All members of Unit 0 were sitting at a small wooden table inside one of the castle's strategy rooms. In front of them lay a map of Britania. On top of the map were seven small figurines, each representing a knight. They were spaced along a battlefront far to the north of the castle.
"These seven figurines represent the current battlefronts where most units fight," Sir Gareth said, picking up an eighth figurine from a nearby box and placing it on the map."This is where we will fight."
The figurine was placed further west—toward the Principality of Wales.
Riven's chest tightened. The figurine sat dangerously close to his homeland. After a moment, he raised his gaze from the map toward Sir Gareth.
"May I ask why exactly we're going to be fighting that far west, and what we'll be fighting against? To my knowledge, the enemy hails from the north."
Sir Gareth shook his head in disappointment."I forgot that they don't tell you guys anything. Do you all even know what it is that we fight against in this war?"
Percival's voice responded quietly, almost immediately."Isn't it common knowledge? We fight against the armies of beasts."
The other members nodded in agreement.
Hearing this, Sir Gareth sighed and muttered under his breath,"This might take a while."
He looked toward Percival and asked,"And what exactly are these 'beasts'? And why do they only seem to come from the north?"
Percival wasn't fazed by the question."They're the result of some unholy ritual the practitioners of the north created."
Sir Gareth couldn't hold back his laughter."Is that what they taught you?"
Once his laughter faded, he continued."No. The monsters come from the Land Within. It's a magical realm that only a select few people can enter. This so-called magic that you know is merely a result of that place interacting with this one—and the monsters are part of that interaction. You all should have interacted with it before; otherwise, you wouldn't be sitting here at this table."
He leaned back in his chair."The monsters usually come from the north because that's where this world interacts with that one the most. But recently, there have been reports of monster appearances toward the Welsh. And seeing as we are also called the Dark Horse Unit, we've been sent to take care of those reports."
The members of Unit 0 looked toward Sir Gareth and said, almost in unison,"The Dark Horse Unit?"
Sir Gareth nodded before answering."We're called that because of me, I am sometimes referred to as the Dark Horse, and I chose you personally for this unit because I saw something in you. The reason for the name is because the missions that I and thus our unit undertakes are ones that are expected to result in failure. I've led a few different Unit 0s. At first, everything goes great—we succeed where failure is all but guaranteed. But then something goes horribly wrong, and I'm usually the only one who manages to crawl back alive."
He stood up as he finished speaking and began removing his armor, revealing huge scars across his well-built body. On his left arm were small circular burn marks—fire brands. There were fourteen in total, divided into three distinct groups.
Riven noticed the marks and wanted to ask what they meant but stopped himself before even opening his mouth.
Suddenly, a voice broke the silence.
"What do those circles on your left arm mean, Captain?"
It was Roger—the taller of the two brothers.
Riven looked at him with a cautious, almost pleading expression, silently urging him to take the question back before it reached the captain's ears—but it was too late.
"They are reminders," Sir Gareth answered, a tear forming in one of his eyes."Each of them represents a past member of Unit 0."
Roger noticed Riven's disappointed face and finally realized he shouldn't have asked that question.
Sir Gareth saw this and said gently,"It's okay. It's not a secret anyway."
"Do you mind telling us what happened to them?" Nicolaus asked in a soft, respectful voice, his curiosity tempered by the weight of the moment.
After a pause, Sir Gareth's rough voice returned, now filled with unexpected softness."I failed them. That's what happened. Each unit died because of my mistake. I don't take it to heart—they knew what they were signing up for, and what danger being in this unit brought them. Yet they all still went on those missions with me. I just wish they didn't have to die because of something that was out of our control."
Riven listened quietly before asking,"What do you mean, 'out of your control'?"
Sir Gareth looked at him, regret written all over his face.
"That, unfortunately, I cannot tell you. You may find out one day—that nothing is truly in your control."
He paused.
"That's part of why I can't move on. I don't want to stain their memory with revenge… but I do want to give people their lives back. I want to return them some control."
These words somehow resonated with Riven. He didn't feel particularly touched, but something deep inside his mind stirred—as if being woken up.
Not noticing the sensation, Riven thought about the captain's words. He didn't understand what he meant. What did it mean to have something out of your control happen? Aren't people supposed to be in charge of their lives? In charge of their destiny?
After sitting in silence for so long, Percival finally broke the tension.
"So Captain, what's our first mission out in Wales going to be?"
Sir Gareth, realizing the somber mood he had created, coughed a few times before putting his armor back on and covering his scars.
"Are you sure you still want to be a part of Unit 0 after what you just heard? You have the option to leave now. I'm willing to put in a good word with the other captains."
He looked at the trainees sitting across from him. None of them spoke. They had already decided to stay—and they waited, silently, for him to explain the mission.
Sir Gareth nodded before continuing.
"Our first mission is a rescue mission. There's a group of small villages at this location—"He pointed at the knight figurine on the map."—a group of monsters diverged from the northern front and have begun closing in toward these towns."
Riven froze at the thought of his family being in danger.
"We are to rescue a certain master blacksmith who resides in one of these small towns. If the situation allows it, we'll save others—but our priority is that one man."
Images of his family's friend flashed before Riven's eyes. He gripped the hilt of his sword and swore to himself that he would save him. He would save his family. And he would save his hometown—whatever the cost.
"Riven… are you okay?"
A voice came from beside him. It was Roger.
He realized he had been staring at the map with an intense, focused gaze—his sword gripped tightly in one hand, the other clenched into a fist.
He let go of the hilt and blinked a few times. Then he looked at Roger and smiled.
"I'm okay. It's nothing."
Meanwhile, Sir Gareth had already left. The words he said before leaving were a blur in Riven's mind.
When he noticed the captain's absence, he asked,"Where did the captain go?"
Roger answered,"Did you not hear him? He said he was going to prepare for departure—and that we should as well. We depart at sunrise."
Riven nodded, thanked him, and excused himself to return to his room.
As he walked near the courtyard, he was approached by Percival, who was holding a wooden training sword in his hand.
"Hey, Riven. Want to spar?"