Rita did not tell Gide his idea was impossible. Beside him, even an absurdity like that felt almost within reach. Still, after turning it over in her mind, she gave him an honest answer.
“No. I’d be content if we simply severed ties and stopped obeying them.”
“You have no desire for revenge?”
Rita tightened her fists. Her throat felt raw, yet her tone remained level.
“Of course I do. But holding off the demonic beasts is already pushing us past our limits. If we wage war against HQ on top of that, good people will die for nothing. A clash between us could tear the Final Defense Line open—and the body count would skyrocket.”
“Then what do you want?”
“An end to this war. For all of us to make it out alive, living in peace without beasts to hunt us.”
“I see.”
“Don't mistake that for forgiveness. I have no intention of letting those bastards off the hook. It’s only…”
“I get it. First things first.”
“Exactly. When the monsters are gone, a different era will begin. One that has no use for a command post or a defense perimeter.”
Gide reached out, his calloused, scarred fingers lightly brushing her cheek. A quiet smile touched his lips.
“Then I’ll take your dream as my own.”
“Did you have something else in mind before?”
“A little, maybe. It doesn’t matter now.”
She asked what his original ambition had been, but Gide gave no answer. Instead, he turned the conversation back on her.
“Rita, do you honestly believe we can bring an end to this conflict? It’s been grinding on since before either of us drew our first breath.”
“You'd know better than anyone, wouldn't you? You’re the one mapping the ruins and meticulously charting how the mana contamination spreads.”
She raised her gaze to meet his.
“You’ve been tracking its trajectory, haven’t you? Tracing the current upstream to uncover the root of this plague—the absolute zero where the contamination began.”
“…You never miss a thing, Rita.”
“I just know how your mind works.”
A faint laugh escaped her, and she tossed the inquiry back to him.
“So, Gide—do you think we can really put an end to it all?”
His quiet, knowing smile was answer enough. Rita could tell their thoughts were running along the exact same track.
“Then let’s be the ones to see it through. Let’s make Beacon the signal fire that marks the end of this war.”
That winter, in her nineteenth year, cold snow drifted silently across rows of unmarked graves, blanketing fleeting lives in pure white.
It was the day the two of them set their sights on a new horizon.
The remaining survivors listened to their pledge and stood with them. From that day forward, Beacon closed its ranks to new recruits, shouldering every burden with just six souls.
They broke that decree only once.
“I’m an implement. Just take me out and use me whenever you have need.”
“I’m very effective. Point me at an enemy, and I won’t fail you.”
It was Ollie who discovered the boy.
The brilliant mage Ollie Pascal had taken a private commission from the city’s upper crust. There, tucked away among their prized private collections, she found Luca Pascal.
He was kept in an enormous glass display case, treated simultaneously as an ornamental pet and a lethal weapon. By then, the boy had deteriorated so profoundly that he could no longer tell he was slipping into madness.
“The gloves? They forced me into them because I kept gnawing my fingernails down to the quick. They complained it was unsightly, but I couldn’t seem to stop.”
“The mark on my forehead? Oh, that’s just from cracking my skull against the wall. I didn't even realize I was doing it until the blood came. Silly of me, really.”
“Lady mage, won’t you stay and talk a while longer? It’s been ages since anyone spoke with me. I’m having such a wonderful time.”
Ollie negotiated a bargain with the aristocrats and hauled the boy back, display case and all—though in truth, she had practically strong-armed them into the arrangement.
“Screw decorum. The poor kid had clearly lost his mind. How was I supposed to just leave him there?”
Gide and Is smoothed over the inevitable friction with high society. Sarah broke Luca out of the glass prison and saw to his recovery, while Rita and Ethan oversaw his combat training.
In this manner, Luca Pascal was welcomed as the seventh member of Beacon.
At age twenty,
their autonomous squad formally declared full operational independence.
They hunted down the Named beasts who marshaled whole armies—the Commanders—earning Gide the title of “King.” As their reputation spread like wildfire, Rita and the others gained monikers of their own.
HQ had no choice but to swallow Beacon’s defiance. How could they rein in a tiny squad that achieved such overwhelming, undeniable victories? Beacon piled carcasses into mountains, refused rations, fed themselves, and still held the line at the Final Defense Line without wavering.
Two more years marched past.
Numbering only seven, Beacon forged a living legend, slaying Named beasts like the Red Queen, Malefic, Crawler, and the Doppelganger.
Eventually, their gaze turned past the Final Defense Line, fixed on the uncharted abyss where no mortal had ever set foot.
It was a desolate wasteland crawling with monstrosities so horrifying that nobody had ever lived long enough to grant them names. And there, for the first time since their training days, a message arrived from Archmage Pascal.
A full decade had elapsed since they last laid eyes on him, yet not a single line on his face had changed.
“Do you know where your journey leads?”
“Toward the root of the mana contamination, I presume. The birthplace of the demonic beasts.”
Gide answered without missing a beat, then countered immediately:
“Do you know what waits there?”
The Archmage fell quiet for a fleeting second before offering a terse reply.
“I do.”
His gaze shifted, pinning Rita where she stood.
“You.”
The pronouncement made no sense. Before Rita could so much as knit her brow in confusion, Gide shifted his weight and stepped between them, shielding her from view.
Pascal showed neither surprise nor agitation. He simply drew a sheaf of parchment from the folds of his robes and held it out.
“These depict what lies ahead. Your instinct was correct. That ground marks the very fountainhead of this disaster. May fortune favor your path.”
Without another word, the Archmage melted into thin air, leaving no trace behind. All that remained were sketches of shattered ruins and a roughly charted map.
***
The crumbling fortress.
Cutting a path through hordes of nameless horrors and pressing through the suffocating mire of mana contamination, Beacon finally stood before the citadel’s remains.
Strangely enough, not a single demonic beast lingered within the walls. Though they prowled in agitated throngs outside, none dared cross the threshold. The lull offered a fleeting reprieve, but their circumstances remained grim.
The relentless march had left every member battered, and now they found themselves encircled in the ruins, entirely cut off from outside aid.
While the rest caught their breath, Is Pascal dispatched his summons to scour every inch of the perimeter. Once the recon report came in, Gide drew Rita aside and raised three fingers on his right hand.
“Three separate disasters? Wonderful. Lay it on me.”
Taking shelter beneath a partially intact spire, Gide laid out the reality of their position.
First: though the layout matched Pascal’s drawings flawlessly, a thorough sweep had yielded nothing of value. There were no stockpiles, no rations, and no clean water—nothing that would allow them to outlast a siege.
Second: the swarm encircling them was expanding exponentially. From the moment the squad crossed the threshold, every monstrosity in the region had begun converging on the site. Piercing through that wall of flesh was beyond Beacon’s power alone.
Third: the concentration of mana contamination within the ruins was climbing at an alarming rate. It was merely an irritant for the moment, but at this velocity, even seasoned Oathbearers wouldn't survive past forty-eight hours. Varying reserves of Od might buy an extra breath or two, but the ending would be identical.
Every angle pointed toward certain death in isolation. Rita lingered in quiet contemplation before extending an open palm.
“Give me Pascal’s sketches.”
She righted an overturned marble slab to serve as a table, spread the map across its surface, and arranged the drawings over the exact locations where Is had confirmed each landmark. The images formed an even, balanced ring.
Gide caught on at a glance.
“A hexagon.”
“Or a six-pointed star.”
Rita touched the focal point where the six vectors converged.
“We look here.”
They made their way to a secluded garden tucked into an inner corner of the citadel. The greenery had withered into brittle dust eons ago, leaving shattered statuary scattered across the dirt.
“Wait. The engravings on these pedestals… I’ve seen this pattern before.”
Checking the crest on one sculpture against a sketch, Rita wrestled the stone until its orientation matched the drawing. Working methodically, she shifted and aligned each of the six statues to match the parchment.
A faint, ethereal light bled from the stone. Beneath their feet, an intricate magic circle flared to life across the paving.
And with a heavy rumble, a subterranean passage opened wide.