As soon as the members of Unit 0 entered the battle areas outside of the castle, they noticed that the sky dimmed. The contrast of colors dulled. Everything seemed empty—lifeless.
The grass wasn't the vibrant green they had already gotten used to in the castle. Instead, it was a dark, almost ashen shade, as if the entire world had been cast into deep shadow.
They all felt something shift in the air. It wasn't something tangible—it didn't hurt, nor did it restrict them—but it was unmistakably there. A sort of pressure, a presence. The world seemed to respond to them, as if acknowledging their arrival.
Riven had never noticed this feeling before, but after spending a single day in the castle, the difference was like night and day. He wondered how he had never sensed it until now.
As they got closer to their destination, they saw more and more fantastical phenomena to the north. Sometimes, a few trees would simply vanish. A mountain would shift in shape. The horizon itself would change colors.
As Riven stared toward the battlefields, he saw something truly incredible.
He could almost make out the silhouettes of a group of soldiers and knights in the distance, when suddenly, the ground beneath them began to shine with a pale blue light.
Then—it shattered.
The land turned into glass, reflecting light in a dazzling, ethereal way... and then it disappeared, along with the soldiers. As if they were never there.
The terrain looked unchanged—at least from this distance. But the soldiers were gone. A couple of tall trees and massive rocks vanished with them. The hole in their formation was quickly filled by new soldiers, who continued marching forward as if it were just another day.
Riven was too far to see the exact damage. In truth, he barely saw the scene at all, like watching a grain of sand drop from a cliff.
"That's what we fight against... the monsters aren't the only danger," Sir Gareth said to Riven, his tone calm but laced with melancholy.
"The first Unit 0 I ever led was erased by that glass—by that otherworldly catastrophe. We call it Verdglas... it means Glass of Doom."
Riven didn't answer. He simply stared at the tiny figures in the distance, marching toward a fate unknown.
"What happens to people who get caught in this Verdglas?" Riven asked absentmindedly.
"I... don't know," Gareth replied. "I like to think they're still alive—fighting to help us win this war. But honestly... I couldn't say."
Silence settled between them.
After descending from the hill, they arrived at a small town.
"This is where we rest for tonight," Gareth announced. "We'll wait for Unit 48 to make their way back here, then depart together toward our objective. I'll remind you again: our mission is to secure and protect a valued blacksmith. Do not engage in combat unless necessary. That's the job of the other guys. After we secure the target, we retreat immediately. Any questions?"
Riven raised his hand. "I'm sorry, but... are we not going to save the other villagers? It's just... my parents live in one of the villages. And the blacksmith—he's our friend."
Sir Gareth looked at him with pity. "Depending on the situation, we'll try to save the others. But we have a mission that needs to be fulfilled."
Riven froze, then nodded slowly. "Alright... I understand."
Even though he said the words, he didn't agree. He wanted to save them. The innocent. The ones who couldn't protect themselves. Especially his family.
Nicolaus walked up and patted him on the shoulder. "We'll do everything we can to save them. Don't worry. Isn't that right, guys?"
He raised his voice, looking to the others. They all voiced their support, giving Riven a flicker of hope.
The night passed peacefully. Nothing happened—but Riven couldn't sleep.
He kept thinking about how to save his parents. He had to complete the mission... and somehow evacuate the villagers while fighting monsters. It felt impossible. Too much for someone like him.
He wasn't weak, but he wasn't strong enough for this. Even with the others, it wouldn't be easy.
He rose from his bed, dressed, and grabbed his sword. For a moment, he stared at it in silence before walking out of the inn and toward the forest nearby.
At the forest's edge, in a clearing without trees, moonlight poured down and lit the earth around him. He stood alone—moving through a quiet, elegant dance with his blade.
From afar, he might have looked like a magical being of the forest, performing some sacred ritual.
Every movement was sharp yet flowing. Each stroke carved the air like a whisper of wind. Sometimes he faltered—but each time, he returned to the beginning and started again.
He was disappointed in himself. He knew it wasn't enough.
He had to at least finish the Second Dance if he hoped to stand a chance against the monsters.
His battle style was divided into four dances, each representing a level of mastery.
The First Dance taught control and balance.
The Second focused on precision and speed.
The Third conserved stamina.
The Fourth fused all three into a storm of offense and defense.
To master the Fourth Dance was to become nearly untouchable.
But Riven hadn't even completed the Second.
He had just received his new sword. The ultimate goal was to master the style with any weapon—but up until now, he'd only ever trained with different swords. None of them stayed with him long enough to unlock his full potential.
Sweat dripped from his face as the sky brightened. Dawn had come.
After washing and preparing for the day, Riven stepped outside to join the others.
That's when he saw them.
Unit 48 had arrived—not long ago—and were already deep in discussion with Sir Gareth.
One of them was staring at him.
The soldier's gaze was unblinking, razor-sharp. Focused. Almost murderous.
Riven averted his eyes. Remembering the advice he'd been given, he turned and walked toward his unit.
He glanced back again. The soldier was still staring.
"Why's that guy staring at me? It's like he wants to kill me."
Nicolaus leaned in, lowering his voice with a grin. "Maybe he likes you," he teased.
Riven snorted. "That's even worse."
Nicolaus chuckled, but his expression shifted. He followed Riven's gaze back toward Unit 48."They're... intense. They don't blink much either. I swear one of them was staring at a horse for ten minutes straight just now."
Before Riven could respond, a sharp voice sliced through the quiet air.
"All units, gather at the well. Briefing begins now!"
Sir Gareth's tone carried weight—but beside him stood a leaner figure.
Sir Ewain.
He was clad in full armor, not a single hair out of place, his eyes cold and impassive as steel.
The trainees quickly assembled. Unit 0 stood across from Unit 48.
The difference between them was stark. Unit 48 stood like statues. Their weapons were perfectly strapped. Their faces unreadable.
A few glanced at Riven's group—but most didn't acknowledge them at all.
Sir Gareth stepped forward.
"As you know, our mission is to extract a blacksmith from one of the western villages. Unit 48 will lead the operation and engage any hostiles."
Sir Ewain stepped forward, his voice flat and unwavering.
"You are not to interfere unless directly ordered. We will secure the perimeter. You will secure the target."
Gareth nodded. "The goal is speed and silence. We leave in one hour. Gear up, check your mounts, and be ready to move."
Ewain's eyes passed slowly over the group, pausing briefly on Riven.
The look was unreadable. A second later, he turned and walked away without a word.
Riven swallowed and turned to Nicolaus."Great. Can't wait to spend a whole day with that guy."