The air over Mount iso was thick with the scent of gunpowder and the coppery tang of spilled blood. The secret squad of jerma had secured the southern flank of Kyubu, but the resistance, though fractured, was fanatical.

  A patrol of 8 infantrymen, a corporal and a sergeant seasoned by urban combat, cornered a pocket of Naben loyalist rebels—the remnants of the Kyubu katanas. The rebels, fierce and desperate, wielded ancestral katanas against modern Gewehr 98 rifles.

  In the ensuing flash of steel and thunder of small arms, most of the squad were massacred. A shadow of movement—a blur of steel wielded by the rebels' hidden asset—sliced through seven men before they could react.

  Only Corporal Karl, a man known for his unnerving composure, remained. His mind, cool as the precision-machined steel of his bolt-action rifle, A humming steel blade descended with lethal intent. He didn't rush, didn't panic; instead, he smoothly pivoted his body, allowing the humming death to whiz past his chest by mere inches. His fingers worked with practiced ease, sliding a fresh round into the bolt-action rifle's chamber even as he moved.

  Another swing followed instantly, a horizontal slash aimed at his midsection. He brought the rifle up, the wooden stock catching the blade with a solid clang that vibrated up his arms. The rebel soldier, committed to his attack, overextended for a split second.

  That second was all he needed.

  He didn't push the sword away; he used its momentum, smoothly rounding the rebel's guard. In a fluid motion born of instinct and countless drills, he brought the muzzle of his rifle up, slamming it firmly against the man’s open mouth.

  The rebel's eyes widened in stunned silence, a look of shocked disbelief frozen on his face.

  Bang.

  The shot was deafening in the close quarters, the concussive force rattling the air. The rebel went down instantly, a lifeless heap. The surrounding rebels, witnessing the brutal efficiency of the counter-attack, froze in a moment of sheer, wide-eyed shock.. Ignoring the gore, Karl systematically tracked their movements, eliminating them with nonchalant efficiency.

  One final loyalist broke rank, fleeing toward the dense cover of the adjacent forest. Karl followed, his footsteps muffled by the soft earth, before ending the chase with a single, precise shot.

  Karl, driven by professional curiosity, approached the slain rebel. The man's last act wasn't an attack, but a defense of something hidden. A small patch of earth nearby was freshly disturbed.

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  Digging with his bayonet, Karl unearthed a small, dark cylinder, little larger than a cigar case, crafted from an unknown metal and etched with alien, angular scripts. The man paused in the act of prying, his head snapping up as the squad sergeant voice cut through the air. "Is everything alright, Karl?"

  Karl instantly concealed the cylinder box behind his hand. The cylinder box must be important enough to sacrifice themselves, he thought. Knowing sergeant wolf would immediately claim the credit, he chose silence.

  The mission's orders had been absolute: catch the rebels alive, no matter the situation. But the chaos of the ambush hadn't allowed it; only the sergeant, corporal Karl, and one other soldier survived. Now, heading back to the main camp, Karl had a sinking feeling about what awaited them.

  At the main base, Commander Adelheid konrad, a man known for his towering temper, was furious. He lashed out at the sergeant before turning his cold, piercing gaze onto Karl.

  "So, you killed them all by yourself?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And you are not going to explain why?" Konrad's voice was dangerously low.

  "No matter the situation, orders are orders, sir. I should have been more careful, sir," Karl replied, his tone calm and measured, even as the Commander’s eye began to twitch violently.

  "Are the bodies where you left them?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Did you take anything from the bodies? Anything at all? It could be trivial."

  "No, sir," he lied, instantly and without a second thought. He didn't know why he told a blatant lie, but the words were out.

  "Dismissed," the Commander ordered.

  As the sergeant and his diminished squad headed toward their barracks, Commander konrad issued an urgent, discreet order: "Search and Bring the bodies back. No matter what condition they are in."Later, in his small, canvas tent, karl was still clad in his uniform, the weight of the lie settling uneasily upon him. He convinced himself that he just wanted to make sure the contents of the cylinder box were worth the Commander's attention before reporting it.

  He began to pry open the cylinder box, uncertain how the mechanism worked.

  Meanwhile, miles away, Commander Konrad's personal sergeant were inspecting the rebel bodies left to rot. They quickly found evidence—something the rebels had desperately sought to conceal—and reported back to the Commander via radio. Connecting the dots of the lie and the evidence, commander Konrad went furious. He marched straight toward Corporal Karl's camp.

  In his tent, Karl’s gloved fingers traced the hidden runes and indentations on the cylinder. He pressed, turned, and twisted the mechanism until, with a faint, chilling click, it sprang open. Inside lay a single, impossibly long black feather.

  A flicker of disappointment crossed Karl's stoic face. A worthless trinket of the desperate. He took the feather and crushed it instantly in his hand.

  The moment the brittle object disintegrated, a sudden vortex of black smoke erupted from his palm.

  Karl startled, dropping the box, and instinctively snatched his rifle, readying for a fight. The black smoke violently enveloped him. The air around the camp cracked with unseen energy, and the world dissolved into a blinding chaos of noise and light.

  At that exact moment, Commander Konrad burst through the tent door, seeing Karl disappearing into the swirling black column. "NOOO!" he roared, lunging forward. He reached the dissipating smoke too late, his face a mask of furious disappointment. The only thing remaining on the cold ground where Karl had stood was the empty, cylindrical box.