Retreat

"What do you people think you're doing?! Who are you?!"

The prince, having recovered from his initial panic, now tried to confront the attackers with a show of authority. After all, he bore the title of a Luvina Empire prince—surely no one would dare lay a hand on him. Yet not a single member of the First or Fourth Platoon gave him a response.

"You do realize this is a serious crime against a royal! I demand you release us all immediately!"

Had it not been for his status, perhaps no one would've come to extract him at all. But the prince's outrage was all bark and no bite. He and the other officials had already been disarmed, and even if he dared to call on them to fight back, none of them could make it past the hall's doors.

"It's time. Start the preparations."

Otto exchanged a glance with Rogm. With a silent nod, the two split off, each leading their squad into motion.

"What are you doing?!"

The prince and his entourage paled as the Night Knights approached.

"Move them out!"

At Otto's command, Night Knights from both platoons stepped forward, herding the captured officials toward the exit at gunpoint. The captives knew their lives were now fully in the hands of the attackers, and none dared to resist.

They were marched out of the speech hall, through the front reception chamber, and toward a stairwell leading to the second floor. But before they could ascend, the distinct rumble of truck engines grew louder from outside.

"Our people are here!"

A small wave of commotion rippled through the hostages. Whispers and furtive glances spread—some were analyzing the situation, others already plotting escape.

"Damn it!"

Edwin let out a theatrical curse and opened fire on the approaching trucks with his submachine gun. The rest of the squad followed suit, lining up at the main doors and riddling the vehicles with bullets—though in reality, the trucks were empty except for their drivers.

The "counterattack" had begun. Bullets shattered the glass doors and windows, and some of them struck the defenders—deliberately. To make the scene convincing, someone had to take hits. A few of the prisoners tried to flee in the chaos, but after several of them were gunned down, the rest quickly gave up the idea.

"Move them out!"

Otto shouted again, playing the part of a commander pushing the assault. But the suppressive fire from outside was too intense—it was hard enough just keeping their heads down, let alone transferring prisoners.

"Retreat!"

With that, the First and Fourth Platoons ended their part of the play. Next, they would continue acting as enemy attackers, now engaging the "reinforcements" that had come to "rescue" the hostages.

"Is it over?"

As gunfire died down, the officials lying on the floor cautiously lifted their heads and looked around at the wreckage.

Otto had already led his men away. Only the prince and his officials remained in the reception hall. Believing they had regained control, they stood up and began discussing the recent attack.

"Reporting in! Second Company, Thirty-Sixth Infantry Regiment, Captain Nemilic, at your service!"

A man in the uniform of the Luvina Army stepped through the rubble and corpses, flanked by several soldiers.

"Well done!"

The prince clapped Nemilic on the shoulder, praising his swift response.

"Your Highness, please come with me. The enemy attack is not yet over—I will escort you to the regimental command post outside the city."

"One moment."

Before the prince could reply, another officer stepped forward—a man in the uniform of a lieutenant general.

"What's the situation outside?"

He didn't question Nemilic's identity—understandably so. To make the deception believable, Otto had arranged for the uniforms and gear to be stolen directly from the Thirty-Sixth Regiment's logistics division. Even if they were discovered, the logistics officer would panic far more than Otto's team. At least until the operation was over, no one would be chasing down missing inventory.

"Multiple sites have been attacked—supply stations, guard outposts, even regimental headquarters. But the enemy there has already been repelled."

"I see…"

The lieutenant general paused in thought.

"Your Highness, in light of the possibility that Night Knights from Dazilet were involved, I advise we immediately relocate to the regimental command."

The prince accepted the suggestion without hesitation.

"Get us in the trucks!"

Without delay, the prince and his entourage boarded the nine military trucks prepared for them.

"Nemilic, was it? Come here."

As the officials were climbing aboard, the lieutenant general called Nemilic over again.

"Yes, sir."

Nemilic had no choice but to jog over and play along.

"How many men did you bring? Why are so many of the trucks empty?"

"Fifty-one, sir."

Nemilic knew the empty trucks would raise suspicion—this had always been the plan's weakest point.

"Fifty-one? Where's the rest of your company?"

"We encountered enemy forces on Kekabin Street during our approach. They're still engaged in a firefight there."

It was the best explanation they had managed to come up with, and the ongoing gunfire throughout the city helped support the lie.

Just then, Otto returned with the rest of the Fourth Platoon. They'd changed clothes, masked their faces, and immediately opened fire on the convoy—carefully aiming their bullets so they wouldn't hit anyone inside the trucks.

"General, please board the vehicle!"

Nemilic silently thanked Otto for his timing. Any further questioning would've forced him to improvise on the spot.

The trucks roared to life and pulled out, carrying one hundred forty-eight people away from the venue. Otto watched them disappear into the distance before giving the order to halt the pursuit.

"They're gone?"

Edwin and his squad rejoined Otto, weariness etched into their faces.

"They're gone. You okay?"

After taking that many bullets, even with both Type-2 and Type-4 combat stimulants, Edwin hadn't fully recovered.

"I'm fine."

Fortunately, it was the Night Knights doing the shooting—crack marksmen who could handle the insane recoil of their modified high-rate submachine guns. Ordinary soldiers would've shredded him completely.

"You sure? We're pulling out too."

Otto wasn't convinced. Based on his experience, Edwin didn't look like someone who was "fine."

"I said I'm fine!"

Edwin tried to walk, but stumbled badly.

"Nordhausen! Give me a hand over here!"

Otto caught him just in time. Nordhausen, seeing the situation, quickly parked the truck and ran over.

"What happened to him?"

Sennia and Arcia helped lift Edwin into the truck.

"Not sure."

Once everyone was aboard, Otto started the engine and drove toward their rendezvous point outside the city.

"I told you, I'm fine…"

Reluctantly, Edwin let them remove his blood-soaked shirt. Three still-bleeding bullet wounds said otherwise.

"Those should've closed by now. At least the surface layer should have."

Normally, Type-2's healing properties sealed open wounds in under six minutes. The fact that Edwin's injuries were still bleeding was not a good sign.

"It must've hit his heart."

Nordhausen, drawing on his battlefield experience, gave a swift diagnosis.

"This wound's closest to the heart. The bullet may have missed it directly, but the cavitation effect likely damaged the muscle. That would disrupt circulation, which explains why the Type-2 isn't kicking in yet."

It made sense. Type-2 needed healthy blood flow to distribute through the body. A damaged heart meant no circulation—no delivery system, no healing. If the heart was hit directly, the body's healing response would effectively shut down. If lucky, a direct injection to the heart might help—but if the damage was too great, not even the strongest stimulants would work. And a damaged heart also brought massive bleeding and oxygen loss.

Sure enough, when Nordhausen injected Type-2 directly into the heart, Edwin's pulse steadied, and his other wounds began closing rapidly.

"Count yourself lucky," Otto said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Edwin exhaled deeply and laid back, finally at ease.

"Let's hope the rest of the day goes this well."