A month had passed since the spies had quietly embedded themselves within Armin's army. Disguised as recruits, officers, or support personnel, they observed, listened, and waited for an opportunity to gather information. Though Armin had allowed them in, as if daring them to understand his purpose, what they uncovered only deepened the mystery.
Now, the time had come to report back.
Ashen, one of the more capable spies, returned to his homeland under strict orders to deliver his findings directly to the Minister of Defense. After a series of checkpoints and clearance verifications, he entered the minister's office—a wide, cold room with high ceilings and the country's flag draped behind a steel desk.
The minister, a tall man with graying hair and sharp eyes, barely looked up as Ashen entered.
Ashen stood at attention. "Sir. I've returned with a report."
"Speak," the minister said, setting aside a file he had been reading.
"There wasn't much direct information about Armin himself," Ashen began. "He keeps his true intentions closely guarded. But I managed to uncover something significant."
The minister's eyes narrowed. "Go on."
Ashen took a breath. "There's a boy—my assigned roommate in the barracks. His name is Sheath. From what I've seen and heard, he holds the key to Armin's three-phase plan. He's supposed to have some sort of latent power. A power that hasn't awakened yet."
"Powers?" the minister asked, intrigued. "Are we talking about advanced technology? Biological enhancement?"
"It's not clear," Ashen admitted. "No one really understands it. But Armin believes Sheath is essential. He's obsessed with triggering this power. When it failed to manifest, Armin… beat him. Brutally. The others were told it was punishment, but it was more than that. It was personal. It was about control."
The minister leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled. "And the boy? Is he still alive?"
"Yes," Ashen replied. "Barely. He survived, but he's not the same. Quiet. Withdrawn. And yet, despite everything, he remains under Armin's watch. Closely monitored. Protected, even. It's clear Sheath is more than just a pawn—he's a weapon Armin is waiting to ignite."
The minister's expression turned thoughtful. "Interesting… And what about Armin's army? Any signs of rebellion?"
"None," Ashen said. "They are fiercely loyal. Some out of fear, some out of genuine belief in his vision. There's another man named Kliner who appears to be Armin's right hand. Highly intelligent, calm, and respected. With him, Armin's control is even tighter."
The minister rose from his seat and walked slowly toward the window, staring out over the city below. "So this is what we're dealing with—a mysterious leader with a fanatically loyal army, an unknown master plan, and a key figure who may possess unnatural abilities."
He turned back to Ashen. "This boy, Sheath… If he truly is vital to Armin's plan, then he could be just as valuable to us. Perhaps even more."
Ashen straightened. "If you give me the order, I can try to bring him here. But I'll need help. More men. Getting to him won't be easy, not with the level of surveillance he's under."
The minister nodded. "Take as many as you need. Choose carefully. This operation must remain covert. If Armin even suspects your intentions, he won't hesitate to eliminate you—and the boy."
Ashen hesitated for a moment. "Sir, if I may… Sheath isn't just a tool. He's been through hell. If we're going to bring him here, we should protect him. Not exploit him."
The minister gave a rare, thin smile. "We'll cross that bridge once he's on our side. For now, just focus on extraction."
Ashen nodded grimly. "Understood, sir."
As he turned to leave, the minister's voice called after him.
"And Ashen—don't fail. The future may depend on that boy."
Ashen paused at the door, a shadow flickering across his expression.
"I won't."
And with that, he disappeared into the corridor, already planning the mission that could shift the balance of power in a rapidly darkening world.
Ashen stood before his handpicked team in a secure underground facility beneath the capital. The room was dim, lit only by overhead fluorescents, casting sharp shadows across the table where maps and documents were spread out. Each member of the team was trained for infiltration, manipulation, and extraction—but this mission was different. The stakes were higher, and the target more unpredictable.
Once everyone had gathered, Ashen began the briefing.
"Our objective is simple in theory, but risky in execution," he said, his tone firm. "You're all going to join Armin's forces—just like I did. But this time, we're splitting up. Each of you will be placed in different camps across the country."
The team nodded, listening intently.
"Your mission is to blend in, gain trust, and slowly manipulate Armin's recruits. Plant the idea of rebellion. Subtly, over time. Make them question their orders, their loyalty, the truth about Armin. If enough doubt spreads, it could destabilize his army from within."
Glover, a tall operative with a sharp tongue, crossed his arms. "And what about the target? Sheath, right? You said he hasn't awakened his powers yet."
Ashen nodded. "That's right. He's the center of this plan. Armin needs him—desperately. But Sheath is emotionally unstable. That's our leverage."
"And what's this about his friends?" Glover asked with a raised eyebrow. "Why involve them?"
Ashen's expression hardened. "Because they're close to him. If we take them too—forcefully—he might break. And when he breaks, there's a chance he'll awaken. That's what Armin wants. But we'll be the ones controlling the situation."
Glover scoffed. "So we're just going to drag a bunch of kids into this and use them like bait?"
"Do you care about his friends?" Ashen shot back.
Glover shrugged. "No. Not really."
"Then don't pretend you do," Ashen said coldly. "We're not here to play hero. We're here to turn the tide of this war."
"Whatever," Glover muttered, stepping back.
Ashen looked over the rest of the team. "This is the plan. If any of you are caught, don't panic. Give up someone else—preferably one of your roommates. Say you were manipulated into the rebellion. We'll use the confusion to extract you if possible."
The room was silent for a moment before one of the agents spoke.
"Understood."
The rest nodded in agreement. There was no room for hesitation.
Ashen gave them one last look. "Good. Now prepare. We move out in forty-eight hours."
As the operatives filed out, ready to embed themselves in the heart of Armin's regime, Ashen remained behind—staring at Sheath's name scrawled across a worn folder.
"Let's hope you're worth the trouble," he muttered to himself.
Kliner stepped into Armin's chamber, his expression tight with fatigue. The dim light filtering through the tall windows cast long shadows across the room, mirroring the tension between them.
"All the spies have returned to their countries to report," Kliner said, breaking the silence.
Armin stood by the window, arms crossed behind his back. He didn't turn around as he responded, his voice calm and measured.
"I know. But they didn't learn anything important about my true plan."
Kliner moved closer, his tone cautious. "Didn't you want the world to know your real intentions?"
Armin hesitated. "I did… and I still do. But I'm hesitating."
"Why?" Kliner asked. "You've come this far."
Armin finally turned, his gaze intense. "Because not everyone will support me. In fact, most of them won't."
Kliner nodded slowly. "That's the problem, then. The world isn't ready for your truth."
"They never were," Armin muttered. "They're comfortable in their illusion of peace. But peace built on corruption and ignorance isn't peace at all."
Kliner sighed, rubbing his temples. "Still… it's hard to change everything overnight. Even revolutions need time to root themselves."
Armin gave a dry laugh. "Time is a luxury we don't have."
Kliner leaned against the wall, visibly exhausted. "The spies will return soon. One week, maybe less. And they won't come alone this time. I'm sure each of them will bring reinforcements."
"I know," Armin replied without missing a beat. "Let them come."
"They're going to try something. Probably targeting Sheath," Kliner added, narrowing his eyes. "He's the only variable they know about."
"I'm aware of that too."
Kliner let out a frustrated exhale. "You always say that, like you've planned for every outcome. But even you can't predict everything."
Armin turned away again, his voice low but unwavering. "I don't need to predict. I just need to be ready."
Kliner fell silent for a moment, then muttered, "I need a break from all this. I'm too tired."
Armin didn't react at first. He simply stared out the window, eyes fixed on the horizon. Then he spoke, with quiet conviction.
"I won't rest. Not until that thing is dead."
Kliner looked over, brow furrowed. "Even if it costs you everything?"
Armin's eyes darkened. "Even if it costs me everything."
The room went silent again, the air heavy with unspoken fears and a future rapidly approaching.
And far beyond the walls of that building, the world unknowingly braced itself for what was coming.
After several long days away, Ashen returned to his assigned camp. The path was quiet, the barracks unusually still for midday. The usual sounds of chatter and footfalls were absent. As he stepped inside, he called out with a grin, "Guys! I'm back!"
Silence.
His smile faded. The room was empty. No signs of his squadmates—no rustling, no movement, not even a stray conversation echoing from a nearby tent. Frowning, Ashen set down his bag and stepped outside. He scanned the area until he noticed a faint trail of dust leading toward the eastern cliffs.
Following the tracks, he eventually came upon a secluded clearing behind a cluster of large rocks. There, more than thirty recruits had gathered in a wide circle, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. It didn't take Ashen long to understand what was going on.
They were planning a rebellion.
Kale stood in the center, addressing the group with a commanding presence. "Armin is too powerful for us to take head-on. Even if we somehow manage to injure or distract him, Kliner will be right behind. He won't hesitate to kill us all. We need to take them both down."
Rein, standing with arms crossed, nodded in agreement. "Then we need to split into two teams. One group will focus on neutralizing Kliner, and the other will deal with Armin. We hit them both at once."
"Who's leading the teams?" Kale asked, scanning the faces around him.
Isame stepped forward confidently. "I'll lead the team against Kliner."
Rein raised an eyebrow. "You? You're too cocky to lead a team. This is serious—we can't afford mistakes. I'll take command of the Kliner team."
Kale cut in before things escalated. "Alright, Rein, you'll lead Team B. That's the unit responsible for taking down Kliner."
Isame muttered under his breath, "He'll probably just crack jokes the whole time."
Kale ignored the comment and turned toward another member. "Lira, you'll lead the team assigned to Armin."
Lira blinked in surprise. "Huh? Me?"
"Yeah. What's wrong?" Kale asked.
"I… I don't think I'm the right choice. I'm not a good leader," she replied hesitantly.
Kale gave her a reassuring look. "Don't underestimate yourself. I've seen your skills. You've got what it takes."
Sheath, who had been sitting silently nearby, spoke up. "Lira, he's right. You need to stop doubting yourself."
Lira hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Okay… I'll lead the team."
With the leadership decided, Kale addressed the full group. "We don't have much time. Reinforcements are arriving, and the longer we wait, the tighter their control becomes. There are thirty-five of us. We'll divide equally—Team A under Lira will target Armin, and Team B under Rein will go after Kliner."
He motioned toward a roughly drawn map pinned to the ground with stones. "Here's how we'll do it. Armin's location is always shifting, but he spends most of his time at the central building. He doesn't go anywhere without Maverick, so we'll need to distract him first. We'll create a diversion at the eastern gate. Once their attention is diverted, Team A will infiltrate through the lower corridor where security is weaker."
Rein pointed to the western path. "Kliner's movements are more predictable. He patrols the training yards every morning and inspects the southern base every afternoon. We'll hit him during the inspection, where he'll have the fewest guards. We'll need to act fast and precise—Kliner doesn't hesitate when threatened."
Ashen listened in silence from the edge of the group, carefully observing the dynamics. The team was motivated but raw. Lira's uncertainty, Isame's pride, and Rein's aggression made for a volatile mix.
Kale continued, "This is a high-risk operation. If any of us are caught, there won't be a second chance. That means no mistakes, no hesitation. We don't just fight for ourselves—we fight for everyone living under Armin's control."
The group nodded, tension hanging in the air like a drawn bowstring.
Ashen stepped forward, breaking his silence. "What's the contingency plan if something goes wrong?"
Kale turned to him. "If either team is compromised, the other must retreat immediately. We regroup at the north ridge. If both teams succeed, we move on to the next stage—getting Sheath out."
Sheath looked up, startled. "Wait… me?"
Kale nodded. "You're the key to all this. Armin's obsession with you means there's something he fears. If we free you, we cut off the reason he's holding onto power so tightly. Whatever it is that's inside you—your power—it could shift the balance."
Sheath swallowed hard, uncertain but unable to argue. Deep down, he knew there was something different about him. Something buried.
The recruits began breaking into smaller clusters, discussing their roles and forming attack squads. Weapons were passed quietly, maps reviewed, and codes exchanged.
As the sun began to set behind the cliffs, casting long shadows over the rebel camp, Kale raised his voice one final time.
"We strike in three days. Train hard. Stay sharp. And trust each other. That's the only way we survive this."
Ashen watched the group disperse, his expression unreadable. Everything was falling into place—almost too easily. But whether it ended in victory or disaster, one thing was certain:
The rebellion had begun.
After the meeting ended, everyone quietly returned to their respective camps, the weight of the plan hanging heavy on their minds. Sheath walked back with Lira and Isame, talking briefly before peeling off toward his barracks. As he stepped into the tent, he noticed Ashen sitting alone on his bunk, staring blankly at the floor.
"Sheath!" he called out with a smile. "You're already back? You should've told us—we wouldn't have left you behind."
Ashen glanced up, offering a half-hearted shrug. "Eh, who cares," he muttered, brushing off the warmth in Sheath's voice.
Sheath frowned, sensing something off, but chose not to press further. A few minutes later, the rest of their group trickled in one by one, exhausted from the day's training. Without much talk, they each collapsed into their beds, the tension of the past few days catching up with them.
Ashen lay still in his bed, eyes open, listening to the quiet breaths of the others as they drifted off to sleep. He turned to face the wall and whispered to himself, "No one seems to care about me... Do they know I'm a spy? Or are they just ignoring me?" His voice was low, filled with a bitterness he couldn't shake.
The next few days passed in relative calm. The daily routines resumed—training, patrols, drills—but beneath the surface, something had changed. One by one, the spies who had returned from their countries settled back into their roles. They played the part of loyal recruits, but all of them were now in motion.
Some began subtly manipulating their roommates, sowing seeds of doubt about Armin's leadership. Others took riskier routes, following Kliner from a distance or discreetly observing Armin's patterns throughout the day. They were careful, calculated—every move designed to build toward a single objective.
Late one night, Ashen's group met in secret near the outskirts of camp. The moon hung low, casting silver light over the circle of conspirators.
Ashen stood at the center, his tone cold and businesslike. "Most of the plan is already in place. Tomorrow, we make our move. We're trapping Sheath and taking him back to our country."
He scanned the faces around him. No one spoke.
"Any doubts?" he asked.
The group remained silent. A few nodded, but most just stood still, resolute.
"Good," Ashen said. "We complete the mission tomorrow and leave this place behind—no delays, no mistakes."
As the group dispersed into the night, Ashen lingered for a moment, looking toward the camp. A storm was coming. And Sheath had no idea.
Armin stood by the window of the central building, staring out over the camp as the sun dipped below the horizon. His voice was low and calculated as he spoke. "They're all back—with their groups."
Kliner, seated nearby, leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "So, it begins. I suppose you're going to give them a taste of what death really looks like."
Armin didn't respond immediately. His eyes narrowed. "I think they're planning something."
Kliner raised an eyebrow. "Planning? You mean the recruits? Of course they're planning. Probably some foolish attempt to rise up against us."
"No," Armin said slowly, turning away from the window. "The recruits are one thing, but it's the spies I'm more interested in. Their movements don't align with the others. They're up to something else entirely."
Kliner crossed his arms. "Another plan? Parallel to the rebellion? What could they be after?"
Armin's gaze darkened. "I have a suspicion—it could be about Sheath."
"Sheath?" Kliner asked. "Why him?"
"One of the spies overheard our conversation before leaving for their report," Armin said. "It's possible they picked up on the fact that Sheath is more important than he appears. They could be trying to take him."
Kliner frowned. "If that's true, it complicates things. Losing Sheath would be a major blow to our progress."
Armin nodded. "Which is why we need to act carefully. If they are after him, we can't afford a misstep."
Kliner gave a tired sigh. "I really hoped this would be simpler."
"It never is," Armin replied coldly. "But they'll learn the cost of testing me soon enough."
Night had fallen, cloaking the camp in an eerie stillness. Most of the recruits were asleep, exhausted from the day's drills and training. The quiet hum of the wind rustling against the tents was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Ashen, who entered his tent with several unfamiliar figures behind him. Their presence was sharp and unsettling, like knives hidden beneath cloaks.
"Hey there, guys," Ashen said casually, though his tone carried an edge. "These are my friends—from my country."
The once-quiet tent erupted into chaos.
Isame shot to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger. "Wait—what? You have friends?"
Lira furrowed her brows, disbelief written across her face. "We thought you didn't know anyone outside of us."
Rein's voice rang out, sharp and distrustful. "From your country? What the hell is going on, Ashen?"
Sheath stepped back, a cold weight settling in his chest. "Friends from your country?" he repeated, eyes narrowing.
Kale stood firm. "Who are you really?"
Ashen raised his hands, as though trying to calm a crowd, but his next words only made things worse. "Everyone, settle down. I didn't come to fight. I came to collect someone. Hand him over respectfully… or face the alternative."
There was a pause, the tent filled with tension so thick it could be sliced. Then Sheath asked quietly, "Who are you here for?"
Ashen turned his gaze directly to him. "It's you, Sheath."
The silence shattered.
Rein immediately grabbed his weapon, eyes blazing. "We're not handing him over."
Lira followed suit, stepping in front of Sheath. "You're not taking anyone."
Isame balled his fists. "You're not taking my friend. You'll have to go through me."
Kale added coldly, "You never answered. Who are you, Ashen? What's your real purpose?"
"There's no time for an interrogation," Ashen said curtly.
Sheath, still unsure, drew his blade. But before he could strike, a figure from Ashen's team—a tall, wiry man named Rood—slipped behind him and grabbed his sword arm, yanking it back and disarming him with ease.
Lira lunged forward to protect Sheath, but another of Ashen's allies, Glover, intercepted her. He blocked her blade, then swept her legs out from under her, slamming her to the ground with brutal force.
Rein raised his rifle to shoot, but Rood was too fast. He closed the distance and struck Rein in the chest with a crushing blow, sending him stumbling backward.
Isame managed to get a punch in—square into Ashen's jaw—but Ashen didn't even flinch. His expression remained composed. A moment later, he retaliated with a kick that launched Isame across the tent, crashing into a crate.
Kale charged in, trying to create an opening, but another one of Ashen's allies—Eleick—met him head-on, landing a powerful punch that knocked the weapon from his hands. Eleick followed with a knee to Kale's stomach, dropping him to the ground.
Ashen stepped forward, surveying the wreckage of resistance. "Well, your friends tried to protect you, Sheath," he said, almost mockingly. "But now they're either dying or unconscious… and you? You're coming with us. Say your goodbyes."
Sheath stood frozen. His heart pounded against his ribs, a storm of fear and helplessness rising within him. Around him, the people who had supported him, fought beside him, and believed in him were being beaten, one by one.
He looked at Lira, blood trickling down her forehead as she tried to rise. At Isame, groaning and clutching his ribs. At Kale and Rein, bruised and barely conscious. And in that moment, something broke.
I… I'm this pathetic? he thought. My friends are being slaughtered, and I can't do anything. Why? Why am I always the one who needs to be saved? Why can't I protect them?
His fists trembled. Why can't I fight? What's stopping me?!
Then, through the darkness, a voice—familiar, soft, and warm—echoed in his mind. A voice he hadn't heard in years.
"Sheath…"
He gasped, eyes widening.
"Sheath, don't you want to save them? Don't you want to fight for the people you care about?"
It was his mother's voice. The voice of the woman who had raised him, who had died protecting him.
"I know you do. You've always had that fire in you. So why are you still standing there, frozen? Why are you letting fear hold you back?"
Sheath fell to his knees, pain and emotion colliding inside him.
"You're not weak. You've only been afraid to let go of what's holding you back. Break your barriers. Let it out."
The tent seemed to vibrate with energy. The very air around Sheath shimmered, and his body began to glow faintly with a pulsing light.
"You can save them, Sheath," the voice whispered. "But only if you choose to fight. So stop thinking—and fight."
That was all it took.
The dark, spiritual energy that had manifested around Sheath—the ghostly hands that had once held him down—suddenly recoiled and vanished, as if repelled by something greater. A violent shift occurred in the space around him.
Across the battlefield of the ruined camp, bound in thick spiritual chains, was a man—Sergio. His body writhed as the chains tightened around him like a cruel fate made manifest. Slowly, his chest began to glow red-hot, and flames erupted from his heart, consuming him from the inside. Sergio screamed in agony as the fire overtook him—until at last, there was silence.
At that moment, a fire ignited within Sheath.
He gasped as the flames within him surged like a raging storm. It wasn't ordinary heat—it was something deeper, older, something primal. His entire body trembled as energy coursed through every nerve and vein, burning away pain, fear, and weakness. The ground beneath him cracked from the sheer pressure of the aura expanding around him.
Then came the transformation.
His blind eye began to shimmer—and then, slowly, vision returned. He blinked as color and clarity filled his sight once more. At the same time, the mutilated flesh of his limbs regenerated with astonishing speed. Muscle, bone, and skin reformed—his foot, his fingers, all restored as though they had never been damaged. In seconds, he was whole again.
His eyes shone bright gold, glowing with intensity as though housing the very sun. Swirls of divine energy gathered around him like a living storm, and from that storm formed a dagger—elegant, radiant, and vibrating with power. It hovered in front of him for a moment before he reached out and took it.
His voice rang out, firm and cold, with a strength none had ever heard from him before. "Ashen. You're not going to hurt my friends."
Ashen stumbled back, his expression one of disbelief. "W-What… what is that?! Your wounds—they regenerated?! What are you?!"
Ashen's team stood paralyzed. They had seen pain before, death before—but nothing like this. Nothing like Sheath, standing tall in the golden blaze, eyes burning with divine fury.
Before anyone could react, Sheath moved.
In a blur too fast to see, he was in front of Ashen. A golden arc sliced through the air. Ashen gasped—not even realizing the dagger had already passed through him—until pain blossomed from his torso.
From shoulder to waist, a clean diagonal slash tore through Ashen's body.
Before Ashen could even process the wound, Sheath's dagger plunged directly into his heart. The blow was final, swift, and clean. The leader of the ambush crumpled to his knees—his face frozen in shock—before collapsing lifelessly to the ground.
It had all happened in less than a second.
Glover cried out and charged at Sheath, but it was futile. Sheath met him head-on, his golden fist smashing into Glover's face with such force that the ground cracked beneath him when he hit it. The man didn't rise.
Eleick tried to run. He didn't get far.
Sheath appeared in front of him, fists flying. A barrage of blows rained down—precise and punishing—too fast to block, too strong to endure. With one final uppercut, Eleick flew into the air before collapsing in a heap. Unmoving.
One by one, the remaining members of Ashen's group tried to fight or flee—but none could escape. Sheath was everywhere. He moved like a divine executioner—striking down traitors and enemies with unrelenting power. His blade shimmered through the air like judgment itself.
The night echoed with cries of shock, pain, and defeat—but through it all, Sheath remained silent. Focused. His face carried no rage, no hatred. Only conviction.
When the final member of Ashen's group fell, the battlefield was still. The wind whispered through the shattered camp. Flickers of golden light faded from the sky as Sheath's aura slowly withdrew, the divine energy dissipating like mist in the dawn.
He stood amidst the wreckage, surrounded by fallen enemies.
Behind him, his friends—Kale, Isame, Lira, Rein—stared in stunned silence. Some still bled from their wounds. Others barely had the strength to sit upright. But they were alive. Because of him.
Lira whispered, "Sheath… what did you become?"
Sheath turned, his golden eyes dimming, his voice softer now. "Not something new. Just someone who finally stopped running."
He looked down at his hands—no longer trembling, no longer weak. For the first time in his life, he wasn't afraid of what he was. He accepted it.
Kale winced as he stood. "You… you saved all of us."
Isame, still clutching his side, let out a breathless laugh. "Remind me not to make fun of you again."
Rein, sitting with his back against a broken crate, gave a weak smile. "We just saw a god tear through a team of elite spies. That was… unreal."
Sheath took a deep breath and sheathed his blade. The dagger, made of energy, dissolved into particles of light and vanished.
He looked toward the horizon.
"This isn't over," he said. "Ashen wasn't acting alone. There's more coming. But now…"
He looked back at his friends. "Now, I can protect all of you."
And for the first time in a long time—maybe ever—Sheath believed in himself.