If N.A.T.I.O.N, or simply Nation, is a bloc of nations founded upon an ideal of a world where magic is an integral part of life, then standing in opposition to them is O.R.G.A.N.I.Z.A.T.I.O.N, known as Organization. This coalition of states emerged from the remnants of the U.N. after World War III and embodies an ideology opposed to the peoples of the Eastern borderlands. Thus, over many decades, the arms race, wars, and internal interventions have persisted relentlessly. Therefore, the vision of a future where humanity begins to 'dialogue' remains nothing more than the scribbled words of an unknown author.
-Somewhere east of Organization, August 10, 2192-
More than a century has passed since Legion 0 laid the first cornerstone of this nation bloc on the old western continent. As autumn gradually spread across the borderlands, a silent and barren tableau fully revealed itself. The wind swept through each fortification, biting cold, carrying with it dry yellow leaves that scattered across the parched earth. Trees stood motionless in the wind, while branches were stripped bare by the autumn climate. The air carried the scent of damp soil and decaying leaves, mingled with faint smoke drifting from some dying fire. Although it was not entirely desolate, the landscape bore a profound solitude, as if the very earth and sky were holding their breath, waiting for something imminent. Nestled within this secret geography stood Legion 4, a strategic spearhead of Organization. At this moment, the legion occupied a barren plateau, where scars from a past war were deeply etched into every stone and clod of earth—scars that no amount of technology could restore to green.
The base was encircled by towering defensive walls made from pitch-black t-carbon, mottled with bullet marks. Indeed, nothing beats repurposing old military hardware still usable in the post-war era. Inside these defensive rings were watchtowers, rotating radars, and densely arranged automated gun emplacements, ensuring no blind spot was left uncovered. Convoys of military trucks, transport drones, and soldiers clad in powered armor moved relentlessly, shaking the ground beneath with the roar of engines.
At the heart of the base lay the command center, often called the base's heart. It was a massive structure positioned centrally, resembling both a nuclear bunker and a living machine. Its outer shell was clad in advanced alloy, gleaming metallic under the twilight sky. Inside, the command center stretched multi-level like a colossal ant colony, ensuring all departments were interconnected and information flowed without delay. The ceiling soared high, crammed with ventilation ducts and thick transmission cables carrying silent streams of glowing green nuclear energy. Besides the illumination from high-grade electric lights, the glow also came from tactical displays, holographic control panels, and server clusters operating at full capacity in every department.
Officers moved briskly in dark uniforms layered over lightweight, bulletproof nano-fiber armor. Since there was no immediate deployment, wearing full combat armor inside the base was unnecessary. Accompanying these officers were continuous streams of data flashing across screens—everything from thermal maps, 3D terrain analyses, enemy force schematics, to supply route intel brought in by nimble reconnaissance drones.
At the far end of the corridor, the atmosphere grew noticeably more solemn and tense. Here stood Lunamaria Whieblod, the young female commander of Legion 4, quietly composed with her white hair neatly tied back. Before her, a massive curved screen enveloped her position, forming a wall of light where the upcoming battlefield was simulated and calculated in real time. The flickering blue light cast shifting shadows across her sharp, serene, and resolute face. From those violet eyes, all data, all life—no! The entire fate of the legion's soldiers—was coldly analyzed and precisely calculated like chess pieces waiting for the opening move. For a moment, her eyelashes twitched, a reflex without hesitation. Then her arm rose, and her index finger glided across the screen, zooming in on the border zone about to erupt in combat, which was the very place where the most fragile armor segments of Nation's frontline awaited shattering.
Recon reports flashed at the corner of her vision—from troop deployments to coordinates of areas rigged with traps or prepared for ambushes against the legion. She absorbed all without pause. For this commander, excess was better than shortage, and neutralizing every suspicious zone was preferable to missing a single one. Beneath the armor concealed by her uniform, a fire blazed—not from fear of failure, but from the thirst for victory. The desire to prove once again that she, Lunamaria Whieblod, the youngest commanding officer in Organization's history, would crush every enemy. Under her command, on the tactical display, green dots continued to process or hunt prey in suspicious zones like packs of wolves seeking their main course for dinner.
"The rapid assault operation is ready to launch. Assault units have received orders. All assigned forces await final confirmation. Standing by for instructions, Commander Whieblod!" The emotionless voice of the AI assistant echoed from the command room.
Lunamaria did not respond immediately but scanned all tactical screens to verify final calculations. Not a single unnecessary movement, not a wasted breath. After a few seconds of silence to settle the tasks ahead, she gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
"Report status!" she ordered.
"Assault Unit 3 has secured the rally point. Nuclear artillery on the eastern flank is in support position. Armored infantry remains at level 1 readiness. All attack vectors are ready to deploy per your plan. Countdown set for 36 hours!" the AI replied, data streaming rapidly across the strategic display.
Lunamaria nodded and turned away. After donning her command power armor, along with her familiar assault rifle and a spear finely tuned to her combat style, the commander left the control room and headed toward the ranks. Her footsteps echoed coldly along the armored corridors as she marched to the plaza where troops had formed into terrifyingly precise formations. The metallic drums beat enthusiastically and rapidly. The ranks of soldiers in standard combat armor stamped their feet in unison, standing rigid, just like synchronized components inside a war machine.
No shouting was needed! No hollow words! Her presence, clad in silver command armor with vivid green nuclear energy bands and the double-wing emblem with the four emblazoned on her left chest, was enough to command every gaze to fix on one point. At that moment, every officer's heart below beat as one: obedience and victory! Lunamaria stopped before the units selected for the legion's joint operation. She did not need to raise her voice or lower it deliberately; every word was already etched deeply into each person's mind.
"Rapid strike operation! Fire after 36 hours. No mercy. No retreat. You will walk over the bodies of the enemy. You will plant Organization's emblem on every inch of their land. This is the order!"
"Glory to us!!! Glory. To. Organization!!!" Lunamaria shouted.
The entire base fell silent. Then the troops stamped in place, a thunderous "BOOM!" resounding everywhere, shaking a corner of the base. That enthusiasm and determination fused completely into the earth and stones, as if to awaken the war dead buried beneath the mud. And now, in Lunamaria's eyes, the fighting fire was not merely burning; something else was stirring within it. A power, a belief, and an invisible drive. Yes, it was alive, breathing, and roaring a vow that victory and glory must shine brilliantly, and failure must be utterly crushed. Meaning she would accept no other outcome.
On the same day, far away in the buffer zone dividing the two nation blocs, a fortification stood proudly against the biting chill of the highland climate within Nation. At the same time, it was ready to face the looming assault from enemies coming from the western continent. Outside the fortification, less than five hundred meters away, a magical energy shield glowed with a fiery red hue. This shield originated from specialized devices buried deep underground before the outbreak of World War III, and even after more than a hundred years, it still operated almost flawlessly. But the question remained: how much longer could it last? The particle shield was not as thick as the sturdy bomb-proof steel walls; on the contrary, it looked like a harmless red mist enveloping a vast geographic area. This meant that ordinary people could walk right through it without exerting any effort. However, few knew that this thin veil was fully capable of making any weapons inventor scream in despair, including those who had created the devastating power that was dropped on two cities of a maritime nation long ago.
Inside this shield, the fortification formed part of a medium-sized military base belonging to the host nation. This fortification stood at the intersection of old legends and the present, combining traditional architecture with modern magical technology in a unique blend. Here, the faux-stone walls were adorned with intricate dragon and phoenix motifs, bearing the heavy imprint of a historic site, yet interwoven with gleaming alloy panels that shimmered under the light from ceiling fixtures. At each outer corner, curved red tiles sheltered automated gun turrets. These seemingly antiquated cannons continuously rotated their steel barrels in every direction, ready to roar against any reckless attacker. Meanwhile, the corridors stretched endlessly, paved with polished granite and echoing with the footsteps of patrolling soldiers. All moved rhythmically while clutching magical rifles tightly, vigilantly scanning every dark corner of the base.
Along the corridor walls, holographic screens flickered, displaying maps of the area alongside data from the external particle shield. Running along the walls were dense cables paired with connection devices. They were wrapped in jet-black insulation and neatly tucked into grooves carved into the stone. These conduits transmitted energy from the magical reactor to every corner of the fortification. Thanks to this, not only did the wall-mounted screens have the chance to glow, and the gun emplacements the opportunity to operate, but the mist outside was also able to spread and protect the life of the entire nation bloc. Therefore, it could be said that as long as the magical energy reactor—located in a strictly guarded area within the base—continued to run, the safety of the entire nation bloc was guaranteed.
At the railing area along the corridor, two soldiers stood guard through the night. The pale moonlight from afar filtered through skylight windows, casting a hazy glow that highlighted the sharp contours of the faux-stone concrete structure around them. At the same time, it brought out the deep green of their pine-colored uniforms, which clung tightly to their bodies. The fabric showed no wrinkles nor shimmered, thanks to high-tech material that absorbed light. Although their rank insignia were reserved for use during ceremonies or special missions, both exuded the solemn aura expected of soldiers. Instead of rank badges, each soldier bore an emblem on their chest embossed with the border guard unit's insignia: two golden rice stalks framing a sturdy shield and a bright red star. Next to the main insignia was an embroidered national flag. From a distance, the two seemed to merge into the darkness, leaving only a tense atmosphere radiating from their calm gestures. Additionally, each gripped an automatic rifle firmly. The matte black weapon, forged from advanced e-carbon, featured a sleek, modern design. The magazines were no longer the bulky clips of the previous century but replaced by compact energy magazines attached to the rifle's body, emitting soft red light strips along their surface. Then one soldier subtly switched his grip, the metallic click echoing in the stillness. The two exchanged glances before finally breaking the silence.
"Shi-long, I heard you really turned it down?" one soldier asked, keeping his distance.
"Turned down what? Nation Guard? Yeah!" Shi-long replied with a nod.
"Why? I thought you liked traveling around."
"My wife just gave birth, Kong-sang! I think I should focus more on family. Besides, here I get to be close to them." Shi-long looked up at the shimmering moon, then tightened his grip on the rifle, his fingers trembling slightly as he spoke of his newborn.
"What? You didn't tell us when the baby was born? Come on, tell me, boy or girl?" His friend immediately left his post, rushing to his comrade's side and slapping him on the shoulder.
"Besides, I thought if you got promoted to Nation Guard, you'd earn more!" he continued without stopping.
"A daughter. Just like her mother, down to the last detail. But Kong-sang, you don't have a wife, so you wouldn't understand. If I get promoted to Nation Guard, I'd have to leave this place. What if something happens at home? I couldn't bear it," Shi-long said thoughtfully.
"What's there to worry about? You've got us here! And with a chance like that, you should think it over. After all, you're the sharpshooter in the unit." Kong-sang laughed, then gave his friend a light squeeze on the neck.
They were joking and laughing during their watch when suddenly they heard footsteps from afar. Instantly, both snapped back into high alert, gripping their rifles tightly while their eyes scanned the surroundings. The atmosphere suddenly thickened with tension.
"Calm down! Shi-long, Kong-sang, it's us!" a familiar voice called from the corridor's end.
Ahead of them, two other soldiers approached. Their uniforms matched those of the local troops, from the stitching to equipment and weapons. However, there was a slight difference between the two forces, especially in color: these soldiers wore black instead of the usual pine green. Moreover, instead of the border guard insignia, they bore a chest emblem consisting of a shield with two parallel swords beneath a black crown. Inside the shield was a bold letter I or W along with the embossed text N.A.T.I.O.N Guard. Like the others, next to the main emblem was their national flag patch. Most importantly, all four soldiers hailed from the same nation.
"Wang and Zhong, right? We thought some rat was sneaking around, turns out it's you two!" Shi-long called out.
"You two Li cousins, Wang and Yun Zhong, sneaking around like that, one day you'll get a stray bullet!" Kong-sang laughed and lowered his rifle.
"Occupational hazard!" Wang replied with a grin.
"By the way, the moon's almost at its peak. What brings you guys up here? Don't tell me you're here to check on us."
"I wish! If I were on inspection duty, you two would've been toast long ago." Zhong stepped forward, slinging his rifle behind his back and pulling both friends into a friendly embrace.
"Ugh… that's a tight grip. So what are you guys doing here?" Shi-long tried to pull his friend's hands away, then stepped aside.
"The boss gave new orders. We're on guard duty tonight. You two get an early break!"
"No way! We haven't received any notice!" Kong-sang finally freed himself and looked directly at Wang, who had just informed them.
"Boss's new orders. You can check the info channel yourself!" Zhong clapped his friends on the shoulders and announced.
Kong-sang tapped his left ear. A concealed earpiece emerged from beneath his camouflage. He began asking and confirming something, then looked at his friends. His face brightened with the new information, apparently expecting more sleep tonight.
"Confirmed! You guys are even faster than the Nation Abyss team. The info hasn't arrived, yet you're already here. Sometimes I wonder why you chose Guard instead of those monkeys." Kong-sang chuckled before nudging Zhong's stomach.
"I don't want to be labeled a lost kid! Anyway, you guys better head back. The boss will have new orders tomorrow." Zhong released his grip and stepped back, adjusting his uniform and gear.
"All right, then. We'll hand over the post to you. We're off to rest." With that, both tapped their watches as if confirming the task handover.
"Hey Shi-long!" Wang called, pulling a fresh pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tossing it to his friend.
"When the baby's one month old, don't forget to let us know!"
"Of course!" Shi-long caught the pack gently, still smelling of fresh tobacco, and nodded in thanks.
They exchanged warm wishes with those staying behind and waved lightly. Then they left silently, their figures gradually swallowed by the deep shadows of the fort's corridor. Only a quiet space remained behind, where the sharp autumn winds gently slipped through the loopholes in the walls. Once again, the corridor sank into peace, with only two sons of the nation preparing to take over the watch.
The soldier slowly adjusted his uniform's hem, every movement neat, precise, and silent, as if blending into the stillness. Then he stepped toward the railing, gripping the cold iron firmly, eyes fixed on the distant buffer zone. The moon hung high and full, casting a gentle light that draped the low plateau in a thin silver veil, without a single cloud in sight. Peaceful? He was not sure, standing quietly as the moonlight caressed his contemplative face. Behind him, his comrade quietly prepared equipment, the soft clinking blending into the silence.
"All set. You can attach it now!" Zhong called to his thoughtful friend after finishing adjustments on a suspicious device.
The soldier turned his head slightly and nodded. Under the moon's silver glow, he stepped toward his comrade, then bent low to let the cold beam of light slide over his solemn uniform. With a gentle motion, he picked up the suspicious devices and counted each one deftly with agile fingers. A glance confirmed the count, then he strode down the corridor, his figure melting back into the darkness as before. Each pillar he passed received a small, strange device placed in its shadow. They were tiny, half the size of a palm, and had a doughy texture like a flour-and-water paste. At first glance, they seemed harmless, no different from modeling clay beloved by kindergarten children. Because they represented a whole world of color and creativity. Yet, they were far from beautiful. They were pitch black, as if made from an overmix of colors—a process any child would perform before bursting into tears when their toy turned into a black lump. He stopped at the corridor's end and counted once more. Everything was ready. After receiving the signal, his comrade lightly touched his wristwatch, sliding his finger over the glass to activate their secret plan. Suddenly, the devices blinked with bright red LED lights before fading back into silence. A fleeting smile crossed both their lips before vanishing into the dark. Hopefully, the night had swallowed all their secrets.
"Report: Team 32 has completed the mission!" Wang tapped his earpiece and began reporting.
After finishing, both nodded lightly, exchanged looks, and then returned to their posts. Tonight, the moon was still bright, and it would remain so until dawn.