It’s like looking in a mirror…

  —YAMI DANTōDAI, LOOKING AT SHINKU

  Location: ? United Kingdom of Téssera éthni – Ludinium – Hospital ?

  Date: ? 2001 – June 06 – 03:30 p.m. ?

  The rhythmic thud of footsteps pounded through the sterile corridors. Each hurried step echoed against cold stone walls, swallowed by the distant hum of machinery and the muffled cries of the wounded.

  The aftermath of the rescue operation had brought in a flood of soldiers. Some bore wounds that whispered of their survival; others carried injuries that screamed of death’s inevitability. A few were already beyond saving.

  Iustitia ran. She dodged past nurses and orderlies, her eyes scanning the brass pques mounted on every door. The hallway smelled of antiseptic, but it did little to mask the heavier scent of blood and burnt flesh.

  Turning a corner too sharply, she stumbled, then caught herself. The door ahead loomed like a verdict. Without knocking, she shoved it open.

  The air inside was thick—the sharp sting of disinfectant mingled with the weight of despair. The small room held three figures: Marty, a wiry man with long white hair and pearly eyes—his pale hair shimmering faintly under the harsh light—and a hulking figure swathed in bandages from head to toe, like a fallen titan wrapped in his scars.

  Marty stirred first, rising unsteadily from his bed. “Oh, Sarge…” His voice was light but tinged with exhaustion. “Done with your business with the Crimson Devil already?”

  Iustitia said nothing. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped him in a brief embrace. She then released him and turned to the white-haired man, her brows knitting.

  “Licht, are you okay?” Her voice carried a rare softness.

  He nodded, though the movement was slow and deliberate. “Just a hip injury. Nothing I can’t handle.” His voice wavered, but he forced the words out. “Grant’s worse. Doctor said he’s out for four months at least.”

  “Stuck like a mummy for a while,” Marty added with a bitter smirk.

  Iustitia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “At least you’re all alive,” she said quietly, her eyes flickering around the room. Something felt off, incomplete. Her gaze lingered on the empty spaces. “Where’s Lieutenant? And the others? Which room are they in?”

  The air shifted. The silence that followed pressed down like a vice. Marty’s gaze lowered. Licht averted his eyes. Neither spoke.

  A cold knot formed in Iustitia’s stomach. She swallowed against the bile that threatened to rise. The truth hovered just beyond the words they refused to say.

  “They didn’t make it,” Licht said at st, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands clenched the bedsheet as though it might anchor him. “During the ambush at Dunéglise… Lieutenant Liam ordered us to split into separate fronts. It was the only way to buy time for the retreat.”

  Iustitia’s breath caught. Her hands trembled, curling into fists as the words sank in. Her mind raced—memories of ughter, shared rations, the resolve in their eyes—eyes of the young soldiers who had someone waiting for them. She had believed they would all return. She had to believe. It was the only thing that kept her moving as she escorted Shinku to the pace. But now…

  “Are you saying that time… our unit…”

  Marty’s jaw clenched. The tendons in his neck strained with the effort to contain his grief. “Only the four of us made it.” His voice cracked. “Out unit… was reduced to nothing.”

  ? ? ?

  Location: ? United Kingdom of Téssera éthni – Ludinium – Royal Pace ?

  Date: ? 2001 – June 15 – 09:30 p.m. ?

  A dim light flickered in the expansive office, the chandelier’s glow twisting into elongated shadows that crawled along the walls. Five figures gathered beneath its gleam. At the center sat the king, his presence weighed down by the grim nature of the meeting. Beside him sat a young woman, her posture straight, radiating a cold, poised elegance, like a bde sheathed in velvet.

  Weeks had passed since Shinku’s organization had sent their liaison to Téssera éthni. Now, that liaison stood before them—a tanned-skinned therianthrope, his slicked-back blonde hair catching the faint glow of the chandeliers. His uniform, dark green and double-breasted, bore a slight irregurity: buttoned on the right, a subtle sign of personal preference rather than regution.

  Canine ears twitched atop his head, his wolfish yellow eyes locked onto the king as he presented a document titled: “Interim Report on Fehlerfreint Empire Operations.” The king accepted it. Page after page passed beneath his gaze. Though his mouth remained still, the steady clench of his jaw betrayed the storm that brewed within. Finally, he shut the report and slid it back without a word.

  “You co-authored this report, I assume?” he asked.

  “Yes,” the therianthrope replied. “Erich Melchior. Leader of our reconnaissance and gueril unit, Your Majesty.” He shut the report with a crisp snap before distributing copies to the others at the table.

  He approached the young woman beside the king first, offering her a copy with an almost reverent gesture. Her silver eyes never left the pages, absorbing every word. Dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, a contrast against the navy vintage dress that clung to her abaster frame. The dim light caught the glint of her diamond earrings, a fleeting spark against the cold atmosphere.

  Next, Erich turned toward the two older men seated on a leather sofa near the grand window. The first, a frail figure with snow-white hair and piercing azure eyes, sat in silence. His appearance was regal, but there was a frailty to his frame, like a monarch carved from ice. Beside him sat another man, rugged and worn by years of battle, his deep brown hair contrasting sharply with his cold, bck eyes.

  “Here you go, Prime Minister Hill and Field Marshal Caliburn,” Erich said, handing two documents on both men.

  Neither thanked him. The documents exchanged hands without so much as a gnce in his direction.

  “This… is worse than I feared…”

  “It seems the Empire is developing new types of weapons—biological and mechanical,” the Prime Minister added, as he spped the document onto the table. “It’s as if they’re intent on outpacing everyone.”

  Erich gave a curt nod. “In terms of gunpowder weapons, mechanized units, and magical innovations, the Empire stands three decades ahead of every nation in Pthéa. That technological chasm was why they nearly emerged victorious during Ragnar?k.”

  The young woman’s cold smile sharpened, her ebony hair tumbling over her shoulder like strands of ink. “And now they fear history repeating itself.” Her voice cut through the room, delicate yet ced with venom. “Terrified of losing another war, they dig deeper into the darkest depths. But human experimentation…” She let the words linger, the disdain in her silvery eyes unmistakable. “I never thought they’d stoop so low.”

  The chandelier’s glow caught the glint of her diamond earrings as she shook her head. “Magic development has stagnated. The old ways are lost to time. But to torture the young, to forge weapons of flesh and blood?” She didn’t finish. The disgust in her voice was more damning than any words.

  The king exhaled slowly. With deliberate care, he removed his heavy burgundy robe and draped it over the chair’s back, as though relinquishing the weight of his responsibility for even a moment. His knuckles pressed white against the armrest. “And what of this new Imperial weapon? Is there truly nothing known about it?”

  Erich’s canine ears flicked. A muscle in his jaw tensed. “Very little, Your Majesty. Radar and srioma recon yield next to nothing.” He hesitated. “But what we do know… is harrowing. The weapon fired three times, each shot an hour apart. Every impact wiped out the Réseaux de Maréchaux. The few survivors left behind describe an artillery strike—but one that flies unnaturally. A ft trajectory. No arc. They saw a fsh of searing light. Then silence. Every nearby radio stations went to static.”

  The king’s fingers curled tighter against the armrest. “Is it magical or technological?”

  Erich shook his head. “That remains unclear. But its destruction speaks for itself. The bst left a crater—elongated, triangur—four hundred and forty meters in length, two hundred and twenty in width.” His voice lowered, as if speaking the truth aloud might solidify it. “It reduced everything to nothing.”

  The room fell still. Even the crackling firepce seemed subdued beneath the gravity of his words.

  Monsters born from inhumane experimentations. An elite subdivision mixed with sorcerer-mages and vampiric soldiers, honed and unleashed like living camities. And now—this. A weapon capable of turning fortresses to dust and burying thousands without a trace. The Empire had more than monsters now. And it felt as though the world itself had turned against them.

  Erich cleared his throat, the sound scraping through the stillness. “The Republic has fallen. Which means the Empire will now set its sights on the United Kingdom.”

  All eyes snapped toward him, the reminder a bitter truth they could not ignore. Téssera éthni and Libérédóry had stood defiant when the Empire’s ambitions began devouring neighboring nations. But now, the Republic y shattered. Annexed. Its armies broken. The Empire’s path to Téssera éthni was clear.

  “That’s right…” the young woman murmured, her voice low, gaze shifting toward the king. “The Empire won’t waste time. They’ll weaken us before invading, Father.”

  Erich lifted a gloved hand, awaiting the king’s silent nod before continuing. “Ever since Shinku’s escape, the Empire has tightened its security around military projects. Even so, we’ve observed concerning movements within its air force.”

  Téssera éthni’s southern coast, a mere twenty-three kilometers from the fallen Republic, was separated only by a treacherous sea channel. Those narrow waters—bristling with deadly currents and jagged rocks—were the kingdom’s st line of natural defense. But if the Empire cimed the skies, that barrier would mean nothing.

  “I want our air force ready to repel any attack from the Empire,” the king commanded.

  “By your will.” The field marshal nodded, immediately taking his leave.

  “We must remain patient,” the Prime Minister added, his fingers tracing the edge of his brown goatee. “Hold our ground until Reina’s elite subdivision is prepared.”

  At the mention of the special unit, the king’s brow lifted slightly. “Sir Shinku joined them as well, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” he confirmed. “Though he’s not officially enlisted in our forces, he’s offered his aid through his organization. It’s his way of showing that we now have their cooperation.”

  Such an unprecedented arrangement… What was Shinku thinking…!? Erich grumbled internally, his dog-like ears drooping ever so slightly. “Well, he’s fighting not for the United Kingdom after all.”

  The young woman’s smile thinned, a fsh of amusement in her silvery eyes. “He must be a cold one, then.”

  Her voice cut through once more. “Sir Melchior,” she continued, her curiosity unmasked. “Aside from intelligence, what else will your organization offer? You’re already stretched thin—relocating therianthropes, supporting the Resistance. Can you truly spare more?”

  Erich, who had been poised to leave, forced a smile as though it pained him to linger. “We are strained, yes. But we remain capable of undermining the Empire’s defenses within the annexed Republic.” His golden eyes gleamed, a predator’s cunning flickering behind the fa?ade. “When a counteroffensive begins, notify me. I’ll return to the Republic and mobilize support—including the Therianthrope Resistance.”

  A brief sense of relief washed over the room. Téssera éthni’s forces were no match for the Empire’s vast armies, and their resources dwindled by the day. Even Reina’s subdivision, for all its proposed pros, would not be enough. The Empire’s monstrous experiments and unholy weapons loomed like shadows over the battlefield. They needed every ally—every sliver of strength. However…

  The young woman’s gaze sharpened, locking onto Erich like a predator sizing up its prey. “I didn’t expect you to involve the Therianthrope Resistance in this.” Her arms crossed, cold judgment gleaming in her eyes. “An unnamed organization. A rebellion against Imperial rule. What is it you truly want in return?”

  Erich sniggered like a wolf. A gleam of sorrow lingered in his yellow eyes, though it never touched the smirk that curled his lips. “You know what we want, Princess.”

  “United Kingdom and the Republic are very welcoming to all races…” She smiled, a genuine warm smile this time. “I think we all do know.”

  The Resistance would fight. Not for the kingdom’s crown, nor for its fg. But for the promise of freedom—however distant it remained.

  ? ? ?

  Location: ? United Kingdom of Téssera éthni – Ludinium – Military Camp 5–9 ?

  Date: ? 2001 – June 15 – 07:00 a.m. ?

  The morning light filtered through the military camp in Ludinium, casting soft golden hues over the uniform rows of barracks. The war was relentless, and now, with the king’s approval of Reina’s elite subdivision, training had begun swiftly. Every hour spent here was one stolen from the inevitable bloodshed to come.

  Iustitia moved through the camp like a shadow, her dark blue training uniform clinging to her in the early morning chill. She had risen before the sun, driven by a need she couldn’t fully articute—an urge to escape the heavy thoughts cwing at the edges of her mind.

  Her steps faltered as the weight of memory gnawed over her. Days ago, her unit had been nearly obliterated, reduced to a handful of survivors. She was one of them, but survival felt less like a victory and more like a curse. The names of the fallen—her comrades, her friends—etched themselves into her thoughts, and with them came an ache that settled deep in her chest as the days passed by.

  The grief was an iron shackle around her neck. The guilt, a bde that twisted in her gut. The emptiness gnawed at her, threatening to pull her under with every step she took. She kept moving only because the alternative was to stop—and stopping meant facing the full weight of her anguish. As a sergeant, she didn’t have that luxury. She had to be strong, for those who still remained, for the fallen.

  But no amount of rank or duty could strip her of her humanity. There were moments, fleeting and traitorous, when she longed to crumble—to let herself be consumed by the crushing sorrow.

  Her legs moved on autopilot, taking her through familiar paths within the camp. Yet her mind wandered far from her surroundings. It drifted to the past, to her fallen comrades, and then to that strange encounter days ago in the carriage. Shinku’s words resurfaced, unbidden and sharp as gss.

  I have nothing to protect… Not here…

  They echoed in her mind, each repetition a deeper wound, a splinter embedded in her heart. How could anyone feel that way? To hold nothing dear, to have no anchor in a world so fragile?

  “He lost a lot,” she whispered, the words bitter on her tongue. “Just like me.”

  But even that wasn’t quite right. She had survived with fragments to cling to—memories, regrets, names that still brought tears. But Shinku… he had nothing left. Not even the pretense of belonging.

  Nothing.

  The realization tightened its grip, a suffocating coil against her heart.

  “No… he had nothing to begin with.” Her gaze lowered, fists trembling, knuckles white. “But if he can still go as far as he can… I should too.”

  Her steps faltered as she neared the training facility. The looming structure, dimly lit in the early morning haze, stood like a sentinel at the edge of the camp. She’d expected it to be empty at this hour, a silent sanctuary for her restless thoughts. But inside, she saw him.

  She moved to greet him. “Good mo—”

  Her words were cut off as she noticed his focus, his sharp gaze locked onto a strange wooden contraption—a dummy of sorts.

  The dummy stood tall, nearly three meters high, with its base made from a thick tree trunk. Wooden and metal limbs jutted out from its body, mimicking an opponent’s attacks—at least, that’s what Iustitia imagined. Rusting heavy metal sbs at the bottom kept the structure grounded, and the surface was adorned with makeshift targets: colored tape and fabric scraps marking specific areas for strikes.

  That’s not a punching bag, certainly… What is that? Iustitia’s head tilted like a curious little bird.

  As if sensing her presence, Shinku turned, his movements as fluid as water. His sharp gaze softened only slightly, enough to show he’d registered her arrival. There was no surprise in his expression, only a faint flicker of acknowledgment.

  “Oh… Good morning, Sergeant.” His voice was low, ft. Not unkind, but distant.

  She blinked. The sudden shift from silent observation to polite greeting caught her unprepared. “Oh…” Her tongue stumbled. “Good morning. You’re up early.”

  “I could say the same.” Shinku’s voice was steady, his crimson eyes unwavering. “What brings you here?”

  “I was pnning to hang around while no one was here yet,” she admitted, her tone lighter than she felt. Her gaze flickered back to the strange dummy. “Were you busy?”

  “Just finished my daily drills.” He gnced briefly at the contraption before stepping away from it.

  Drills with that thing? She blinked, trying to imagine herself using such strange construct.

  “I see…” she murmured, her voice trailing off as she stepped closer. Her uncertainty was evident in the way she shifted her weight, her lips tugging into a nervous smile. “Hey, can we… talk?”

  Shinku didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he gestured to the lone bench at the facility’s edge. He moved first, lowering himself with the same unshaken calm he carried into battle. Rexed, yet watchful. Iustitia followed, her shoulders taut, hands restless in her p.

  While his expression remained unreadable, the faintest trace of curiosity flickered in his eyes. She, in contrast, looked as if the words she bore threatened to crush her. Her lips pressed into a thin line, as though bracing herself for a battle that words could not easily win.

  “The remnants of your unit will be integrated into a new one, right?” Shinku asked, leaning back slightly against the bench. “I think I deserve to know whose unit it’ll be since I’ll be in your squad.”

  “It’ll be von Scharfeaugen’s unit. She’s… an elf.”

  Shinku’s eyes narrowed, the name sparking a flicker of intrigue. Elf, huh? The thought lingered as he straightened slightly. This is the United Kingdom. Can’t say I’m surprised.

  A breeze stirred from the half-open doorway, rustling the stray leaves scattered along the floor. The air, still cool with morning dew, carried a faint, clean scent—a fleeting comfort against the weight pressing down on Iustitia’s shoulders. Yet as it touched her skin, some of the tension ebbed.

  Her smile—soft, hesitant—returned, like sunlight barely breaching a heavy sky. She csped her trembling hands together.

  “The Empire…” she began, her voice low. “Why do you think they started this new war? And why resort to such… inhumane endeavors? Persecuting therianthropes… creating those monsters… what drives them?”

  The question caught him off guard, but only for a moment. Shinku let out an almost inaudible hum, the sound more dismissive than thoughtful. His response came slow, measured, and with a touch of scorn.

  “The Empire’s core ideals—‘human purity is supreme’—may be nothing more than a pretense,” he said, his tone edged with quiet derision. “When they say ‘human,’ they don’t mean humanity as a common race. They mean themselves—the imperialists.”

  “A pretense…” she echoed softly, as though tasting the bitterness of the idea.

  To him, the Empire’s creed wasn’t rooted in truth but in delusion—a superiority complex born of unchecked ego and technological dominance. They weren’t rulers; they were parasites, devouring everything in their quest to cement their self-procimed supremacy.

  It made sense. Too much sense. And yet the simplicity gnawed at her. Was that really all there was? Even with their cruelty, their twisted ambitions, could it be so easily defined? The Empire felt like a convenient monster. Yet monsters didn’t build empires.

  “Why do you want to know anyway?” Shinku’s voice broke her reverie, his hollow tone cutting through the silence like a reprimand.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “No matter their reasons, the Empire inflicted pain on you. You don’t need to understand them,” Shinku stated coldly, his gaze fixed on her as though dissecting her very essence. “The only thing you should focus on is safeguarding what you have left. Everything else doesn’t matter.”

  His words were devoid of comfort, carrying no warmth or empathy, only stark indifference. Iustitia lowered her head, her hands clenching in her p until her knuckles turned white. She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper, yet filled with a trembling vulnerability.

  “I don’t know… I always don’t know…” Her voice broke slightly, her shoulders trembling as her somber eyes stared into the void between them. “I want to know everything because… because not knowing scares me. It makes me doubt.”

  She thought back to the faith she’d pced in her lieutenant’s assurances months ago. “It won’t be like the st war,” he’d said. She had believed him, trusted him, and so had the others. That trust had bred compcency. And because of it, the Empire had broken through—a disaster no one had foreseen, a Bck Swan that swallowed them whole.

  Her unit was gone now. Reduced to whispers, names that clung to her like ghosts. A cruel joke. And yet the fear of not knowing, of being blindsided once more, never left her.

  However, Shinku—who is ser-focused, could never comprehend her turmoil. To him, such doubts were meaningless. He had no need to question the motives of the Empire or ponder the weight behind an Imperial soldier’s bde. His life was a hollow one, driven by a single desire.

  The Empire had taken his life, forced him into existence as something monstrous, something alien. They were nothing more than beasts to him. And beasts did not warrant understanding. They were simply something to be sin.

  “You have something to fight for.” His tone was cold, like steel left to rust. “Everything else doesn’t matter.”

  It was such a simple, callous statement, one that only someone stripped of humanity could make.

  “No… That’s wrong… We need to know. I want to know.”

  Her unit was gone. More than comrades. They were faces she still saw in the dark, ughter that echoed when the world was quiet. Accepting that they died at the hands of soldiers twisted by a hollow creed was unbearable. She wasn’t searching for justice. She wanted meaning. Something—anything—to tether herself to, lest the weight of her hatred drown her.

  She wanted to believe that even monsters had reasons, that not everything was born of malice like he had believed.

  Shinku sighed, the sound weary, like an ancient tree creaking under its own weight. “I don’t know why you try so hard to see good in everything.”

  “And I don’t understand how you became who you are now,” she shot back, her tone sharpening. “You have nothing, yet you fight. I know it’s to seek something, but I want to know you more…”

  It wasn’t a plea. It was a demand. Selfish. Intrusive. A reckless attempt to tear into the fortress he’d built around himself. Yet she couldn’t stop. Not after those words had lodged themselves in her mind.

  You’re a strong person… I have nothing to protect… Not here…

  He said it so simply, like it was a fact of nature. Like the absence of everything was just something to accept. But it wasn’t.

  Everyone had something to cling to. A flicker of humanity remained, no matter how deeply it was buried. And yet Shinku—he stood before her like a man emptied of even that.

  How did he end up like this?

  “To know…” Shinku echoed her sentiment, his gaze shifting away, avoiding her eyes.

  A flicker of something unguarded passed through him—a quiet arm that seemed to take root in his core. To know was to connect, to tether yourself to another. For Shinku, such connections only spelled more doubts. If he understood the Empire, would it dilute his resolve? If he allowed someone to stand beside him, would he be forced to watch them disappear?

  He had nothing left. He couldn’t afford to lose something. Because out of all kinds of pain, loss hurts more than anything—especially since, whether someone seeks happiness or not, loss will take hold of them. And when they do, they will compromise one’s resolve.

  For someone like Shinku, he couldn’t afford that—for his only resolve to wane. Yet, here she was, persistently chipping away at the hollow shell he had crafted for himself. She wanted to know everything, even if she didn’t fully understand why. And while in doing so, she’d wear her usual warm smile.

  “Well…” he relented, his voice quiet but steady. “We can talk for a bit. But only if you’re willing to share your story too.”

  “My story?” she asked, raising a brow.

  Shinku nodded, his gaze drifting to the gss roof of the facility. The sun’s light filtered through, casting golden streaks that danced on the polished floor.

  “You want to know why I fight,” he said softly. “And I want to know how you can keep smiling despite everything.”

  ? ? ?

  The sun had fully risen now, bathing the camp in a golden hue, dispelling the st remnants of dawn’s chill. Soldiers trickled into the training facility, their ughter and chatter mingling with the hum of distant drills. The once-quiet space pulsed with life.

  From the growing crowd, a familiar voice called out.

  “Hey, Sarge and Shinku!” Marty jogged toward them, his grin as carefree as always. But as he drew closer, his smile waned. Iustitia’s hand lingered on Shinku’s sleeve, her fingers clutching as though afraid to let go.

  Iustitia blinked, caught off guard, and quickly adjusted her expression. “O–oh! Corporal Bir… Looks like everyone’s here already.” Her smile returned, soft but a touch forced, the remnants of something deep lingering in her eyes. “We were just… talking about casual stuff.”

  Shinku stood. “It seems training is about to begin,” he said, his ft tone giving nothing away. His crimson eyes swept across the room, analyzing the growing crowd of soldiers. “So this is our new ptoon unit, huh?”

  Before anyone could respond, a striking figure strode into the room with a commanding presence. The dull thud of heavy-duty boots against the floor silenced any lingering chatter.

  The lieutenant sauntered forth, and she was unlike anyone Shinku had ever seen. Long golden hair cascaded down her back, shimmering in the light like strands of sunlight. Her sharp, leaf-like ears peeked through her sidelocks—a telltale mark of an elf. Her beauty was almost otherworldly—fairer than the sun to look at. Yet there was no mistaking the steel in her turquoise eyes, nor the authority in her stride.

  Licht moved closer to Marty and Shinku, his voice low but curious. “A light elf.”

  Marty nodded, his eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and unease. “Yeah… It’s makin’ me nervous, man.”

  Their hushed exchange was abruptly interrupted as the elf’s voice rang out, clear and sharp like the strike of a bde.

  “At attention!” she barked, her high-pitcheded voice slicing through the air. The room fell silent instantly, all eyes snapping to her. Her gaze swept over the assembled soldiers, her expression unreadable but firm. “Today, a squad from a wiped out ptoon will be joining our unit.”

  All eyes shifted to Iustitia, Marty, Licht, and Shinku.

  Iustitia stepped forward, her posture upright and confident, and offered a crisp salute. “Nice to meet you, everyone. I am Sergeant Iustitia Alinac Osborne.”

  Murmurs rippled through the ranks like a low tide. Some soldiers whispered admiration for her beauty, others specuted about her skill and reputation. She stood unbothered by the scrutiny, her smile firm yet warm.

  As her introduction concluded, the three others followed suit.

  “Corporal Marty Bir! I hope we all get along!” Marty’s grin was disarming, his easy tone softening the tension. He scratched the back of his head, offering an almost boyish charm that earned a few reluctant smirks.

  “Licht Lasswell is my name.” Licht’s tone was clipped, professional, his gaze steady—a contrast to Marty’s.

  Shinku stepped forward st. “Shinku,” he said simply, his voice hollow, devoid of any enthusiasm.

  The room’s atmosphere shifted. While Iustitia’s introduction had stirred intrigue, Shinku’s curt demeanor left a ripple of unease. His reputation had arrived long before he did. The Crimson Devil—a merciless specter on the battlefield. His brutal efficiency, his monotone voice, and his cold, dead crimson eyes… To these soldiers, he wasn’t just a man; he was a harbinger of something dark.

  Only Iustitia, Marty, and Licht seemed unshaken by the tension that filled the room.

  The elf strode forward, the faint jingle of her sword’s hilt tapping against her side. Even with the golden cascade of her hair and the ethereal elegance of her features, there was nothing delicate about her presence. Authority clung to her like a mantle.

  “Any soldiers who’ve been through what you have would be champing at the bit to get back home. And yet, your squad still insist on fighting.” Her focus nded on Iustitia, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Your bravery is unparalleled as always, Sergeant.”

  Iustitia returned her smile, the warmth she exuded seeming almost out of pce in the rigid discipline of the military. “The moment you stop smiling is the moment you lose, right?”

  The elf’s lips twitched—the closest sembnce of a smile. “Words to live by.”

  Her attention shifted to the others, her expression hardening. “Milly I am, from the house of von Scharfeaugen. You will address me as Lieutenant von Scharfeaugen, and nothing else. Got it?!”

  “““Yes, ma’am!”””

  Milly’s sharp turquoise eyes flickered to Shinku briefly. Her lips curled into a slight scoff as she crossed her arms. “Then waste no time. Begin the training immediately. You neophytes shall ascend to sorcerers!”

  No sooner had her words fallen than the camp stirred to life. Soldiers scattered, the cng of iron weights colliding with the ground merging with the rhythmic creak of taut ropes. Some scrambled up netting, their muscles straining, while others locked in fierce sparring matches.

  Shinku’s eyes wandered to a sparring match, his gaze narrowing. On the mat, two soldiers faced off, their stances low and taut with focus. Another sergeant—a very young man with stark white hair and piercing blue eyes—eeriely reminiscent of Reina—stood between them as the referee.

  “No magic or mana enhancement allowed in this match. Fight with what you’ve got,” he said.

  At his signal, the soldiers cshed, their movements were quick—almost a burst. They traded fast jabs—attacks that seemed light, but carried an unexpected weight behind them. Shinku’s eyes narrowed as he watched.

  “The lower body has more muscles than the upper one…,” Shinku muttered to himself, watching intently. “They’ re not leveraging their weight into hooks… they’re using the muscles in their legs to unch forward, transferring all that energy into a single jab…”

  A faint scoff escaped him. Art of the Northern Knights. He recognized the method. It wasn’t brute strength that defined it, but the precision and power drawn from their stance and lower body. The Caliburns had perfected it, and now it was being drilled into these soldiers.

  The match ended in a fsh. A clean strike to the sor plexus crumpled one fighter like a ragdoll. The defeated soldier gasped for air, clutching his chest as his legs buckled. The sergeant barely acknowledged the outcome.

  “Next,” he commanded, unmoved.

  Shinku watched no further. The scene told him enough. These soldiers weren’t simply learning how to fight—they were being forged—conditioned. As it should be.

  Wandering through, Shinku passed Marty, who was climbing a net with an awkward grin. The private struggled up, his usual goofy grin pstered across his face. Spotting Shinku, he managed a brief, unsteady wave. Shinku returned it with a slight nod before moving on.

  His gaze soon fell upon Iustitia. She was running on a treadmill, her breath steady, her form disciplined. Yet, when she noticed him, her rhythm faltered. A faint blush colored her cheeks before she quickly looked away, regaining her composure. Shinku’s expression didn’t change; he merely continued his silent observation, his steps carrying him elsewhere.

  It was the ctter of rifles that caught his attention next. A group of soldiers practiced with bolt-action battle rifles, their sharp movements precise as they loaded, aimed, and fired. The glint of the weapons under the dim lighting drew his focus. He approached closer, his crimson eyes narrowing as he examined the rifles.

  “The Empire’s weapons…” he muttered, voice ced with disdain.

  The rifles, though serviceable, were relics compared to the weaponry of the Empire—sleek, devastating, and leagues ahead of the rest of Pthéa—a manifestation of unchecked advancement.

  It was no wonder the Empire waged war without fear. They had built a godless might, and the rest had no choice but to bleed beneath it.

  Shinku’s meandering came to a halt as a figure approached, his presence cutting through the din of the training ground. The white-haired sergeant stood just a fraction shorter than Shinku.

  “Private Shinku,” he began, his expression mirroring Shinku’s impassivity but edged with irritation, “why the hell are you wandering around? Do your drills like the others.”

  Shinku exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh that held no apology. “With all due respect, I don’t need physical training.”

  A fsh of disbelief flickered across the sergeant’s face. His jaw tightened, muscles twitching as he fought the urge to sh out. “What did you just say?”

  Shinku had remained a silent observer, standing on the outskirts of the training because his own experience with training was vastly different. FAHA—the mercenary group that he worked under—had never wasted breath on parade grounds or orchestrated formations.

  It is one of the main traits of a mercenary group, their pedagogy was etched in bloodstained battlefields, knowledge forged in the crucible of live combat rather than manuals. Command structures were mainstreamed; mercenaries learned cohesion not through shouted cadences, but by surviving the same hellscapes beside their team.

  The result was whatever Shinku had become.

  Physical training held no meaning for him, especially not after what the Empire had done. Their experiments had stripped him of the limits that once defined his humanity. The vampiric body they left him with was a grotesque parody of resilience—a constant, unnatural regeneration that devoured pain and spat it back as strength. Every torn muscle rewove itself, every fractured bone sealed within moments.

  To bor under regimented drills was like throwing fists at the wind.

  “It would be a waste of time to train me in areas where I’m already sufficient.”

  “You damn Devil…”

  The air around them grew heavier, tension coiling like a spring ready to snap. Before the situation could escate, a soft but firm voice broke through.

  “Steady on, Sergeant Caliburn,” Milly interjected, stepping between them with effortless grace. Her hand rested lightly on the sergeant’s shoulder, her expression calm.

  The sergeant hesitated, his gre shifting to Milly, then back to Shinku before he relented with a stiff nod.

  Milly turned her gaze to Shinku, her turquoise eyes sharp with amusement. “It’s all in the Interim Report, remember? This man doesn’t require physical training.” A sly smile tugged at her lips. “He’s a natural monster.”

  Shinku dipped his head in faint acknowledgment. A gesture that might have been respect if not for how empty it felt. Milly’s hand flicked, dismissing the formality. Meanwhile, Sean’s barely audible click of his tongue drew her attention, prompting a wry smile to form on her lips.

  She tapped his shoulder lightly, her voice calm yet firm. “Sean, I’ll handle this Crimson Devil. Go back to the mat and continue leading the close-quarter combat training.”

  Sean’s mouth opened—an instinct to argue—but a flicker of understanding held him back. Whatever words lingered behind his teeth died unspoken. He spun on his heel, retreating toward the sparring ring. The rigid precision of his stride made it clear that the tension hadn’t left him.

  Shinku’s gaze followed him for a moment before he spoke, his voice as detached as ever. “That guy, Sean…”

  “Address him as Sergeant, Private.” Milly’s correction came sharp. “Sean Aric Caliburn. He’s seventeen. Reina’s younger brother, if you hadn’t pieced it together.”

  “Sergeant at that age… Meritocracy, huh?”

  The emergence of meritocracy wouldn’t be strange with the United Kingdom’s state. With the veteran numbers dwindling post-Ragnar?k, promoting young officers had become inevitable. Iustitia was a prime example—a sergeant at twenty. In normal times, it would have taken at least four years of Time in Service and Time in Grade as a corporal to reach that rank. Non-commissioned officers were considered only after proving themselves through experience and completing grueling courses like the Junior Command Course.

  But the luxury of patience had died with the countless soldiers buried in mass graves.

  Ability and courage now weighed more than tenure. If someone proved capable, their age meant nothing. Eighteen, seventeen—the rank didn’t care. The war machine needed leaders, not boys and girls. This doctrine ensured the lines never thinned, even if it came at the cost of robbing the young of futures they’d never live to see.

  Desperate times demanded desperate measures.

  “I see,” Shinku replied, his tone devoid of surprise. It was merely an affirmation, a detail added to the mental map he kept of those around him.

  Milly began to walk away as she scanned the training grounds, ensuring that drills were conducted properly.

  But then, without turning, she spoke. Her voice lilted, light yet barbed. “It’s a surprise to meet you, actually.”

  Shinku tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing. “What does that—”

  “After all,” Milly cut in, her tone growing colder, “we are quite simir, aren’t we?”

  For a fleeting moment, Shinku’s hands tensed, his fingers curling as if anticipating some hidden threat. His gaze sharpened, crimson eyes locking onto her retreating figure.

  Same?

  She was noble, pristine, and commanding. He was the Crimson Devil, a grim shadow that stalked the battlefield. Their very existence seemed worlds apart. And yet, something about her words struck a chord, as if echoing from a pce he couldn’t quite reach.

  The noise of soldiers training seemed to fade into the background, muffled and distant, as his focus narrowed entirely on her.

  “Our future is too vast compared to others,” she continued, her voice colder now, carrying a weight that didn’t match her earlier demeanor. “Whilst others fade like autumn leaves, we remain forever verdant… untouched, like a newborn. This is our cruel fate.”

  Ahh… so we’re the same.

  ? ? ?

  Location: ? Fehlerfreint Empire – Mideast Region – Near mountain caverns ?

  Date: ? 2001 – June 22 – 03:00 p.m. ?

  “Move faster, you damned Tainteds!” A soldier cd in deep crimson barked orders, her voice cutting through the damp, stifling air like a bde. The therianthropes shuffled forward, their soot-streaked faces hollow with exhaustion. Shackles clinked against tattered belts as they marched, tools hanging limply at their sides—a grim procession of subjugation. They were shadows of what they had once been, dragged through the motions of life under the Empire’s yoke.

  Yami strode among them, his ash-gray uniform a stark contrast to their tattered rags. Despite the filth surrounding him, not a speck marred his pristine attire. A sleek, ebony scabbard hung from his hip. The single-edged bde within—a katana—was foreign, its asymmetrical curve betraying its eastern origins.

  The prisoners gave him a wide berth without a word, their instincts warning them against lingering too close. His presence was not merely commanding. It was lethal.

  Beside him, Leni sighed. “This pce stinks…”

  Yami’s eyes stayed forward, expression sour. “You talk too much.”

  Unperturbed, Leni smirked. The lingering stench of sweat and damp rock couldn’t dull her insolence. “Still bitter we weren’t sent to the western front?” She kicked at a stray pebble, her voice ced with mock sympathy. “The Republic’s annexed. Not much for us to clean up there.”

  They moved past the soldiers’ snarls and the therianthropes’ ragged gasps, reaching the forest’s brink. The horizon split open—a gash of blood-red sun spilling into the soil, shadows twisting long and eerie across the ground.

  “Give me the SITREP,” Yami ordered, his voice clipped.

  Leni snapped upright, her levity draining as duty took hold. “Empire’s shifting air units east—backing an auxiliary invasion.”

  Yami’s scarlet eyes narrowed. “The east? Sborkian Federation? Our bombers are still pounding the United Kingdom… Did this come from the old man?”

  “‘Old man’?” Leni blinked, caught off guard before realizing what he meant. “Oh, the Emperor. Yeah, the orders are straight from him. Sborkia’s very big but sluggish. Mobilizing their army will take time, so the Empire’s setting up a new frontier while the United Kingdom’s air force is still licking its wounds.”

  “What about the weapon?”

  “The ‘weapon,’” Leni began, mimicking air quotes with a sarcastic lilt, “is being moved to the Eastern Front for the Federation. Guess they want to test it on something big.” She tilted her head back, letting the faint glow of the sun warm her face. “It’s a gamble, but hey, it might pay off.”

  “Damn geezer…” Yami folded his arms, his gaze sharpening as he scanned the dying sunlight. “Is that why we’re sent far away from the western front?”

  “Finally caught on, huh? Few days from now, we’re getting tossed into the Mothernd. The Empire’s gonna want their dogs on a short leash.”

  Yami’s jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his otherwise impassive face. “So they’re deying the United Kingdom invasion to toy with Sborkia… Shinku.” He hissed the name, venom coating each sylble. “Your reckoning will have to wait a little longer.”

  Leni’s sharp ugh broke the forest’s eerie silence, a sound that seemed to mock not just Yami’s words but the very air around them. “Missed him?” she purred, lingering on the edge of the tree line as Yami began to walk into the darkened woods. “Why are you so obsessed with Subject: 4N9? What is he to you, really?”

  Yami paused, the shadows swallowing his figure as his voice carried back to her. “He and I are no different,” he said, his tone low and jagged, like a bde dulled by blood. “Forsaken by my nd, my family. They turned me into this—a weapon for the Empire. A thing meant to kill.” His lips curled into a feral grin, barely restrained fury leaking through. “So that’s what I’ll do. Kill, until there’s nothing left.”

  Leni tilted her head, the light in her eyes cold as the sun’s st rays slipped behind the horizon. “And yet, 4N9 resists,” she mused, her words ced with amusement. “Clinging so desperately to some pathetic sembnce of purpose. How quaint… and how utterly pitiful for a devil.”

  Yami stepped deeper into the woods, but Leni lingered, watching the sun sink below the horizon.

  Yami sneered, the memory of their encounter in the Empire’s facility epying in his mind. That wretched defiance Shinku clung to—a delusion wrapped in empty conviction. Pathetic. No weapon forged for sughter had the right to flinch. To hesitate. Shinku was an aberration, a failure to the Empire’s design. Yet even after all the blood spilled, he still stood.

  The Empire’s leash may have bound Yami, but it had severed from Shinku. That difference grated beneath his skin.

  Why did you get to run? Why did you get to forget?

  A thin sliver of sunset pierced through the twisted canopy, illuminating the narrow path ahead. Yami’s steps were soundless, his body moving like a ghost. Still, the name remained. Lodged. Festering.

  Shinku.

  Yami’s jaw clenched. Shinku had been granted freedom by sheer luck—or at least the illusion of it. Even now, Shinku roamed without a chain around his throat. But there was no escaping what they were. Not truly.

  And when the time comes, Yami would carve that truth into him.

  “We belong to the battlefield.” His voice cut through the silence, low and bitter. “Ripped away from everything. Nothing left. Nothing that should matter.” A thin smile twisted his lips. “And yet you still try to live.”

  There was no reason to. Not when the roots had been burned to ash. No home to return to. No family to mourn one’s death. No name to cim. Only the Empire’s will, binding them, giving them purpose—a reason to draw breath. Yami clung to it. Shinku defied it. But what drove him? Revenge? Defiance? Or something more pathetic—the belief that a monster could still chase the echoes of what it once was?

  “I see…” He paused, his gaze nding on a raven that perched on a nearby branch. A moment of silence stretched between them as he continued his soliloquy. “The loss hurt, didn’t it!?”

  The raven croaked, its voice echoing a mournful plea. Yami raised his hand, whispering, “Zerrei?strahl.”

  A nce of shadowy energy shot forth, striking the raven, which convulsed before exploding in a crimson dispy.

  “Is that why you’re fighting us now?” His voice lingered, the words curling with contempt. “Because we took everything from you?”

  The realization crept in, slow and jagged. He ughed, a sound both bitter and ecstatic.

  “No… That’s not it.” His grin widened, feral and unhinged. “This isn’t about revenge. Everything you’re doing—it’s just a pretense, isn’t it?”

  Shinku, a being no longer bound by mortal frailty, yet shackled to its ideals. Fighting, struggling, as though the weight of the fallen and the future of posterity could justify the path he now walked. Such resolve—beautiful, perhaps, but tragically futile.

  Because the truth was far simpler.

  Someone torn from everything, forced to survive in a world of ruin, would inevitably crumble. Stripped of roots—something to cling to, the mind rots. There’s no room for righteous convictions. Only desperation.

  Mortals, fragile by nature, cw and tear at what they deem abhorrent. They justify their carnage with hollow words, bming others for their own shortcomings. But none dare admit it. No—they wear masks. Masks of virtue, masks of duty. Cloaks of righteousness woven from lies. The world revels in its own hypocrisy. And Shinku…

  Shinku, you are no different.

  From the shadows above, more ravens descended. They picked at the crimson-streaked earth, scavenging the remains of their kin. Wings fluttered, beaks tore, the cycle of death and consumption continuing without pause.

  “You’re fighting to end it all, are you?”

  There was no reply. There’s no need for one. For he already knew the truth.

  And soon, Shinku would too.

  AnnouncementHIIIII

  Sorry for the te update my nonexistent readers. College is really fucking me up for sure. I’ll try to be quicker to dish out chapters next time. BTW, from now on, chapters will have interludes/intermissions. Unlike the first interlude which took the form of a interim report, the new ones are very integral for the plot!