Reliable Excavation & Demolition: A Rotten World, and Pure Chaos

The streets of the Capital felt colder than usual. Tatsumi walked with his hands clenched into fists, his mind swirling with uncertainty. He had made his decision—to leave the REDs and join Night Raid—but the weight of it still lingered. The mercenaries had treated him with respect, some even offering him words of encouragement, but he knew deep down that their way of doing things wasn't for him. They fought with overwhelming force, striking with the efficiency of seasoned killers. He understood why they fought, yet their methods... they weren't what he was looking for.

As he wandered through the dimly lit alleyways, a voice suddenly rang out from above.

"Oi, aren't you that kid from the other night?"

Tatsumi barely had time to react before a blur of gold and white landed in front of him. A tall, confident woman with wild blonde hair and a mischievous grin stood before him, arms crossed over her chest.

Leone.

His mind flashed back to the fight with Captain Ogre. That night, when he was about to land the finishing blow, she had interfered—costing him the clean victory he had fought so hard for. He had been irritated then, but now, seeing her again, he realized she probably meant well.

"You were there when Ogre died," Leone continued, tilting her head as she studied him. "Didn't think much of it at the time, but now that I see you up close… you're not half bad, kid."

Tatsumi huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You didn't exactly help back then. I had him."

Leone chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, and I totally didn't just save your butt from getting gutted when you hesitated." She gave him a playful nudge before stepping closer. "So, what's the deal? You wandering the streets all mopey, or you got a destination in mind?"

Tatsumi hesitated for a moment before meeting her gaze. "I'm looking for Night Raid. I want to join."

Leone's grin widened. "Well, well, look at that! Fate works in funny ways, huh?" Without warning, she grabbed Tatsumi by the wrist and started dragging him forward.

"H-Hey! I can walk on my own!"

"Yeah, yeah," she waved him off, barely listening. "You're lucky I found you first, though. Some of the others might not have been so friendly."

Leone led him through the darkened streets, taking an unfamiliar route through twisting alleyways. Before long, they exited the city and found themselves in the wilderness beyond the Capital's outer districts. The further they traveled, the more Tatsumi realized how isolated Night Raid's hideout truly was.

They trekked through dense forests, winding up rugged mountain trails that seemed untouched by civilization. The cool night air carried the distant howls of wildlife, and the only source of light was the moon shining between the treetops.

"Didn't think you assassins would be living all the way out here," Tatsumi muttered, brushing aside a stray branch.

Leone smirked. "Of course we do. We're not exactly renting rooms at an inn." She hopped over a fallen tree with ease, barely breaking stride. "Empire's got eyes everywhere. We stay hidden, we stay alive."

Tatsumi glanced around, his senses on high alert. The location made sense—it was defensible, remote, and difficult for enemies to reach. But it also meant once he committed, there'd be no turning back.

After what felt like an hour of trekking, they finally arrived at a well-hidden clearing deep in the mountains. A modest wooden structure stood between towering cliffs, almost camouflaged by the surrounding trees. It looked more like an old mountain lodge than the base of a notorious assassin group. A small river ran nearby, its quiet flow blending with the sound of rustling leaves.

Leone walked up to the door and rapped her knuckles against it in a rhythmic pattern. A moment later, the door creaked open.

Inside, a small group of people sat around a table, their eyes immediately shifting toward him.

Akame, standing near the entrance, studied him carefully. Her crimson eyes were unreadable, but she radiated the air of a warrior assessing a potential ally—or an enemy. Mine, arms crossed, scoffed at the sight of him. "Another stray? This one better not be useless."

Lubbock leaned forward with a smirk. "Must've done something right if Leone dragged him all the way here."

Bulat, ever the warm presence, beamed. "A new recruit, huh? Well, don't look so nervous! We don't bite."

Najenda, sitting at the head of the table, regarded him coolly. Leone gave Tatsumi a little push forward. "Got a fresh recruit for you, boss. Says he wants in."

Najenda studied him before nodding. "Tatsumi, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You've already seen how dangerous this world is. If you choose this path, you'll be fighting a battle that won't end until either the Empire or Night Raid is gone." Her expression hardened. "Are you ready for that?"

Tatsumi took a deep breath. "I am."

A quiet chuckle came from Bulat. "I like his spirit."

Mine rolled her eyes. "Hope he doesn't die on his first mission."

Akame, however, remained silent. Her gaze never left Tatsumi, as if she was trying to see something beyond his words. Eventually, she simply said, "Don't slow us down."

A warm, almost absentminded voice spoke next. "It's nice to meet you, Tatsumi," Sheele said with a gentle smile. "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

Tatsumi blinked, caught off guard. She was different from the others—kinder, almost motherly.

Najenda finally nodded. "Then welcome to Night Raid. Your true test starts now."

As the others reacted in their own ways—some indifferent, some amused—Tatsumi realized he had officially stepped onto a path with no return. And for the first time in a long while, despite the uncertainty ahead, he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.

The village burned. Flames licked the thatched roofs of homes, sending embers spiraling into the night sky. The air reeked of smoke and scorched wood, mingling with the desperate screams of villagers as Imperial soldiers cut down anyone who dared resist. Men, women, and even children scrambled for safety, but there was nowhere to run. The Empire had decided this village was to be wiped off the map, a punishment for suspected ties to rebels.

Among the Imperial ranks, some soldiers carried out their orders with grim efficiency, their expressions hardened by years of indoctrination. Others hesitated, their hands trembling as they saw the pleading faces of those they were ordered to kill. A fresh recruit, barely older than a boy, swallowed hard as he set a torch to a home, watching in horror as a frightened mother pulled her child away from the growing flames. But hesitation was dangerous—one of the officers noticed his reluctance and barked a sharp order. "Keep moving! If you can't stomach the work, I'll gut you myself!"

The captain in ornate armor—an experienced officer who had led many such purges—stood among the chaos, overseeing the slaughter with a smirk of satisfaction. He relished moments like these, when he could remind the weak of their place beneath the Empire's heel. The crackling of flames and the cries of the innocent were music to his ears. "Burn it all," he ordered, voice devoid of mercy. "Leave nothing standing. These rats must learn their lesson."

His men obeyed, but not without growing unease. A few exchanged glances as they heard the cries of children, the sobs of families clinging to each other as they awaited their doom. The young recruit who had hesitated earlier felt his stomach churn as he witnessed an elderly man being dragged from his home, his frail body tossed aside like refuse. 

"This isn't right…" he muttered under his breath.

The captain heard him but didn't bother to reprimand him. Let the weak-willed squirm; their doubts meant nothing so long as they obeyed.

As the massacre unfolded, some villagers clung to hope that someone—anyone—would come to their aid. Others had already resigned themselves to their fate, whispering prayers through trembling lips. An elderly man shielded a young girl behind him, his frail body barely standing. "Stay behind me, child. Don't look."

The captain took satisfaction in their despair, but his amusement was short-lived. A distant, bellowing war cry cut through the air, growing louder by the second.

"CHARGE! KILL THEM ALL!"

Somewhere on a hill overlooking the destruction, three figures had been watching. Now, one of them was storming into battle.

"Well, hell," Engineer muttered, adjusting his goggles. He had come out here with Soldier and Demoman for reconnaissance, scouting the surrounding area for anything that might be of strategic interest. They had not expected to stumble upon an Imperial purge in progress.

Demoman took a swig from his flask, then frowned as he watched an old man get cut down in the street. "Aye… that ain't right."

Soldier, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, clenched his fists. His breathing grew heavy as he watched the soldiers slaughter innocent villagers without hesitation.

"Those spineless maggots!" he finally roared, stepping forward. "Cowards who murder the defenseless deserve only one thing—TOTAL ANNIHILATION!"

Before Engineer or Demoman could even attempt to stop him, Soldier had already charged down the hill, screaming a battle cry that could probably be heard from miles away.

The first Imperial soldiers barely had time to register what was happening before Soldier was upon them. He grabbed the nearest man by the helmet and slammed his skull into the dirt with a force that cracked the ground. Another raised his sword, only for Soldier to rip it from his hands and drive it straight through his gut.

"HOW DO YOU LIKE IT, YOU BLOODTHIRSTY VERMIN?!" Soldier howled, eyes wild with rage.

Demoman let out a sigh before shaking his head. "Ach, guess we're doin' this." He reached into his satchel and pulled out a bundle of explosives. "Might as well make it count!"

With a flick of his wrist, Demoman hurled a grenade straight into the ranks of approaching soldiers. A split second later, the street erupted in fire and shrapnel, sending bodies flying.

Engineer, now fully resigned to the battle, pulled out his shotgun. "Damn fools picked the wrong day to go terrorizin' folk." He took aim and fired, dropping a soldier who had been trying to run for cover.

The villagers watched in shock. Some cowered, unsure if these new arrivals were just another band of killers. Others stared, awe creeping into their expressions as they saw the impossible—Imperial soldiers, the very enforcers of their suffering, being torn apart like cattle.

"Who… who are they?" one villager whispered.

"I don't know… but they're fighting for us."

The captain, initially confident, now found his smug demeanor faltering as his forces were butchered in mere minutes. He barked orders, but his men hesitated, looking between their fallen comrades and the red-clad warriors cutting through them like wolves among sheep.

The Empire's forces, completely unprepared for the sudden counterattack, scrambled to fight back. But they were outmatched. Against three seasoned mercenaries who had spent years in the bloodiest battlefields imaginable, they stood no chance.

The villagers, who had spent their entire lives fearing the Empire, could scarcely believe what they were seeing. For years, these soldiers had been an unstoppable force, crushing any dissent with ruthless efficiency. And yet, these three strangers had turned the tide in moments.

The captain gritted his teeth as he saw his men begin to falter. "Hold your ground, you cowards! They're just three men! Fight back!"

But his men weren't listening. They saw their comrades fall, saw the madness in Soldier's eyes, the deadly precision of Engineer's shots, and the sheer destruction wrought by Demoman's explosives. Their will to fight crumbled.

Within minutes, the surviving soldiers—those who still had enough sense to recognize a losing battle—began to retreat. They stumbled over burning debris, dropping their weapons as they fled into the darkness, desperate to escape the wrath of these madmen.

But Soldier wasn't done. He stomped over to a fallen Imperial banner, ripped it from the ground, and waved it like a madman, his face twisted into a grin.

"RUN, YOU WORTHLESS WORMS! TELL YOUR SUPERIORS THAT THEIR DAYS ARE NUMBERED! TODAY, YOU HAVE WITNESSED THE MIGHT OF RED TEAM, AND NEXT TIME, THERE WILL BE NO MERCY!"

The last remaining soldiers vanished into the night, leaving behind only the smoldering remains of their failure. The villagers, still stunned by what had transpired, stared at their unexpected saviors, their minds struggling to process the chaos that had just unfolded.

The battlefield was silent except for the crackling of burning wagons and the distant shouts of retreating Imperial soldiers. The once-mighty force that had stormed into the village was now in full flight, scattering into the darkness like frightened rats.

And then, atop a crumbling pile of debris—helmets, broken weapons, and the shattered remnants of a now-destroyed Imperial banner—stood a man. Not just any man. A warrior. A patriot. A lunatic.

Soldier.

His boots planted firmly, his chest puffed out like an eagle surveying its conquered prey, he pointed his bloodied shovel toward the fleeing soldiers, his face twisted in righteous fury. The flames behind him cast a long, imposing shadow, making him look like some war god of old—an omen of destruction given human form.

"YOU COWARDLY, TREASONOUS, SLIME-SUCKING, MILK-DRINKING WORMS!" he bellowed, his voice carrying through the night like a battle horn. The fleeing soldiers flinched, as if afraid that merely hearing his words might summon more destruction upon them.

"You dare march into this village, clad in the colors of tyranny, thinking you can burn it to the ground and call it justice?!" Soldier roared, his arms outstretched like a preacher before his congregation. "You thought this would be easy! A quick slaughter! And yet you run! Why? BECAUSE YOU HAVE SEEN THE FACE OF TRUE WAR!"

He slammed the blade of his shovel into the ground for emphasis, the impact sending a small puff of dust into the air.

"I have fought wars on every corner of the world and beyond! I have battled robots! Wizards! Giant men made of meat and rage! I have single-handedly defeated the devil himself in a wrestling match! I have stormed castles! I have ridden sharks into battle! AND YOU THINK YOU STAND A CHANCE AGAINST ME?!"

He pointed his shovel again, shaking it violently. "Let this be a lesson to you quivering sacks of disappointment! If you ever—EVER—march against the innocent again, I will FIND YOU! I will descend upon your ranks like an eagle made of dynamite and screaming bald eagles! I will rip the very concept of mercy from my brain and replace it with a thousand years of UNRELENTING PATRIOTIC VIOLENCE!"

His voice rose in volume, nearly shaking the earth beneath his feet. "YOU THINK THIS NIGHTMARE ENDS HERE?! NO! IT HAS ONLY BEGUN! I WILL HAUNT YOUR DREAMS! YOU WILL WAKE IN COLD SWEATS, FEARING THE SOUND OF MY BOOTS APPROACHING! I WILL CARVE MY NAME INTO YOUR HISTORY SO DEEPLY THAT YOUR CHILDREN WILL BE BORN MUTTERING IT IN FEAR!"

His breathing was ragged, his eyes wide and bloodshot with manic energy. He turned to the few terrified survivors still frozen in place, too scared to even flee. "And YOU! YOU WILL CARRY MY WORDS TO THE CAPITAL! Tell your leaders! Tell your weak, trembling Emperor! That there is a NEW force on the battlefield! A force that knows NO FEAR! NO RETREAT! AND NO FORGIVENESS!"

By now, the Imperial soldiers had lost all sense of reason. Some tripped over themselves in their desperation to escape, others flung away their weapons in the hopes it would make them less of a target.

Standing to the side, Demoman took a swig from his bottle, eyes wide with a mix of admiration and unease. "Aye... remind me never to piss him off," he muttered under his breath.

Engineer, arms crossed, let out a long sigh. "Hell of a speech," he said, shaking his head. "Dunno if he just won us a war or gave the whole damn army nightmares for life."

Soldier, breathing heavily, finally looked away from the retreating soldiers and turned back toward his two comrades.

"THE BATTLE IS WON! THE ENEMY IS BROKEN! NOW—" He stomped down the pile of wreckage, marching toward the villagers who had watched the spectacle unfold with a mix of awe and sheer disbelief. He jabbed a finger at them. "WHO HERE HAS THE SPIRIT OF WAR IN THEIR SOUL?! WHO WANTS TO PICK UP A WEAPON AND FIGHT FOR JUSTICE?! WHO WANTS TO BE A TRUE AMERICAN?!"

There was silence.

Then, slowly, a few villagers stepped forward. Then more. And more. Until a dozen, then two dozen stood before him, chins held high, fists clenched with newfound purpose. Some looked hesitant, some determined, but all were drawn by the sheer force of Soldier's words. Even those who had no love for war could not help but feel something stir within them—a primal call to arms, an urge to defy tyranny and fight for freedom.

A grizzled old farmer, leaning on his staff, took a step forward and spat on the ground. "I've seen what the Empire does to those who don't obey. I ain't gonna sit by and wait for 'em to come back. If fightin' is what it takes, then count me in."

A young woman, barely more than a girl, clenched her fists. "They took my brother for their army. I don't know if he's alive or dead. If fighting means no one else has to go through that, then... I'll do it."

A wiry blacksmith raised a hammer. "I ain't much of a fighter, but I can forge weapons. If you'll have me, I'll build you arms to strike them down."

The crowd murmured, voices rising, a tide of emotion and conviction sweeping through them.

"By God…" Engineer muttered, rubbing his temples. "They actually wanna join us."

Soldier grinned. "GOOD! THEN TRAINING BEGINS AT DAWN! AND REMEMBER—" He thrust his shovel into the air. "WAR NEVER CHANGES! EXCEPT WHEN I AM IN IT!"

Demoman let out a chuckle and took another swig from his bottle. "Bloody hell... we're actually buildin' an army."

Engineer shook his head with a sigh, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Lord help us all."

And with that, the legend of Soldier had begun to spread.

The long walk back to headquarters was unusually noisy.

Not because the trio of mercenaries were chatting. No, it was because of the dozen or so villagers marching behind them—some old, some young, some barely able to hold the rusted weapons they had scavenged. They walked with a strange mix of determination and hesitation, glancing around as if half-expecting to be ambushed at any moment. Some whispered among themselves, exchanging anxious glances at their unexpected recruitment. Others walked in resolute silence, their grip tightening on whatever weapons they held.

At the front of the group, Engineer sighed, rubbing his temple. "Lord help me, what have we done?"

"WE HAVE SECURED THE FUTURE OF FREEDOM!" Soldier bellowed, striding forward with his chest puffed out like a proud general leading an army to war. "THESE BRAVE MEN AND WOMEN HAVE HEARD THE CALL OF LIBERTY, AND THEY HAVE ANSWERED!"

Demoman let out a chuckle, shaking his head as he took a swig from his bottle. "Aye, sure they did. Look at 'em, scared outta their minds. They ain't soldiers, mate, they're farmers with sticks."

"Then we shall MAKE THEM SOLDIERS!" Soldier declared, his fists clenched. "THE FIRE OF REVOLUTION BURNS IN THEIR SOULS!"

"Or maybe that's just indigestion," Demoman muttered.

Engineer groaned but said nothing. There was no turning back now.

Back at their makeshift headquarters, the RED mercs gathered around as the trio entered—followed by their newfound recruits. The room fell into silence.

Scout, who had been reclining lazily in a chair, sat up straight. "Uh… what the hell is this?"

Sniper, leaning against the wall, raised an eyebrow as he eyed the recruits. "Y'all startin' a charity now, mate?"

Spy, perched in the corner with his arms crossed, took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, watching with silent amusement. This should be interesting.

The silence was finally broken by Heavy, who let out a hearty laugh and clapped one of the recruits on the back. The poor man nearly fell over from the sheer force of the gesture. "Is good! Is good to fight for freedom!" Heavy declared, nodding approvingly. "You will make strong warriors!"

"Or corpses," Sniper muttered under his breath.

Engineer exhaled through his nose, adjusting his goggles as he stepped forward. "Alright, before y'all start jumpin' to conclusions, let me explain. This—" he gestured to the villagers "—was not my idea. This was his idea." He pointed a gloved finger at Soldier. "Who, might I add, just gave the most batshit crazy speech I've ever heard."

Soldier snapped to attention. "YOU ARE WELCOME!"

"I ain't thankin' you!" Engineer snapped back, exasperated. "Do you have any idea how hard it's gonna be feedin', trainin', and housin' this many people?"

Spy exhaled a cloud of smoke, his lips curling into a smirk. "Mon dieu… the infamous RED Team, feared mercenaries from another world, reduced to babysitters."

Soldier pointed his shovel at him. "I WILL NOT STAND FOR SUCH SLANDER!"

"It is not slander if it is true," Spy replied smoothly, taking another drag from his cigarette.

Meanwhile, Sniper pinched the bridge of his nose. "We ain't got time to be runnin' a damn militia, mate. We got bigger problems."

Scout waved his hands in disbelief. "Yo, did ya even ask if these guys know how to fight? 'Cause I bet half of 'em ain't never even punched a guy before."

One of the younger recruits, a wiry teenager gripping a dull kitchen knife, hesitantly stepped forward. "I—I mean, I've hunted rabbits before…"

"Oh great!" Scout threw his arms up. "We got rabbit hunters! Empire's totally screwed now!"

A few of the mercs snickered, but Engineer wasn't laughing. He could already feel the headache forming. He rubbed his temples again before sighing. "Look, I ain't exactly thrilled about this either, but it's done. We can't just send 'em packin' now, they'll get cut down the second the Empire finds out they tried to resist."

Spy let out an amused hum. "So what is your grand plan, then, mon ami? Train them into warriors? Have them march into battle alongside us?"

Engineer scowled. "Hell no. That's just gonna get 'em killed. We'll put 'em to use in other ways. Scouting, supply runs, maybe even some sabotage work." He looked at the recruits, his sharp mind already assessing their potential. "We ain't runnin' a boot camp. But if they're dead set on fightin', we gotta make 'em useful somehow."

Spy flicked the ash off his cigarette, glancing at the villagers, then back at Engineer. "Night Raid will be very interested to hear about this, you know."

For a split second, Engineer's fingers twitched. That was the last thing he needed. He already knew how much tension there was between Night Raid and their group. They barely trusted each other as is, and now he had to explain why they were raising an army right under their noses?

Spy, ever the perceptive one, noticed the shift in his expression and smirked. "They might see it as a threat, non?"

Engineer sighed, adjusting his goggles. "Yeah… they just might."

Spy simply chuckled, taking another slow drag. Oh, this was going to be fun.

That night, as Engineer sat on the porch of their makeshift hideout, staring at the campfire where the new recruits gathered, he let out another long sigh. What the hell had they gotten themselves into?

The door creaked open behind him, and Demoman stepped out, a fresh bottle in hand. "Y'know, mate," he began, taking a seat next to him, "I reckon ya did the right thing. Maybe they ain't fighters, but they got spirit. Better than doin' nothin' and waitin' to die, aye?"

Engineer shook his head. "I just hope that spirit don't get 'em all killed."

Demoman grinned, raising his bottle. "Aye, well… guess we'll find out. Cheers to that."

Engineer sighed, watching the flames flicker in the distance. Yeah… guess we will.

The air inside the grand chamber of the Prime Minister's estate was thick with the scent of incense, a futile attempt to mask the underlying stench of excess—rotten meat from a half-eaten banquet, spilled wine, and the distinct odor of a man who had never known moderation.

Prime Minister Honest sat atop his gilded throne-like chair, his thick fingers drumming impatiently against the polished surface of his oversized desk. Before him, sprawled across the table, was a corpse. The bloated, pale face of Iokal, his distant relative, stared up at the ceiling with lifeless, clouded eyes. The gaping wound in his skull was caked with dried blood, the telltale mark of an execution carried out with ruthless efficiency.

Honest's beady eyes narrowed as he scowled, stuffing another hunk of roasted meat into his mouth. He barely chewed before swallowing, the motion more mechanical than out of any genuine hunger. His expression was one of restrained fury, like a volcano threatening to erupt at any moment.

"He was a fool," Honest muttered through a mouthful of food, his voice thick with disdain. "An entitled, reckless fool. But he was my fool." He waved a greasy hand toward the assembled officials and military officers in the room. "And no one kills one of mine without consequences."

A captain of the Imperial Army stepped forward, saluting stiffly. "My lord, Iokal's assassin has been confirmed. It was a member of the rebel group known as Night Raid. A girl, wielding a rifle."

Honest's lips curled into a sneer. "Tch. That pink-haired brat, I assume?" He tore another piece of meat from the bone, chewing with exaggerated slowness. "Typical of those scum to strike from the shadows, too afraid to fight like men."

He was prepared to continue his tirade when another officer hesitantly cleared his throat. "There's… more, my lord."

Honest's chewing stopped. His jaw tensed. He slowly turned his gaze toward the man. "More?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

The officer swallowed hard. "The detachment sent to raze the rebel village… They never returned."

The room fell into an uneasy silence. The only sound was the faint dripping of grease from Honest's fingers onto the table. His grip tightened around the half-eaten meat, his knuckles going white.

"What." The single word carried enough weight to make the soldiers visibly flinch.

The officer dared not meet his gaze. "A lone survivor managed to crawl back to the Capital. He was delirious, covered in wounds, but… he spoke of something… strange."

"Strange?" Honest leaned forward, his bulk shifting, casting a shadow over the trembling soldier. "What could possibly be 'strange' about a bunch of worthless peasants being slaughtered like livestock?"

The soldier hesitated, then steeled himself. "The unit was ambushed, not by Night Raid… but by an unknown force. Men dressed in red, wielding strange weapons, led by a madman."

The words hung in the air for a moment before Honest let out a sharp bark of laughter. "What kind of fairy tale nonsense is this?"

The officer pressed on. "The survivor recounted that their leader—this 'madman'—stood atop the wreckage of their forces and delivered a speech. A speech so terrifying that even the most hardened of our men fled in blind panic."

Honest's amusement vanished. His face darkened, his fingers curling into fists. "What. Did. He. Say."

The officer took a steadying breath and relayed the words as best he could:

If you ever march against the innocent again, I will FIND YOU! I will descend upon your ranks like an eagle made of dynamite and screaming bald eagles! I will rip the very concept of mercy from my brain and replace it with a thousand years of UNRELENTING PATRIOTIC VIOLENCE!

Silence.

Honest's face turned a dangerous shade of red. A vein pulsed in his temple.

"...A thousand years of patriotic violence?" His voice came out in a whisper, trembling with barely restrained fury. His body began to shake, and for a moment, it was unclear whether it was from rage or laughter. Then, with an explosive motion, he slammed both meaty fists down onto the table, rattling plates and sending goblets spilling their contents.

"WHO DO THESE INSECTS THINK THEY ARE?!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber. "First Night Raid, now THIS?! A bunch of lunatics in RED?!"

His breathing was ragged, his jowls quivering with barely contained fury. His eyes darted wildly, scanning the room, looking for someone—anyone—to take out his wrath upon. The soldiers shrank back, not daring to utter a word.

Honest inhaled deeply through his nose, forcing himself to calm down. He leaned back into his chair, a sinister smirk creeping onto his face. "Fine," he hissed, more to himself than anyone else. "Two enemies. That just means twice the opportunity for entertainment."

He reached for his goblet, taking a long, slow sip before turning to a masked attendant standing quietly in the shadows. "Summon Esdeath. Immediately."

The masked figure bowed and vanished into the darkness.

Honest turned back to the assembled officers, his beady eyes gleaming with malice. "Night Raid and these red-clad fools have made their move. Now… it's our turn."

A slow chuckle rumbled from his throat, growing into a full-blown, sinister laugh. It echoed through the halls of the palace, a sound of impending doom. Outside, beyond the lavish walls, the Capital continued its nightly routine—blissfully unaware that the fires of war had just been stoked, and soon, they would consume all who stood in their way.