Part (1/4): The Morning Before Battle
After the grueling training the day before, everyone had slept soundly through the night. The soft murmur of conversation and the enticing aroma of breakfast drifted through the halls, gently stirring the team from their slumber. One by one, they made their way to the dining hall, drawn in by the familiar morning routine.
Though the atmosphere was lighter than usual, an underlying tension remained—a quiet anticipation, like warriors preparing themselves before a decisive battle.
Akira was the first to arrive. As he stepped into the room, he immediately noticed he wasn't alone.
Lunar Cipher was already there, sitting at the table with his usual unreadable expression, sipping leisurely from his cup. His posture was relaxed, but his sharp gaze suggested he was always calculating, always watching.
"Well, I hope you're ready for the showdown," Lunar said in his usual cool tone, neither casual nor entirely serious.
Akira shrugged slightly, his reply carrying a mix of playfulness and determination. "Ready or not, we don't exactly have a choice now, do we?"
Though his words sounded lighthearted, deep down, he knew better than to fully trust the enigmatic man before him. The atmosphere was deceptively calm, but it reminded him of the quiet moments before a crucial exam—when everything had already been set in motion, and all that remained was to face the outcome.
A yawn broke the silence as footsteps padded down the stairs. Yue appeared, stretching with a sleepy groan, her golden fox ears twitching slightly, and her usually neat hair now curling in loose waves from sleep.
"You're up so early, big brother… I'm still sore from yesterday," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with a drowsy smile.
"Still as much of a sleepyhead as ever," Akira teased, grinning as he ruffled her hair playfully.
Before long, the rest of the team trickled in.
Draco arrived with his usual boisterous energy, laughing loudly and making a grand entrance as if his presence alone was meant to wake up the entire building. Osiris, Elina, and Mirelle followed closely behind, engaged in quiet conversation, though their eyes carried a determined gleam.
Breakfast had been prepared with extra care that morning—perhaps in recognition of the battle ahead. The variety was greater than usual, but as soon as everyone started eating, it became evident that something was… off.
Some dishes were so bland they tasted like air, while others were unbearably spicy, forcing Yue to gulp down multiple glasses of water. The salty dishes, on the other hand, were so overpowering it felt as if an entire ocean had been poured onto their plates. And yet, as if to make up for the extremes, the fruit juice was delightfully tangy-sweet, and the desserts were almost comically sugary—so much so that it felt like they were meant to counterbalance the flavorless entrées.
Akira stared at his plate, bracing himself as he took a bite. The explosion of conflicting flavors assaulted his taste buds, and he barely managed to swallow before quickly reaching for his drink. Is this a battle preparation or some kind of endurance test? he thought wryly, though he couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
Despite the questionable meal, the morning air was filled with laughter and lively chatter. It was a rare moment of ease, a temporary calm before the inevitable storm.
Yet, beneath the surface, they all knew—this was the last morning they would spend like this before the real fight began.
Their time for rest was running out. The battle that would determine their fate was drawing ever closer.
After a breakfast filled with questionable flavors, we made our way to the grand hall, where our meeting with Castor Lycios awaited. Today was the day of final confirmations—who would be selected, who would stand as our allies, and who would fight alongside us in the decisive battle ahead.
As we stepped through the towering doors, soft light streamed in through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the vast chamber. Castor stood at the center, flanked by five individuals. These were the warriors who would fight alongside us.
With his usual commanding presence, Castor greeted us. "Now that everyone is here, it's time to make introductions." He gestured toward us, a faint smile touching his lips.
"These six here—most of you are already familiar with them. They are the ones personally chosen by Zekhtau himself. And the seventh… Lunar Cipher, the infamous and ever-elusive enigma."
All eyes shifted toward Lunar, who stood with his usual composed demeanor, his cool gaze unreadable yet captivating in its own way. We bowed in greeting to the assembled warriors, and they returned the gesture with equal respect.
Then, Castor gestured to the opposite side of the room. "And now, let me introduce the others—those who will be joining the battle as well."
First, a tall, dignified man with an air of authority stepped forward. "Li Changyuan, Vice Director of the Guardians."
Elina's face practically lit up with admiration, her eyes sparkling as she beamed at him. Draco, standing beside her, scowled in mock jealousy, rolling his eyes at her blatant enthusiasm.
"Next, we have Uncle Pong and Little Eve—battle-hardened allies who have fought alongside us before."
The two waved cheerfully, their warm smiles helping to ease some of the tension in the room. Their presence felt familiar, grounding, a reminder that we weren't alone in this fight.
"And representing the Cyborgs—Zhao Yun Chenlong."
A commanding figure stepped forward, his eyes steady as he bowed slightly before clasping his hands in a traditional greeting. His gaze lingered on Yue, Akira, and Mirelle as he spoke, his voice deep yet respectful.
"Young Mistress. Young Master. Lady Mirelle."
We recognized him instantly—the devoted supporter who had, through sheer admiration, chosen to stand by our side.
"And lastly, the representative of the N-Punks—Kelpy Kall."
A lanky young man with slightly awkward posture stepped forward. He attempted to speak with confidence, but his voice wavered.
"Th-th-thank you for having me! I'll do my v-very best!"
Unfortunately, his attempt at composure crumbled as he accidentally bit his own tongue mid-sentence.
Yue, ever the kindhearted healer, rushed over to cast a quick healing spell on him. Kelpy flushed red with embarrassment, but before he could wallow in self-consciousness, Akira stepped forward and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"We're glad to have you with us, Kelpy."
Kelpy's expression shifted instantly from sheepishness to determination. His posture straightened, and his voice, now firm and filled with newfound resolve, rang out.
"Yes, Commander!"
A loud snort broke the moment as Draco nearly choked on his own suppressed laughter. His attempt to muffle the sound only made it more obvious.
Everyone turned to look at him.
Draco hastily spun around, covering his mouth, his shoulders shaking with barely restrained amusement.
Akira shot him a glare but then sighed, knowing full well that the nickname "Commander" was now going to haunt him for a very, very long time.
Part (2/4): The Road to Destiny
The massive military transport rumbled forward, its reinforced wheels grinding against the dirt and stone beneath. A faint trail of dust rose in its wake as the vehicle carried its passengers away from the Guardian base and toward their inevitable confrontation.
Inside, the team sat in their designated seats, the steady hum of the engine filling the cabin. Despite the noise, an eerie silence lingered—each person lost in their thoughts, mentally preparing for the battle ahead.
Akira leaned back against his seat, feeling the subtle vibrations of the moving vehicle. The final words of Castor Lycios echoed in his mind.
"You are the warriors stepping forward to forge a new chapter in Draft's history. The outcome of this battle will shape both Draft and Arcadia. But do not let the weight of this burden cloud your judgment. Fight with all you have, and no matter the result, you will never have regrets. For in the end, what happens will be the will of the heavens. I wish you all luck—return victorious."
Akira frowned slightly, unsettled by the final part of Castor's speech. The will of the heavens?
He had never been one to believe that fate was solely dictated by some divine force. He understood that Castor meant to reassure them, to lighten the pressure on their shoulders, but to Akira, fate was not something preordained.
The heavens may set the stage, but the decisions we make, the actions we take—that is what truly determines our destiny.
That conviction burned strong within him, his fingers curling into a fist. His voice, though quiet, carried a weight that left no room for doubt.
"I won't lose… not even to a Guardian."
A gentle touch on his shoulder made him pause. He turned to find Yue beside him, her golden eyes filled with unwavering belief. The warmth of her touch, though small, seemed to seep into him, anchoring him in the present.
"I know you can do it, big brother," she said softly, then smiled. "No… we can do it. You're not alone."
Akira blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her words. Then, as he glanced around the cabin, he realized Yue wasn't the only one looking at him with confidence.
Draco, Osiris, Elina, Mirelle—even Lunar—all had different kinds of smiles on their faces, each one carrying its own silent message of support. Even Vice Director Li, who sat at the driver's seat, allowed a small smirk to slip through as he caught Akira's reflection in the rearview mirror.
It was a reminder—he wasn't carrying this burden alone.
A breath escaped him, long and steady. Then, the corners of his lips curled into a determined smile.
"Well then…" Akira said, meeting each of their gazes with newfound resolve. "If we're all in this together—then we're going to win this together."
Draco let out a chuckle. "That's more like it."
One by one, voices joined in agreement, their words pushing away the lingering tension. The once-heavy silence was now replaced with a shared sense of determination, a quiet but unshakable confidence in what lay ahead.
The battle was approaching. The stakes were higher than ever. But no matter what awaited them—They would face it together.
After a long journey over rough, uneven terrain, the team finally arrived at the desolate wasteland that would serve as their battleground. The moment the transport came to a halt, everyone stepped out, stretching their stiff limbs after hours of travel.
Akira's eyes swept across the landscape, taking in the eerie remnants of what once was. The scenery felt ripped straight from a post-apocalyptic nightmare—ruined buildings stretched as far as the eye could see, their skeletal remains jutting out from the cracked earth. There were no signs of life. The air was dry, devoid of moisture, and a thin layer of smog clung to the ground like a ghostly veil, concealing whatever secrets lay beneath.
The "ground" beneath their feet, however, was something else entirely. Calling it soil would be generous—it was a vast expanse of rusted metal plating, corroded and worn by time, stretching out like a graveyard of forgotten machinery.
But what dominated their view was the structure ahead—a massive, dilapidated stadium, its curved silhouette towering over the wasteland like the last remnant of an age long past. The upper levels had partially collapsed, the framework rusted and broken in places. Yet, despite its apparent decay, something about it felt wrong—as if certain sections had been repaired, reinforced, and prepared for something specific.
This… is where the fate of Draft will be decided.
One by one, they stepped forward, the clank of boots against metal echoing in the eerie silence. A cold gust of wind swept through the open landscape, sending a shiver through the group.
Yue instinctively grasped Akira's sleeve, her eyes wide with a mix of anxiety and awe. Mirelle, despite her usual unwavering confidence, unconsciously edged closer to him as well. Elina, normally composed, was lost in thought, her expression unusually tense.
Osiris, ever the analyst, was already scanning the surroundings, her eyes darting from one detail to the next, processing everything like a living database. Meanwhile, Draco's reaction was the exact opposite—his eyes gleamed with excitement, like a warrior eager to face the unknown.
And Lunar… as always, remained unreadable. His relaxed posture and confident smirk made it impossible to tell whether he was truly unfazed or simply masking his thoughts.
As they entered the stadium grounds, the first thing that stood out was the stark contrast in its condition. While parts of it remained crumbling and ruined, other sections had been meticulously restored. The once-uneven floors had been reforged into smooth, reinforced plating. High-powered floodlights, obviously new, lined the perimeter. Cameras—far too many to be standard security—had been installed at strategic points, silently watching their every move.
So this is Zekhtau's work, Akira thought grimly. He wasn't exaggerating when he said he'd build an arena.
Then, the silence was broken.
A rhythmic, heavy thud echoed from the opposite end of the coliseum.
Metal against metal.
A sound so distinct that it sent vibrations through the very ground they stood upon.
The team turned, bodies tensing as the sound grew louder, closer—until from the shadows of the ruined corridor, a massive figure emerged.
A centaur-like war machine.
It moved with calculated precision, its enormous form exuding an aura of absolute power. Standing far taller than any of them, its gleaming metallic body was a fusion of brutal efficiency and refined craftsmanship, its plating polished and reinforced to perfection.
Every inch of its design screamed one thing—an unyielding warrior of war.
But the most striking feature was the weapon it carried.
In its massive hands was a halberd—but unlike any halberd they had ever seen. The weapon's shaft was reinforced with interwoven energy conduits, pulsating with a deep blue glow. The axe-like blade on one side hummed with contained plasma energy, while the opposite end housed an elongated spear tip that flickered with a crackling charge.
A weapon forged not just for combat, but for absolute domination.
Akira stared at the sight before him, his mind flashing to something oddly familiar. His lips parted, and before he could stop himself, he muttered:
"Are we seriously about to fight a halberd-wielding war machine straight out of Galaxy War?"
His whispered remark was barely audible, but it carried enough weight that his team could hear it.
No one laughed.
No one spoke.
Everyone's gaze was locked on the mechanical centaur as it stood at the ready, an unstoppable force waiting to be unleashed.
A sharp intake of breath.
A heartbeat of silence.
The battle was about to begin.
Part (3/4): The Guardian's Oath
Sechtor Silverstride strode toward them, each step deliberate, heavy, and powerful. The rhythmic clang of metal hooves striking the rusted ground reverberated through the abandoned coliseum, an eerie echo that mimicked the pounding heartbeat of those standing before him.
A towering figure of steel and discipline, Sechtor was the very embodiment of an impregnable fortress—unyielding, unwavering, and unstoppable. Akira felt a lump in his throat as he watched the mechanical centaur approach. So this is the Guardian of Zekhtau… The title "Silverstride" was more than just a name—it was a testament to the legend before them.
The colossus came to a halt, his metallic form gleaming under the stadium's dim artificial lights. The sheer pressure radiating from him was suffocating, his presence alone enough to make the air feel heavier. Then, in a voice that was neither hostile nor warm, but imbued with undeniable authority, he spoke:
"Twelve participants, just as requested…"
His glowing eyes shifted toward one of the many cameras mounted on the coliseum's walls. A flicker of something—perhaps recognition, perhaps challenge—flashed in his gaze.
"You are watching, aren't you, Castor? You are watching, aren't you, people of Draft? This battle will decide the fate of this world—whether it will advance toward absolute efficiency, or embrace the balance between technology and nature. A balance once betrayed by the NSAI in the name of 'harmony.'"
His words struck like thunder. The weight of history, of past betrayals and unresolved grief, lingered in his voice. The tension thickened, pressing against the team like an invisible force. Sechtor's gaze lingered on Elina and Osiris—two individuals forever entwined with the past he spoke of.
Then, something unexpected happened.
A smile.
A faint, subtle curve of his lips, barely noticeable against the metallic sheen of his faceplate. But it was there. And it was sad.
"I know I appear ruthless, destructive, merciless," he admitted, his voice softer but no less resolute. "But that is merely the duty of a Guardian. Today, I have not come to destroy. I have come to shape the future of Draft. Whatever the outcome, I will uphold my honor as a protector of this land."
Then, with a fluid motion, he reached for a metallic case fastened to his side and unlatched it. The case hissed open, revealing rows of spider-like drones, sleek and compact, their multiple legs glinting under the cold light.
"These are Core Protection Units," Sechtor explained. "They will shield your vital areas—brain, spinal cord, and heart. Limbs are unprotected, but should they be lost, cybernetic replacements can be provided. This is proof of my sincerity. I do not seek to annihilate the future of Draft—only to provide an answer."
Then, he turned his gaze back to the cameras.
"Castor, if you accept my terms, have them equip the devices."
Silence followed. The team exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. Then, Castor Lycios' voice resonated through the speakers, his tone measured yet burdened.
"Wear them. They will safeguard you."
Still hesitant, the group slowly reached for the drones.
But before anyone could grasp them, the spider-like machines moved on their own.
With unsettling speed, they crawled up their bodies.
Yue let out a startled yelp. Elina, normally composed, involuntarily gasped. Even Osiris, an AI, visibly tensed as the cold metal skittered across her skin.
The drones scurried beneath their clothes, their tiny legs brushing against their spines as they latched onto their backs. Starting from the nape, they slithered downward, securing themselves along the spinal column. Thin, silver filaments extended outward, wrapping snugly beneath their ribcages in a barely perceptible embrace. Then, as if responding to some hidden command, the devices shifted in color, blending seamlessly with their skin.
Akira inhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders to test the sensation.
"It's… not unbearable. Just feels like something poking my back constantly."
Draco chuckled nervously. "At least it didn't bite… I think." His fingers instinctively reached behind him, as if expecting sharp fangs.
Unnerved, but without alternatives, they accepted the devices as a necessary burden. This was their safeguard against the battle ahead.
Because in the fight that awaited them—only those who survived would shape the future.
Part (4/4): The Battlefield of Destiny
Sechtor Silverstride stood motionless, as if commanding some unseen mechanism. Then, with a voice as steady as steel and power that echoed across the abandoned coliseum, he spoke.
"Now, press the button at the center of your device. After that, I will explain the rules."
Before anyone could follow his command, Elina raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
"Rules? Are we really going to fight under a set of rules?"
Her question earned a soft chuckle from Sechtor—not mocking, but weighted with the wisdom of one who had seen far beyond the present moment.
"Yes, we will fight with rules," he affirmed. "Because this is not just a battle of strength. It is a demonstration of efficiency—proof that my method surpasses all others. Rules allow precise evaluation of performance, strategy, and execution." He paused, letting his words settle. "Do not forget, I was once a creator. I developed technology with Castor to push Draft toward advancement. Why would I seek to destroy the very future I once helped build?"
His gaze, sharp as a blade, swept across the team, lingering on each of them.
"And do not forget this either… I am a Guardian. If I had no restraint, do you truly believe any of you would survive?"
The weight of his words sent a shiver through the group.
Draco clenched his fists. "That's enough! Are you seriously underestimating us!?" His frustration was clear.
Sechtor turned his head slightly, his metallic face unreadable, before offering a faint smile.
"Perhaps that is how you see it. But that is the perspective of one who sees only the surface. A true leader understands the depths beneath the waves." He then shifted his gaze to Akira, his glowing eyes narrowing. "Isn't that right, Akira?"
The entire team turned to Akira, who remained silent, locking eyes with Sechtor. Though unease stirred in his heart, his resolve burned stronger. He lifted his chin and replied firmly.
"I'm not a great leader. I just do everything I can so that I won't regret it later."
A small smirk crossed Sechtor's face. "That is exactly what makes you effective. You may downplay yourself, but look at your allies, Akira. They believe in you more than you realize."
Akira's gaze swept over his team. Determination gleamed in their eyes. Fear was present, yes—but so was trust. An unconscious smile formed on his lips.
Sechtor's tone sharpened. "Enough distractions. The people of Draft are watching. They await an answer." He turned his attention to the many cameras installed around the coliseum and raised his voice.
"Now, I will explain the rules! Consider this a final examination for these young warriors. If they win, they will earn access to the most advanced technology in all of Arcadia. But if they lose…"
He paused, allowing the tension to thicken.
"They will become my subordinates. And I will reclaim Guardian— the very organization I built."
A heavy silence fell upon them. The gravity of his words weighed down the air itself. The fate of Draft teetered on the edge of a blade.
Sechtor turned back to them, his expression unwavering.
"Press the button."
Exchanging glances, the team did as instructed. The moment their fingers met the devices, the technology activated.
A glowing, 32-sided barrier encased each of them—a transparent energy shield designed for protection. Sechtor glanced at the cameras again before making his next declaration.
"Each of your barriers starts at 100 points, representing your life force in this battle. If your barrier reaches zero, you will be forcibly removed from the field—considered 'defeated.'"
As he spoke, a barrier of his own materialized. Unlike theirs, his glowed with an undeniable intensity, its thickness and density vastly superior.
"There are twelve of you—symbols of the twelve gateways of Arcadia. In turn, I will have twelve layers of barriers. In essence, our total durability is equal— 1,200 points on each side."
This revelation shifted the mood. Some in the team sighed in relief—this wasn't a battle to the death. Despite Sechtor's overwhelming presence, his honor-bound rules meant they had a fair fight ahead.
Or so they thought.
A sly smile crept across Sechtor's face—no longer the composed, dignified Guardian, but the strategist who thrived on challenge. He took a single step back, then leaped.
The sheer weight of his landing sent shockwaves through the arena.
"But where's the fun in a normal battle?" He laughed—a deep, resonant sound that sent chills through them. "I will make this far more interesting. You will face SIX MODES, each lasting ten minutes. Every mode will test different aspects of your abilities. Each one will force you to adapt. Every single second will be a battle for survival."
His words sent a ripple of unease through the group.
Then—
"The Trial of Draft begins in TEN SECONDS! Prepare yourselves!"
The world lurched.
Ten seconds.
The air crackled with energy.
Nine.
Their hands clenched into fists.
Eight.
Sweat beaded along their brows.
Seven.
Osiris's AI systems accelerated processing, calculating possible scenarios.
Six.
Elina shifted into a defensive stance.
Five.
Draco's breath slowed, muscles tightening in anticipation.
Four.
Mirielle whispered a prayer to the waters.
Three.
Akira steadied himself.
Two.
Sechtor bent his legs—
One.
And then—
BOOM.
Sechtor launched himself forward with a speed that defied his enormous frame.
A titanic shadow loomed over them as he leaped high—his sheer mass making the very ground quake beneath him.
"MOVE!" Akira's voice rang out like a whipcrack.
The battle had begun.
The test of Draft—the fight that would decide everything—was here.