The Traitors' Nightmare
Of everyone in the resistance, only two remained alive once the traitors were set aside: Heliane and Jurog.
"Guh… khuh…… You… you traitorous… bastard……"
To be precise, Jurog was already dying—his body riddled with holes, blood pouring from every wound.
"Gronel! Why!? Why did you betray us!?"
She had broken free of the electric shock, but her nano suit was wrecked and she was still pinned. Heliane still could not believe what was happening.
Hadn't he volunteered to play bait just last time, just to save her life?
"I'm tired."
"What?"
"I said I'm tired."
Gronel answered Heliane's cry.
"Do you have any idea how many times we've brushed death doing resistance work out here?"
"We knew that from the start!"
"We did, at first. But look at us now. Our numbers have dwindled, hope is a joke, and all we do is scrape by day after day just to stay alive."
Gronel had always worn that easy, good-natured smile—the resistance's mood-maker. Now his face was lined with exhaustion, and the eyes he fixed on Heliane still burned with a desperate hunger for some kind of future.
"And once the allied forces forgot about us, whatever hope we had left vanished completely."
His voice rose, growing more heated.
"I'm done! Who's going to remember us if we die out here? Who's going to care about everything we've suffered!?"
"Shut up! Don't you dare use that garbage to justify betrayal!"
"Heh heh. Garbage? You know why the comrades standing here turned? Money? Rank? Glory? No. They're all just sick of a hopeless fight!"
The moment his excuses ended, the traitors shouted in agreement.
"He's right! I'm sick of this damn war!"
"Even in my sleep, the slightest sound makes my heart seize up—I think the Zabalcan army's come for us! I just want to sleep without worrying about a thing!"
"I'm done with gamey meat and those disgusting synthetic rations!"
They were sick of a hopeless war. They hated living like primitives. They just wanted to eat and sleep in peace.
They had devoted themselves to toppling the Zabalcan Empire at first. But endless defeat and a miserable existence had worn their hearts down to nothing.
Gronel was one of them. If he was going to betray them, he had decided to dismantle the resistance entirely.
He wasn't some outsider—he was a founding member, the one who had held the resistance together every time it nearly fell apart. Heliane never even sensed the warning signs until the betrayal was already upon her.
"Since this is the last time we'll meet anyway, I'll clear up your questions. I was the one who sold out the supply team's location last time."
"You… you son of a bitch!!"
The supply team had been staffed with the best fighters they had, precisely because the missions were so dangerous. If even they had survived, a counterattack might still have been possible.
Which was exactly why he had them eliminated first.
"Originally, after we split up, I was supposed to survive while you got caught or killed by the pursuit unit. But that bastard Kunlo screwed everything up."
Then he turned to Jurog, who was bleeding out on the ground.
"I wanted to side with Jurog and kick Kunlo out, but he'd already helped us. If I opposed keeping him, someone would've noticed I was acting strange and gotten suspicious. So I had no choice but to agree."
"Khh……!"
Jurog berated himself. The man he had suspected—Kunlo—had joined the resistance with a pure heart. If he hadn't poured all his attention into doubting Kunlo, he might have sensed Gronel's betrayal, even faintly.
"Besides, that kid had the same eyes as you, Heliane. Even if we'd thrown him out, he would've found some way to help the resistance."
Years as an officer had taught Gronel how to read people, and his assessment of Kunlo was dead accurate. Even if they'd driven him out, Kunlo would never have given up—he would have followed them.
If a wild card like Kunlo had been in the mix during this betrayal, the whole thing might have failed.
"Rather than create a variable like that, I figured it was better to keep him close and control him myself. Made disposing of him easier, too."
"What… what did you do to Kunlo!?"
"That freakish physical ability of his was bound to get in the way, so I gave him a little present—a bomb. No commotion, so he's probably already dead."
"Gronel!!"
Heliane had looked kindly on Kunlo—he carried the same pain and the same heart as she did. Rage exploded through her as she tried to lunge at Gronel.
But with her nano suit dead and the traitors pinning her down, thrashing was all the resistance she could manage.
"Kraaah!"
For a split second, every eye locked on Heliane as she struggled—and Jurog charged.
Ready to die, he lunged for Gronel's eyes, aiming to drive his fingers straight through into the brain.
Crack!
His resolve didn't last long.
One of the Zabalcan soldiers smashed Jurog's skull with a hammer mid-charge.
"Jurog!!"
Jurog's head caved in. He collapsed, his body convulsing from the shock to his brain before going limp.
Heliane was hot-tempered and rough, but she screamed for the comrade who had fought for the resistance alongside her.
"You've arrived, sir."
"Hmm."
Gronel bowed his head toward Kahim, who approached under the escort of his soldiers.
Kahim was well practiced at receiving the greetings of slave races, and he accepted it with arrogant ease.
"Everyone, drop your weapons."
As proof of total submission, he made the traitors discard their arms.
"Quick on the uptake. I like that."
"Not at all. I'm rather slow, actually. Only now have I come to understand the greatness of the Zabalcan Empire."
"Hahahaha!"
It was blatant flattery, but the sight of a slave race knowing its place and baring its belly in surrender drew a satisfied laugh from Kahim.
The other Zabalcan soldiers seemed to enjoy the remark as well—they didn't laugh outright, but smiles tugged at the corners of their mouths.
Counterattacking with our own weapons would be pointless anyway. Better to just lie flat.
"And this bitch is a gift for you, Lord Kahim. I've heard that Orobece women are popular in the Zabalcan Empire."
"Orobece bitches are all beautiful, but they're like untamed wild animals. Breaking them into obedience is one of the higher-ups' favorite pastimes."
And once those women became "obedient," every last one of them was ruined.
"But they've been short on Orobece women worth catching lately, so they've been bored. An Orobece woman who's a pilot and a former resistance officer? The higher-ups would dote on her exclusively."
Even at a glance, Heliane looked fierce—beauty plus her background as a resistance leader made her a top-tier prize among top-tier prizes.
"Let go! Let go of me! Don't look at me like that!"
Heliane thrashed as if she meant to claw Kahim's eyes out for looking at her like merchandise.
Kahim gazed down at her fierce resistance and smiled with satisfaction.
"Second Lieutenant Kahim. We've brought her."
Just then, the soldiers dragging Calsira appeared.
"You've suffered an unfortunate accident. Truly regrettable."
"Faster than I expected. I thought you'd wait to blow me up along with the White Scream."
Calsira glared at Kahim, who had made his move far sooner than anticipated, and shot him a barbed remark.
But Kahim—already in a position to kill her whenever he pleased—only smiled with leisurely ease.
"That was the original plan. But thanks to these loyal slave people here, the plan changed. Living in the forest so long, they'd mapped the location of a special energy wavelength that only appears on foggy days. Based on that information, we intend to proceed with the operation safely."
The upper brass had judged it related to the relic and scrapped the plan to detonate the explosives during a fight with the White Scream.
But since the preparations were already in place, the plan to dispose of Calsira deeper in the forest remained.
"Who the hell is that bitch? Where's the First Princess!?"
Heliane recognized Calsira as the pilot of the Bordenkender she had identified and demanded answers.
But no one bothered to explain anything to her.
"We still have time, so I'll at least hear your last words."
That was why Kahim had kept Calsira alive and brought her here.
To witness, up close, the despair of the woman who had irritated him and picked fights with him.
Calsira ignored the victor's smile on Kahim's face and scanned her surroundings.
Where is he? Did he run?
She was looking for Jincheon—the man who had promised to help her.
"Looking for that insolent Terran named Jincheon, perhaps? Unfortunately, he vanished somewhere the moment the fighting started. Seems he ran off in fear. Hahahaha!"
Her last remaining hope gone, Calsira squeezed her eyes shut, convinced she had been deceived.
From the start, he only wanted to enjoy my body and throw me away……
She was furious, but crying and screaming now would mean nothing.
The only consolation was that Kahim would hunt Jincheon down and kill him for certain.
With every hope extinguished, Calsira turned to Heliane—who was still pinned and glaring at her—and spoke.
"You must have lost family or friends because of me. If I'd known I was going to die like this, I should have just died on the battlefield instead of earning your hatred. I'm sorry."
"What……"
"The owner of the mecha you call the Horned Empress isn't the First Princess. It's me."
"What are you talking about? Who the hell are you……"
"That's enough. Explain any more and I might have to kill these loyal slave people here."
Heliane tried to dig for more, but Kahim pressed Calsira and cut her off.
"Shut up! I'm asking you right now! What the hell is going on!?"
She had believed the Horned Empress belonged to the First Princess, nursing hatred and a thirst for revenge—and she wanted the full truth.
But Calsira knew Kahim would never give her the chance to speak, so she simply closed her eyes in silence.
"Tch. Boring."
Kahim clicked his tongue at how calmly Calsira accepted death.
"Still, you've fought for the Empire, so I'll at least send you off without pain."
Dropping the mocking honorifics, Kahim leveled his pistol with his own hand.
He aimed between the eyes of Calsira, who had closed her eyes and accepted death—and pulled the trigger.
Thud—
"Huh?"
Instead of a gunshot, there was the dull sound of something hitting the ground.
"What? Why won't it fire?"
Kahim ignored the sound and lowered his gaze from Calsira's head.
"…Uh……?"
His wrist and everything above it were gone.
In their place, a massive volume of blood dripped steadily downward.
"Ugh… ah… AAAAAAGH!"
Only after confirming his arm had been severed did Kahim register the pain—he clutched the stump and screamed.
Fwoosh!
The battle suit, detecting its user's injury, sealed the severed arm with a thin membrane and stopped the bleeding.
"Impatient, aren't we."
Every eye turned toward the source of that alien voice.
There stood Jincheon, drawing the sword he had forged himself, approaching with casual ease.
"Sorry I'm late. Had to see my disciple off on his final journey."
"You didn't run away?"
"I told you. Once you're my woman, I'll protect you no matter what."
Having just bid farewell to the first bond he had formed in this world, Jincheon answered Calsira in a voice grown a little heavier.
"Before that—sleep."
"Ah……?"
The moment Calsira met Jincheon's eyes, a crushing drowsiness overtook her despite the crisis, and she collapsed.
"Ugh……?"
Heliane, too, locked eyes with him—and lost consciousness.
He had already marked her as a candidate for his woman: that alluring violet skin, that beautiful face.
Can't have her seeing my power and getting scared. Better put her under.
From this moment, Jincheon intended to unleash his full strength.
If she saw that power and grew terrified—if she gave up even when he trained her—it would ruin the fun. So he knocked her out through spiritual force.
A woman who resists, thrashing this way and that—that's the only kind worth taming.
"Kill him! Kill that bastard!"
By then, the battle suit had automatically injected painkillers along with the clotting, and Kahim—somewhat free of the agony—pointed at Jincheon and ordered his death.
The Zabalcan soldiers, who had already disliked Jincheon, trained their muzzles on him and opened fire in unison.
Kakakakakakakang!
A sharp metallic clatter rang out as bullets streaked toward Jincheon.
The Zabalcan soldiers had calculated every evasion path and filled the air front, back, left, and right with a curtain of fire—killing intent thick enough to turn their target into raw meat in an instant.
Ting-ting-ting-ting!
In that instant, space rippled directly in front of Jincheon—and the bullets began to bounce away.
Of the hundreds of rounds, not a single one touched his body.
"Huh?"
"What?"
Neither the Zabalcan soldiers nor the resistance traitors could make sense of what they were seeing.
"Just now, what……"
"What the hell? Why is he fine?"
Everyone stared at the unharmed Jincheon in open shock.
But one Zabalcan soldier flung his gun aside, pulled out a massive hammer, and charged.
I don't know what trick he used to stop the bullets—but I'll crush him with raw force!
One face of the hammer was shaped like a siege ram; the other was fitted with a thruster.
"Die!"
Fwoooom!
Flames erupted from the thruster, boosting speed and power as the hammer swung to smash Jincheon's skull.
KRAAANG!
The hammer struck something solid and rebounded.
More precisely—it bounced five centimeters short of Jincheon's head.
"I'll give science this much: it's good. You can hit harder than a Cho-jeoljeong Realm master going all out."
"What the hell is this……"
The Zabalcan soldier who had tried to crush Jincheon's skull stared blankly at his own hammer, which had rebounded off empty air.
"But the way you use it is crude."
In a blink, the arm holding Jincheon's sword vanished—then reappeared.
"And once you feel the gap in power, you put distance between you. Standing there like an idiot is just asking to die."
Having delivered his advice to the soldier who tried to kill him, Jincheon brushed past and kept walking.
"What are you doing—huh?"
Shrrrrrk—
The moment Kahim shouted at the frozen soldier, the man's body—battle suit and all—was "disassembled" into dozens of pieces.
Blood and entrails spilled across the ground in an instant, flooding the air with a thick stench of iron.
"I was hoping to get a proper taste of real weapons before heading into space anyway. This works out perfectly."
For the Zabalcan soldiers who had been about to wrap up their mission smoothly, and for the resistance traitors who had been about to start new lives, they had just come face to face with a nightmare.