Three armed men who wore dark tactical gear dashed through a dark lane. Soon, they entered a gated compound in what could only be described as muted panic and desperation.

Another man, who wore a balaclava, but held a pistol opened the gate.

"They're here." The one outside told him, almost whispering. The masked man nodded.

The three entered the compound cautiously, with the last man's gun still aimed at the dark lane as he entered.

The gate closed.

"Who's here? The OIA? Royal Guard?"

"Both."

"Fuck." The man with the balaclava cursed. It didn't matter anyway, they were cursed. They were dead men ever since that operation.

Regicide after all was a death sentence.

Most members of Unit Eighteen had gone silent. Most likely dead. They were being hunted, and nowhere in Orland were they safe. Even here in the countryside, in this rural town, they were not, it seemed.

Once they were proud, loyal members of the OIA. But a plot mobilized them for one purpose. To kill the Queen. Their handler had told them that it was an order from above. That it was a part of a grand plan by both the OIA and the Armed Forces.

But only after they had completed their part had they found it all out. When the OIA suddenly turned on them and started hunting and executing them did it became clear in their heads - they were played.

"I fuckin hate this man." One of them said in a tired tone, his voice almost cracking in despair. He was the youngest of the four. "We've been tricked, it's not even our fault. Now they all want us dead."

"Sorry son, it is what it is."

"Fuck."

And indeed, the four were tired. The last hideout they had was raided by their fellow OIA agents, and they only barely escaped. That was only three hours ago. Most members of his cell died on that raid.

It was why they were in their full combat gear. Combat was inevitable, and since the OIA had ID on them, hiding was practically impossible. They had already resigned to their fate, that they would be dead by morning, so they vowed for one last stand.

But they expected that they would at least evade death for a few more hours. However, if the Royal Guard and the OIA were now here, probably both racing to catch them first, as the OIA hunted them to dispose of them, while the Royal Guard hunted them to interrogate them, then it was clearly game over for them.

And then it finally happened. They were here. They readied their rifles and mentally told the heavens of their last wills after a footstep was heard from the gate.

Suddenly, a figure veiled by the darkness of the night jumped, almost floating above the skies, before they fell down to the ground.

Only when they aimed their guns and opened their flashlights, was her face revealed. Silver hair, red eyes, and a face that seemed to smile eternally.

Her eyes met them.

"Well, hello boys. A fine evening, isn't it?"

"Red Dress Uniform, she's Royal Guard!" The younger one said in fear.

"Indeed I am, what an astute observation, sir!" She stood up, almost theatrically. "Well, allow me to introduce myself then. I am Marie, Marie Wittfield. Now, what about you gentlemen?"

She looked at them with her near eternal, and eerie smile. There were no answers that came her way.

"So you four choose to remain nameless, eh? As expected of such fine spooks." Her smile increased. "Shame, all of you are traitors. But, I offer you something. Tell me everything, and the Queen may pardon your crimes. How does that sound?"

But their leader didn't agree. Surrender? What a joke. Their execution was guaranteed, that, they always knew. They won't be tricked by her words.

"Kill her!"

Gunfire rang out, but she disappeared in thin air almost instantly. Immediately, the four bolted out of the compound in panic.

Dark shadows appeared above them, almost as if it was following them, and they shot their rifles at the shadows in vain as they ran. Soon, they exited the compound and found her standing outside.

Their leader stopped, aimed his gun at her, and pulled the trigger as the three bolted away in the other direction, but three spikes of ice skewered him in a bloody mess of death.

The man with the balaclava also didn't fare well, as he tried to fire back, but was only met by the gruesome fate of being turned into ice, before the ice cracked, and he was a hundred pieces on the ground.

The last two continued running, but suddenly she appeared in front of the two again, this time, clutching her wounded, bleeding shoulder.

Yet she held the same smile.

"That guy got me." She remarked, with the same cheerful tone, which didn't make sense with her injuries. But what truly spooked the two was the fact that her abdomen was bleeding too, yet her bullet wounds were slowly closing.

"What the fuck are you." The older agent growled at her as he aimed his rifle. "You're no normal Royal Guard."

"Some of us girls are just good at magic." She replied back. "So why not just give up? I promise...I'm very merciful."

"Fucking...bullshit, unfair, ability." The man angrily said, as his mind completely gave up. "I'm done with this shit."

He turned to the younger agent, who seemed to be scared beyond relief.

It was the end of the line, indeed.

He dropped his rifle, took his pistol, and then blew his brains off.

The sudden suicide didn't faze her.

The younger agent ran. He ran and ran. He even tossed his rifle already. There was no hope. Inside, he cried. All his life, his miserable life, it had no meaning. Why had it all come to be this way?

Why had it all been just darkness? Just failures and disappointments. He worked so hard, so hard to be better, first to live a decent life, to be a worthy man, and when that failed, he worked hard to change his nation.

He thought when they killed the Queen, the people would finally rise up with them, and the order that strangled them all would fall.

Yet it was a ruse. A lie. What chance did he even have? He was just a lowly low-ranked field agent. The fodder of the agency. Disposable.

Like most men.

How useless. How miserable. Perhaps, indeed this was just his fate. Why did he even expect anything different? Most men died this way anyway.

He was out of breath, and will. So he stopped, just as lasers appeared on his forehead.

How fitting, like all of his life, he'd die in the same way. Alone, in a dark, cold, night. After a monumental failure.

He laughed.

And the shots from the OIA rang.

+++

"Marie...it really is you," Amelie said, as she welcomed the Knight to her office, now the Director of the recently formed Royal Investigations Unit. Her friend smiled, almost like an angel incarnate, and spoke much like one.

"Yes, it's me, I missed you, wait, are those eyebugs?"

Amelie looked embarrassed as Marie walked into the room, her face laden with concern.

"Um, I'll fix my sleep schedule, someday, I think."

"Someday? That won't do. Not sleeping is bad for your health, you know?" She said, her concern growing.

"I know, I know. No need to remind me." She said, defensively, before Marie conceded with a sigh. The two sat in front of each other.

"So...how's the investigations?"

"I'm so sorry Amelie." She began, with an apologetic expression. "Those plotters are just a different bunch. Whenever I'd catch them, they'd fight to the death or commit suicide."

That was...problematic. Dead men meant no information. No information meant no proper investigations.

"But, more importantly, I have some information, at least. And it concerns me."

"What is it?"

"We met the OIA last night. They killed one of the plotters before I got to him."

A grim look appeared on Amelie's face. It was clear then that Bluch's OIA had fully gone rogue. The game was on, and that was now clear to Amelie's mind.

A civil war was inevitable.

The only question now was how long. How long could she delay it? And how much of the Military could she pull to her side?

"Marie, what do you suggest?"

"Until I find more evidence, please stay low, but act quietly and swiftly. I heard that many in the General Staff are reconsidering their positions."

"How so?"

"A power struggle is slowly cracking them into two." She handed her a folder with a "classified" stamp on it, and in it were many documents. One of them was a report from her unit, which detailed a recorded discussion from an Army garrison to someone in the Capital. But, it wasn't just that. It contained many more documents clipped together. It seemed to be a comprehensive report.

"Some units doubt that an armed coup is feasible." She smirked. "This one in particular seemed interesting."

On the report, it said.

"-My Brigade isn't joining. Fuck Heindhöff, we're not dying for him. The Queen doesn't seem half bad-"

It seemed that her plan was working, somewhat. If she could somehow get more moderates with this, then damn it, she would keep her appeasement strategy for the Military.

Both to buy time and allies. Or, at least, to dissuade some from revolting like this one.

She looked at her.

"How did you get this?"

"Why? Magic, of course. I went in with my agents and casted surveillance spells. Though it was tedious, and filtering the nonsense was difficult."

Amelie was impressed. Amelie after all, was, much to her chagrin and frustration, notoriously mediocre at advanced magic. Except for her space inventory, where she loved hiding her files and documents on.

"How fascinating. Very impressive."

"Come on, it's nothing. Other people can do it too."

"Still, most can't. Mastering those spells is hard."

"Fine, fine, you win."

Marie smiled proudly. Indeed, she was a prodigy, Amelie thought. And the perfect eye of hers.