His uniform, once pristine, was now unrecognizable, a patchwork of blood, mud, and torn fabric.
His trembling hands held the map, as Ivan tried to bandage him.
Meanwhile the half awoke Lucian scanned the map, his lips moving soundlessly as he calculated. He was deaf to the chaos, immune to the pounding shells that detonated mere meters away, shaking the earth and his body alike. His plan had failed. They were no longer hunters. They were prey.
"General! We need to get you out of here!" Ivan's voice tore through the madness. The young officer was crouched beside Lucian, his rifle firing blindly into the smoke.
Lucian didn't look up. He couldn't. The map consumed his thoughts, a twisted web of red lines and arrows.He knew the odds. This wasn't a battle anymore; it was survival.
Another shell hit nearby, spraying a rain of dirt and gore. Ivan ducked, his voice drowned out by the explosion. He grabbed his radio, fumbling with the settings as he crouched lower. The signal finally came through, crackling and faint.
"Raven, this is Thunder. Do you copy?"
Ivan pressed the button, his hand shaking.
"This is Raven!" he shouted, barely audible over the chaos.
"14 kilometers east of Étsien. Thunder ready to strike. Confirm coordinates."
Ivan's head snapped toward Lucian.
"General, they're ready!" His voice cracked, panic rising in his throat.
Lucian didn't respond. His vision blurred as he stared at the map, the lines no longer making sense. Blood seeped through the bandages hastily wrapped around him. His fingers tightened around the paper as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
"Thunder is ready to strike! Copy?" Ivan shouted again, clutching the radio like a lifeline. He crawled toward Lucian, dragging his body across the mud, ignoring the bullets whipping past his head and the screams echoing in his ears.
He pulled himself upright and grabbed Lucian by the collar, shaking him.
"GENERAL! GIVE THE ORDER!"
Lucian's eyes fluttered open. His voice was barely a whisper, drowned by the chaos around them. But Ivan leaned in, hearing the words as though they were screamed into his soul.
"Broken Arrow..."
Ivan froze, the blood draining from his face. His lips trembled as he processed the words. Broken Arrow.
"Broken Arrow?" He whispered, disbelief washing over him.
Lucian's head slumped forward, his strength failing. His voice came again, quieter this time, but resolute.
"Broken Arrow."
He reached for the radio with trembling hands. His voice cracked as he screamed into it, tears streaming down his face.
"Broken Arrow! I repeat, Broken Arrow! This is Raven! Broken Arrow confirmed!"
The radio went silent for a moment, the longest moment of Ivan's life. Then, the calm, detached voice of Thunder crackled through the static.
Coordinates confirmed. Broken arrow authorized."
When the broken arrow was confirmed Lucian grabbed Ivan like it they werent was fining at and said to him
"You're... the field commander now. Get everyone... into the city." Lucian's voice was weak, trembling under the weight of exhaustion and blood loss.
"No... no way, General. You're still alive! We can—"
Lucian's hand shot out, grabbing Ivan by the collar with surprising strength. His grip was iron, his bloodied fingers trembling but firm. His voice turned sharp, cutting through the madness.
"Go, Ivan!" Lucian roared, his eyes blazing with something primal anger, desperation, trust.
"I... I can't leave you here!" Ivan shouted, his voice cracking.
Lucian coughed, blood speckling his lips, but he didn't release his grip.
"You can. You must. Don't... let this all be for nothing."
Ivan's hands trembled as he pried Lucian's fingers away, tears stinging his eyes. He wanted to scream, to fight, to defy the impossible order.
But he knew, he always knew that Lucian wouldn't ask unless it was the only way.
"Understood." Ivan whispered, choking on the words.
Lucian gave a weak nod before leaning back against the tree, his strength fading. His hand fell limp, the map slipping from his fingers,
Ivan gave the orders and rallied them to fall back, but it was chaos too many were already lost.
"Keep moving!" Ivan yelled, dragging one of the wounded men to his feet.
Ivan's eyes scanned the battlefield—his mind racing, his body fueled by adrenaline, but the sinking feeling in his chest told him they weren't going to make it.
He glanced over his shoulder, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stop.
Lucian was still there, sitting against the tree, his body battered and bloodied. The map he had clung to was now scattered at his feet. His face was pale, but his eyes those same steady, unwavering eyes locked onto Ivan's. Lucian's hand was still tight around his revolver, a symbol of the resolve that had led them all through countless battles.
But Lucian didn't move. He couldn't.
With a last, haunting look, Ivan tore his gaze away. He pushed forward, knowing that every step brought him closer to the city and farther from the man who had been his commander, his friend.
At the last time Ivan turned, the first shell hit.
Boom.
The forest belt exploded in fire and smoke, trees shredded to splinters.
Another shell. And another.
But somehow he made it.
Weeks had passed since he had been pulled from the battlefield.
The world outside was still burning, but not because of the war he had fought in.
While the Imperium had been engaged in its desperate fight against the Republic forces something far more insidious had been happening back at home.
The people, the ones Lucian and his men had sworn to protect, had turned against their rulers.
The revolution had begun, quietly at first, a murmur in the streets. The working class, the poor, those who had been crushed under the boot of the ruling family for generations—finally, they had risen. And in just five days, they had done the unthinkable.
They had overthrown the monarchy, ripped apart everything the Imperium had stood for, while Lucian and his forces were still tangled in bloody combat with the Republic army on the front lines.
He had heard whispers about it, faint voices through the crackling radio as he had called for reinforcements, as he ordered his men forward. The uprising, the revolution—it hadn't made sense at the time. How could it? His focus had been on the war, on the enemy he could see.
But now, as he walked these empty halls, the weight of the reality settled in: the enemy had been here all along. And they weren't uniformed soldiers—they were the people he had fought for.
As Lucian approached the door to the office, his anger swelled.
He limped through the doorway, leaning heavily on his crutch, his eyes scanning the room. The military secretary sat behind a pristine desk, his uniform immaculate, his face untouched by the horrors that Lucian had witnessed.
"Augustus Lucian" the man finally said, his voice measured, distant. "Glad to see you still breathing."
Lucian's lip curled into something between a grimace and a sneer, but he didn't respond. What was there to say?
"You've heard, of course, the Imperium is no more. The people rose up. Overthrew the monarchy in five days, while we were out there fighting the Republicans. The ruling family's dead. The old regime is gone."
The secretary watched him silently as Lucian struggled to steady himself. His grip on the crutch tightened, but it wasn't enough to stop the shaking in his hands.
"Five days," Lucian muttered under his breath, almost in disbelief. "The people... while we were fighting the Republic..."
The people who you and your men were supposed to protect. The ones you thought you were fighting for. While you were trying to win a war on the front, the war at home had already been lost."
Lucian felt a cold fury rising inside him, his chest tight with the weight of the realization. The war he had been fighting, the one he had bled for—it had been meaningless.
He glared at the secretary, his voice a low growl. "So, what's next?"
"You don't have a place in this new world, Lucian. The Imperium is gone.The people have already claimed victory. And now... we rebuild. Without you."
Lucian's hands tightened on his crutch, his knuckles white. He took a step forward, anger flaring in his chest, but he couldn't push any further. His leg gave a protest, and he had to stop himself from stumbling.
"Just like that? You throw me aside like I'm nothing?" Lucian's voice cracked, the words coming out raw, laced with a bitter, hollow rage. "We fought for this Imperium. For those people. And they just... just turned on us. All of it. Gone. And you think you can just replace us?"
"There is no more Imperium, Lucian." he said, his tone final. "There's nothing left for you here."
Lucian's heart pounded in his chest. His mind raced.
The anger boiled beneath the surface, but it was pointless. He knew it. The world had changed, and he had no place in it anymore. He turned, the crutch scraping against the floor with each step, and walked toward the door.
As he reached it, the secretary's voice called out, cutting through the silence.
"Ah and do not forget,1 month, you hold your rank for 1 month, of course you don't have power, it's just a honorable thing for your long service."
Lucain didn't look back. He couldn't.
He stepped out of the building into the rain-soaked night outside, the downpour relentless against his face, soaking him to the bone.
The rain pounded harder, as if the heavens themselves mourned the fall of the Imperium. He stood there for a moment, unable to move.
The weight of it all—the loss, the betrayal, the end of everything he had fought for—suddenly felt like too much.
Without thinking, Lucian reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocket watch, his fingers numb and trembling from the cold. He tried to steady himself, his breath fogging in the frigid air as he glanced at the face of the watch.
It wasn't working.
The hands were frozen, motionless, as if time itself had stopped.
His breath caught in his throat. In the silence of the storm, a strange chill ran through him as he stared at the broken watch.
Then suddenly he remembered.
This wasn't the end.
That one thing is still exist, that thing that can crash everything.
"Operation Zero Hour."