Sheele struggled in vain against the thick ropes binding her arms behind her back, her ankles similarly restrained. A cloth gag muffled any protest she might have made, though her captors hardly seemed concerned. Dragged unceremoniously into the REDs' headquarters, she could only glower in silent frustration. Her mind raced—she had tried to escape, of course, only to trip over her own feet and knock over a stack of supplies, making enough noise to alert everyone within earshot. It was humiliating, to say the least.

Spy, standing with his arms crossed, regarded her with a smirk that barely masked his disappointment. "You are lucky we are not the Empire, ma chère. Otherwise, such foolishness would have cost you your life already."

Sheele averted her gaze, feeling the sting of his words. She could hear the faint amusement in his voice, but she knew it was layered with something colder—a warning.

Heavy, towering behind her, let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. "Tiny lady is persistent, but tiny lady is also weak."

Without further ado, she was hoisted into the air and carried deeper into the mansion-turned-headquarters. Sheele squirmed, but it was no use; Heavy's grip was like iron. Before long, she was set down in a dimly lit laboratory, a place filled with an odd mix of advanced technology and archaic instruments. Flickering lights cast eerie shadows along the walls, where charts, anatomical drawings, and disturbing medical diagrams were pinned in chaotic fashion. The room smelled of antiseptic, metal, and something vaguely burnt.

At the center of it all stood Medic, his back turned to them as he examined something under a magnified lamp. The object of his obsession rested on the steel table before him—her Teigu, Extase.

Medic barely spared a glance at her as she was placed in a chair. His gloved fingers traced the weapon's edge with unrestrained fascination, occasionally pausing to tap the metal, listening to the faint ring it produced. "Ah, such a marvel! A blade zat cuts so cleanly, it is as if ze very laws of physics bend to its will! Fascinating, ja?" His voice was almost gleeful as he inspected the scissor-like weapon from different angles, tilting his head like a curious bird.

Only then did he look at her properly. His sharp, intelligent eyes peered into hers, the manic curiosity within them making her uneasy. There was something unsettling about the way he studied people—as though she were just another specimen on his examination table.

"Tell me, fraulein," he said, tapping Extase against the table. "Vat is zhis fascinating toy of yours?"

Sheele remained still, hesitant to speak. This weapon was part of her soul, a piece of her very identity. Giving away its secrets felt like betrayal. And yet, bound and powerless, what choice did she have?

Spy, who had taken up a relaxed stance against the wall, exhaled softly. "Now, now. It would be in your best interest to cooperate, non?"

Sheele sighed through her gag. A moment later, Spy stepped forward and removed it. She took a deep breath, collecting herself. "Extase… It's a Teigu," she admitted. "One of the Empire's strongest weapons. It can cut through anything, no matter how strong, as long as I will it."

Medic's grin widened. "Ja, ja! So it is true! Not just ze blade, but ze wielder's willpower determines its effectiveness! Incredible!"

He spun around and grabbed a notepad, jotting down quick, messy notes. Spy, on the other hand, remained eerily quiet, observing Sheele with a calculating gaze.

"And tell me, fraulein," Medic continued, pacing around the lab, "vould zis veapon accept another owner? Or is it tied only to you?"

Sheele hesitated again before shaking her head. "Only those it deems worthy can wield it. If someone else tried… it wouldn't work for them."

Spy raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. And these Teigu—just how many of them exist?"

Sheele exhaled, trying to steady herself. "There are forty-eight in total, created hundreds of years ago from the strongest materials and the most dangerous creatures imaginable. Each one is unique, possessing special abilities far beyond normal weapons. The Empire and the Revolutionary Army fight over them because… whoever controls the Teigu holds an incredible advantage in battle."

Medic hummed in delight, nodding along to her explanation. "Ah, wunderbare craftsmanship! Ze fusion of alchemy, engineering, and sheer brutality! Truly, zhis world is full of surprises!"

Spy smirked. "And yet, they can still be lost, stolen… or repurposed. A valuable resource indeed."

Medic sighed, placing Extase down with exaggerated disappointment. "Vell, zhat makes experimentation difficult. But no matter! Ve shall find another vay."

Sheele frowned, her unease growing. "What… are you planning to do with me?"

Medic gave her a sideways glance and chuckled. "Ah, fraulein, zat depends entirely on you. But do not vorry—you are not in ze hands of ze Empire. Ve are much more practical. And, of course, I take excellent care of my patients."

Spy flicked a cigarette lighter open and shut absentmindedly. "Stay useful, and you'll find we are not unreasonable people."

Sheele sat stiffly in the chair, her wrists still bound, though the ropes weren't as tight as before. After her encounter with Medic and Spy, she had expected to be thrown back into confinement—perhaps even interrogated further. But instead, Engineer strode into the room with his usual easygoing demeanor, hands resting on his tool belt.

"Now, I ain't one for keepin' a lady tied up like some kinda animal," he drawled, glancing at Spy. "How 'bout we give her a tour instead?"

Spy regarded Sheele with that same unreadable expression before exhaling through his nose. "Fine," he said, gesturing to the nearby guards. "But she stays under close watch. No weapons, no sudden moves."

A short while later, Sheele found herself walking through the vast corridors of what was once Aria's mansion. The opulence was still there—grand chandeliers, fine marble floors—but it had been reshaped into something entirely different. Soldiers in mismatched uniforms moved briskly, some carrying crates of supplies, others training in makeshift arenas. The air buzzed with purpose. The walls bore maps marked with strategic points, lists of supplies, and handwritten notes on ongoing missions. It was less a home now and more of a command center, a place where war was planned and executed.

Engineer led her through the different sections, explaining as they went. First, the training grounds. Sheele watched as a group of young recruits—some former Imperial soldiers, others rebels and mercenaries—engaged in hand-to-hand combat drills.

"Not all of 'em got proper trainin' before, but we're fixin' that," Engineer said, his voice carrying both pride and pragmatism. "Ex-Imperials? They know how to fight, no doubt about it. Years of military drillin' got that burned into their heads. Problem is, they ain't used to thinkin' for themselves. They follow orders to a fault, even when it gets 'em killed. They got skill, but no adaptability. Rebels, on the other hand, got plenty of fire in their bellies. They fight for somethin' real, somethin' personal—but that passion? It don't mean much if you're sloppy. They lack coordination, they break formation, an' more often than not, they rush in without a plan. That's where we step in. We train 'em both—give the Imperials some freedom to think for themselves, and teach the rebels how to hold a damn line. We make soldiers outta both, and that's why we're gonna win."

Sheele's eyes drifted to a pair of fighters sparring fiercely, their movements efficient and lethal. There was no blind aggression—just precise, practiced strikes. She realized, with a mix of admiration and unease, that these weren't just mercenaries playing soldier. This was an army in the making. Some of them were barely older than Tatsumi, yet they moved with the confidence of seasoned warriors. In the corner, a veteran soldier barked orders, correcting postures and criticizing hesitations.

Next was the R&D lab, where Medic and Engineer worked together to refine weapons and technology. Rows of blueprints were pinned to the walls, some bearing modifications of their own weapons, others looking like entirely new designs. At one table, an engineer tinkered with what looked like an oversized shotgun with an odd cylindrical attachment. Another workstation held a set of odd-looking grenades, their casings marked with warning symbols.

"New tech?" Sheele asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Sure is," Engineer replied, a note of pride in his voice. "Ain't just us who brought our toys—turns out, with the right tweaks, we can make some real mean gadgets. Medic's been figurin' out how them Teigu work, too. Teigu ain't just ordinary weapons, they got all kinds of special properties that go beyond what normal steel can do. Some got regeneration abilities, some grant superhuman strength, and others, like yours, got instant-kill mechanics built into 'em. Medic's been studyin' how they interact with their users—how they bond, how they choose their wielders. He reckons they work off a mix of biological compatibility and mental synchrony. He's tryin' to crack what makes 'em tick, so maybe, just maybe, we can start replicatin' some of that magic ourselves."

Sheele glanced warily at a separate workstation, where Medic stood over a disassembled Imperial weapon, muttering to himself. The sight sent a chill down her spine. He occasionally scribbled notes, adjusting his glasses as he examined the mechanics of the deadly artifact. It wasn't just reverse engineering—he was improving it.

They continued onward, passing by a section of the mansion-turned-fortress that sent a different kind of shiver through her. The POW camps. The air grew colder as she observed rows of holding cells, where captured Imperial officers and spies sat in silence. Some glared defiantly at their captors, while others sat with grim acceptance. Some prisoners were being interrogated by men and women who asked precise, calculated questions. Spy's people, no doubt.

"We don't kill 'em unless we have to," Engineer said, catching her expression. "Some of 'em turn, some of 'em don't. Spy's got ways of findin' out who's worth keepin'. It ain't just about whether they talk—it's about whether they can be useful. Some of 'em got skills, tactics, or information that could turn the tide in our favor. Others, well, they're too set in their ways to ever see reason. Those ones… they don't last long." He sighed, adjusting his goggles. "We don't do senseless slaughter, but we ain't a charity either. If someone's got value, we give 'em a choice. If they refuse, then they better hope they were worth more alive than dead."

Sheele swallowed hard. She had fought Imperial forces before, taken lives in battle. But seeing them contained like this—seeing the sheer scale of the operation—made her realize just how far the REDs had expanded. Some of the prisoners, she noticed, had already been marked for potential recruitment. There was no blind slaughter here. Everything was calculated, deliberate.

They passed through another hallway, one that bore the scars of reconstruction. Crates of supplies lined the walls, containing everything from weapons to medical aid. Sheele saw field medics being trained, their techniques a mix of standard first aid and Medic's more… unconventional methods. A few of them practiced on dummies, while others worked on volunteers willing to endure a bit of pain in exchange for better survival chances in the field.

She finally asked the question that had been forming in her mind since they started the tour. "How did you build all this so fast?"

Engineer chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Would ya believe it was Soldier's idea?"

She blinked. "Soldier?"

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head with a small grin. "The big guy's got a lotta strange ideas, but he sure as hell knows how to rally people. He called it a 'glorious conquest'—started pullin' in displaced warriors, mercenaries, rebels. Gave 'em a cause, a direction. I built the infrastructure, Spy handled the strategy, and Soldier… well, he gave 'em somethin' to believe in."

Engineer let out a small chuckle, glancing off as if remembering something. "See, Soldier ain't exactly… normal. He's loud, he's reckless, and half the time, he ain't got a lick of sense. But when it comes to war? He's got a mind like no other. Way back when, he used to tell us all these wild stories—said he trained himself by fightin' raccoons with a shovel, that he stormed the beaches of Teufort single-handedly, that he fought in wars that might not have even happened. We never really figured out how much of it was true, but hell, the man's got a way of makin' people believe in him."

He shook his head, smirking. "But what really got things rollin' was that raid on the village. There were folks out there, abandoned, left to fend for themselves after their homes got caught in the middle of all this. No army, no protection—just livin' in fear of whatever warlord came through next. Soldier? He saw that and decided they needed a leader. He walked right into the village, got up on a pile of rubble, and started givin' this whole damn speech about honor, valor, and how cowards die in disgrace. At first, people thought he was insane, but then? Then they started listenin'. He promised them safety, purpose. And more than that—he promised 'em victory."

Engineer shook his head, as if still trying to wrap his mind around it. "An' you know what? They followed him. Men, women, former soldiers, even bandits lookin' for somethin' better. They picked up weapons and fought beside us, and before we knew it, we weren't just a band of mercs anymore. We were an army."

Sheele was silent for a long moment, taking it all in. This wasn't just a mercenary group. It was something bigger. A rogue army, one with discipline, intelligence, and resources. They weren't just surviving—they were building something. And with how organized it all was, it was clear they weren't stopping anytime soon.

Her mind reeled as she processed Soldier's story, the sheer absurdity of it, yet the undeniable impact he had. He was a man who lived in his own world, yet somehow, through sheer force of will, he had bent reality to match his vision. She had met fighters before—passionate revolutionaries, hardened warriors—but never anyone quite like him. Most leaders strategized, planned their battles with calculated precision. Soldier, on the other hand, threw himself headfirst into war with an almost childlike enthusiasm, and people followed him because he made them believe in something greater than themselves.

She tried to picture it—a man in a helmet, standing atop rubble, shouting about honor and glory to a crowd of scared, starving people. And somehow, instead of dismissing him as a lunatic, they had listened. They had picked up weapons. They had marched into battle under his command, and they had won. Sheele wasn't sure whether to be horrified or impressed. Maybe both.

Even more unsettling was the realization that, despite everything, she understood why they followed him. Soldier may have been unhinged, but his vision, his sheer conviction, had turned a ragtag group of survivors into something formidable. The REDs weren't just mercenaries—they were a movement, and they had no intention of stopping.

For the first time since her capture, she didn't think about escaping. Instead, she found herself wondering just what the REDs were really after.

Spy's words echoed in her mind: "Little by little, we pull her in." The notion unsettled her, yet she couldn't deny its truth. With every revelation, every carefully laid-out piece of their grand design, she was being drawn deeper into their world. The REDs weren't just fighters; they were builders, visionaries, architects of something far greater than she had imagined. She had fought for a cause before, but this—this was different. It wasn't just about tearing down tyranny; it was about replacing it with something stronger, something enduring. And the worst part? A small, treacherous part of her wanted to see where it all led.

And Sheele wasn't sure if she wanted to resist.


Sheele stood at the balcony overlooking the REDs' growing base, her arms resting against the cold metal railing. The sight below was a bustling hub of activity—soldiers engaged in rigorous sparring sessions, some with weapons, others relying solely on their fists, their grunts and shouts echoing through the compound. Engineers worked tirelessly at their makeshift forges, hammering away at metal plates and assembling intricate machinery. Nearby, a group of medics attended to recruits willing to endure experimental procedures, the sight of their stiffened jaws betraying the pain they endured in the name of innovation. The entire operation ran with remarkable efficiency, an ecosystem of constant motion, where every individual had a role to play. It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

When she was first captured, Sheele had believed the REDs were nothing more than a collection of wandering mercenaries—dangerous, but ultimately lacking direction. Yet now, after witnessing their level of organization and sheer determination, she realized just how wrong she had been. These were not mere sell-swords scavenging for their next contract. They were building something. Growing, adapting, evolving. She watched as ranks of recruits marched in unison, their movements precise and disciplined. They weren't just training for survival; they were training for war.

Her gaze shifted beyond the immediate courtyard, where in the open fields, additional squads were undergoing intense drills. She noticed several of them bore the insignia of the Empire, former Imperial soldiers who had abandoned their posts. Among them were rebels, outcasts, people from all walks of life who had, for one reason or another, chosen to align themselves with the REDs. Engineer had mentioned that it was Soldier's idea to unite them under a single banner. The more she thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Soldier was brash, erratic, prone to bouts of loud, borderline nonsensical ramblings. And yet, he had somehow managed to rally all of these people together. That alone spoke volumes about the sheer force of his presence.

"Deep in thought, chérie?"

Sheele turned slightly, catching sight of Spy as he approached, his usual composed demeanor unwavering. His sharp, discerning gaze remained fixed on her, ever-watchful, ever-calculating. He leaned against the railing beside her, his presence both casual and intimidating. She couldn't shake the feeling that he had expected this—her hesitation, her intrigue. As if he had seen it all before.

"They're… more organized than I thought," she admitted after a pause, her eyes flickering back down to the sea of recruits below. "I thought you were just mercenaries, but this… this is an army."

Spy let out a quiet chuckle, the corners of his lips curling into a knowing smirk. "We are survivors, mon amie. We adapt. We do what we must. And we do not waste potential."

Sheele let his words settle, their weight pressing against her thoughts. She had been so sure of her stance before—so convinced that the REDs were just another ruthless faction trying to carve their own path through the blood-soaked battlefield of the Empire. But was that truly all they were? Were they just another cog in the never-ending cycle of war and violence? Or was there something more to them? Something different?

Could they actually stand a chance at changing anything?

The thought nagged at her, a seed of doubt taking root. She could still try to leave, of course. She could plot another escape, find a way back to Night Raid. But a part of her hesitated. Because if she left now, she would never know the full truth of what they were trying to accomplish.

For now, she decided, she would stay. Just a little longer.

Before she could reflect further, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the hallway. A scout burst into the room, his uniform still dusted with the dirt of the outside world. He gave Spy a sharp salute before delivering his report, his voice urgent.

"Sir, urgent news. The Three Beasts have been spotted."

Spy turned away from Sheele, his expression unreadable as he processed the information. He adjusted his gloves before speaking. "Go on. And tell me—who are ze Three Beasts?"

The scout took a breath before continuing, his voice firm and precise. "The Empire has deployed them aboard a warship stationed along the river. Liver, a former general with immense combat experience and water-based abilities, is a master strategist and one of Esdeath's most trusted subordinates. His control over water allows him to manipulate the battlefield to his advantage, making him a formidable opponent in open combat. Beyond his strength, his unwavering loyalty to Esdeath makes him a dangerous adversary—he will not hesitate to execute any mission she orders."

He continued, his expression hardening. "Nyau, a sadistic child soldier with a twisted mind, carries a flute that grants him enhanced physical abilities. While he appears harmless due to his youthful appearance, he is exceptionally fast, agile, and ruthless in battle, often taking pleasure in tormenting his victims before finishing them off. He toys with his enemies, breaking them mentally before he breaks them physically. His love for cruelty makes him unpredictable and, in many ways, one of the most dangerous of the three."

The scout took another breath, glancing at the others before finishing. "Daidara, a hulking brute of a man, is known for his overwhelming physical strength and his oversized cleaver, which he wields with shocking speed for someone his size. He is obsessed with proving his strength, constantly seeking out worthy opponents in battle. His reckless nature makes him an aggressive combatant, one who throws himself into the fray with little concern for strategy. However, his raw power more than makes up for his lack of refinement."

Spy rubbed his chin, processing the information. "Interesting," he muttered, flicking the ashes off his cigarette. "Zhis means zhey are moving pieces into place. Night Raid vill not ignore zhis. Zhey'll act."

Sheele tensed at the mention of Night Raid. Even in her uncertain position, the thought of her comrades walking into a battle against Esdeath's personal subordinates filled her with worry. She clenched her fists, torn between the loyalty she still felt toward her friends and the strange, unshakable reality she now found herself in.

Spy, however, only hummed thoughtfully, pressing his fingers together as he considered the implications. His sharp mind was already working through the possibilities.

"This presents an… interesting opportunity," Spy mused. "Zhey are positioning their strongest pieces, but ve have a choice to make. Do ve tip ze scales… or do ve let them bleed each other dry first?"

Heavy, who had been leaning silently against the wall, finally spoke, his deep voice rumbling through the room. "We go?" he asked, his tone carrying more statement than question.

Spy smirked, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ve prepare for movement."

Sheele watched as the room immediately shifted into action. Orders were given, weapons checked, and strategies formed in a matter of moments. The REDs wasted no time. There was no hesitation, no doubt. The efficiency with which they mobilized was unlike anything she had seen before. It was a stark contrast to Night Raid's more guerrilla-style tactics—this was organized warfare.

She exhaled slowly, knowing that whatever happened next, she would be in the middle of it. And despite the uncertainty still lingering in her heart, a part of her wanted to see how this played out.