The Talented Enemy

On a vast grassland stretching hundreds of miles from the western border of Nation, sunlight poured down onto the field camp of the 4th Legion. Lunamaria sat before a tactical table, her sharp, icy eyes locked onto the screen simulating the terrain ahead. A week had passed since their quick-strike campaign had crumbled, yet her legion remained unable to advance even a single step deeper into Nation's territory.

Despite unleashing a series of surprise attacks along the border, every effort she made was thwarted by intricate and highly effective counterattacks. The way the enemy unraveled her plans gnawed at her, forcing her to clench her teeth as disappointment and fury flared in her gaze.

"This isn't the first time I've faced Nation, but that man—" Lunamaria whispered, her voice taut with suppressed emotion.

"He's completely different."

The curtain of the command tent rustled faintly as a scout stepped inside, clutching a stack of freshly gathered documents. Catching the terrifying glint in her eyes, he bowed his head, placed the papers on the table, and retreated a few steps, avoiding direct eye contact with the enraged commander.

"As you requested, Commander!" he said curtly before hastening out, leaving the room to Lunamaria and the virtual assistant system.

She flipped open the documents, her eyes darting swiftly across the lines of text and accompanying images.

His name—Stratos—was uttered by the virtual assistant in a flat, emotionless tone. According to the intelligence they'd managed to gather, he was one of Nation's high-ranking generals, hailed as one of the three masterminds of the Nation Guard. He frequently took to the front lines himself, commanding and fighting at critical battlefronts—a style of combat that mirrored her own. Yet, the assistant cautioned that this scant information was all they'd been able to uncover about him.

Lunamaria's grip tightened on the papers, her focus sharpening.

"Fighting on the front lines himself? A high-ranking commander risking his own life?" she asked, irritation lacing her voice as she realized her opponent shared her approach to battle.

"This allows him to precisely gauge the conditions on both sides of the front, enabling him to craft flexible and effective strategies," the virtual assistant explained.

"I never expected to face an opponent like this. He's nothing like the others, cowering behind their soldiers and gear." She leaned back in her chair, resting her chin on her hand, her eyes clouded with contemplation.

Though she had clashed with countless exceptional foes from rival national blocs, she now saw that Stratos was not only a brilliant strategist but also capable of utterly dismantling her prized intelligence network—the very tool she'd relied upon to outmaneuver every enemy she'd ever faced. Any details about him were maddeningly vague, as though he were a phantom, perpetually one step ahead. Could it be that his very existence within Nation had been erased entirely? The question gnawed at her, wrapping her mind in a shroud of uncertainty.

Mere minutes later, the terrain simulation map before her blazed red, a shrill alarm piercing the air from sector E34. Another stronghold had been obliterated. She stared at the screen, her breath hitching. Her hand curled into a fist, nails biting deep into her palm, yet she felt nothing but a crushing sense of powerlessness and a fury that roared within her, a wildfire devouring every thought in its path.

"Three strongholds in the area wiped out in just one week…" Lunamaria growled through gritted teeth, her eyes riveted to the display.

Though no casualty reports had come in, the rapid collapse of their defensive outposts left her feeling cornered. For the first time since assuming command of the 4th Legion, she felt her grip on the situation slipping away.

"I can't believe he's driven us to this point. What kind of troop movements is he using?" Her voice rose to a near-snarl, reverberating with anger throughout the tent.

"Based on analysis of recent engagements, he employs a strategy of dispersing his forces, prioritizing the severance of our communication and supply lines. He exploits terrain and timing to their fullest," the virtual assistant replied, its tone unshakably calm.

Lunamaria shot to her feet, her eyes blazing with resolve as she wrested back her composure.

"Notify the entire army—we're shifting our attack vector. If we keep going like this, we'll lose not just the battle but our morale too."

After issuing the command, she returned to the tactical table, her gaze still glued to the map. Her hands clasped before her chest, she gave a slight nod, as if mentally recalibrating the situation. Though she kept it unspoken, deep down she couldn't help but marvel at how he dominated the battlefield.

"Stratos…" Lunamaria murmured his name in a soft, drawn-out sigh.

On the opposite side of the front, not far from the 4th Legion's defensive strongholds and right along Nation's western border, Stratos stood beside a three-dimensional map simulating the entire region. He observed the shifting patterns in silence as the latest scout reports arrived, revealing that the 4th Legion had begun making numerous strategic adjustments for a protracted fight. With keen eyes, he scanned each line of incoming data.

"The enemy's lost several strongholds, but their reorganization speed exceeds our projections!" Stratos remarked, his voice low yet brimming with authority.

"The commander of this legion is Lunamaria Whieblod, hailing from the Organization. From what we know, she's renowned for razor-sharp tactics and adaptable responses. This is, however, our first encounter with her," the intelligence officer at his side confirmed with a nod, supplementing the briefing.

Stratos said nothing, his gaze fixed on the enemy positions as they updated in real-time on the simulation. He noted distinct shifts in Lunamaria's tactics—her units were consolidating more tightly now, abandoning the previous approach of splitting forces to address each scenario. This swift adaptation underscored her exceptional leadership.

"Impressive that a female commander can pull this off. Seems others could learn a thing or two from her," Stratos mused, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face as he gestured for more details on Lunamaria.

"This is everything we have on Lunamaria Whieblod. It's incomplete, but there are some key points worth noting," another officer said, handing him a file.

He opened it, flipping through the pages. She hailed from a noble lineage within the Organization and boasted an astonishing combat record. Unlike most legion commanders, she frequently joined her troops on the battlefield, assessing and mastering the situation firsthand. Moreover, she consistently minimized casualties among her soldiers, earning their unwavering trust.

"So that's how she reacts so fast!" Stratos exclaimed, glancing down at his twin swords, their rune-etched blades glinting faintly. As if alive, the weapons responded, the carvings glowing briefly, as though recalling their first clash.

"Not the kind of commander who just barks orders from the rear. She clearly grasps the value of speed and decisiveness," he murmured, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"She's lost three strongholds in a single week yet still holds her legion together. Maintaining morale in a situation like that isn't easy," he added, turning to his subordinate with a tone of approval.

"Indeed, sir. It proves she's not only a tactical prodigy but an extraordinary leader," the intelligence officer agreed.

Stratos allowed a faint smile, though it carried no trace of arrogance. He relished the challenge of facing a worthy adversary like her. But that flicker of admiration lasted only a moment—his duty left no room for leniency.

As he calculated his next moves, an aide slipped in and whispered something to him. He nodded, then signaled the end of the briefing.

At the Nation Guard's field hospital along the western border, the air hung thick with the scent of antiseptics and the groans of wounded soldiers. Some rose to salute as he entered, but he waved them back down, his focus on their recovery.

"Report on casualties," Stratos directed the chief medic, his eyes sweeping the room.

"Fortunately, we lost no one in the recent raid on W66 (E34). However, we have 22 wounded, four of whom require transfer to a larger medical center for specialized care," the chief medic replied.

"Additionally, the soldiers from the prior mission are steadily recovering. I can assure you they'll all be ready in just seven days!" the medic continued.

Stratos surveyed his treated subordinates—no fear clouded their eyes. He exhaled softly in relief before addressing the chief medic again.

"They've given everything for the nation. Nation owes it to them to spare no effort in their care, using all we have!" he ordered, his voice devoid of sentiment.

He moved between the beds, pausing to speak with several soldiers—asking after their conditions, offering words of encouragement to those in pain. Stratos's presence lightened the hospital's grim mood; the soldiers felt valued, a rarity among commanders amid such intense conflict.

Leaving the hospital, he returned to the command room and settled before the simulation map, cradling a cup of black coffee.

"Lunamaria Whieblod… we'll meet again," Stratos muttered to himself.