The sky over Shanghai was painted in hues of orange and purple as the sun dipped below the smog-rimmed horizon. The World Federation headquarters loomed like a fortress of steel and glass, casting elongated shadows over the bustling complex. Inside its walls, calm efficiency ruled—but that calm was about to be shattered.
A trio entered through the reinforced gates, bloodied and battle-worn, their presence demanding attention. Lan Yuheng led the charge, his obsidian armor cracked and stained with dried blood, beast ichor, and ash. Zhuang Niao, silent as ever, followed with twin short blades sheathed on his back, each bearing serrated scars of vicious combat. Xing, in his husky form, had fur matted with blood, patches of plasma burn on his flanks, and glowing amber eyes that scanned every corner like a predator.
The lobby of the Shanghai Branch quieted the moment they stepped in.
The receptionist, a middle-aged woman named Fang Mei, blinked twice as she stood up from behind her crystalline desk. Her eyes darted over the trio and the floating crates that hovered behind them—each locked in reinforced stasis fields containing data drives, beast cores, claws, pelts, spinal fluids, crystal marrow, and condensed aether fragments.
Lan Yuheng's voice was calm but laced with fatigue. "Submission: Mission Clearance. Package tagged LAN-YH-01 through YH-03. Total: 1,478 completed missions. Contained data and materials ready for verification."
Fang Mei nodded and quickly activated the automated logistics scanner. Arcane and technological glyphs began to glow as scanners passed over each container, cataloging every item. Her eyes widened as the numbers started scrolling. The computational node began chiming warnings.
"This can't be right…" she murmured. "Beast cores from Baoshan-Class threats… Reaper Claw Lupine pelts… Five Element Essence Cores… Demonic marrow… Sector 3 reclamation data?"
She checked thrice, then printed the report. Her hands trembled.
Total Asset Value: 14,870,000 Federation Credits.
She looked up at them, mouth slightly agape.
"Please… wait here," she said. "I… I need to call my supervisor."
She disappeared behind a sliding wall, and the atmosphere in the lobby turned dense.
Zhuang Niao stretched, letting out a low yawn. "How many more missions left?"
Lan Yuheng smirked slightly. "Zero. For now."
Xing growled in agreement, tail thumping once against the floor.
Minutes later, the branch manager, Chen Haoran, stormed out of the upper corridor. He was a man of routine and protocol, rarely ruffled—but his face had gone pale.
He bowed deeply.
"Sirs. Madam. If you'll come with me… Commander Zhu will escort you to the Head of Branch. She… requests a personal meeting."
Conference Hall — Top Floor of Shanghai Branch
The lift doors opened with a soft chime. Commander Zhu, a stern man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a long scar across his chin, stood waiting.
He saluted.
"I've seen war generals return with fewer wounds," he said. "Follow me."
They walked past glass-walled war rooms where analysts studied live dimensional breaches, holograms of awakened beast nests, and streams of mission success rates. One screen showed their group profile: LAN-YH-01 had now entered Tier-S Reputation Ranking. Above them, only national elites and war-hardened generals existed.
The large doors opened into a circular room lined with translucent panels displaying planetary mission maps. In the center sat a woman in Federation black—tall, composed, eyes sharp as a blade's edge. She was Director Liu Wenying, the Head of the Shanghai Branch.
"Sit," she said, her tone measured.
They complied. Xing curled at Lan Yuheng's side, ears twitching.
Liu Wenying folded her hands and leaned forward.
"Let's dispense with the pleasantries. You submitted nearly fifteen million credits' worth of high-threat mission resources in under seven days. I've reviewed the field logs. You faced midnight lupine packs, scourge wraiths, elemental hydras, and even a Scaled Abyss-Tyrant. And you came back alive."
Her gaze fixed on Lan Yuheng.
"LAN-YH-01… isn't registered to any known military faction, guild, academy, or autonomous house. Your equipment is hybrid-tier tech. Your tactics are more refined than even elite mercenary squads. And the way you deployed those two mechs—Crimson Sword and Siege Breaker—suggests strategic intent far beyond ordinary operatives."
She paused.
"Who are you really?"
A long silence followed. Even Zhuang Niao shifted slightly.
Lan Yuheng's face remained blank.
"We are independent. That's all that matters."
Liu Wenying's eyes narrowed. "Are you affiliated with Crimson Sky Academy? Or… the Obsidian Doctrine?"
"No."
"Are you remnants of the old Imperial Combat Units?"
Lan Yuheng smiled faintly. "Speculation is dangerous, Director. What matters is the completed missions, and the resources returned to stabilize your sectors."
Zhuang Niao added, "Shanghai is safe because of us. That's the only answer you'll get."
Liu Wenying studied them for a long moment.
Then she leaned back.
"Very well. But understand this: you've just moved from curiosity to classified. Your team is now under watch by the Strategic Intelligence Division. And if you're hiding affiliations that threaten the world order, we will know."
Xing growled lowly.
She nodded toward Commander Zhu. "For now, grant LAN-YH-01 and his team executive-grade clearance for Tier-S missions. Full access to Shanghai armory, databanks, and logistics. I want them operational within the next 72 hours."
Commander Zhu saluted. "Understood."
Lan Yuheng stood. "We will rest. Then we'll begin again."
As they left the chamber, Zhuang Niao whispered to Lan Yuheng, "She doesn't trust us."
"She doesn't need to," Lan Yuheng replied. "She only needs results."
Behind them, Director Liu Wenying watched their retreating forms. She tapped her comm-bead.
"Activate Surveillance Protocol X-39. Track LAN-YH-01. I want to know who they really are—even if I have to dig into every forgotten war file on the planet."
From the shadows of a neighboring skyscraper, a figure observed through a telescopic scope.
A rival guild leader, cloaked in a Null Field, smiled.
"So… the Crimson Ghosts are real. Let the hunt begin."
The heavy air of bureaucracy finally lifted as Commander Zhu guided the trio back down to the main reception. The echoes of Director Liu Wenying's office conversation still lingered in the background of Lan Yuheng's mind, but now was not the time to dwell on questions of identity. The reception hall glowed with the sterile brilliance of polished marble and cold white light.
The receptionist was already waiting, tablet in hand, eyes flashing with disbelief every time she glanced at the final tally. She bowed slightly to Lan Yuheng's group before handing the digital ledger to Commander Zhu for confirmation. On the screen, the staggering number—14,870,000 Federation credits—glared back at them.
Commander Zhu verified it, then transferred the sum directly into Lan Yuheng's account.
"Process complete," Zhu said evenly. "All materials, beast cores, and resources have been logged. Payment issued."
Lan Yuheng gave a respectful nod. "Thank you, Commander Zhu, for helping us with the process. We'll be taking our leave now."
Zhu clasped his hands behind his back, lips twitching in something close to a smile. "Don't mind it. We'll be seeing each other often from now on."
Lan Yuheng's eyes glinted briefly. "Of course, of course."
With that, the three departed the Federation building, armor blood-stained and heavy, weapons still sheathed but radiating the silent aura of their battles.
Shanghai Streets - Nightfall,
The neon lights of the bustling city reflected against rain-slicked streets. The trio moved quietly among the crowds, their presence more like shadows than mercenaries of renown. Yet, Lan Yuheng could feel the prickle at the back of his neck.
Zhuang Niao leaned closer, his voice low. "Young master, some people are following us from behind."
Lan didn't turn. His tone was calm, almost detached. "Hmm, they are agents. Some are from the Federation, and some might be from the guilds."
Zhuang's grip tightened on the haft of his hammer. "Should I eliminate them?"
Lan shook his head slightly, eyes still forward. "No need. We shouldn't provoke them. We don't want unnecessary trouble following us."
Zhuang nodded once. "Got it, young master."
Xing, in his husky form, gave a sharp snort and a single nod of agreement, his icy blue eyes flicking toward the tailing agents.
Moments later, the trio slipped into an alley. One breath. Two. And then they were gone. Their presence vanished like smoke into the night.
The agents stumbled into the same alley, eyes scanning wildly, but there was nothing. No trace. No footprints. Only empty shadows.
"We lost them!" one whispered harshly.
Another cursed, opening his communicator. "Report to command: LAN-YH-01 group lost during pursuit. No trail to follow."
Void Runner Hideout - Forest Perimeter,
Lan Yuheng, Zhuang Niao, and Xing moved swiftly through the outer forests of Shanghai until the concealed entrance of the Void Runner shimmered into view. The stealth field dropped as they approached, revealing the sleek black hull buried within trees.
They stepped inside, the familiar hum of the craft greeting them. One by one, they began unloading gear.
Bloodied armors and weapons were carried into the armory. Each piece bore scars of battle—plasma burns, claw marks, cracks in alloy plating. They set them into their designated racks, a ritual as much as a necessity.
Lan's voice broke the silence. "KORA, start repairing all the damaged weapons and armors here."
The AI responded immediately. "Command received, sir. Automated repair protocols initiated. Estimated completion: 5 hours, 23 minutes."
Lan exhaled. "Let's go back to the hotel and get fresh after changing our clothes."
Zhuang Niao nodded firmly. "Yes, sir."
Casual wear replaced armor. Xing reverted fully into his husky form, tail wagging slightly, almost relieved. The Void Runner shimmered back into camouflage mode as the three departed, blending once again with the forest.
Hotel in Downtown Shanghai,
They slipped back into the grand hotel without incident. The staff bowed politely, though eyes lingered on their weary forms. In their private suite, the silence stretched until Zhuang finally spoke.
"Should we try the indoor sauna bath in the hotel? I've heard it's quite good."
Lan Yuheng gave a faint smile. "Hmm, good suggestion. Let's do it."
All three made their way to the sauna, steam rising thick in the wooden chamber. The heat seeped into tired bones, washing away the blood and grime of endless battles. Zhuang sighed deeply, resting his head against the wood panel.
After a moment, he asked, "Sir, now that we've established ourselves in Shanghai City, what should be our next step?"
Lan Yuheng closed his eyes, the steam curling around his face. "Hmm… our next step will be to establish our own guild. A mercenary type."
Zhuang blinked. "Really?"
Lan opened his eyes and met his subordinate's. "Yes. Because it's clear we can't join any guild. Their backgrounds are too shady, their chains too heavy. Tomorrow, we will be establishing our own guild."
Zhuang straightened, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Then… what will the name be, sir?"
Lan thought for a moment, the silence broken only by the hiss of steam.
"Hmm. Let's name it… Scarletwing."
The name hung in the air like a brand, searing itself into the future.
Zhuang grinned, fierce pride lighting his expression. Xing barked once, tail thumping in approval.
Scarletwing had been born.
At Federation's Shanghai branch HQ,
The agents' clothes were still damp from the night rain as they stepped into the sterile, brightly lit debriefing chamber of the Shanghai branch's underground wing. The door sealed behind them with a hiss of compressed air. A dozen eyes turned toward them—their immediate handlers, recorders, and three officers from the World Federation's internal intelligence bureau.
These men and women were trained not to show emotion, but tonight the tension was impossible to hide. Failure was not easily tolerated. And yet, the data they carried—fragmented though it was—burned with a weight greater than success.
The lead agent, codename Falcon-17, laid down a black case on the steel table. "Mission surveillance log, Shanghai outer sectors. Subject groups: Lan Yuheng, Zhuang Niao, and unidentified beast-form companion. Status—partially successful. Tailing integrity: compromised. Recording—limited. However…" He opened the case, revealing crystal data-cores, bloodied fragments of beast-hide, and shattered weapon casings. "…the intel gathered is enough to merit high-grade analysis."
The chamber buzzed alive. Data-cores slotted into the Federation's secure projectors, holograms flickering up. Screens displayed chaotic scenes: collapsing caverns, distorted figures cutting through hordes of mutated beasts, outlines of titanic mechs materializing from nowhere before the video corrupted into static.
"Good god," one handler muttered before silencing himself. The officers stared hard.
Falcon-17 swallowed. "We failed to maintain consistent proximity. Every attempt to follow their missions was… obstructed. Beast hordes seemed to shift unnaturally to cut us off. Environments collapsed when we moved closer. In more than one case, it was as if… they knew we were watching."
Another agent added with a strained voice: "And when we did catch glimpses, the efficiency was beyond classification. Twelve missions in one night, all completed. Extraction of resources flawless. No wasted movement."
The senior intelligence officer, Director Wen Shilong, leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. He gestured, and the holo-footage replayed a blurred moment: Lan Yuheng, drenched in blood, wielding a blade that seemed to hum with crimson arcs. Beside him, Zhuang Niao's warhammer crushing armored carapaces like glass. Behind them, the husky—Xing—moved with supernatural precision, tearing monsters apart with movements far sharper than a beast should ever have.
Silence stretched. Then Wen spoke.
"Over one thousand four hundred missions in a week… and still alive." His tone was low, dangerous. "Even elite guilds cannot clear half that without crippling casualties. And these three? They return bloodied, but intact. With resources worth over fourteen million credits."
A ripple passed across the officers' faces.
Falcon-17 bowed his head. "Sir. We suspect—"
"Suspect?" Wen cut him off coldly. "No. We confirm. These are not ordinary operatives. The question is—what are they?"
Federation Headquarters – Private Transmission,
Hours later, the Shanghai branch's report was transmitted directly to the World Federation's Central Command, encrypted with five layers of security. In the high spire of Geneva's global HQ, a conference chamber of steel and glass lit up with projections of the Shanghai incident.
Councilor Zhao Ruifeng, overseeing East Asian operations, steepled his fingers. "Fourteen million credits in beast resources, cleared missions beyond human scheduling capacity, and evidence of concealed high-tier mechs. Yet they operate as mercenaries under no guild banner."
Councilor Mireille Duval, voice icy, said: "We face two possibilities. Either they are Federation-trained ghosts gone rogue—or they belong to a shadow organization with deeper resources than we imagined."
"Recruitment is impossible," Zhao countered. "The Shanghai branch head already attempted soft probing. They refused identity disclosure."
"Then containment?"
The chamber fell into silence. Containment meant elimination. And eliminating assets that could carve through 1,400 missions in a week was no trivial task.
Meanwhile, word spread where it was never supposed to. Agents who sold whispers for coin carried fragments of the report beyond Federation walls.
The Iron Fang Guild, one of the top three mercenary guilds in Asia, convened its council. Their guildmaster, Wei Tianshou, pounded the table after reading the numbers. "Fourteen million credits? In one week? Either this report is fabricated, or we are facing a team that could destabilize guild rankings across the continent!"
His lieutenants muttered. "If the Federation recruits them, Iron Fang's supremacy in the eastern sectors will collapse."
Another voice whispered: "Perhaps we recruit them first…"
Wei's eyes narrowed. "Recruit? You think monsters like these bow to coin? No. Either they are already sworn to someone far greater—or they intend to carve their own empire."
Across the ocean, in the skyscraper fortresses of Black Sun Guild, rival to Iron Fang, the atmosphere was no calmer. Guildmaster Anselmo Vargas, draped in shadow-black regalia, laughed when the intel reached him. "Shanghai breeds interesting animals. One thousand four hundred missions… perhaps I should send a few of our executioners to 'invite' them. If they kill our men, all the better—we will learn their limits. If they bow, they'll bring us power that eclipses Iron Fang once and for all."
His advisors hesitated. "Sir, what if they cannot be controlled?"
Vargas's grin sharpened. "Then we unleash them like wolves into Federation territory. Chaos is also a weapon."
Back in Shanghai, the agents awaited their judgment. They had brought back more than any normal tailing squad could—but they had also failed to maintain shadow integrity.
Wen Shilong entered the chamber again. His presence was heavy, eyes like steel. He addressed Falcon-17 and his unit.
"You did not succeed in full. But you brought proof that may alter the Federation's strategic stance. For now, you live." Relief flickered across the agents' faces. Wen's next words froze it.
"But from this moment, you are confined. No contact with outside cells. No leaks. Until we decide whether those three are assets… or enemies."
The door slammed shut.
Thus, across Shanghai and beyond, reports traveled like silent fire. Rival guilds sharpened knives. The Federation debated recruitment or elimination. And in the shadows of the city, mercenary groups began whispering a new name—the Crimson Trio—mercenaries who defied human limits, returning from missions with bloodied armor and resources enough to destabilize entire markets.
Lan Yuheng, Zhuang Niao, and Xing had no idea that with their return, they had set the great powers trembling. And the question echoing through every chamber of power was the same:
Who are they really?