Reliable Excavation & Demolition: A Rotten World, and Pure Chaos

The war room of the Revolutionary Army was alight with murmurs and hushed speculation as a scout, clad in a dust-ridden cloak, stood before the gathered commanders. The flickering glow of candlelight cast long shadows across the room, adding to the heavy atmosphere. The air carried a sense of urgency, tension thickening as the scout cleared his throat to deliver his report.

"Lady Najenda," the scout began, his voice steady but urgent. "A significant ambush has taken place against one of Esdeath's forces. An unknown group struck with precision, overwhelming the Imperial soldiers and securing a decisive victory. Their assault was swift and brutal, leaving little time for the enemy to mount an effective counterattack."

Silence followed, save for the rustling of parchment and the shifting of chairs. The officers glanced at each other, some with curiosity, others with unease. Najenda leaned forward, her single eye narrowing in scrutiny. "Are you certain it wasn't one of our own? Night Raid hasn't reported any activity in that area."

The scout shook his head. "This was not Night Raid's doing, nor the work of any known revolutionary faction. The tactics used were unlike anything we've encountered before—fast, calculated, and highly unconventional. Witnesses say the enemy attacked from multiple angles, using unfamiliar weaponry and retreating before reinforcements could arrive. The battlefield was left in disarray, bodies scattered as if the attackers had swept through like a storm."

A murmur rippled through the room. Some of the commanders exchanged skeptical glances, while others looked more concerned. A force capable of besting an Imperial army, even in an ambush, was no small matter. If Esdeath herself had been present, the outcome might have been different, but the fact that her forces had been routed was a feat no rebel faction had yet achieved.

Najenda rested her chin on her knuckles, her expression unreadable. "Unknown forces launching attacks on the Empire without aligning with us? That is... concerning." She allowed the weight of her words to settle before continuing. "Did any survivors give descriptions of these fighters?"

"Only fragmented accounts," the scout admitted. "Some claim the attackers moved with an almost supernatural speed, others spoke of weapons that fired without arrows or explosives. The only consensus is that the enemy fought with remarkable coordination, as if they had fought together for years. It was as if they anticipated every move of the Imperial soldiers before they could react. Some even described strange devices, things they had never seen before."

Another wave of hushed discussion spread among the officers. One of them, an older tactician with deep scars from past battles, grunted. "If these reports are accurate, we might be dealing with a force that understands modern warfare better than we do. That is either a dangerous threat or an invaluable ally."

Najenda exhaled slowly, contemplating the implications. This new force—whoever they were—had changed the landscape of the war. Whether they were friend or foe was a question that needed answering, and soon. If they continued to operate independently, there was no telling how their actions might affect the Revolutionary Army's own plans.

She tapped her fingers against the table, her mind recalling an earlier report—an Imperial platoon annihilated near a small village. The attack pattern had been just as unconventional, the descriptions of the enemy eerily similar. At the time, she had dismissed it as an isolated incident, perhaps the work of rogue elements from the resistance. But now... it was becoming clear that something far bigger was at play.

"Send scouts to track their movements," she ordered. "If they are operating near the Empire, we need to learn more about them. If possible, we must determine their goals before we assume their allegiance."

A younger officer, standing near the edge of the room, spoke hesitantly. "Commander Najenda, what if they're not allies? What if they see both the Empire and the Revolutionary Army as enemies?"

Najenda closed her eye for a moment before answering. "Then we may have a war on two fronts. And that is something we cannot afford."

The officers nodded grimly, understanding the weight of her words. The war was changing, and they needed to be prepared for what came next. If these unknown warriors were powerful enough to strike fear into the Empire, then their next move could determine the fate of the revolution itself.

Night Raid gathered in the dimly lit main hall of their hideout, the scent of parchment and old wood thick in the air. The latest report had sent a ripple of confusion through their ranks—a large Imperial force had been ambushed and utterly decimated by an unidentified group. But it wasn't just the victory that was strange; it was the way it had been executed. The tactics were precise, overwhelming, and unlike anything they had seen before.

Tatsumi stood near the center of the room, his arms crossed as he stared at the written report. His eyes scanned the details over and over, as if rereading them would somehow make the information more sensible. The parchment crinkled slightly under the pressure of his fingers.

"Unconventional weaponry, hit-and-run tactics, precise coordination..." he muttered, trailing off as realization struck him. His grip on the parchment tightened. "It has to be them..."

Leone, perched lazily on a wooden crate, perked up. "Them? Who are you talking about?"

Tatsumi exhaled sharply, lowering the paper. "The REDs. The way this ambush was carried out... it's exactly how they operate. But... when did they become an army?" He looked up at the others, his expression a mixture of awe and confusion. "Last I knew, they were just a band of eccentric mercenaries. How the hell did they expand so fast?"

Najenda, resting her chin on her hand, remained silent, contemplating the implications. She had just received the reports earlier. If these "REDs" had indeed grown into an organized force, then they were either a potential ally—or an unpredictable wildcard in an already volatile war. They had fought a chaotic battle against Night Raid before, but now? Now they were capable of challenging one of the Empire's strongest units and winning decisively.

Lubbock let out a low whistle. "We might have a problem on our hands. Or maybe... a new ally? Either way, we need more information before jumping to conclusions."

Mine scoffed, crossing her arms. "An ally? You think a group of lunatics who pick fights for fun are going to be dependable? Don't make me laugh."

Akame, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. "If it really is them, they're dangerous. We already saw what they were capable of." Her crimson eyes flickered with memory. "Zank the Beheader."

Tatsumi felt a chill crawl down his spine. He recalled the battle vividly—the crazed executioner, his eerie ability to mimic voices, and the sudden, brutal end he met.

"Yeah," he said grimly, "Demoman killed him without hesitation. He barely even flinched. One swing of that cursed sword, and it was over."

Leone frowned, shifting her weight. "And now they're big enough to take down one of Esdeath's units? Damn. Either they've been real busy or they've got some serious reinforcements."

Bulat nodded thoughtfully. "That kind of growth doesn't happen overnight. Either they've been recruiting, or they had a hidden force we didn't know about. Either way, they're a bigger player in this war than we assumed."

Sheele adjusted her glasses, looking uneasy. "Do you think they'll turn on us? If they're growing so fast, they might start seeing us as competition."

Najenda tapped her fingers against the table. "This changes things. If they're becoming an army, then they're either an asset or a new front we have to deal with. The Empire won't ignore this forever. If we don't move fast, they could be swept up in the storm—and we might get caught in the crossfire."

Tatsumi clenched his fists. He couldn't decide if he was proud or worried. The REDs had proven they weren't just another group of fighters. They were something else entirely now.

Leone stretched, cracking her knuckles. "I dunno about you guys, but I kinda wanna see them in action. If they're kicking Imperial ass this hard, maybe we should pay them a visit."

Lubbock smirked. "Right, because that went so well the last time we met them."

Mine huffed. "We barely walked away from that fight in one piece. I don't want to deal with their insanity again unless we absolutely have to."

Akame turned to Najenda. "Should we investigate? If they're growing this fast, we need to know what they're planning."

Najenda nodded. "Yes, but carefully. If they've changed this much, we can't assume they still see us as neutral parties."

A heavy silence filled the room as they all considered what that meant. If the REDs had truly expanded their numbers and firepower, then the war's balance was shifting in ways no one had foreseen. And none of them knew what would come next.

Prime Minister Honest lounged in his grand chair, a goblet of wine in one hand and a greasy roasted leg of some unfortunate beast in the other. The air in his lavish chamber was thick with the scent of excess, his table overflowing with dishes fit for ten men. A trembling messenger knelt before him, sweat beading down his forehead as he clutched the report in his hands. The flickering torchlight cast long, wavering shadows over the grotesque murals adorning the chamber walls—scenes of past conquests and brutal victories, each one a testament to the Empire's dominance.

"Speak," Honest commanded, tearing a chunk of meat from the bone with his teeth, his voice dripping with boredom.

The messenger gulped, hesitating before forcing himself to deliver the message. "M-My Lord, Esdeath's forces have been ambushed. A surprise attack from an unknown faction—her entire battalion suffered heavy casualties. The attackers used—"

A loud crack echoed in the chamber as Honest's goblet shattered against the marble floor. Wine pooled at his feet like spilled blood. His once-lazy expression twisted into a furious snarl, his beady eyes narrowing dangerously. The mood in the chamber shifted instantly, the ever-present atmosphere of indulgence now tainted with an air of impending violence.

"A new faction dares to strike against my army?" His voice, usually playful and amused, dropped into a dark, venomous growl. "Who? Which pathetic insects have suddenly grown the gall to challenge the Empire?"

The messenger recoiled, stammering, "W-We don't know yet, sir, but their methods—"

"Enough!" Honest slammed a pudgy fist onto the table, rattling silverware and sending plates tumbling. A plate of roasted fowl slid off the edge and splattered onto the floor, but Honest paid it no mind. His jowls quivered with rage as he leaned forward, a grotesque parody of concern darkening his gaze. "If Esdeath's soldiers were butchered, then she had better be out there hunting these cockroaches down herself. If she isn't, I'll have her head next!"

The messenger hesitated again, his breath catching in his throat. "T-That is the other thing, my Lord. General Esdeath survived the battle completely unharmed. She managed to withdraw before the assault could reach her directly."

For a moment, silence.

Then—

Laughter. Deep, hearty, bellowing laughter that sent chills down the messenger's spine. Honest leaned back, clutching his massive belly as he cackled like a man utterly detached from the weight of the news. He howled in amusement, slamming his hand against his thigh, nearly knocking over another goblet in the process. "Is that all? That's what had you shaking like a cornered rat? Hah! Who cares about a few thousand dead soldiers? Esdeath survived. That means nothing changes!"

His mirthful hysteria continued, his chortles echoing off the chamber walls. The gold-trimmed banners swayed ever so slightly, as if recoiling from his grotesque humor. He wiped a tear from his eye, the corner of his mouth still twisted into a gleeful grin. "Let her handle it. Those insects must think themselves clever, but they'll be nothing more than crushed pulp beneath her boot. This is no different from the other rebels—just another nuisance to swat away."

With that, he reached for another serving of meat, tearing into it with his teeth, his appetite undeterred. The messenger, still on his knees, swallowed hard, nodding weakly before scurrying out of the chamber as fast as his legs would allow. He knew better than to linger in Honest's presence when the man was in such a mood.

Outside the chamber, the messenger took a deep, shaky breath, his fingers tightening around the now-crumpled report. A thousand dead soldiers. A battalion reduced to ruin. And it meant nothing.

Inside, Honest continued feasting, gnawing at the bone with an almost animalistic fervor. Blood and grease coated his fingers, but he paid it no mind. His mind was made up—so long as Esdeath was alive, so long as she fought for the Empire, there was no reason to be concerned.

For in his mind, the Empire would always remain untouchable.