Dark Moon
The unit I belonged to had no official name.
The Battle Mage Project was a clandestine operation. Human rights in this world barely existed, yet civilization had advanced far enough that a bare minimum of protections — something above medieval standards — still applied. Even for a slave, using a human being as a subject for medical experimentation was illegal.
Not that anyone in this world actually bothers following the law.
The real reason they kept the project buried was political. Ambitious politicians would gladly sacrifice the military as a scapegoat if it meant racking up achievements and climbing higher.
The unit had no official designation, but it did have an unofficial one: the 667 Unit. What the number meant, I had no idea — only that the unit existed solely for the Battle Mage Project.
As a private second class of the 667 Unit — a slave and a test subject — I was studying a map.
Instructor Vinous had issued one to each squad. It showed a portion of the terrain surrounding the base. The facility itself was marked with nothing more than a crude circle and a few scribbled letters, as if they deliberately wanted us unable to grasp its full layout.
I combed through my memories and sketched a mental blueprint of the base. The shooting range lay to the south. The infirmary was on the west side. Project-related materials were also stored in the west, which made that perimeter the most heavily guarded. At the center of the base sat our barracks, the mana training grounds, and the mess hall. To the east were the training fields for hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship, and spear techniques — the same grounds where morning roll call and morning runs took place. The north was a blank in my memory, though I figured it housed the quarters for base personnel.
I committed the surrounding terrain to memory. Sooner or later, that information would prove useful.
This map only contains mission-relevant data. Which means the other squads got maps that look similar but hold different information. I'd love to get a look at those… but that would put me squarely in the instructors' sights.
CCTV cameras were mounted throughout the base, and sentries on patrol moved through the grounds at regular intervals. I couldn't afford to forget that eyes were everywhere. Every move had to be careful, calculated — nothing that invited suspicion.
"No. 211. When are we doing the ops briefing?"
No. 212 sidled up beside me, tilting her head to peer at the map in my hands.
This time the instructors weren't intervening. Planning the operation and preparing the gear — all of it fell to the squads themselves.
"We'll settle it in a meeting after lunch. If you've got any ideas for the op, speak up then."
The mission start time was after dinner, just as the sun began to set. No training today, and we still had a fair amount of time left.
"Got it. Oh, do you know what's for lunch today?"
"No idea. Feels about time for seafood to show up on the menu, though."
No. 212's face crumpled.
"Please, anything but the fried fish. That stuff is genuinely awful."
I couldn't argue with that. And then lunch turned out to be fried fish.
After lunch we gathered in the barracks and began the meeting. I pinned the map to the wall and spoke.
"Our mission is to seize this sector and hold it until dawn tomorrow. At first light the instructors will walk the grounds themselves, assess the situation, and hand out scores. I don't know the exact criteria. But if we fail… well, I don't need to spell it out, do I?"
A few of the kids shuddered, fear settling across their faces.
Mana Essence administration.
No one here wanted any part of that.
I glanced at No. 31. She was just as certain to receive Mana Essence injections as the rest of us, yet her expression didn't shift in the slightest.
And her opinion carried the most weight here. No matter how solid a plan I put together, the moment No. 31 said she didn't like it, the whole operation would collapse.
Fortunately, she watched the meeting in silence. She didn't seem inclined to troll us.
"No. 211. I heard your sniping was outstanding on the last mission. Are you taking the sniper role again?"
"No. Look at the terrain — the objective is near a mountain peak. There's no decent sniper nest nearby. We're moving as a single unit. No one splits off."
Mountains and snipers didn't mix. Dense tree cover ruined sight lines. High ground might have helped, but this mission required climbing the mountain itself.
And tonight is a Dark Moon. Moving alone would be even more dangerous.
The operational discussion ran for about an hour. Since everyone had received the same tactical training, our opinions were more or less aligned.
"What about the gear?"
No. 212 asked. Everyone offered their thoughts, and here the room split. One camp wanted to load up on as much equipment as possible, bombs included. The other wanted only the bare essentials.
I raised my hand for the latter.
"The core of this mission is mountain travel. Light gear is better. Bombs are powerful, but they're loud. We don't need to draw every monster in the area. Don't forget — tonight is a Dark Moon."
Pushback came immediately, of course.
"I'm not saying we stuff our packs full of bombs. Just take what we need. In a worst-case scenario, bombs might be the only thing that keeps us alive — wipe the monsters out before they wipe us."
No. 88.
One of only four men in First Squad, myself included, and a bomb enthusiast through and through. Normally quiet, he locked his eyes with hard intensity and showed no sign of backing down. Apparently he'd survived the last mission by blasting enemies apart with explosives.
This is going to be a headache.
I searched for the right words to persuade him. Looking at those stubborn eyes, I figured it would take at least thirty minutes. Being a squad leader with zero actual authority was miserable. If I'd held a higher rank it might have been different — but everyone here was a private second class.
"I agree with No. 211. We go with his plan."
No. 31, who had been watching in silence, spoke up.
"R-right."
No. 88's eyes lost their force. He shot a sidelong glance at No. 31, then lowered his gaze. My feelings were complicated. I was grateful she'd backed me — but I was no different from No. 88. If she decided to start trolling, I had no confidence I could stop her.
The meeting ended and everyone took personal time.
I wrote out a list of required equipment and went to see Instructor Vinous. He skimmed the list and nodded.
"Efficiently put together. However — grenades and other explosives are off-limits. Flashbangs too."
I'd requested grenades as an emergency measure and been denied. Vinous explained that loud attacks were a bad idea on a Dark Moon. I doubted that was the real reason, but I nodded along.
"…Understood. I'll be going, then."
"Wait. I have something to say to you."
Vinous pulled out a cola and handed it to me. It was lukewarm.
"…May I use ice magic on it?"
"Go ahead. I hope your skill has improved since last time."
"I've been practicing."
I cracked open the can and cast ice magic. Last time I'd frozen half of it; this time I froze about twenty percent. I gulped the cola down. The sharp carbonation hit the back of my throat. Right then, I could have drunk cola every single day.
Reduced to a life where I can't even drink a damn cola the way I want… That sours the mood real fast.
I set the can down. Vinous had been watching me the whole time, his mouth twisted in a faint smirk.
"I've been assigned to your First Squad."
"…I see. So the instructors will be accompanying us."
That was only natural. Who would turn a pack of slaves loose without supervision? Attaching handlers to slaves was a given — handlers who wouldn't lift a finger even if those slaves died.
"I'll be blunt. If things go south, protect No. 31 with your life. I'm not asking for much. Hold out until I arrive. Thirty seconds. You have the 4-Class barrier artifact Sergeant Lexy gave you, so it shouldn't be difficult."
Blatant favoritism toward No. 31. By now it barely registered.
"As ordered, I'll protect No. 31 no matter what. Even if it costs me my life."
"That's the answer I wanted to hear. No. 211 — I consider you capable."
Vinous handed me two six-packs of cola. Twelve cans. Meant to be shared with the squad.
"A reward for efficient planning and equipment requests. Split them with your squadmates."
"…Thank you."
Whether this actually counted as a reward was debatable, but free was free. I took them.
Is he giving cola to No. 31?
My guess was right on the money.
The moment No. 31 claimed a cola, she chilled it with ice magic and drank it down. Apparently she liked the stuff.
After dinner we filed out of the base.
One hundred fifty-six people in total — every private second class in the 667 Unit. When I'd first arrived, the number had been close to three hundred. It had been cut nearly in half. Some died unable to endure Mana Essence administration. Some died on missions. Some died for insubordination.
Probably another thirty or more will die on this mission alone.
I had zero intention of being one of them.
In that sense, being in First Squad is a blessing. We've got No. 31 — the strongest among us. Just having her raises our survival rate above every other squad.
We waited, staring up at the sky. The clear blue darkened by degrees, and a round white moon rose.
By the lunar cycle, tonight should have been a half-moon. But tonight was a Dark Moon. Regardless of the cycle, a full moon climbed into the sky.
The moon settled at the center of the night. Its pure white surface turned black. Even against the dark sky, the Dark Moon stood out with uncanny clarity.
"The Dark Moon has risen."
Instructor Vinous said it with a crooked grin.
I swallowed hard.
The mana in the air — calm only moments before — began thrashing wildly. My Astral opened. My mana roads were stimulated. A strange, hungry yearning stirred somewhere deep inside me.
So this is a Dark Moon…
I looked around. I wasn't the only one affected. No. 31's reaction was especially intense. A faint smile touched the lips of a girl who was always expressionless, and a flush of color rose in her cheeks.
Was it the Dark Moon's influence? Curiosity about No. 31 flickered through me. I dropped my gaze to the ground and crushed it.
Getting deeply involved with her would do me no good. That conviction hadn't changed.
"Begin the mission. Good luck."
Vinous said.
Everyone poured out like an ebbing tide.
I led First Squad to the foot of the mountain and called a halt so we could gear up. The most critical equipment for this operation was night-vision goggles and suppressors. Move silently, locate the goblin settlement first, and eliminate it quietly — that was the heart of the plan.
We donned the night-vision gear and began the ascent, stepping carefully across ground thick with fallen leaves.
I didn't rely on sight alone. I sharpened my hearing and my sense of touch, every nerve wound tight. Sensing the surrounding mana would have been ideal, but the Dark Moon had whipped the atmospheric mana into such a frenzy that I had no choice but to fall back on physical senses.
Walking at the front, I raised my hand. The squad stopped.