> "CODE RED! CODE RED! POSSIBLE INVASION. ESTIMATED ARRIVAL IN 8 MINUTES AND 30 SECONDS."
Inside the shiny white conference room located deep beneath the central dome of Capital Sigma (the heart of the Perfect Society), a dozen high-ranking officials had gathered.
The walls glowed with soft white-blue light, and the table in the center was a long slab of obsidian steel, untouched by time. At the head of the room stood a statue, silent and revered, of a man holding a book in one hand and a pen in the other.
The Father of Perfection: The Architect.
Every official entering bowed slightly toward the statue, offering a wordless prayer or acknowledgment.
Even now, long after his disappearance, his presence still lingered. His contribution and ideology etched into their minds like scripture.
Director Amon, clad in his white uniform with silver trim glasses, sat at the head of the table, face pale but composed. His synthetic eyes flicked rapidly as he absorbed data streaming into his vision from internal implants.
A tall woman in a tight black suit stepped forward and said sharply:
"Director, seismic scans confirm a coordinated Spirit Pulse originating across the eastern quadrant of the Black Ocean. Preliminary data suggests the use of Phase Rifts—potentially hundreds of them."
Another man, bald with a half-metallic jaw, chimed in. "And after the Satellite scanning, We detected energy frequencies consistent with mid-to-high grade Summoners. Estimates suggest a force numbering well over 100,000 units."
They all understood what that meant. This wasn’t a raid. This was war.
"From where?" Director Amon asked flatly.
A third official, young, pale, with barely-contained tremors in his hands rose from his seat and spoke, voice tight with anxiety.
"We believe it’s the Freedom Force... from the Land of the Forsaken."
Director Amon’s fist crashed onto the obsidian table, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the tense room. The display screens flickered briefly from the impact.
His face contorted with fury. "Damn cockroaches! How did they gather so many Summoners? Shouldn’t they have been dead by now, rotting in that cursed battlefield?!"
The table fell silent for a breath.
Another official, older and wearing a bronze-rimmed uniform, leaned forward, his voice grim.
"Director... they must have been planning this for years. There’s no other explanation for the sheer scale of their forces. We were just blind to it. Like the way we overthrown their tyrannical rule."
Director Amon slowly adjusted his glasses, forcing calm back into his voice. The polished lenses flashed under the room’s sterile lighting.
"Hmph. Let them come then. Even if the Man of Legend is no longer here among us, the responsibility of defending our perfect world falls to us now."
He stood tall, his gaze sweeping across the officials.
"This is our duty. To protect our paradise."
Then, his voice sharpened into ice.
"Call Commander Blue Lotus. And Commander Blood. Instruct them to engage the invaders before they reach the shore. I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care how many die. Those monsters—"
He jabbed a finger toward the red swarm of holographic dots still pulsing across the Black Ocean.
"—cannot be allowed to set foot on our sacred land."
"Kill every last one of them."
The room was dead silent.
Not a word of protest. Not a whisper of hesitation. His command was death. And everyone knew they had no choice but to obey.
Perfect Society High Command Transmission Log
Encryption Level: S-1 / Priority: Blood Protocol
> Commander Blue Lotus
Response: "Engaging. We will deploy aerial interceptors within three minutes. The sky will not belong to them."
Response: "Permission to use Prototype Units? It’s been a while since I spilled rebel blood."
"Permission granted. No survivors needed."
Meanwhile, across the Black Ocean
The winds howled and the sea trembled.
From the horizon, hundreds of colossal spirit constructs charged forward. The were monstrous serpents made of magma, soaring falcons formed from lightning, massive lotus-shaped vessels carved from living wood, glowing with ethereal green.
Each one bore the crest of the Freedom Force.
The Freedom Force was now scattered, heading in several strategic locations.
But with nearly 400,000 members, they were advancing toward the Green Land like swarming flies and colossal insects.
Igaris stood aboard one of the skyships heading to the western front of the Perfect Society. Behind him stood the Spearhead Unit, awaiting his command.
The Spearhead Unit consisted of over a thousand Summoners, each bonded with attack-type beasts. The unit was known for its devastating frontal assaults.
However, not everyone in the unit was satisfied with their newly appointed young captain.
They knew little about him, only his title (Darkfire) and the rare triple affinity he possessed.
But in their eyes, no matter how talented someone was, a young man without battlefield experience had no place leading a thousand elite Summoners.
Igaris didn’t care much about their doubts. They had no choice but to obey his orders anyway.
His gaze was fixed ahead, anticipating the first glimpse of the Perfect Society—the land they called Paradise.
Was it truly a utopia of advanced civilization, or just a carefully spun rumor?
Soon, the green, vibrant land came into view.
As expected, it was filled with life and lush vegetation.
Why wouldn’t the Forsaken envy such a place?
But then, his expression darkened.
Along the shore, he spotted silhouettes gleaming with a metallic sheen.
"The Mechas..." Igaris murmured under his breath. Them he turned sharply to the troops behind him.
"Be prepared! Enemies ahead!" he barked.
"Tch... Who is he bluffing?" one female lieutenant scoffed coldly, her voice dripping with disdain. "We’re still a hundred miles from shore. There’s no way someone could see that far."
"Yes, yes, Madam. He’s just acting cool to save face," a male combatant sneered, jealousy flickering in his eyes.
"Sigh... I just hope I don’t die today under this foolish captain," another woman muttered, running her fingers through the fur of her panther-like spirit beast.
But as the skyship drew closer, their mocking expressions shifted.
"The Mechas! They’re ready and waiting!"
"Damn... The captain was right. I must be blind to have trusted you fools over the high command who appointed this young man as our leader!"
"Fuckers... Will you stop the bootlicking and get ready to fight?" barked one of Igaris’s female subordinates, her voice sharp as a blade.
Still, Igaris said nothing. His face was calm, but tension brewed inside.
This would be his first time facing a Mecha. A Spirit Mecha to be exact.
And even he didn’t know if he was ready.