The horizon stretched before us, painted in fiery orange hues. In this unforgiving expanse of stone and parched grass, no signs of life but our own could be discerned. We traversed the unforgiving terrain aboard the mighty Raider, an armored vehicle that now carried the hopes of our escape. Our enemies, surely, could harbor little optimism in the face of such a formidable machine.

The Raider, a juggernaut of war utilized by the Capitol Soldiers, was engineered to operate in virtually any planetary environment. Here, in this harsh and inhospitable land, it had found its purpose. While it rolled forth from the factory as a formidable creation, like many others in the Republic's vast arsenal, it had undergone numerous modifications since its rediscovery.

Our terrestrial titan came to a halt, and I gazed upon the familiar land beneath.

"Bastion. 4 PM, we arrived fifty-seven minutes early," a male voice crackled through the communicator, addressing me.

I held the rank of Captain, also known as Group Commander, and the title of Bastion had been temporarily assigned to a Senior Captain leading a Ground Squadron. The men and the lone woman who embarked on the Raider were under my command. I possessed the authority to dictate their actions, a power they could not contest...

Unfortunately, they were also my friends.

Internally, I sighed, feeling the weight of solitude. Binoculars in hand and my trusty pulse rifle at the ready, I moved with purpose. My Cherub, the floating companion I affectionately called Voltron, trailed behind me. Cherubim, like human servants, weren't recognized as sentient beings by the Republic, often considered no more intelligent than a highly advanced dog. Naming my servant might have been wrong, but rules are often bent for soldiers.

I hadn't mentioned it earlier, but for your reference, my name is Bell Raven Kozzh. I'm seventeen, bearing snow-white hair and crimson eyes. I'd like you to know that the Republic is a realm of diversity, reflected in its numerous regiments. From the best-equipped units of Skandorf, the Republic's capital, to the most underprivileged backwater militias, each regiment had its unique uniform code.

Different regions and cities were distinguished by colors, with units interpreting these traditions differently. My birthplace, Bolt City, was known for its black uniforms. My upbringing was forged through rigorous and unyielding training, leaving me with a commanding aura, a willpower you could sense just by looking into my eyes. I don't say this out of vanity. In truth, the human genes responsible for emotions like pity, hate, and sadness had been genetically excised from my makeup. I don't feel these emotions, which could render me vulnerable to the malevolent forces. I claim strength not out of arrogance but as a simple fact and reality.

"Lichtensten, and Umbra, prepare to initiate monitoring on Babel," I commanded through the intercom.

I extended my gloved hand, while Voltron descended to grant me access to his cybernetic cables. With a swift connection to my binoculars, my Cherub's enhanced vision supplemented my own. While I had been genetically enhanced to surpass human limitations, I retained many human traits, which included certain limitations. My underdeveloped sight was one such limitation, requiring my Cherub's aid. He was a tool predominantly used by Reconnaissance Soldiers and the Holy Order, bestowed exclusively upon noble families with psychic lineage. You may wonder how a mere Bastion like me came to possess such a luxury. The answer lies in my involvement with a nobleman's daughter. Her father rewarded me with this tool in return for courting and deceiving her into believing I loved her.

You'll meet her later.

Through the binoculars, I spotted a distant structure – a black tower rising in the reddened landscape. Its flawless corners and precise construction stood in stark contrast to the rugged desert. This enigmatic, obsidian tower jutted out from the landscape, a mysterious sentinel in this desolate world.

"What do your eyes see, sir? I hope nothing, as always..." Lichtenstein's words dripped with sarcasm, his voice conveying an air of nonchalance.

There was no need to turn my head to know that the albino Second Lieutenant inside the Raider, occupying the system's defense monitoring seat, was regarding me with an indifferent gaze. He spoke as though every word were a burden he couldn't shake. Luge Lichtenstein, my contemporary, held the rank of Second Lieutenant, and I was acutely aware that if my fate took a dark turn, he would assume my role. In our sector, where youth often treated ranks with casual indifference, his title held little significance.

"Bastion, any news?"

"There's no rush, Umbra. Or do you have other pressing matters to attend to?" I responded.

"With all due respect, Bastion, you're the only man I've ever knelt for," she replied. "Anyway, what's with that woman you been spending time with lately?"

"Don't forget the ranks, soldier," Lichtenstein chimed in mockingly.

Umbra Vortia, two years my junior, held the rank of First Lieutenant and was the sole female in the squadron. I harbored a suspicion that she might have deeper emotions for me.

"We've been here for one hundred and thirty-three seconds; procedural regulations call for three hundred seconds," I replied.

Babel, that's what I'd dubbed the tower we were observing. It was my destination, and I watched it closely. My squad and I were positioned two hundred meters high, a height comparable to many Skandorf skyscrapers.

"Ah, yes... We know nothing's going to happen. Why are we still here, Bell?" Lichtenstein grumbled.

"We're at one hundred and seventy seconds..." I noted, my gaze focused on the numbers atop my binoculars.

"For heaven's sake, what do seconds matter? I'm sweltering in this accursed heat, and I'm parched. I want to return," he lamented.

"Turn off your intercom if you're going to grumble, Lichtenstein."

"True, Luge, you do look like a barroom flirt," Umbra added.

Luge pouted, sounding remarkably like a petulant child. His exaggerated shift in the seat beside Umbra wasn't lost on me. In contrast, I showed no signs of fatigue while peering through the binoculars, with Voltron floating by my side.

"Three hundred and two seconds, well done. Astrimath, terminate the transmission," I ordered.

"Understood. Initiating the reinsertion of the retrorockets into the capsules. Bastion, you've done an excellent job, as always," Luke Astrimath reported.

Luke was a year my senior, unlike V, who wasn't present. Luke was a wholly human member of our squad, and in comparison to the rest of us, he was the frailest. He had gray hair, thin shoulders, and a slight build that set him apart from even the average humans.

"Ugh, your unwavering discipline makes me sick," Lichtenstein muttered.

Ordinarily, a Group Captain Bastion Commander would impose severe penalties for such behavior from a subordinate. I, however, viewed it as training for the future that awaited me. I have a friend who is a priest, preaching Christianity in the places we gradually conquer, aiming to make the inhabitants understand the Republic's magnanimity and rally them to our cause. He's informed me that my life as a devout servant to the Republic will one day conclude, and I'll need to interact with common folk, form a family, procreate, and leave a legacy. Humans, I've learned, are complex creatures, influenced by emotions that can render them unpredictable, especially the females, who intrigue me most.

"Bastion, let's conclude today's review. Results: No anomalies detected in Babel," Astrimath declared, his voice sounding cheerful and humanized.

"Blah, blah, and more blah. The demons and monsters remain contained, and nothing's changed, as always! Ready? Can we depart now?" Lichtenstein complained.

I could sense his deep sigh and, as he did so, I returned Voltron to his usual spot, securing my binoculars to my waist while keeping an unwavering eye on the pyramid.

"Hey, Luke, you're the most 'normal' one among us. How about offering him some words of wisdom? There won't be any changes today, or tomorrow, just as always."

"Huh...?"

The back door slid open automatically, welcoming the rush of fresh air. It was akin to opening a refrigerator atop a volcano. I hadn't considered the heat as an issue, as it didn't particularly bother me. Lichtenstein, chewing his favored gum, had his right leg propped up on the driver's seat, adopting a relaxed stance.

"I think... I think we're good. As long as the Bastion takes his job seriously, we can do ours and finish quickly," he stated, a note of assurance in his tone.

"I do not mean that! I spoke about limits! Two hundred years have passed! Two hundred! Tell me, how many records have you heard of any of the demons escaping the seal?"

"Zero..."

"You see it!"

"And to prevent it, we continue our observation," my voice reached Lichtenstein's ears, making him turn around abruptly, as if he had seen a commissioner.

"...And it seems perfect to me. Both you and I, we know our dedication to all the orders given to us. But aren't you too inflexible?" I could hear the gum being shifted between his back teeth, his chewing sounding rather uncouth. "I feel like we're the only idiots who diligently carry it out in our sector. After all, there are other dungeons, right?"

"Indeed," I replied, removing the binoculars, which were now molten metal. "Other locations are also being diligently monitored." I ran my hand through my hair after removing my officer's cap and placed it on Voltron's rotting fingers. "Our work carried tremendous responsibility, with evil lords lurking even in our shadows. Everything could devolve into chaos if, by some unfortunate chance, the demons were to escape."

In this world, there are dungeons—black towers. The place we were in was Babel, the most critical of the dungeons, where the Republic had taken its first step in imprisoning the demons they had fought against.

For our forebears, no mortal logic could fathom the power of the demons that emerged from the dungeons, inexplicable anomalies that simply manifested across the land, causing humanity to cower in fear. Until two hundred years ago, a shift occurred in the natural order of things, altering the course of history and enabling humanity to resist. With humanity introducing its piece into the game, the grandest conflict in history commenced—the Holy Heretic War. After countless battles, humanity managed to successfully seal the demons back within these towers from whence they had emerged.

Since then, humanity had diligently managed these crypts. The Republic served not merely as a nation but as a containment foundation, tasked with hunting down any 'remnants' that managed to escape from Babel and the other dungeons.

"Oh, right, I nearly forgot," Umbra, who had been stationed in the passenger seat surrounded by screens, turned to me. "Next week, we're planning a party to celebrate Sara's promotion, and we wanted to discuss her present..."

"You have my permission to gather everyone once we return and discuss it then."

"No, I mean... to discuss it with you now..."

"I'm not interested. We're in the midst of a mission. Save it for your private break."

"Eh? But if we're not doing anything anyway, it's okay, right?" Lichtenstein protested, raising his voice.

I disregarded his complaints as usual and took the passenger seat behind. Umbra looked at me with a puzzled expression, and Astrimath did his best to appear unruffled. It was indeed accurate to describe the current era as one of 'peace.' It was technically impossible for any demons to escape from the towers and initiate another war. This wasn't solely the opinion of Umbra and Lichtenstein. Most, if not all, of the young men who had been conscripted for military service that same year shared this perspective. Nobody questioned the work of our saviors.

Then there was me, the one who rejected such notions.

Even if nothing occurred, I couldn't abandon my duty or become negligent. Part of it was due to a genetic quirk. I was incredibly stubborn.

The logic of my subordinates rarely rested on solid foundations, as it did in this instance. The seals—pitch or tar—had remained secure for two hundred years and wouldn't collapse out of the blue. But... there was a reason that made it impossible for me to shake my concerns about the seal.

Five years ago, I fell at the gates of Babel. Inside that dark tower, I had truly seen them—the demons.

"Reflecting on that story again? I've heard it at least thirty times, along with Umbra. It was just your imagination. How could you fall into a dungeon and escape unscathed? After all, it was a den of demons."

Lichtenstein had a point, and I couldn't help but think it was miraculous that I had survived.

When I regained awareness, I found myself outside the tower. There was no concrete evidence to support my testimony, but the sheer fear and madness I had felt within those demons couldn't be mere delusions. It was more than a dream. Even I, who had been born without fear, couldn't forget that strange sensation. While those around me might dismiss the possibility, I could vividly envision a scenario where the seal could break, and they would escape. As servants of our lord, it was our duty to prepare for any potential counterattack.

And so, I had undergone rigorous training for the past ten years. Not a single day of rest, taking advantage of the incredible resilience of my body that allowed me to go without sleep or food for six days. Even on days I "rested," while eating or bathing, I continued with my mental image training. I had earned the nickname "Training-Crazy Bell," which was the talk of the base.

"In those days, the captain should have been around six or seven years old. We also know there's only one entrance to Babel. Yet, no soldiers reported seeing you, which is odd, right?" Lichtenstein pointed out.

"You should also consider the guards who should have seen you," added Umbra nervously. "But Bell, there's no footage of you..."

Lichtenstein nodded, eager to prove his point. "There are no witnesses who can confirm your fall into the tower, Bell. Not a single soul saw you there."

"W-Well, you know," Astrimath interjected quickly, "all the adults who were there at the time said, 'I don't remember anything...'"

"That doesn't mean anything. It was just a dream, a scary one you had as a child—a nightmare, nothing more. Don't you both agree?"

Both of them remained silent, yet their reluctance to concede was apparent.

"It doesn't matter," I stated, interrupting the tense atmosphere, "that's no excuse to neglect our duty."

Lichtenstein couldn't contain his frustration. "Huh?!"

Umbra appeared equally agitated.

"Astrimath, establish communication with headquarters. The 211th Red Regiment completed their two o'clock guard duty, and there are no anomalies in Babel."

I gazed at the tower through the Raider's window, undeterred by my subordinates' doubts.

Something ominous loomed on the horizon.