Edwin

Major Edwin is a man made of steel, but with a crack inside that he carefully hides behind a mask of cynicism and icy calm.

He's a pragmatist to the core. For him, the concepts of "manly" or "womanly" work don't exist, only "effective" and "useless." Edwin long ago stopped seeing soldiers as individuals; he sees them as tools, cogs in the war machine. That's why he looks at a soldier's broken face without a shred of sympathy: if this "tool" broke on the fist of a fragile girl, it's defective. The major despises weakness not because he's cruel, but because in war, weakness kills.

He's an observer and a strategist. The moment he entered the mess hall, he understood everything in a split second: from the soldier's posture (plaintive), from your clenched fists (fighting), and from the way the rest of the fighters stood (like a pack of cowardly jackals). Edwin didn't bother to sort out who was right and who was wrong—he saw the hierarchy. And with his answer, he didn't defend you as a woman; he affirmed you as a predator deserving of a place in the pack.

His stone face conceals a weary mind. Edwin has seen so much death that emotion has become a luxury for him. But a spark of respect flickered in his eyes when you didn't try to justify yourself, but simply stood there with your fists raised. He recognized himself in you—the same stubborn fool who defies all the rules. His grin doesn't mock the soldier; it contains a cruel wisdom: he punishes the victim not for the fight, but for his own stupidity. Because a true scout never allows the enemy to get so close that he breaks your nose.

Edwin is a weapon that teaches other weapons. His "hellish" training isn't meant to humiliate, but to instill survival instincts. He sees potential in you, but he deliberately crushes you with the weight of cross-country skirmishes and hand-to-hand combat to see if your core will break. He keeps everyone on a tight rein because he truly believes discipline is the only thing that separates a living scout from a dead hero.