The grand halls of the Imperial Palace loomed with an air of decadence, adorned with gold and crimson tapestries that spoke of wealth siphoned from a suffering nation. Despite the lavish surroundings, a palpable tension weighed heavy in the air as a trembling messenger stepped into the throne room. His uniform, damp with sweat, clung uncomfortably to his frame as he knelt before the Emperor and Minister Honest, head bowed in submission. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving from the desperate urgency that had driven him through the palace halls at breakneck speed.
"Your Excellency, Minister Honest," the messenger began, his voice cracking from both exhaustion and dread. "I bring grave news… The warship carrying vital supplies to the front lines has been destroyed. Captain Liver and his entire unit—gone. There were no survivors."
A heavy silence stretched across the hall, the only sound being the soft rustling of Honest's luxurious robes as he shifted in his seat. A bead of sweat rolled down the messenger's temple as he kept his gaze fixed on the floor, awaiting the inevitable explosion of anger. Instead, he dared to lift his eyes and saw something far more unsettling—Honest's expression, dark for but a fleeting moment, soon melted into a twisted smirk. His corpulent fingers steepled before his chin, his massive frame rocking back ever so slightly, amusement gleaming in his eyes like a man watching a grand performance unfold before him.
"Oh dear, how absolutely tragic," Honest mused, his tone dripping with false concern. "The loss of valuable supplies is simply dreadful. And poor Liver… such a loyal dog to the Empire. Gone, just like that? What a shame."
The messenger gulped, unsure of how to respond. He had expected unrestrained rage—perhaps even immediate execution for being the bearer of bad news. But instead, Honest chuckled, his corpulent frame shaking slightly as his mirth echoed through the chamber. The Emperor, still young and impressionable, simply furrowed his brow in mild confusion. The boy's fingers curled against the armrests of his golden throne, his posture stiff, uncertain.
"Minister Honest… what does this mean for us?" the Emperor inquired, his voice hesitant, uncertain.
Honest turned to the boy with a wide grin, his chubby fingers drumming lazily against the armrest of his throne. "Why, my dear Emperor, this means that our dear General Esdeath will be most displeased. You see, she loathes failure. And this? This is failure on a rather grand scale."
The Emperor's lips parted slightly, as if forming a question, but Honest's laughter drowned out whatever words he might have spoken. The minister let out a delighted sigh, clasping his hands together, his rings clinking against one another. "Oh, Esdeath will be livid… how delightful!"
The messenger shifted uneasily, unsure if the minister was truly concerned about the ramifications of this disaster or if he simply found pleasure in the chaos it would cause. Knowing his place, however, he kept his mouth shut, waiting for his next command. The atmosphere in the chamber was suffocating, the flickering torchlight casting grotesque shadows across Honest's round face, distorting his already unsettling grin.
"Tell me," Honest said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "How exactly did this happen? Was it Night Raid?"
"We… we believe so, Minister," the messenger stammered, his throat dry. "But the level of destruction was… substantial. Reports indicate structural sabotage, but also—"
Honest raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Also what?"
"Survivors from nearby scout ships claim they witnessed an… an unfamiliar force. They described them as warriors not of the Empire nor of the Revolutionary Army," the messenger continued, voice laced with uncertainty. "Some claim they saw unnatural weaponry—nothing like what is used on our battlefields. Others insist it was some manner of sorcery. But there is no concrete evidence, only the ravings of terrified men."
Honest's grin faltered, only for an instant, before returning in full force. "Oh, now that is interesting… A new faction, you say? My, my, how the game grows ever more entertaining."
He let the tension linger for a moment before waving a dismissive hand. "Send word to Esdeath immediately. Let's see how she handles such… misfortune." He chuckled darkly. "And do try not to shake so much, boy. You'll make me think we've already lost the war."
The messenger bowed deeply before scurrying out of the chamber, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just revealed. Meanwhile, Honest reclined further into his cushioned seat, his fingers drumming thoughtfully. The game of power was ever so entertaining, and he was always eager to watch the pieces fall into place.
Esdeath sat upon her icy throne, fingers drumming lazily against the armrest as the frantic messenger finished his report. The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of torches lining the chamber walls, their flickering light casting eerie shadows upon the stone.
A supply fleet had been annihilated. Liver and the Three Beasts had perished. And yet, something about the report felt... incomplete. There was no doubt that Night Raid had been involved, but the sheer magnitude of the destruction suggested another force at work. Esdeath was no fool—this attack bore an efficiency and scale unlike anything she had seen from Night Raid before.
She leaned forward, sharp blue eyes gleaming with dangerous curiosity. "Night Raid, you say?" Her voice was calm, yet the undertone of intrigue sent a chill through the room. "Tell me, does this level of destruction sound like their work?"
Silence. The messenger dared not answer. He trembled slightly under Esdeath's piercing gaze, sweat forming on his brow despite the cold.
Wave, standing rigidly beside her, clenched his fists, his face contorted with barely contained rage. "Captain Liver was a great warrior. If he fell, I swear I'll make Night Raid pay for it!" His mind raced with memories of Liver's guidance, his honor, and his sacrifice. Wave had admired the man deeply, and his blood boiled at the thought of not avenging him. The idea that his mentor had been struck down without the chance for a fair fight only made his fury burn hotter.
Kurome, seated near the side, idly twirled a biscuit in her fingers before biting into it. "Mm... but Night Raid doesn't usually wipe out entire fleets. They're assassins, not demolitionists. It doesn't add up." She chewed slowly, her mind turning over possibilities. If another faction was involved, that meant new enemies—new prey. The thought excited her. Her lips curled into a small smile as she imagined sinking her blade into the flesh of these mysterious foes. "New players on the board... I wonder how strong they are?"
Bols, standing silently in the back, felt an uneasy weight settle in his stomach. Too many lives lost... again. He was no stranger to war and destruction, but this level of annihilation troubled him. Had they been too focused on Night Raid while a greater threat loomed? He thought of his wife and daughter, safe at home. Would these new enemies threaten them as well? The idea filled him with a quiet dread.
Dr. Stylish adjusted his glasses, a smirk forming. "How fascinating! This scale of destruction suggests calculated precision. Perhaps even a scientific mind at work? I'd love to examine whatever remains of the wreckage." His mind buzzed with theories, curiosity outweighing any sense of concern. What kind of technology or tactics had been used to sink the warship? Could he replicate it? Enhance it? The possibilities were endless.
Run crossed his arms, an analytical gleam in his eyes. "Esdeath-sama, if another group was responsible, we should consider their possible motives. Night Raid opposes the Empire, but what if this group operates under different ideals? We need to determine if they're friend or foe." Strategy was his forte, and if there were unseen players on the board, it was imperative to understand their next move. Every war had its hidden factors, and he had no intention of being caught off guard.
Seryu, standing at attention, radiated barely contained eagerness. "No matter who did it, they must be EVIL! Evil must be eradicated! Justice will prevail!" Her loud declaration echoed through the chamber, and Koro let out a menacing growl in agreement. She didn't care who was responsible—if they stood against the Empire, they were enemies to be purged. "This means more criminals to cleanse! More scum to remove from the world! Isn't that wonderful?!" Her eyes gleamed with righteous fanaticism.
Esdeath smirked, pleased by the mixture of emotions among her subordinates. She thrived in moments like these—when the tension before the hunt reached its peak. "Exactly. Night Raid is bold, but they don't cause this much carnage. Someone else is in play."
She rose from her seat, the air growing colder with her movement. Her mind drifted to the ambush upon her return—a sudden, calculated assault by unknown forces. It had been precise, efficient, and unlike anything she had faced before. The Empire had yet to identify the culprits. And now, another attack? Another strike from the shadows, perfectly timed to deal a devastating blow?
Her smirk widened. "So, you've made your move again," she mused to herself. "How interesting."
She turned back to the assembled Jaegers. "I want an investigation launched immediately. Gather every scrap of intelligence on this attack. Survivors, wreckage, anomalies—everything. We will find these ghosts lurking in the dark."
Wave nodded firmly, determination burning in his eyes. Kurome simply smiled, a faint gleam of excitement in her gaze. Bols remained silent, his heart heavy with an unshakable sense of foreboding. Stylish adjusted his glasses, eager for discovery. Run analyzed potential implications, while Seryu clenched her fists in righteous fury, already envisioning a grand execution of whatever enemy they uncovered.
As the Jaegers left to carry out their orders, Esdeath walked to the balcony of her fortress, gazing down at the snowy plains below. The wind howled around her, but she barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere.
Whoever they are, they were bold enough to challenge the Empire. Bold enough to challenge me.
Her lips curled into a cruel smile. "Let them hide for now," she murmured. "It won't last for long. The hunt has begun."
Night Raid's headquarters was usually quiet in the early hours of the morning, but tonight, tension crackled in the air like an approaching storm. The entire team had gathered around Najenda, who sat at the center of the room, arms crossed, her mechanical hand tapping against the table. A fresh report lay before her, its contents grim.
"The warship was completely destroyed," she summarized, her voice cool but laced with curiosity. "Not just taken out of commission—sunk. Supplies, officers, and an entire unit wiped out."
A heavy silence followed, thick with unease. Tatsumi frowned, his mind racing. "That doesn't make sense. Bulat and I… we only fought Liver. We were never in a position to do that much damage."
Akame nodded, her crimson eyes narrowing in thought. "The warship was still operational when we left. There's no way we were responsible for this alone. It must have happened after we retreated."
Leone leaned back against the wall, arms folded, her usual carefree demeanor absent. "Which means someone else finished the job. Another faction, maybe?" Her golden eyes gleamed with intrigue. "We're not exactly drowning in allies out here. Who would do something like this without showing themselves?"
Lubbock scratched the back of his head, glancing between the others. "And why go this far? This wasn't a hit-and-run. They made sure there were no survivors, no supplies left to recover. It's almost... excessive."
Najenda exhaled, rubbing her temple. "That's what concerns me. Whoever they are, they're strong enough to take down an Imperial supply fleet unnoticed. That's no easy feat. And if they're operating in the shadows, we need to find out if they're friend or foe. We can't afford surprises."
The room filled with murmurs of agreement, but Tatsumi wasn't listening. His gut twisted uneasily, a familiar sense of foreboding creeping in. He knew of only one group that operated with such devastating efficiency. One group that could infiltrate, dismantle, and destroy without leaving a trace until it was too late.
The REDs.
His time with them before joining Night Raid had shown him what they were capable of. They weren't assassins like Night Raid, nor were they an organized rebellion. They were something else entirely—mercenaries, killers, and madmen who thrived in chaos. And if they were here, moving unseen, it could only mean trouble. Worse, it could mean they had their own agenda.
Tatsumi's hands clenched at his sides. If they had taken action, then it wasn't out of the kindness of their hearts. The REDs didn't work that way. They weren't freedom fighters. They were opportunists, driven by motives that never aligned with anything but their own interests. He had seen them work before, and the destruction of the warship fit their style too well.
His eyes flickered to Mine. She sat stiffly in her chair, gripping her arms a little too tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeves as if grounding herself. Her normally sharp, confident gaze was averted, her eyes darting to the floor or anywhere that wasn't him. The tension in her posture, the way her shoulders seemed locked in place, and the near-imperceptible way her breath quickened—it all screamed guilt. She wasn't speaking, but the weight of her silence spoke volumes.
She knew.
And she wasn't saying anything.
Tatsumi's stomach churned, a sinking weight settling in his gut. How much did she know? Had she been in contact with them? Or worse—had she been helping them? The thought made his pulse quicken. Mine was reckless at times, but she wasn't stupid. If she had gotten tangled up with the REDs, it wasn't by accident. But why? What was she hiding?
He forced himself to keep his expression neutral, though his mind spun with questions. Were they feeding her information? Using her as a pawn? Or had she gone to them willingly, thinking she could control the outcome? The REDs weren't the kind of people who played by anyone else's rules. If she thought she could outmaneuver them, she was in over her head. And if she was working with them, even unknowingly, it meant Night Raid was already caught in the web of whatever game they were playing.
Damn it. He needed answers, but confronting her now would only make things worse. He had to be careful, had to act like nothing was amiss. If he pushed too hard, she might shut down completely—or worse, tip off the REDs that he was onto them. He had to figure out what their game was before it was too late, and he had to do it fast.
He just had to figure out what their game was before it was too late.