Night fell like a blindfold over the valley. Mist slid between trunks and stones, covering the world in tense silence. From the hilltop, Kaera watched the dirt path cutting through the forest, her eyes fixed like a huntress before the leap. Okita's squad waited in silence. No one spoke. No one needed to.
Minato sharpened his katana with swift, measured strokes. Akane meditated in a crouch, her crimson cloak barely stirring in the breeze. Nael checked the recoil traps. Velka, perched on a cliff, aimed her bow—each finger as steady as steel. And Okita, standing next to Kaera, felt the weight of the air and the edge of the choice that drew near.
When Kaera raised two fingers, the world exploded.
A roar. A column of fire. The convoy was caught in a magical trap that tipped it to one side. Horses neighed wildly, and the imperial guards barely had time to draw their weapons before the squad descended like a storm.
Minato was the first to strike—a lightning bolt in the darkness. The battle was brief. Brutal. Precise.
Okita pushed through the wreckage of the carriage until he found the driver: an old man with a white beard, trembling with hands raised.
"Please…" he begged, tears in his eyes. "I just drive the cart. I have small children. I'm not a soldier…"
Okita raised his katana. But his arm… wavered. That look reminded him of his father. Defeated. Human.
The blade did not fall.
"Get out of here. Don't ever cross our path again."
The old man fled, stumbling and sobbing.
A second later, Minato's fist struck him straight in the face. Okita dropped to his knees.
"Are you insane?!" Minato roared. "This isn't a hero's tale. We're killers with a cause. Every imperial left alive is a potential bullet in a child's head."
Kaera said nothing on the way back. But her gaze was sharper than any blade.
Once at the base, she called him aside.
"Why did you do it?"
"He was scared. He wasn't a soldier…"
"And how do you know he was telling the truth?" she cut him off. "Did you ever think that maybe, the man you let live is now beating or torturing his own family? Every member of the Empire is just as guilty as the Emperor himself."
Okita didn't answer.
Minato walked away without looking at him, but Nael approached, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I hesitated once too… I was a soldier. I saw what they did… and I deserted. My best friend stayed loyal to the Empire. I forgave him. That same night, he killed the person I loved most…"
He left, leaving Okita alone beneath the dim moon…
The carriage moved slowly along the cobbled roads. Inside, Yurichi's squad remained silent. Rose, Raika, and the others were recovering from their recent mission. Yurichi, always calm, watched the passing landscape with arms crossed.
At the imperial station, the general awaited them. And with him, a new figure: Lisantia Auren. Deep blue braided hair, eyes as cold as winter. Her stance was straight, her gaze impenetrable.
"From today on, she'll be part of your squad," the general announced. The introduction was brief. But on the training field, Lisantia shone.
Her spells were elegant and deadly. Rings of fire that never missed. Water shields that absorbed blows. Even a demonic shadow she projected for a moment, as if her hidden lineage had briefly surfaced.
Yurichi approached and corrected her stance with a slight touch to her wrist.
"Great potential. Your techniques are nearly master level."
Lisantia offered a faint smile. Barely a curve, almost nonexistent. But enough to disturb Yurichi for a second. Rose, watching from a distance, felt a strange pang in her chest she couldn't explain.
The next day, a new mission. Not for strategy. For justice.
A desperate mother had sent a message. Her son and other children were being tortured by an imperial commander, hidden in a public library in the city center. A place where walls were made of silence and books hid horrors.
The squad infiltrated at dusk. The old librarian left as usual. Everything seemed normal. But Okita knew how to see beyond.
He descended alone into the sublevels.
And he saw them.
A boy hanging from chains. A red-hot whip slashing his back. A girl on her knees, begging him to hold on a little longer.
"STOP!"
Okita leapt. The commander turned, but had no time. The katana clashed with his sword. The fight was furious. Steel danced with blood. And Okita was a storm. A furious sun.
From the upper floors, soldiers poured down the stairs.
Okita saw them. He didn't hesitate.
He became a hurricane of blades and wrath. Each slash was a declaration. Each death, a redemption. He left no survivors. The commander was the last.
Wounded, gasping, the man dropped to his knees. Okita gave him no time to beg. The sword went through him.
And then, a voice.
The old librarian had returned. He collapsed to the ground.
"I… I didn't know… please… mercy!"
Okita walked toward him.
"Liar."
And without hesitation, he slit his throat.
Back at the base, Minato approached him. His eyes were different. There was no anger. Only respect.
"You did what had to be done. Welcome to the real front."
Okita didn't answer. He looked at his hands, still stained with blood. And in his gaze, there was no pride.
Only determination.