here for quite a while but haven't left the square at all," a demi-human said.

"I'm not sure, but I heard they're the army fighting against Papaldia," someone nearby chimed in. "But those guys are weird, not like any army I've seen before."

"What's the matter, are you scared of them?" someone taunted.

"Shut up, Murus!" the demi-human named Orkos retorted. "You know nothing about the Russians. I've been to a town that was once under the control of the imperial army. At first, everything was stable, and the empire was confident. But when the Russians came, everything ended. It was pure brutality—everything was crushed under that monstrosity."

"What monstrosity are you talking about?"

"Those moving iron beasts," Orkos said. "I heard they're called T-tanks, with some numbers I can't understand. Those tanks completely overwhelmed the Papaldian army. Every time something came out of those long tubes, an explosion would take a life without mercy."

Orkos's body trembled, making the others at the table wonder just how powerful the Russian army must be to elicit such descriptions. Others began to speculate whether an army like this would behave like the royal army—looting or killing, which was common here, as only valuable areas were spared from exploitation by local lords.

"Sounds pretty dangerous," Murus said. "But we're all A-rank adventurers. There's nothing to fear."

"Didn't you see the way that guy looked at us?" Orkos said irritably. "It's like we're about to be killed."

"That's right, Murus," the receptionist Hik calmly said. "Moreover, I heard those people are from the Uncivilized Zone, so it's unlikely they'll be friendly or anything."

"How do you know? The commander looked quite dignified, even if his tone wasn't very friendly," another man named Michel interrupted. "Regardless, we shouldn't judge based on their origins."

"I'm not judging," Hik replied. "I'm just concerned for the safety of the people here and—"

Before he could finish, the door opened, revealing a Russian in winter gear with a distinctive fur hat—it was Vasha Donskoy, holding an AK-74, followed by a subordinate for security. The room fell silent at his presence, but Donskoy paid no mind. He was here to check on a few things.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for some people."

Hik was startled, not expecting the Russians to search for people in this manner. But to maintain professionalism, he remained calm. "Sir, we'll need information about the person and a fee of two gold coins."

"Here," Donskoy replied, handing over the money and a piece of paper before waiting.

Hik took out a spherical device with a screen, called a manatab—a device originating from Civilized Zone 2, used to connect with similar devices for communication and storing a certain amount of information based on the magic crystal inserted. It required regular maintenance and crystal replacement. As Hik pressed the large button and other numbered buttons, from Donskoy's perspective, the screen lit up, and the crystal inside connected to the wires began to glow—like a battery powering the device. Hik performed the necessary operations and completed the task.

"Sir, are you looking for the D-rank adventurer groups Voro-12 and Rys-21?"

"That's correct. Did they leave anything?"

"Yes, a letter addressed to someone with a specific symbol..."

Donskoy took out the symbol and showed it to Hik, who immediately understood who the letter was for. He took the manatab inside and connected it to a printer, also from Civilized Zone 2. He quickly linked the two devices, placed a sheet of paper, closed it, and pressed a button. A faint light flashed, and he took out the printed sheet, handing it to Donskoy.

Taking the paper, Donskoy skimmed through the contents and nodded to the receptionist. "Thank you, comrade." He quickly left the guild with his subordinate, then turned back and asked:

"What's your impression of those people?"

"Those people?" the subordinate asked, puzzled. "You mean the adventurers?"

He thought for a moment before speaking. "They're quite dismissive. Despite the name 'Adventurers,' it's just a job for hire with no real sense of exploration. If it were us, we'd have dug up every corner of this planet by now."

The subordinate laughed loudly in the winter air, his breath visible as he spoke, making Donskoy shake his head at the comment. But indeed, this profession wasn't what he had imagined. It was just the fantasies of fictional works, so he didn't need to pay it much mind. The only interesting thing here was the diversity of the residents—too many races to believe that what had happened in this world was random. It could be natural selection, but it could also be due to unexpected reasons, like gods.

Donskoy chuckled to himself as he walked with his subordinate. When they returned to the square, he saw his men cooking—smoke rising around the T-80BVM and Tigr-M vehicles, with everyone chatting animatedly, like a family. But he wondered if anyone had checked the vehicles to see if they needed resupply.

When the soldiers saw their commander return, they called out to him. "Vas, come over and take a break. You've been on the move all day!"

"Got it. But have you checked everything before eating?"

"Done, boss. We've made sure there's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, yeah, just like in Syria, where I'd make you disappear on the spot," Donskoy grumbled but still walked over and sat down. "Give me a portion."

"Here."

He ate heartily with his soldiers, even though the surrounding snow was significant. But they were Russians, seasoned in winter warfare, and this winter was still milder than the harsh winters back home. For Donskoy, this was still a novel experience, seeing something new even in the midst of war.

As he was engrossed in the conversation with his comrades, a female voice echoed in his head: "Everyone has returned... I'm so happy."

He immediately stood up to look around, but no matter where he looked, there was no sign of anyone. The sensation was so real that sweat seemed to form on his forehead. His subordinates, noticing his reaction, became concerned, and one of them asked:

"Boss, is something wrong? Is the food bad? See, Nikolai, it's your fault."

"What does it have to do with me? If the boss has a problem, it's always my fault?"

"Enough, stop it," Donskoy frowned at his subordinates. "It's just a bit of a hallucination. No need to worry."

He sat back down, continuing the conversation with his men, but he couldn't shake the voice. It wasn't anyone he knew, not even a stranger he'd briefly met. Yet, the way the voice spoke felt intimate, as if there was some connection.

For now, he couldn't think of anything else, so he continued his meal and tried to forget the voice, not wanting to disturb the others.

By nightfall, the snow began to fall again, and everyone had set up simple tents to take shelter, while some chose to stay inside the tanks for privacy. Donskoy was in the T-80UK with his notebook, jotting down his observations. It could be considered a diary, but it was more for recording noteworthy events. The sound of his pen scratching filled the cabin as he wondered whose voice that was.

"It's not anyone I can remember," he whispered. "Or is it someone I've forgotten? But then why would the words be so strange?"

The voice kept bothering him, and he knew it wouldn't be good for future missions. Focus was a priority for commanders like him. Donskoy shifted to find a comfortable position while maintaining silence, enjoying the peace. It reminded him of home, which he hadn't seen in a long time, and he hadn't had the chance to talk to anyone.

He sighed, feeling a sense of loneliness creeping in during moments like this. He tried singing softly, the song being "The Sacred War" by composer Alexander Vasilyevich Alexandrov, with lyrics by poet Vasily Ivanovich Lebedev-Kumach. It was a song he had discovered while exploring old wartime anthems.

He slowly hummed the lyrics:

"Arise, vast country,
Arise for a decisive battle,
Against the fascist, against the dark force,
Against the cursed horde forever.

Let the sacred wrath boil,
Like a wave,
The people's war is underway,
The sacred war!"

But he stopped at this part, as he couldn't remember the rest. It was a pity, but he would eventually recall it to sing among his comrades. He closed his eyes, preparing to sleep, when the voice from earlier spoke again, finishing the song. He immediately sat up, this time certain that the voice was coming from inside his head. He grew anxious, thinking it might be a sign of mental illness.

He stepped out of the tank to relax for a moment, as this was a good way to check if he was truly losing his mind. The surroundings were dark, with only faint light from some houses and tents—his comrades were still asleep, and he didn't want to wake them, so he walked slowly. The dark, silent space made one feel a bit fearful, or even terrified, not knowing what might be waiting inside.

Donskoy walked around, the sky full of snow, and this wasn't an ideal time for a stroll, but he continued, both to relax and to check if the equipment was in order, if there were any issues. He approached each vehicle, the engines running, the sound of machinery faintly audible here, which would be quite bothersome for the townspeople trying to sleep with this noise. He hoped solutions for this problem would be found, as operating in winter was quite inconvenient, especially since resupply would take time.

After checking everything, he sat back inside the rear compartment, leaning his head for a moment. Moments like this easily brought one's mood down, and Donskoy was no exception. He stared into the night, about to sleep, but before he could drift off, a rock was thrown at the vehicle. He jolted awake, drew his pistol, and shouted:

"Who's there? Show yourself and identify!"

"Calm down, it's me," the familiar voice made Donskoy relax. He was surprised to respond to the other person. "Makarov? Is that you?"

"It's me!" Makarov stepped out, covered in snow, making Donskoy burst into laughter.

The two sat on the Tigr-M, and Donskoy handed Makarov some food—he ate ravenously, like a starving man. Donskoy asked with concern:

"So, what have you been doing since you got here?" Donskoy asked, guessing. "Got attacked by some monsters, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Makarov stopped eating, smiling at Donskoy. "Those goblin-like things gave me a hard time. There were way too many of them, and there was no way to fight them off alone."

"You went solo again?"

"Of course, I prefer acting on my own rather than relying on others," Makarov chuckled. "Besides, I still have a PMC."

"A PMC, huh," Donskoy said with a sarcastic tone. "How's Mrs. Makarova? Your mother."

"Don't talk like that. No need to be so formal. She's fine, about to turn 55," Makarov joked. "Got any gifts planned, you old grump?"

"Never mind," Makarov continued. "I don't want to go back at all. Seeing my corporation and company collapse because of the crisis is exhausting. Going back means dealing with a pile of paperwork, very tiring. Plus, the FSB is always snooping around me, making it hard to work efficiently."

"Why not retire and focus on the PMC?"

"No, no, I still need GRU intelligence to hunt down Orlov," Makarov said, raising his hand to his forehead in frustration. "But when the teleportation event happened—he disappeared. Now, to find him, I'd have to mobilize troops outside, but that would get the authorities on my back. I've got a good image as one of the few private corporations helping the people, so it's hard to act freely."

"Mrs. Makarova nagging you again?" Donskoy raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah... She said to stay put for now, but I don't like sitting idle," Makarov said gloomily, his face falling. "Since Euromaidan, the danger from Orlov has increased. At first, it was just public speeches in the square about 'anti-war,' which wasn't too bad. But later, he started opposing the government and even Putin."

"You're still mad about that slander against the president?"

"Of course, insulting a Russian hero like that is blatant. Orlov doesn't know his limits, and in 2015, he bombed an airport. Before that, he was close to me, a comrade in anti-terror missions."

Donskoy could only sigh, as this was heavily political, his weakest area. Both were snipers, but one was fiercely loyal, while the other had betrayed the nation. It was like two sides of a coin facing each other. Makarov, though loyal, often acted beyond limits and was covered by the GRU.

Makarov's powerful family background also provided the perfect conditions for reckless decisions. But it didn't matter much. For Donskoy, as long as it didn't harm national interests or go too far, it was fine.

Watching Makarov eat so heartily, Donskoy asked further. "By the way, what have you been doing since you got here?"

"Nothing much, just taking down militaristic regimes," Makarov said. "Been doing that for weeks."

"No resupply?"

"Yes, but from my PMC."

"So, no one knows you're here?" Donskoy began to worry. Was he using standard GRU equipment without orders?

"It's fine, I'm not overstepping. Just conducting resource surveys to send back, and gathering information on other nations. No orders, but it's definitely necessary." Makarov smiled brightly at Donskoy, clearly teasing him, but there was nothing he could do. Makarov was strong when angry, and in a one-on-one fight, there was no chance of winning.

"What about Orlov? Any news on him?"

"Not so far," Makarov said. "There's no information indicating Orlov's presence in Russia anymore, so I'm thinking he's outside, maybe here."

"That's not good," Donskoy said. "If that guy is out there unsupervised, who knows what he'll do to us, especially you."

Hearing that, Makarov fell silent. He understood that if he wandered around outside without support, he'd be an easy target for Orlov. But in the current war, just his appearance would be a problem, and the army wouldn't overlook it. Now, they were in another world, no longer on Earth, and they were the outsiders, so their survival was greatly threatened.

However, he still believed in a more certain future than the vagueness in his heart. They would become a superpower here, and nothing would stop that. He exhaled a white cloud of breath and said to Donskoy:

"Everything will be fine."