Sheele sat across from Spy in the dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of old paper and candle wax. The former maid-turned-assassin listened intently, her large, round glasses reflecting the flickering flame between them. Spy, ever the composed strategist, leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he regarded her with measured patience.

"The Path of Peace is a delicate matter," Spy began, his smooth voice carrying an undertone of caution. "They are a powerful religious faction, and while they claim neutrality, the Empire has long since infiltrated their leadership. Their faith holds sway over many, and should they turn against the Empire, their influence could bolster the Revolutionary Army's cause immensely. But that makes them a dangerous game piece as well. If we miscalculate, we risk pushing them further into the Empire's grasp."

He exhaled a thin stream of smoke before continuing. "Your mission is straightforward, mademoiselle. Establish initial contact with the Path of Peace. We must determine if they are willing to work against the Empire, or if they are too far compromised. This mission requires subtlety. No unnecessary bloodshed. If they suspect they are being manipulated, they may shut us out completely."

Sheele nodded, absently adjusting her glasses. "Understood. What about support?"

Spy exhaled a stream of smoke from his cigarette, tilting his head slightly. "You will not be alone. Some of my operatives from the Spy squad will accompany you from the shadows, ensuring your path remains unimpeded. They will assist with gathering intelligence and ensuring that no outside interference disrupts your task."

Sheele tilted her head curiously. "That's unusual. You trust me, don't you?"

"Mais oui," Spy replied smoothly. "However, it is not you I am concerned about. The Jaegers may decide to intervene, and that would make things... problematic. The Empire will not sit idly by if they suspect we are trying to influence one of their key assets."

He tapped the cigarette lightly against the ashtray before continuing, his gaze now sharp and calculating. "Which is why I am taking precautions. Unbeknownst to you, Heavy and Medic will also be tailing you."

Sheele blinked, lips parting slightly in surprise. "You're sending Heavy and Medic? Doesn't that defeat the point of being subtle?"

Spy gave a ghost of a smirk, amusement flashing in his cold blue eyes. "They will remain out of sight unless you require them. Think of them as insurance. Should things take an unfortunate turn, I would prefer you walk away in one piece. Besides, I doubt even the Empire expects a brute like Heavy to be lurking in the shadows."

Sheele considered this for a moment before nodding with a bright smile. "Alright! I won't let you down!" she chirped, her usual cheerfulness undimmed by the gravity of the mission. She leaned forward slightly, excitement evident in her posture. "I know this is important, and I promise to be extra careful! Plus, with your team watching over me, I feel even more confident!"

She adjusted her glasses again, her expression unwavering. "Oh! And if things go south, I've been practicing some new tricks with my teigu. Maybe I'll even get to try them out!" There was no arrogance in her tone, only an almost innocent enthusiasm, as if she were treating the mission as another opportunity to help rather than a perilous assignment.

Spy chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Let's hope it does not come to that, mademoiselle. But if it does, I suspect you will handle yourself just fine."

Spy's expression softened just a fraction, though his tone remained professional. "I know you won't. But understand this, mademoiselle—this mission could shift the tide of war. The Path of Peace holds influence, and should the Empire lose its grip on them, they may become a valuable asset. But should we fail, they could become an even greater obstacle. Tread carefully."

He snuffed out his cigarette, the embers fading into the cold darkness of the room. "Be careful. And remember, discretion is your greatest weapon."

Sheele left the room with a bounce in her step, her confidence unshaken. As she made her way through the dim corridors, she soon found herself face to face with Heavy and Medic, waiting near the entrance. Heavy, his massive frame nearly blocking the hallway, crossed his arms and gave her a small smile. "Little assassin, you remind me of Miss Pauling. Always running into danger with tiny smile."

Sheele giggled, tilting her head. "Is that a good thing?"

"Da," Heavy rumbled. "But also means we must keep you safe. Miss Pauling always get in trouble. You too fragile for that."

Medic adjusted his gloves with a sharp snap, his grin a mixture of excitement and curiosity. "Ah, ja! Zhis will be an excellent test of your survival skills, fraulein. But do not worry—we vill be watching. I vill be most interested to see how you handle yourself under pressure."

Sheele, unfazed, gave them both a thumbs-up. "Then let's make this mission a success together! Just don't hover too close, okay? I need to prove I can do this without you stepping in right away."

Heavy chuckled, placing a hand on her shoulder for a brief moment. "Da. But if things go bad, you call. We come running."

Sheele gave them both a confident nod before stepping past them, her heart light despite the weight of the mission ahead. Heavy and Medic exchanged a glance, both aware that they would do whatever was necessary to ensure she returned alive.

Heavy and Medic moved like phantoms through the dense undergrowth, their presence masked by the cover of night. They kept their distance, watching as Sheele navigated the outskirts of the Path of Peace's encampment. Though she remained unaware of them, their watchful eyes never left her, their years of experience keeping them hidden in the dark.

A soft crackle in their earpieces broke the silence. "Report coming in," one of Spy's operatives whispered. "Bolic, the Empire's man inside the Path of Peace, has been making moves. The clergy is starting to doubt him, but he still has control. A direct kill might cause panic and push them back into the Empire's arms."

Heavy huffed, his deep voice a low rumble, low enough that only Medic could hear him. "Then we kill him carefully. A bullet in head, fast."

Medic clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Ach, Heavy, always so direct. But have you considered ze consequences? Kill him now, und ze Path of Peace may see him as a martyr. Ze Empire vill use zat. A glorious death for zeir puppet means ze faithful remain under ze Empire's shadow."

Heavy frowned, shifting his weight. "Then we kill him in secret. No body. No martyr."

"Und yet," Medic countered, adjusting his glasses, "if he simply vanishes, ze people may suspect foul play. They will look to ze Empire for answers, und ze Empire vill spin zeir own tale. Nein, nein, ve must make them turn against him. If ze Path of Peace believes he is a traitor, zen he loses everything—zeir loyalty, zeir faith, und ze Empire's favor."

Heavy exhaled sharply through his nose. "Is slow. Risky. What if they do not believe?"

Medic smirked. "Zat is where ve get... creative. Ze right evidence, a whisper in ze right ear—und suddenly, Bolic is not just a leader. He is a parasite. A disease in zeir flock."

Heavy remained silent for a moment, then finally nodded. "Then we make them see truth. If it fails... we finish it our way."

"Ja," Medic agreed, his grin widening. "Either way, Bolic falls."

Heavy crossed his arms, considering the weight of Medic's words. "How?"

Medic clasped his hands together, his smile widening in an almost childlike glee. "Ve let ze clergy turn against him. We expose his corruption, give ze faithful a reason to denounce him. Zen, he is not a martyr—he is a disgrace."

Heavy grunted. "Is slow. More chance for something to go wrong."

"Ja, but ve have ways of speeding it up." Medic pulled out a small vial from one of his many pockets, swirling the dark liquid inside. The viscous substance clung to the glass, an inky black that shimmered oddly in the dim light, shifting between oily hues of deep purple and crimson. "A well-placed illness," he mused, watching it move with unsettling slowness, "a sickness that weakens but does not kill—enough to make him appear cursed, as if ze gods themselves reject him. Or perhaps... a vision from ze heavens, induced vith ze right dosage, driving him to madness before his followers. A forged letter could plant ze seed, but true fear... true fear comes from ze body betraying itself. Und nothing unnerves ze faithful more than ze idea zat zeir leader has lost divine favor."

Heavy's brow furrowed. He preferred simpler solutions, but he could not deny the logic in this method. "And if that does not work?"

"Ah, zen we take him," Medic replied, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Ve make him disappear. Interrogate him. Learn what he knows. And, perhaps, let ze Path of Peace 'discover' proof of his betrayal."

Heavy let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as he imagined the battle to come. "This will break Empire's grip. Make them weaker."

"Ja," Medic agreed, tilting his head. "And ve do it soon. If ve vait too long, ze Empire vill sense his weakness und reinforce him. But if ve act now, he vill crumble."

Heavy's jaw tightened. "Killing is cleaner. Certain."

"Certain, ja," Medic admitted, nodding. "But limited. A corpse tells no secrets, Heavy. If ve take him alive, ve squeeze ze information out of him. Every piece of intelligence he has—ze Empire's plans, zeir weaknesses, zeir movements—it all becomes ours."

Heavy narrowed his eyes. "He could lie."

"Ja, he could," Medic admitted, tapping his temple. "But I have vays of ensuring honesty. Ze mind is fragile under ze right pressure."

Heavy studied his companion, seeing the glint of morbid excitement in his eyes. He had seen what Medic could do in an interrogation. The man enjoyed his work too much. But Heavy was no stranger to brutality. If it meant victory, he could endure whatever grim method they needed to employ.

"Interrogation takes time," Heavy grumbled. "Empire could notice. Could send reinforcements."

"Zen ve work quickly," Medic assured him. "Ve break him fast."

Heavy sighed deeply, a long exhale through his nose. "If we fail, we kill him."

Medic's grin widened. "Oh, I promise you, mein freund, ve vill not fail."

A moment of silence passed between them, heavy with the weight of their decision. Then Heavy gave a slow, deliberate nod, his massive hands tightening into fists.

"Ve do not just kill Bolic," Medic whispered, his voice filled with cruel satisfaction. "Ve dismantle him. Piece by piece."

The two exchanged a glance, their mission now clear. They would not simply kill Bolic—they would ruin him.

The forest was quiet, too quiet. Heavy and Medic moved cautiously, their senses sharpened by years of battle. Somewhere in the distance, the faint rustling of leaves carried on the wind, but there were no signs of birds, no sounds of small animals scurrying through the undergrowth. It was unnatural. The air felt heavy, thick with the tension of unseen eyes watching from the shadows. The morning sun was rising over the trees, casting long shadows that stretched across the forest floor, yet it did little to chase away the creeping sense of unease.

"Zhis is a trap," Medic murmured under his breath, his glasses catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. He tightened his grip on his Medigun, already anticipating the chaos about to unfold.

Heavy nodded, resting his massive hands on the handle of Sasha. His deep, rumbling voice was almost amused. "Then we crush it."

They had been trailing Sheele from a distance, making sure she reached the Path of Peace safely. But along the way, their informants had reported something else—three Jaegers were nearby, planning an attack on Night Raid. It was only a matter of time before they would make their move. The mission had shifted. Now, they had to be the ones to strike first.

And then, they saw them.

Standing in the clearing ahead, three figures emerged from the shadows of the trees. Kurome, her piercing red eyes glowing with eerie intensity, her sword held loosely at her side. Bols, clad in his intimidating flamethrower gear, exuding the quiet patience of a man who had long accepted the burdens of war. And Wave, standing between them, his hand resting warily on his blade, his expression uncertain. Sunlight filtered through the trees behind them, their shadows looming large on the forest floor, making the three appear even more ominous.

Heavy adjusted his stance, placing himself between Medic and the Jaegers, while Medic calmly unclipped his Medigun from his belt, fingers dancing along the dials. "Ah, zhis just got interesting."

Kurome tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "You're not Night Raid," she said flatly, eyes narrowing as she studied them. "But you're not Imperials either."

Bols shifted his weight, gripping his flamethrower tightly. "This isn't your fight. Walk away, and we won't have to kill you."

Heavy cracked his knuckles, his deep chuckle rolling through the clearing like distant thunder. "We are not ones to walk away."

Wave took a step forward, his brows furrowed as he studied them more closely. "Wait a second, these guys—"

His words were cut off as Kurome lifted Yatsufusa's blade. A sickening chill spread through the air as her puppets began to stir, bodies twitching unnaturally as they rose from the undergrowth. The corpses of fallen warriors, their dead eyes empty, their movements stiff and jerky. A silent army under Kurome's command. The stench of decay filled the clearing, mixing with the cold, unnatural energy radiating from her.

The puppets took a single, synchronized step forward, their lifeless eyes locked onto Heavy and Medic. The morning light glinted off their weapons, highlighting the cracks and dried blood still caked onto their armor. These were warriors from previous battles, ones who had fought and died for the Empire, only to be resurrected as Kurome's unholy army.

"I won't ask again," Kurome said coldly. "Move aside."

Heavy took a slow, deliberate step forward, his massive form blocking Medic from view. "No."

The silence that followed was thick with tension, every breath a countdown to inevitable bloodshed. Wave shifted uncomfortably, gripping his sword as he eyed Heavy with growing wariness. Bols, ever the professional, simply readied his flamethrower, waiting for Kurome's command.

Then, the underbrush exploded behind them. Night Raid had arrived.

Akame landed gracefully, sword at the ready, her crimson eyes locked onto Kurome. Tatsumi stood beside her, his hand clenching his weapon, recognition flashing in his gaze as he met Wave's stare. Mine leveled Pumpkin at Kurome, the barrel glowing ominously as she adjusted her aim. Lubbock twirled his wires, his usual smirk replaced with a look of grim determination. Leone emerged from the shadows, cracking her knuckles with a dangerous grin. Najenda stood behind them, taking in the situation with a calculating gaze.

The standoff had turned into something more. This wasn't just an encounter—it was the prelude to battle. A storm brewing in the early morning light, and none would leave unscathed. The golden rays of dawn did little to warm the icy hostility hanging in the air.

Kurome smirked, lifting Yatsufusa's blade forward. "Kill them."

With that single command, the morning erupted into chaos.

Heavy surged forward with a roar, Sasha's barrel spinning to life as he unleashed a hail of bullets toward the undead soldiers. They staggered back but did not fall, their bodies shrugging off the damage with unnatural resilience. Medic dashed behind Heavy, using his Medigun to keep him standing as bolts of energy danced between them, reinforcing Heavy's durability.

Akame wasted no time, vanishing in a blur of speed before reappearing beside Kurome, Murasame's deadly edge flashing toward her sister. Kurome barely dodged in time, retaliating with a precise counterstrike that sent sparks flying as their swords clashed.

Bols ignited his flamethrower, sending a jet of fire toward Mine and Lubbock. Mine rolled away, firing off a charged blast that forced Bols to take a defensive stance. Lubbock's wires snapped through the air, wrapping around a tree and launching him toward Bols in an aerial assault.

The forest erupted into chaos.

Wave was already in the thick of battle, witnessing the unfolding carnage as Kurome's undead soldiers clashed with Night Raid. He hesitated for only a moment before deciding to press forward, sprinting toward the fray with Grand Chariot activating in a blur of blue energy. His target was clear—Tatsumi, who was locked in combat with Kurome's reanimated forces. If he could eliminate Tatsumi, Night Raid's morale would take a massive hit.

However, before he could close the distance, a massive force slammed into him from the side, sending him crashing through the underbrush. Dazed, he stumbled to his feet, only to find himself staring up at an imposing figure—Susanoo.

The Teigu warrior stood tall, his glowing eyes locked onto Wave with unshakable resolve. "I cannot allow you to interfere," Susanoo stated, his deep voice unwavering.

Wave gritted his teeth, gripping Grand Chariot's hilt. "Then I'll just have to go through you!"

With a burst of speed, he launched himself at Susanoo, swinging his blade in a precise arc. Susanoo deflected the blow effortlessly with his armored arm before countering with a powerful palm strike to Wave's chest. The force sent Wave hurtling backward again, his boots skidding against the dirt as he barely managed to regain his footing.

He had no time to react before Susanoo closed the gap once more. The artificial warrior struck with machine-like precision, forcing Wave on the defensive. Grand Chariot's armor protected him, but each blow rattled his bones. Realizing he couldn't afford to stay on the backfoot, Wave ducked under a sweeping strike and retaliated with a powerful slash, aiming for Susanoo's torso.

The blade met resistance—Susanoo caught it with his bare hand.

Wave's eyes widened in shock. "What—?"

With inhuman strength, Susanoo twisted the blade away and delivered a devastating roundhouse kick to Wave's side, sending him flying once more. He crashed against a tree, coughing as pain shot through his ribs. He knew he was outmatched. Susanoo wasn't just powerful—he was methodical, unrelenting, and completely unfazed by Wave's best efforts.

Realizing he was fighting a losing battle, Wave clenched his fists and took a deep breath. "Damn it… this isn't my fight." He cast one last glance toward Kurome, his expression conflicted, before gritting his teeth and making a break for the tree line. However, Susanoo was not so willing to let him go so easily.

With blinding speed, the artificial warrior closed the distance, his fist aiming for Wave's back in an attempt to disable him before he could escape. Wave spun at the last second, bringing up Grand Chariot's blade to deflect the strike. The force still sent him stumbling, but he managed to stay upright, panting heavily. "You're really not gonna let this go, huh?"

"You are a threat until you leave this battlefield," Susanoo stated firmly, taking another step forward.

Wave cursed under his breath, knowing he had no chance of victory. Instead of continuing the fight, he feinted a charge before leaping back and activating Grand Chariot's thrusters, using the burst of energy to propel himself deeper into the forest. But before he could fully escape, Susanoo appeared in front of him in a blur, blocking his path with unwavering determination.

Wave's breath hitched as he skidded to a stop, gripping his sword tightly. "You're really not letting me go, huh?"

"You are a threat until you are removed from this battlefield," Susanoo replied, his stance unshaken.

Wave let out a sharp exhale, adjusting his footing. "Then I guess I don't have a choice."

With a burst of speed, he charged once more, his blade gleaming under the moonlight as Susanoo met him head-on. The two warriors clashed, their battle sending shockwaves through the forest as the chaos of the greater war continued to unfold around them.

He watched as Wave's form disappeared into the dense foliage before finally turning back toward the battlefield. His mission had not been to eliminate Wave, only to ensure he did not interfere. With that objective complete, he redirected his focus toward assisting his comrades in the greater battle still raging on.

Kurome wasted no time. With a flick of Yatsufusa's blade, her undead warriors surged forward, lifeless bodies lurching toward Night Raid. Akame met them head-on, her Murasame flashing through the dark as she severed limbs and torsos, but the fallen simply twitched and rose again. Tatsumi and Lubbock worked together to contain the tide, the young warrior's blade cleaving through the undead while Lubbock's wires constricted and crushed them into lifeless husks. However, no matter how many they felled, Kurome's puppets continued to rise, their lifeless eyes locked onto their prey.

Medic stood firm, adjusting his gloves as he analyzed the battlefield. The logical part of him knew fighting a swordswoman of Kurome's caliber was suicide—but he had never been one for logic in battle. His Medigun was already humming, the energy flowing through its mechanisms as he provided rapid boosts of healing to the Night Raid members fighting beside him.

"Undead soldiers," he muttered, eyes gleaming with intrigue behind his glasses. "Fascinating. Zhey move vithout life, yet function as if zhey do… I vould love to study vone up close."

Kurome's red eyes locked onto him, sensing a challenge. Without hesitation, she dashed forward, blade aimed straight for his throat.

"Ach!" Medic barely ducked in time, stumbling backward as Yatsufusa's edge whistled past him. He raised his Medigun reflexively, the energy deflecting a glancing strike as he rolled out of range. "Vell, if you insist, I suppose I vill participate."

Night Raid covered him as he recalibrated, Lubbock's wires shooting toward Kurome while Mine fired off explosive rounds at her approaching puppets. But Kurome was relentless. With inhuman speed, she weaved between attacks, striking where defenses were weakest. Her blade danced toward Medic again, and this time, he barely managed to redirect the strike with the reinforced barrel of his Medigun.

"Vhy must it alvays be swords?" he sighed dramatically before ducking another swing. "So primitive. So inefficient. You should try a scalpel, fraulein."

She didn't respond—she only pressed harder, forcing Medic to retreat step by step. The battlefield was chaos around them, but in this moment, she had him locked in her sights.

With a flick of her wrist, another puppet lunged toward him—a soldier with half of his face missing, a wicked axe raised above his head. Medic barely managed to leap aside as the axe buried itself into the ground where he stood moments ago. He clicked his tongue, frustration creeping into his normally amused demeanor.

"Ugh, such poor anatomical maintenance," he quipped. "Did you at least preserve zhe organs?"

Kurome's only response was another swing of Yatsufusa, forcing Medic into a desperate dodge as he switched tactics, using his Medigun's healing bursts to keep himself nimble. Tatsumi lunged in to intercept, his sword meeting Kurome's in a shower of sparks. "We'll handle her, Medic!" he called out. "Support us!"

Medic grinned, but his eyes flickered toward Mine, who was standing nearby, her hands gripping Pumpkin tightly. Unlike the others, she hadn't yet stepped in to assist. There was hesitation in her expression, uncertainty clouding her usual sharp focus. Medic caught this immediately, tilting his head slightly as he adjusted his Medigun's output. "Fraulein, hesitation is dangerous on zhis battlefield," he remarked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement but also warning.

Mine flinched at his words but didn't immediately respond. Her gaze darted between Medic and Kurome, clearly torn. This wasn't just another battle—it was a fight against someone who was once on their side, someone who shared blood with Akame. Could she truly bring herself to fight Kurome directly? Could she aid someone as unpredictable as Medic against a deadly assassin?

Meanwhile, Medic turned his attention back to the fight, casually avoiding another slash from Kurome's blade. "Ja, ja. Just try not to die, hmm?" he quipped, though his mind was already working through possible outcomes, calculating how long they could hold against Kurome's relentless assault.

Night Raid fought with coordinated precision. Akame remained the tip of the spear, her lethal strikes aiming to eliminate Kurome's undead puppets as swiftly as possible. However, Yatsufusa's curse made this a near-insurmountable task—each felled enemy simply rose again, unfazed by wounds that would have killed any living warrior. Tatsumi supported Akame, his attacks brutal and swift, ensuring that at least some of the undead were incapacitated long enough for them to focus on Kurome herself.

Lubbock used his wires to control the battlefield, lashing them around the limbs of Kurome's reanimated soldiers, restricting their movement and slicing through their decayed flesh. Leone, taking advantage of any opening, rushed in to deliver powerful strikes, her raw strength enough to shatter bones and tear through the undead hordes.

Despite their efforts, Kurome's relentless assault kept them on their toes. She moved with inhuman speed, her blade flashing as she struck at every weak point she could find. Medic, caught in her sights once more, found himself narrowly dodging a thrust that would have pierced his heart. He stumbled back, cursing under his breath. "Mein Gott, zhis one is persistent!"

Mine, still hesitant, finally gritted her teeth and raised Pumpkin. "Damn it, I can't just stand here!" she muttered, taking aim. A shot rang out, an energy blast streaking toward Kurome. The assassin barely managed to dodge, the shot grazing her shoulder, but the force was enough to push her back.

"Better late than never, fraulein!" Medic called, a smirk forming on his lips as he adjusted his Medigun's settings. With a fresh burst of healing energy, he refocused his efforts on keeping Night Raid in the fight, ensuring they had the strength to face Kurome's relentless onslaught.

Not far away, another battle was unfolding.

Heavy and Bols faced each other, but there was no immediate aggression—only a mutual understanding between two warriors. Bols adjusted the grip on his flamethrower, while Heavy cracked his knuckles, his expression unreadable.

"You are strong," Bols said simply, tilting his head in acknowledgment.

Heavy nodded. "Da. You too."

Then, without another word, the battle began.

Bols squeezed the trigger, and a wave of fire roared toward Heavy. The massive Russian lunged to the side, dodging with surprising agility for a man of his size. He grabbed a fallen tree trunk and hurled it toward Bols, who responded by sweeping his flamethrower upward, the trunk igniting in midair before it could reach him.

Heavy laughed. "Fire is good. But it does not scare me."

Bols, instead of responding with malice, simply nodded. "I wouldn't expect it to."

The two charged at each other. Bols swung his flamethrower like a hammer, but Heavy caught the blow with his bare hands, the impact sending shockwaves through the ground. With a roar, Heavy pushed Bols back, sending the masked man skidding several feet away.

They stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, before Bols spoke again. "You don't fight like the others. You fight with… respect."

Heavy rolled his shoulders. "You fight for family. I fight for family. You are good man."

Bols was silent for a moment, then replied, "That does not mean I will hold back."

Heavy grinned. "Good. Neither will I."

Their fists collided like thunderclaps in the night, a battle not of hatred, but of warriors testing their strength. Bols unleashed another burst of flames, but Heavy charged straight through, using his raw endurance to weather the heat. His fist struck Bols's armor with a force that sent the masked warrior staggering back.

Bols recovered quickly, spinning his flamethrower in a tight arc to force Heavy back, but the Russian remained steadfast, grinning. "You are strong. But strength is not just fire."

Bols paused. "And what is it, then?"

Heavy clenched his fists, stepping forward. "Strength is endurance. Strength is heart. And strength… is never backing down."

Bols nodded solemnly. "Then let's see how much of that strength you truly have."

The two warriors resumed their duel, neither willing to falter.

The battle raged on, but the tide had shifted. Night Raid fought with unwavering determination, and despite Kurome's relentless attacks, she began to see the writing on the wall. One against many, even with Yatsufusa's undead at her command, was proving too much. She clicked her tongue in frustration, her crimson eyes darting across the battlefield. The odds were against her, and despite her honed instincts, she could not ignore the creeping feeling of vulnerability.

Akame stood firm, her blade stained with the remnants of Kurome's puppets. Tatsumi and Mine covered the flanks, forcing Kurome into a defensive stance. Lubbock's wires restricted her movement, tightening around her soldiers and slicing them apart before they could rise again. The sight of her dwindling forces made her grip Yatsufusa tighter, her breathing shallow and sharp. They were chipping away at her strength. With every puppet that fell, her advantage shrank.

She hated to admit it, but she was outmatched.

A glimmer of hesitation flickered across her expression before she steeled herself. She couldn't die here. With a final flick of her wrist, she recalled her remaining puppets, maneuvering them into a defensive formation to shield her retreat. "We'll finish this another time," Kurome muttered, her voice a mix of frustration and resolve. With one last glare at her sister, she turned and vanished into the dense forest, disappearing like a ghost into the night. Her retreat was not out of fear—it was a strategic withdrawal. Next time, she would be prepared.

Meanwhile, Heavy and Bols continued their duel. Fists met steel, fire clashed with sheer resilience, but despite the intensity of their fight, neither seemed to harbor true malice toward the other. Bols respected strength, and Heavy had demonstrated more than just power—he had shown honor. The flames of Bols' weapon roared, illuminating the combatants in an eerie glow as they clashed again, sweat and embers mixing in the cold air.

Bols took a step back, catching his breath. "You fight for your own reasons, just as I do," he said through his mask. His voice, though firm, lacked the aggression of a man fighting an enemy—rather, it was the tone of a soldier acknowledging an equal. "I have a family waiting for me… I cannot die here."

Heavy grunted, nodding in understanding. "Da. You fight to protect, not destroy." He wiped the sweat from his brow, his massive chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. "Good man."

Bols hesitated for a moment before lowering his weapon. The fire still crackled from his fuel tank, but the intent to fight had dwindled. "I will retreat."

Heavy gave a slow nod, stepping aside. "Go. But we may fight again." His deep voice carried no malice—only respect.

Bols turned without another word, following Kurome's escape route, but he knew he couldn't just leave without ensuring their pursuers were stopped. His fingers tightened around the trigger mechanism of Rubicante's emergency function. With a deep breath, he activated the self-destruct sequence.

The air filled with a sharp, high-pitched whine as the weapon began to overheat, glowing a furious red. Bols hurled it behind him, the flames surging wildly as the pressure inside built to its peak. The resulting explosion rocked the battlefield, sending a roaring inferno through the trees, consuming the area in a burst of flames and shrapnel. Smoke and embers filled the sky, creating a choking smokescreen that engulfed Night Raid's line of sight.

Heavy instinctively raised an arm to shield himself from the blast's shockwave, feeling the intense heat wash over him. "Hah… strong man," he muttered, watching as Bols disappeared into the chaos of the burning forest.

The heat of battle faded with him, leaving only the lingering scent of burnt foliage and churned earth.

As the dust settled, the members of Night Raid regrouped, tending to their wounds and taking stock of the situation. The battle had delayed them, but their mission was still in motion. Sheele, separated from the main fight, had managed to slip away and continue her task. However, the delay meant there was less time to execute their strategy with precision. Every second counted, and now they had to act with greater urgency.

Not far from the battlefield, Heavy and Medic exchanged glances. Their mission had taken an unexpected turn. They had originally been following Sheele, but Kurome's presence had complicated things. Now, their objective had changed. The two of them stood in the quiet aftermath, the distant echoes of battle still ringing in their ears.

Medic adjusted his glasses, deep in thought. "Zhis battle has taught us much… Kurome is dangerous, but now she is vulnerable. Ve should pursue." His analytical mind was already working, assessing how best to exploit the situation.

Heavy nodded, his expression unreadable. "Da. She will lead us to the Jaegers." He rolled his shoulders, muscles still tight from the encounter.

Reaching into his coat, Medic pulled out a small communication device, quickly relaying a message to a waiting member of the Spy Squad. His voice was calm but decisive. "Change of plans. Scout, Demoman—you two vill take our place. Capture Bolic. His elimination vill cripple the Empire's hold."

The reply was swift, carrying an air of anticipation. "Understood. We're on it."

With their roles shifted, Heavy and Medic began their pursuit, vanishing into the darkness after Kurome. The night swallowed them whole, their presence fading into the shadows as they moved with purpose.

Meanwhile, unknown to both Night Raid and the REDs, their separate plans against Bolic were now converging, setting the stage for yet another clash that neither side had anticipated. Their fates were becoming intertwined, their battles shaping the course of the rebellion in ways none of them could yet foresee.