"Minimize the use of weapons of mass destruction. Prioritize evacuating civilians and patients!" Shen He commanded, his voice sharp and steady. Around him, personnel swiftly armed themselves and executed his orders with precision. "Block all entrances and call Violet. Clear out the invaders. Joan, focus on defending the hospital building. A-team, follow me. The rest, form squads and engage freely!"
"Yes, sir!"
The response was nearly simultaneous as the team mobilized, filing out of the training ground in an orderly rush.
The sudden eruption of gunfire made Rogers' heart pound. For a moment, he felt like he was back in the war.
No—this is a battlefield.
"What can I do to help?" Rogers asked.
"Yes, follow me and don't wander off. You're a civilian, not a soldier!"
Shen He signaled to an eight-man unit, which swiftly formed a protective formation around them as they moved.
What had been a peaceful facility moments ago had transformed into a war zone. Armed figures poured from every building. Some wore nurse uniforms, but they wielded weapons with ruthless efficiency. Enemy troops, disguised as maintenance workers, scaled the fences, moving with the precision of elite forces.
Gunfire thundered, bodies collapsed, and the sharp stench of gunpowder mixed with blood filled the air.
Rogers was speechless. This was supposed to be peace?
"We'll take this route around to the hospital building," Shen He said, guiding the group cautiously along the wall. "Joan of Arc is stationed there—the enemy won't break through."
"Mr. Shen, if we go that way, we'll be forced through a narrow passage. It's a potential kill zone," Rogers warned as he crouched low. "Give me a weapon—I can help."
Shen He kept moving without so much as a glance. "Mr. Rogers, you understand the importance of protecting civilians better than anyone. Unless every last one of us falls, you will not step onto the battlefield. And before you ask again, let me remind you—you're not a soldier anymore. So tell me, what reason do you have to fight now?"
Rogers hesitated.
Shen He's words struck a deep chord.
His war was over. This wasn't his battle. Without his uniform, without his orders, did he really have any reason to fight?
They reached the narrow passage. The group stepped away from the wall, flanked on both sides by dense, waist-high shrubbery. The battlefield raged to their left.
Then—
Movement.
Rogers caught a glimpse of men in maintenance uniforms scaling the fence to their right, their machine guns already raised.
"Get down!"
Instinct took over. Rogers lunged, tackling Shen He to the ground.
But others reacted faster. Three of the guards stepped forward, shielding them with their bodies. Bullets tore through their armor, and they crumpled to the ground. The moment they fell, their comrades retaliated, unleashing suppressive fire. A fierce firefight erupted.
One soldier collapsed at Rogers' feet, eyes vacant, body still warm. Rogers felt his pulse spike—adrenaline surging.
His body was ready to fight.
Shen He stood, effortlessly hauling Rogers back. His strength was incredible.
More enemies spilled over the fence. This section was a defensive blind spot—now a death trap. The guards held their ground, bodies shielding Rogers without hesitation. One by one, they fell, never breaking formation.
Rogers clenched his fists. A rifle lay just inches away. He reached for it—
Shen He yanked him back.
"You're not Superman. You don't have your shield. If you charge in now, you're just a walking target." Shen He's voice was sharp, unwavering. "Do you want their deaths to be meaningless?"
Rogers stopped.
Shen He's words cut deep. He wasn't a soldier anymore. He was a protected civilian. If he fell before the very men risking their lives for him—it would disgrace their sacrifice.
He understood that feeling. He had been that soldier.
But he had never experienced it from this side.
Shen He wrenched the rifle from Rogers' grip and resumed firing. His marksmanship was pinpoint, but the enemies kept coming. One by one, the last two guards fell.
The final soldier took a bullet to the leg and stumbled. As he collapsed, Rogers caught him, steadying his weight. Then, without hesitation, Rogers reached for the fallen rifle again.
Now—it was his turn to fight.
But before he could act—
A silver blur tore through the enemy line.
Screams. Blood. Chaos.
A small figure weaved between the attackers, her scythe carving through them like paper. Limbs were severed, bodies collapsed, and in mere moments, the battlefield was silent.
The girl stood alone, drenched in crimson, her oversized weapon gleaming in the eerie light.
Rogers' breath caught in his throat.
She couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve.
Shen He lowered his gun and gestured. "Violet."
With inhuman speed, the blood-soaked girl appeared before them. Her large eyes looked up at Shen He with a childlike innocence—completely at odds with the massacre she had just unleashed.
"She's one of your soldiers?" Rogers' throat was dry.
His mind raced. Biological experimentation? Forced combat training? Something worse?
Shen He kneeled, using his sleeve to wipe the blood from Violet's cheek. His voice was quiet, but firm. "My colleague rescued her from the battlefield. Before that, she was nothing but a weapon." He glanced at Rogers. "I see her as family. But for her, fighting isn't just instinct—it's survival. She has a reason to fight. So yes, you can consider her one of us."
Although Violet was only an NPC replica of the real one, Shen He couldn't help but feel the same protective instinct. The resemblance—the expression—was too real.
Rogers had no words.
He felt Shen He's sincerity.
"…Let's move," Shen He ordered.
Rogers hoisted the wounded soldier onto his back, and they pressed forward.
At the hospital entrance, a young woman stood, clad in medieval-style white armor, gripping a massive banner.
Joan of Arc.
Soldiers formed a defensive line around her. As the enemy surged forward, they focused their assault on the hospital—fixated on something inside.
Shen He's eyes sharpened. "Joan, use your Noble Phantasm!"
Joan nodded, stepping forward. One hand pressed to her chest in silent prayer before she raised her banner high.
"My Lord is here."
A golden radiance exploded outward, forming a shimmering dome over the hospital. Bullets and blasts struck the barrier—only to disperse into harmless ripples of light.
Rogers stared in disbelief.
Shen He merely shrugged. "We don't call ourselves 'Guardians' for nothing."
The battle raged on. More civilians reached safety inside the hospital. But the enemy's assault intensified.
They weren't just attacking. They were targeting something.
Or someone.
Then—Rogers saw it.
One of the fallen enemies had an insignia on his arm. A skull.
A snake curling through it.
His breath hitched.
"…They're Hydra."
And then it hit him.
"Their target is me."
Shen He's gaze flickered.
Finally, he thought.
Now show me, Rogers—what do you truly fight for?
This test wasn't just about familiarizing Captain America with Chaldea.
It was about forcing him to confront himself.
Because Steve Rogers might not be a soldier anymore.
But he would always be a hero.