[Oliver’s POV]

  “What the hell was that?” Oliver muttered under his breath.

  He sat down on the grass, watching his soldiers deal with the remaining mercenaries. Although they were still surrounded, the enemies had already lost the one thing that kept them standing, hope.

  With each swing of the Hoplites’ weapons, the number of mercenaries dropped drastically—whether because new bodies fell to the ground or because they simply decided to run.

  Some boarded the last transport ships, while others chose to flee into Tros, clinging to the false hope of finding some way back home.

  As the fighting dwindled, Oliver noticed fresh troops approaching. Soldiers bearing the sigil of House Dardanus. A handful of Hoplites from other deployed units followed behind them.

  Within minutes, the remaining mercenaries realized they were surrounded. One by one, they began deactivating their armors and dropping their weapons. With their hands raised, they started to surrender. No other transport ship was approaching, and it finally sank in that they had been left behind.

  “Close the circle! Nobody leaves!” a voice barked. “Take them to the interrogation deck. I want full reports in one hour.”

  The command’s authority rippled across the formation, and the Dardanus soldiers obeyed without hesitation. But then, the rifles that the soldier had on pivoted. They were pointed toward Oliver and his squad of Hoplites.

  “Nothing personal,” the voice came again, calm but edged with suspicion. “But I don’t know who you are.”

  Oliver sighed and deactivated his Red Ranger Armor. The armor quickly dissolved into energy, revealing his face to the soldiers and officers surrounding them.

  'It’s better to deactivate it anyway,' Oliver thought. 'Only God knows what this asshole might try to do.'

  Oliver looked carefully at his gauntlet; he could still feel the turmoil radiating from the Red Crystal. He knew that if he kept the armor on, sooner or later, it would find an opportunity to hurt him.

  Among the ranks of soldiers, two Rangers stepped forward.

  A Black Ranger and a Yellow Ranger. The Black Ranger moved ahead with a firm step, making it clear who was in command. One step behind, the Yellow Ranger followed.

  Before reaching Oliver, the Black Ranger deactivated her armor, which dissolved into energy. Beneath it was revealed a beautiful woman with long brown hair and a flowing green dress—the same color as the insignia of the Dardanus.

  Oliver recognized her immediately; after all, she was the fiancée. Louise Dardanus, the princess and heir of the Great House.

  “Princess,” Oliver greeted, forcing a smirk despite the exhaustion weighing down his limbs. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m in slightly worse shape than I wished to be.” He gestured vaguely toward his legs; they were trembling beneath him..

  Louise waved a hand gracefully, dismissing his excuse. “Stay seated, Atlas,” she said, her voice clear but commanding. Her gaze flicked briefly to his Hoplites. “Impressive soldiers you’ve trained.”

  Oliver let out a faint chuckle. “What we lack in resources, we make up for in training.”

  Louise’s expression softened for only a heartbeat. Then her eyes sharpened—cool, precise, queenly. “Atlas,” she said, using his title rather than his name. “I’d rather not waste time. Anyone traveling with an elite detachment like this—during an assault on Tros of all times—raises more than questions.” Her arms folded, tone turning razor sharp. “What exactly brought you here?”

  Pressure filled the air, a quiet but absolute demand. Her stare was the kind that could peel open armor as easily as truth.

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  “Commerce,” Oliver answered evenly, tone practiced, half-truth polished smooth by exhaustion. “I heard several trade fleets were coming early. Still have a surplus of mechs to sell.” He leaned back slightly, forcing calm. “If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to search my ship. You’ll find nothing but cargo and spreadsheets.”

  Louise said nothing. For the briefest moment, silence pressed down like a second gravity field.

  The Yellow Ranger stepped closer, leaning toward Louise to whisper something inaudible. Oliver strained to catch fragments, but nothing. The princess’s expression softened briefly, then she gave a slight, imperceptible nod.

  At once, the Yellow Ranger advanced toward Oliver.

  The Yellow Ranger extended his hand. With a flick of his fingers, the yellow ranger armor disappeared.

  Beneath it stood a man Oliver hadn’t seen in years.

  It was his former mentor.

  Nico watched him carefully. The scrutiny in his eyes made it almost impossible for Oliver to hide the surge of emotions pressing beneath his calm facade.

  He wanted to greet his old friend properly. To congratulate him on the upcoming wedding, to ask how he’d been after years apart, to pretend for a moment that things were simple again.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead, Oliver extended his hand, accepting the help Nico offered and pulling himself to his feet.

  “Thank you,” Oliver said softly, his voice distorted slightly through the mask's emitter. He kept his words measured and detached. Anything personal could betray who he was.

  Nico, General of the Dardanus Fleet and soon-to-be husband of Princess Louise, remained expressionless. “Governor,” he replied, his tone clipped, distant.

  The chill in that single word cut deeper than he’d expected, though he understood why. To Nico, he was just another player—one more authority figure in a galaxy full of masks and hidden motives.

  “I’ll expect your cooperation during the investigation,” Nico continued. It wasn’t phrased as a request.

  “Of course,” Oliver answered evenly. “Your men can inspect our vessel. I’ve nothing to hide.”

  He didn’t flinch at the thought. By now, the Hoplites had likely already contacted Command. The captured mercenaries and some Hoplites had long since departed. Command’s teleportation wasn’t linked to any grid. No trace would remain behind.

  Nico’s expression softened a bit. “We appreciate the support. You can imagine how unsettled everyone still is.”

  Oliver gave a faint shrug, lips tugging into something that almost passed for a smile. “It’s nothing. If I’d been faster, I might’ve stopped their leader.”

  Nico shook his head slowly. “No. He wasn’t the real problem.” His eyes drifted toward the burning skyline; his voice lowered with the weight of experience. “He wasn’t strong. But the way they moved. The numbers, and the precision with which they targeted exactly what they wanted, that’s what should concern us.”

  “Not that strong?” Oliver asked, his tone measured but deliberate, pushing, probing, searching for any scrap of information. “Wasn’t he the legendary Green Ranger?”

  Nico shook his head, confident. “Impossible. Maybe stronger than the average Ranger, but not anywhere close to a Unique Cryst—”

  The sentence broke apart. A harsh cough tore through his chest, deep and violent.

  Louise reacted instantly, stepping in to steady him. Her hands gripped his arm in a gesture that was half command, half care. “You should rest,” she said firmly. “The battle’s taken more out of you than you think.”

  Oliver turned his gaze aside, as did his Hoplites. They wanted to pretend they hadn’t seen it, to avoid showing emotion, and above all, the pity in their eyes. But the sound was difficult to unhear. And for Oliver, it was worse. Unbearably worse.

  Because he already knew what it meant.

  He caught the faint shimmer of crimson against Nico’s glove, the way he wiped the corner of his mouth just quickly enough to hide the blood. Then he straightened, forced composure like he always did, and looked to the soldiers again with a tired smile.

  “I’ll retire for a while,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back to assist soon.”

  Louise nodded softly, watching him turn toward the base’s inner corridor. For a moment, his figure looked smaller, almost fragile.

  Oliver raised a hand in acknowledgment, but his chest twisted with ache. The dull, sinking kind that had nothing to do with physical strain.

  Behind him, the Hoplites exchanged hushed words.

  “It’s close,” one murmured sadly. “That cough… It’s the first sign. I’ve seen it before.”

  “Yeah,” another whispered back. “Once it starts, there’s no stopping it.”

  Oliver didn’t have the heart to reprimand them. He only hoped no one else heard.

  A young Hoplite hurried to his side. “Sir. Communications are back online. The ship is requesting your immediate response.”

  Oliver nodded absently, yet his eyes never left Nico’s departing silhouette. His mentor moved slower now, shoulders drawn.

  'His boon is failing,' Oliver thought grimly. 'The curse is advancing.'

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