The night was about to pass, and the first light of dawn was already breaking through the horizon. Birds were the first to stir, followed soon by early risers appearing on the streets.
The name "Night Knight" could be traced back to the inception of the unit, during the age of spears and swords, of line formations and cold steel. In that era, cavalry was an essential arm for shock and pursuit—especially heavy cavalry, which could charge straight through infantry lines. Against inexperienced troops, such an assault alone could spell total collapse. To meet the need for such a "breach cavalry," the Great Sage Bohard, who once guided Dazilet's development, applied the then-emergent modification technology to an elite unit of heavy cavalry.
The result was a corps of modified riders who swept through the battlefield unchallenged. With their enhanced night vision, they often launched surprise attacks under the cover of darkness. Over time, they became known as the "Night Knights." Even in this age of modern firearms where cavalry had faded from war, the title remained. Tactics that used the cover of night had never gone out of style—but today, these reapers of the dark would march toward the dawn, piercing the brilliance of daybreak.
"No need for a long speech at this point," Otto said simply.
Inside the safe house, the members of the Fourth Squad had assembled. Today, they would act as attackers, supporting Intelligence Division agents in an assault on the venue hosting the birthday celebration for the Emperor of the Luvina Empire.
"Though this mission is complex, you'll find it easier than many we've carried out before. No artillery, no bunkers, no bridges. All we have to do is fire on the enemy and wait for our allies to move in."
Otto wasn't sure if motivational words had any real effect on the second-generation Night Knights. Both squad leaders and Arcia had been fighting since the outbreak of the war; they were seasoned veterans now. It was Sennia who appeared the most anxious—understandable, given how long they had prepared for this operation. Still, Otto needed to say his piece. If it could prevent even one mistake or needless casualty, then it was worth it.
"All right. It's time—move out!"
Otto's gaze fixed on the silver watch wrapped around his wrist. The moment the second hand aligned with the minute hand, the plan they'd spent two weeks preparing officially began.
A military truck, covered in army-green waterproof canvas, had parked outside earlier that morning. The Fourth Squad, now in civilian clothes and fully armed, lined up and boarded in two neat rows. Some curious passersby glanced their way, but at this point, it no longer mattered if they were spotted.
Once everyone was aboard, the last two soldiers folded up the canvas gate, and the truck rumbled forward over cobbled streets, swaying with each bump.
Inside the truck bed, nineteen people sat in two rows along the sides. Edwin and Otto were up front in the cab, while Nordhausen sat dead center at the front of the truck bed. Two massive 20mm autocannons took up most of the central space—wild, brutal weapons that only a Night Knight could feasibly wield solo.
Sennia sat near the front as well. Though she'd been in one real battle before, anxiety still gnawed at her. She glanced at Shatiel sitting across from her. Sensing Sennia's gaze, Shatiel met her eyes. It was only a brief exchange, but it brought Sennia some much-needed comfort.
The ride passed in silence.
After about thirty minutes, the truck rolled to a stop in a nondescript alley about six hundred meters from the venue—the closest point the Fourth Platoon could get to, as the area was under tight security.
The venue was a luxurious six-story restaurant near the commercial district, famous for its high-end service and extravagant ambiance. For the Emperor's birthday, the entire establishment had been redecorated, and all five dining floors had been cleared to accommodate over a thousand guests.
"Need a hand?"
As always with urban operations, getting to the rooftops was a necessary step. Sennia, staring at the building's outer wall like a novice climber, tried to find a viable path. Nordhausen and the others had already scaled it, but their route was far too difficult for her to follow. Attempting it would likely result in a nasty fall. Eventually, Edwin—bringing his monstrous strength to bear—simply picked her up and tossed her onto the rooftop like a sack of potatoes.
"Would it kill you to give me a heads-up next time?!"
Being hurled skyward like a rubber ball wasn't exactly Sennia's idea of fun. Her stomach was still spinning.
"With a reaction like that, you would've never agreed if I'd told you."
He wasn't wrong. Sennia could only curse under her breath, blaming those who hadn't let her complete her training in Altasa.
"Keep low—this way."
Once everyone had regrouped, Otto led the way forward.
The first rays of dawn banished the night's darkness, casting golden light across the cityscape. The rooftops formed a jagged patchwork of smoke, debris, structures, and shadow—and within that shifting canvas, the agile figures of the Fourth Squad moved swiftly. The people below were too busy with their morning routines to notice anything above them. Only one small child, looking up toward the sky, glimpsed the fleeting silhouettes—but his cry of wonder was lost in the noise of the waking city.
"Quite the turnout..."
Reaching their designated position, Edwin clicked his tongue at the sight below.
From here, they had a clear view of the venue's front entrance. Lavishly dressed nobles and the sleek cars they arrived in had blocked the entire road. Police and military personnel were struggling to maintain order, while venue staff ran around in a panic.
"Now we wait."
Nordhausen found a place to sit, though his eyes never stopped scanning the crowd.
According to the final plan, once the Fourth Platoon opened fire, the First Platoon—who had infiltrated the venue a day prior—would launch their assault as well. Then, the arriving Second and Third Platoons, along with Intelligence Division operatives, would pretend to be reinforcements and engage the first two platoons in a staged battle. During the chaos, high-value targets would be extracted by truck from the main entrance. Everything was ready. They just needed the party to begin.
The squad ran final checks on weapons and combat stimulants. Two hours later, a red curtain pulled open on one of the upper windows signaled the beginning of the operation. Fourth Squad sprang into action.
"In the twenty-third year of His Majesty Sharant's enlightened reign, we gather to celebrate His Majesty's fifty-fifth birthday—"
The speaker's words were suddenly interrupted by a sharp, out-of-place sound.
"What was that?"
Murmurs of confusion rippled through the guests packed into the venue's first-floor hall. It sounded like glass shattering. All eyes turned toward the grand windows at the back of the hall—now visibly cracked. Something small and metallic was rolling along the floor underfoot. A nearby man clutched his shoulder, seemingly having been struck by one.
With a hiss, the canisters began spewing thick smoke, instantly triggering panic.
"Protect His Highness!"
Soldiers stationed in the hall quickly converged around the stage.
"This way, Your Highness."
The commanding lieutenant led the prince and other dignitaries toward the rear exit—only to have the doors swing open from the other side.
"There's no exit here."
Rogm was waiting for them, a modified 12.7mm handgun in hand, flanked by a dozen Night Knights with submachine guns.
Bang—
A blinding muzzle flash erupted from Rogm's weapon. The prince flinched at the thunderous report, ears ringing. He raised a hand to his face—his fingers came away red and sticky. Turning slowly, he saw what was left of the lieutenant: a headless corpse slumped on the floor.
The hall froze.
Screams broke the silence. Guests surged toward the exits—only to find every route blocked. Otto fired a burst into the ceiling to halt their advance. Those at the back kept pushing forward, unaware of the chaos up front.
Smoke now filled the hall, drastically reducing visibility. But the Night Knights could track targets via thermal radiation. Arcia and her team smashed through a window above the entryway, landing atop the crowd and charging toward the stage.
"Who are you?! Stop!"
Several guards aimed their rifles at the snarling Arcia. She dodged easily—too easily. One moment she was there, the next, she wasn't. Then she reappeared, right in front of them.
Her blade sliced through ankles and necks. Using one corpse as a shield, she pushed forward, tackling another guard before slashing open his throat. The fourth, paralyzed with fear, couldn't even reload his rifle. Arcia dropped him with a kick and plunged her knife into his chest. A fifth guard lunged with a bayonet-mounted rifle—she sidestepped, grabbed the barrel, and dragged him forward, sending him sprawling. A swift stab to the nape finished him off.
"Don't—don't come any closer..."
The guards near the stage were all dead. The remaining high-ranking officials huddled by the wall, faces pale, staring at the advancing Night Knights.
"Silence! Don't move!!"
Nordhausen entered the hall with the rest of the team. The muzzle flash of his submachine gun brought the panic under control—at least enough to stop the stampede.
The prince and officials who had tried to flee were herded back. Nordhausen did a quick headcount, then pulled a few select targets from the crowd onto the stage.
With the objectives secured, Otto signaled the squad to open the exits.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm and proceed to exit in an orderly fashion."
The other thousand-plus guests were no longer relevant. Removing them now would reduce the risk of confusion during the next phase. All that remained was to wait for the Second and Third Platoons to arrive and "rescue" the hostages.