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Night slowly faded into dawn. The Marines had patrolled tirelessly, but their search yielded nothing— not even a trace of the one who had ambushed them.
It was as if the attacker had emerged from thin air and vanished just as suddenly.
Inside the garrison base, within the Lieutenant Commander's office.
Seated behind his desk, the Lieutenant Commander regarded the three young officers standing before him, his expression solemn.
"From here on, it's up to you. The Marines cannot afford any more losses."
"Understood, sir!" The three officers straightened, raising their hands in salute as they answered in unison.
These young men, all newly minted cadets from Marine Headquarters, were on the cusp of graduation. They had been brought here for field training, but their insignias already bore the rank of Commodore.
To put it bluntly, these 17- or 18-year-olds were the elite offspring of high-ranking Marine officials— true Second-Generation Marines. Their parents, stationed at Marine HQ, had ensured they received the finest training since birth. Their combat abilities were exceptional; the only thing they lacked was real-world experience.
That said, inexperience didn't equate to naivety. On the contrary, compared to ordinary Marine officers, these cadets were sharper, more calculating.
Since arriving on Baterilla Island, they had mostly observed from the sidelines, acclimating to the outside world and absorbing the realities beyond their privileged upbringing. Their assignments so far had been more about practical application than actual combat.
But now, their superiors had decided it was time to put them to the test.
"Dismissed. Handle this matter properly!" The Lieutenant Commander waved them off.
Nearly forty young Commodores saluted once more before filing out.
Not long after, they dispersed according to their assigned deployments. Each junior officer led a squad of ten to fifteen Marines, combing through Baterilla Island in meticulous patrols.
By daylight, the tension in the air was palpable. The island, usually bustling with life, felt subdued under the weight of the Marine presence.
As night fell, the vigilance of the Marines only intensified.
From 7 PM to 8 PM, an eerie calm settled over Baterilla. The Commodores, their expressions hardened, patrolled the streets with their squads, maintaining unwavering focus.
Despite their youth, each of these Second-Generation Marines was powerful in their own right. Had they been pirates, their individual bounties would have easily reached 50 million berries. For the Marines to deploy such a force, their concern over the mysterious ambusher was evident.
Another hour passed. Still, nothing.
Since the sudden attack the previous night, it seemed as though the assailant had chosen to disappear rather than risk another encounter.
"Stay alert. That individual is extremely dangerous."
The Lieutenant Commander's orders echoed through the ranks. The young Commodores remained steadfast, their grip on their weapons tightening.
At around 10 PM, a squad of Marines passed through a dimly lit alley in the northern district of Baterilla.
Tap!
A faint sound broke the silence.
The Marine Commodore leading the squad tensed, his expression shifting instantly.
"Who's there?!"
His subordinates reacted immediately with rifles raised, aiming toward the source of the sound.
But the Commodore didn't rush forward recklessly. Instead, his hand discreetly slipped into his pocket, ready to signal for reinforcements at a moment's notice.
Marine training prioritized teamwork over reckless heroics— especially against an unknown enemy.
At that moment, a shadow appeared at the entrance of the alley.
The figure was clad entirely in black, a strange mask obscuring their face. Under the dim alley light, their presence exuded an eerie, suffocating pressure—cold, mysterious, and unfathomable.
"Who are you?"
The Commodore barked, his voice tense. The Marines behind him tightened their grips on their pistols, fingers poised on the triggers.
"Who am I?"
The voice behind the mask was younger than expected, catching the Commodore off guard for a brief moment.
"Aren't you looking for me?"
With just that one sentence, his expression shifted. His instincts screamed danger. Without hesitation, he waved his hand.
"Fire!"
The Marines reacted instantly, pulling their triggers in unison.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire tore through the silence of the night. The deafening noise carried across the district, causing nearby Marine patrol squads to stiffen.
"Shots fired! Something's happening!"
"Move! Get to the next district, now!"
"Finally, we've got a lead!"
At the alley entrance, the Commodore's pupils shrank. He had ordered the attack without hesitation, and his men had responded with flawless discipline.
But the masked figure was gone.
"Too slow."
The voice— calm, emotionless— echoed from behind him.
A chill crawled up the Commodore's spine. He turned, his breath catching in his throat.
Crack!
In a single instant, the rifles in his subordinates' hands were sliced cleanly in two. A thin, bright-red line traced across their necks.
A heartbeat later, they collapsed.
"You—!"
His pulse pounded in his ears. His instincts screamed at him, something primal, something foreign— fear.
"If this is the best the Marines have to offer… then you're already doomed."
The cold words sent a spark of fury through the Commodore's mind, burning away his hesitation.
"Damn it!"
He roared, his muscles coiling.
'Soru!'
In the blink of an eye, his figure vanished.
But at the same time, the masked figure's hand had already found the hilt of his weapon.
Two shadows streaked through the alley like ghosts, their clash unfolding in a split second.
Swish!
'Rankyaku!'
A slicing gust of compressed air shot forward as they passed each other, neither moving for a moment.
The Commodore's body locked up. His gaze dropped to his chest.
A small red dot that began to spread rapidly.
Blood.
He staggered. His knees buckled.
He… had been struck.
His mind reeled. He had never— never— seen a blade move that fast.
With a single stroke, the masked figure had felled an entire Marine squad. Without sparing another glance, he turned and strode away, disappearing into the labyrinth of alleyways as though he had always belonged to the darkness.
Ten breaths later, the remaining Marine squads arrived.
They froze at the scene before them.
The silence stretched, their pupils constricting in shock.
"From the moment the shots were fired… we got here in under a minute."
"But Rens… he's already down!"
The fallen Commodore wasn't dead. Unlike the others, at the very last moment, his instincts had nudged him— just enough. Just barely enough. That fraction of a second had spared his life.
But as his fellow officers exchanged glances, a heavy, invisible weight settled over them.
"Who the hell is that guy…?"
A cold, creeping fear seeped into the Marines' hearts.
(End of Chapter)