Nasition stares silently at a display of the battlefield. On it, small holograms of boxes, representing the armies, shift forward slowly, neat rows and columns in the chaos of the battlefield. The Pass, once dotted with the hundreds of bunkers, is now a wasteland of grey, overrun by the thousands of troops pouring through. He looks at the crater, a completely flattened area, no trace remaining of any structures. Perhaps I’ve gone overboard. He smiles.

“I hope we aren’t disturbing you,” a voice says. Turning around, Nasition sees a small group of officers, dressed in their custom-made uniforms, file in. Forming a line, they salute before making their way to the display.

“No, no. You are just in time,” Nasition welcomes. This group of seven men and women, varying in age and height, form the core of his military command. Despite their differences, some even formerly belonging to rivaling factions, they are gathered, handpicked by Nasition, to oversee the major operations of war. It is precisely this group that brought the Confederation to its greatness.

“The offensive is going well,” one of them remarks, expressionless as she looks at the rising count of casualties, “Especially given the amount of time we had to prepare.”

“This battle would be known as one of the great logistical feats pulled off in war,” another adds, “We had a mere nine days to prepare, yet the result is more than satisfactory.”

“The fall of the Pass would deal a fatal blow to the New Rule,” a third chimes in, “They had gathered so many thousands of irreplaceable troops, only to be wiped out by an unexpected voidal strike.”

“No, it’s going too well,” a fourth points out, “The lack of resistance from the enemy is disturbing. It’s almost as if they are completely giving up on this crucial junction.”

“You worry too much, Gailev,” the second dismisses, “Isn’t it good that we’re advancing without any significant resistance? Or do you wish we had faced more staunch opposition?”

“Of course I would rather have a quick victory than a dragged out one, Lexial,” Gailev replies, “Yet something is off. Isn’t it strange that none of us have encountered any enemy armored vehicles, only the burning corpses of infantry? Isn’t it weird that every single enemy gun has been disabled or destroyed, yet many of them are beyond the explosion’s radius? I fear we are only rushing towards a trap.”

“Gailev, we know that you have experienced a similar situation before,” the third says, “After all, it was a trap, laid by my forces, that led to your capture and surrender years earlier. But I would say with confidence that this is not a trap. If they had truly prepared a trap for our forces, why would they pool so many troops at the Pass? Why would they devote such a large portion of their resources into their defenses if it was just bait for our forces? I’m not especially good at maths, but I believe they had spent more resources building up and maintaining their defenses than our entire annual military budget. It would be idiotic for all this to just be bait.”

“In war, there is much that happens behind the scenes, much more, in fact, than what happens in the spotlight,” Nasition says calmly, silencing the generals’ bickering, “The credit to the success of this offensive, I must admit, lies not in any of us in this room, but a particularly helpful ally on the other side of these mountains.”

“You mean… we have an informant in the New Rule itself?” Lexial realizes.

“I’m surprised you’re this slow to catch on,” the first one scoffs, “I would assume it’s not just any informant, but one that holds much power within the enemy ranks.”

“Of course,” Nasition replies, “It would be impossible for us to break down their communication without some external help. Thanks to him, our enemies are scattered, losing all organization and coherence.”

“Why do you trust this informant, Common Leader?” Gailev asks, “To the point that we weren’t told about this until a week ago?”

“Well, to be honest with you, I did not know the whereabouts of him until recently, yet he consistently gave accurate intelligence, confirmed through my other spies and couriers.”

“Then why…”

“We knew each other personally, after all.”

“At this point, he’s just playing both sides of the same game,” Tevlaia states, marching into the room, “What fun is that?”

“The Battalion is doing well, I assume?” Nasition questions, slightly irritated by the unwelcome entry of Tevlaia.

“Better than the soldiers commanded by these so-called generals,” she laughs.

“Mind your tone, soldier,” Lexial warns.

“As you wish, puppet,” Tevlaia retaliates.

“We are about to win a great victory, yet we are arguing like children here?” Nasition says, clearly displeased. “How laughable.” He spreads his arms across the table, like a salesperson proudly showcasing the newest consumable. “So what if I’m playing both sides? Victory must be won by all means necessary. Not just for a temporary truce, but a long-lasting peace that the people have desired for so long.”

“Only to be ruled by another tyrant?” Tevlaia laughs bitterly.

“This war has terrorized the entire world for over sixteen years,” Nasition laments, “The Achien Empire for far more. You know this first hand, don’t you, Tevlaia?”

Tevlaia clenches her fists in anger. “You have completely left your original path, Nasition.”

“Do you know why I still allow the Battalion to act as an independent unit?” Nasition softens his voice, “It’s because I still trust you, Tevlaia. I ask you… no, I beg you, please trust in me the same. I have never, for a moment, strayed away from that goal. Just… please, believe in your Common Leader, your brother in arms.”

Liarul paces around the room nervously. He knows the end is coming. Although a decorated general in the war, he knows that many of his past merits weren’t deserved, rather belonging to his now dead comrades. He isn’t incompetent, yet he cannot compare to the younger, smarter minds of the New Rule, limited only by their elders and seniors in command. Especially that Rasu, that young, talented, nearly invincible soldier, feared even by his superiors. If it wasn’t for that disaster, who knows if anyone can stop him?

No, he shouldn’t fret over these distant, trivial matters. The battle at hand is far more worrying. In a single night, his vast army of thousands have been nearly obliterated, his aircraft grounded and destroyed piecemeal, his fortifications flattened by a single voidal strike, at least to his knowledge. The comms are cut after all.

He smiles, unnatural for such a situation. The end is near, after all. What general has been spared after such a deadly blunder? He remembers all those years ago, perhaps over a decade, when they successfully captured the Pass of Elethien from the Confederation, halting any spread of influence to the east. He remembers vividly from those days as a minor officer, the smell of blood whisking into his nose, the mountains of corpses from both sides, the burning vehicles withering everywhere. He still remembers… the death count for that battle so long ago surpassed fifty thousand, didn’t it? The general who commanded that battle then, he had forgotten her name, was removed from her post even after such a vital victory for causing so many casualties. Now, here he is, commanding a force of probably upwards of one hundred thousand from all branches, and losing all of them? In the middle of a manpower shortage? Nothing short of death will save him.

He sighs. His loyal subordinates scrambling all over the place, arranging for teravezas for his escape… What did he do to deserve them? From his eyes, he’s no more than a traitor to the New Rule. Why should he even be allowed a slim hope of escape?

The table, originally for a display of the battlefield, buzzes, but instead of a display of the topography, a familiar face appears, her aged face showing her wisdom, yet also subtly revealing a sort of shrewdness. Wait… shouldn’t the comms be completely cut?

“Ms. Ipela,” he greets politely, hiding his confusion, “What are you here for?”

“General Liarul,” Ipela smiles, “Straightforward as usual. Of course, I am not here for some casual talk. Now, as you wish, I’ll go straight to the point: do you know of an informant within our ranks?”

What? Liarul feels his palms precipitate, an uneasy feeling coursing through his body. “I-I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Why is he even stuttering?

“As soon as we caught wind of the situation, we immediately held an emergency meeting at Thille. To be honest, we were suspicious of the fact that our armies were defeated a little too easily,” Ipela states, her tone cautious.

“The government expects my forces to repel what is essentially an energy meteor from the sky?” Liarul defends, “Our fortifications were sturdy enough to withstand at least a few artillery barrages, but a voidal strike?”

“You were supposed to have soldiers on guard all day and night, shouldn’t you? There was supposed to be a warning system in place, correct?”

“... Yes,” Liarul answers. So they’ve found out. He had ignored reports of malfunctions within the warning system, and just as he feared, they'd found out.

“Also, during our short investigation and initial attempts to contact you, we found out that all major comms were cut, with only the separate internal comms between squads or companies still intact. How do you explain this, General?”

“Ms. Ipela, surely... you don’t think I am the informant, especially when I occupy such a precarious position?” Liarul argues desperately. He may have argued for a truce between the New Rule and the Confederation years ago, but that was purely a temporary tactic when the New Rule was still recovering from several major battles. Has that come to bite him now?

“General, ask yourself this question, not me. Oh, and don’t leave now. The entire Assembly will be seeing your face shortly.”

“What do you mean?”

The door bursts open, and to Liarul’s horror, his lieutenants enter, their hands crudely tied behind their backs as they are shoved into the room, and behind each of them, a soldier, the armor reeking of blood, the helmet removed, revealing their emotionless, dead expressions. Finally, a familiar face enters, his left eye bleeding and on his back, a severely injured, unconscious soldier. His knife, coated with fat and blood, emanates a sort of bloodthirst, as if it is a scythe belonging to those so-called “scavengers” in myths of old.

As he turns, the screen expands, revealing the entire Great Hall, the faces of hundreds of Assembly members staring down at his face. At the center, the President stands with a single staff in his hand. With a knock of the staff at the floor, a clear, powerful sound echoes through the Hall, silencing the Assembly.

“At the sound of this staff,” the President recites, “Let it be known that I am the judge. If my verdict is unfair, then may the light of the Elyfesta show the truth to us all.”

“It’s over, Liarul,” Rasu quietly speaks, his voice hoarse and lifeless, “You’ve done enough.” Solemnly, he places the injured soldier on the floor, leaving him to the care of several medics as he walks forward, placing the blade of his knife at Liarul’s throat.

“Wait, what is this?”

“Liarul, soldier of the military of the New Rule, is now being tried for the following accusations: illegal communication with an enemy, sabotage of military equipment, and most importantly: treason against the government and its people. As custom, Liarul’s positions as General and Commander of the forces at the Pass of Elethien will be temporarily stripped until a conclusion has been reached.”

“No, wait… Isn’t this just a military tribunal?” Liarul protests. He feels his left shoulder being violently tugged as his insignia is torn from his uniform. As he looks in terror, Rasu steps on the white insignia, covering it with the mud of his boots.

“Silence,” he hisses, slightly jabbing the knife into Liarul’s neck, letting out a small, steady stream of blood.

“Let’s get this over with,” Ipela suggests, “We have no time to waste.”

The President sighs. “We have the accusers, the Ministry of Defense, represented by Ms. Ipela,” he announces, “And we have the accused, Liarul. The Assembly shall be our witnesses to this trial. Because of time constraints, we will skip the initial statements. Ms. Ipela, you may begin the questioning.”

“Liarul, do you know what you’re being accused of?” Ipela asks.

“President, please listen, I…”

“Answer me, Liarul,” Ipela interrupts.

“I… Yes, I know what I’m being accused of.”

“Do you admit to all three of these crimes?”

“Why would I admit it, especially when I did not do any of these things you laid out?”

“We’ll see if you change your mind when everyone bears witness to these pieces of evidence.” Confidently, she lays out a display of the entire defense system at the Pass of Elethien, the buildings still in their intact shape, the landscape still not a charred wasteland.

“This is the map of our defense system for the reference of the military and the Ministry of Defense, one that is supposed to be constantly updating as time goes on. As we can all see, it still shows its status as updated, yet we all know, our defenses no longer look like this organized grid. In fact, this map has not been updated since the new year began, yet it still continues to record itself as so. Is this not an obvious tampering with military equipment?”

“I did not…”

“When we were building the defenses for the Pass, we installed a network of towers, serving as a warning system to any incoming attack. These towers were supposed to wail and alert our soldiers, allowing for a rapid stationing of defense. However, were they ever activated? No, not even when something as obvious as a voidal strike fell upon the defenses. Is this not sabotage which cost us thousands of lives?”

“No…”

“The central communication system, used between soldiers and their commanders, is a highly efficient and effective way to command and organize troops on the battlefield and for soldiers to report the latest developments on the field. Its importance means that no one, not even our expert technicians, should be able to tamper with it without explicit permission from the supreme commander of a region. Yet this crucial system, basically the lifeline of an army, was accessed and shut off, directly leading to the chaos that we only know little of and costing us the entire battle. After some digging, we found the identity of the last person accessing the system. This person is none other than our General Liarul before our eyes. Is this not outright treason?”

“Ms. Ipela, you are entirely wrong!” Liarul shouts, “I did not, and will not, betray the faction that I had served for over a decade! Everything that you said was not done by my hands! To all the Assembly members and the President, I do not know what’s going on, but I am being set up!”

“Why would anyone set you up, especially when this defeat is detrimental… no, nearly fatal to us all? Your collaboration is despicable, your name undeserving of the title of General!” Ipela responds in kind, her voice fiery and filled with emotion.

“Enough,” the President says firmly, “I have never felt such strong emotions from Ms. Ipela before today. This matter is truly serious, but I must reach a conclusion. Please stay silent and listen to my verdict.”

The soldiers and Assembly members all stare at the President, their gazes all falling upon the staff. Liarul drops to his knees, anticipating what is to come. “Please, no…” he whispers, his strength completely disappearing from his body.

“My decision is this: Although there is not enough direct evidence to confirm Liarul’s possible collaboration with the enemy, one thing is for sure: the disastrous defeat thus far can be attributed to his weakness as a general. As such, Liarul will be permanently removed from all of his current positions, being under detainment until there is more time for a more detailed trial.”

Cheers erupt from both the Assembly and the headquarters, filling the area with sounds of joy. Liarul and his subordinates, meanwhile, can only stare blankly at the floor in defeat, ignoring the ruckus all around them.

“However, because of this, the position of commander of the remaining forces guarding the Pass is now vacant,” the President addresses, silencing the noises, “Are there any suggestions?”

“I nominate the position of commander be passed to Rasu, who is currently in the headquarters right now,” Ipela suggests, calming herself as she wipes a tear off her face.

“Wait,” several Assembly members point out, “Isn’t it Rasu who…”

“We support Rasu,” a soldier steps out, showing his face on the display, “We are just weak soldiers, fleeing from battle, yet he still trusted us, used us, and led us to the headquarters. If there is anything we can do, it’s to support him as commander.”

“What do you say, Rasu?” Ipela asks, forming a smile.

“Well…”

“Rasu! Rasu! Rasu!” the soldiers chant, raising Rasu’s arms. The chanting soon develops into shouting, covering even the sounds of artillery fire outside.

“Fine then, I’ll take charge for now,” Rasu gives in, chuckling bitterly as he lowers his knife, “Just promise me you follow my command.”

“We promise!” Like a fierce roar the united shout echoes across the room, like the war cries of the past. Rejuvenated, the soldiers grab their weapons, standing to attention in front of Rasu.

Till our deaths. Rasu looks at the unconscious soldier, the medics still frantically trying to heal him. “I’ll accept your nomination, Ms. Ipela, and your support, everyone.”

The sounds of explosions grow closer, the stomping of boots ringing in their ears. They’re here. “Company and Battalion Leaders, establish comms with me. Ones who know the headquarters well, engage in hit-and-run ambushes. We are facing certain defeat, but at least we can slow them down. These are my only initial commands. Now… disperse!”

As the troops exit, Rasu turns to the display of the Assembly. “May we return to Thille alive,” he smiles weakly. With that, the screen is shut, and the room is dark once again.

Fight.

“Ms. Ipela,” Oriyun greets as Ipela exits the Hall, “How was the brief meeting?”

“It was… heavy,” she replies, “Holding a trial against one of our own generals, no matter how traitorous, is difficult, and I’m sure the President feels the same.”

“Who’s replacing Liarul?”

“Rasu. By good fortune, he had already managed to win the hearts of the soldiers before the meeting.”

“Not Avalel?” Oriyun asks, confused.

“Avalel was nowhere to be seen,” Ipela states, “Although given the expressions of Rasu and his squad, I can only hope that he is fine on the battlefield.”

“And if the worst were to happen?”

“Then all that we’ve done would be for naught,” Ipela calmly concludes, “However, that would be impossible.”

“Why?”

“He has the sword, doesn’t he?”

“But the legends…”

“Depending on when, or if it happens, we may have enough time.”

“So what should we do now?”

“Let it play out,” Ipela sighs, “The plan has once again left our direct control for now. Oh, that reminds me: you have some errands to run, don’t you, Oriyun?”

“Ah, yes. I shall be heading off now, Ms. Ipela.” With that, Oriyun quickly departs, taking elegant strides as he rushes to his destination, leaving Ipela alone, staring off into space.

Nasition, perhaps you have won this battle. You are a very bright and charismatic person, after all. Yet at what cost? Just remember, Nasition… Just as Stasibel’s trust in you led to his downfall, so too will you when you place your trust in those that are beyond your control. Smiling, Ipela stares at her palms, the creases deep and clear. As a large insect flies past, she clenches her fist, crushing the poor creature within, staining her palms with fresh, warm blood.