Quicksand of Fate

The officers exchanged hesitant glances but did not object. This path was the one assigned to the squad led by Sandro and three other men under his command, and its outcome would not affect them directly.

Moreover, despite his young age, Sandro is the eldest son of the Accardi family. With his military upbringing, he knows wars, battles, strategies, and even secret information better than anyone else in this room. For this reason, the officers placed their trust in his decisions, despite the risks.

Indeed, the squad would not emerge unscathed. There would be casualties, perhaps even a death or two, on the way to the tower. But that didn't matter. What mattered was reaching the watchtower, closing its gates, and securing it—no matter the cost. Even if only one of them made it there, the mission would be a success, 

Ten days after the squad's departure—the estimated time needed to reach the watchtower—the war would officially escalate to a large-scale conflict. An entire battalion would be dispatched to the tower as its destination. Securing the watchtower at all costs was critical because it would determine the course of the war: whether humanity would suffer a massacre or achieve a victory that would restore the Fourth Wall and expand human territory.

Although the situation seemed bleak, the presence of Sandro, the eldest son of the Accardi family, inspired confidence. It signaled the upper leadership's belief that the mission was not a certain death sentence. This was how it appeared to others, at least.

However, the reality was far from optimistic. The infiltration mission was perilous, with a failure rate of no less than 80%—a secret known only to the higher commands. Sandro's participation was cleverly utilized by the leadership to ease fears, boost morale, and ignite enthusiasm among the troops.

After the meeting with the battalion officers under his command ended, Sandro stayed behind, absorbed in studying the final details of the mission. The dim light from a nearby screen cast long shadows across his face. Leaning over the table, he made quick adjustments to the plans on a data tablet. He reviewed the strategy to eliminate spies along the border to avoid critical errors and scrutinized the camouflage plan for a significant troop movement in the north. The operation was deceptively labeled as a mission to recover Gloomy Twilight sword —an apocalyptic weapon once owned by the Kaiser family. Intelligence reports suggested the sword might now be in the north, 

Sandro was so immersed in his work that the ringing of his phone startled him. Straightening up, he glanced at the screen and answered, activating the speaker with a weary indifference.

"Vera," he greeted, his tone formal from two straight days of continuous work at the Association headquarters.

"Sandro," replied Vera Manfredi in her calm, soft voice. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all. I was just reviewing some final preparations for the Northern Operation."

"Still working late, I see," Vera remarked, a faint smile evident in her tone. "Some things never change."

He chuckled lightly. "Being an Accardi isn't exactly easy."

The line went quiet for a moment, punctuated only by the faint rustling of papers on her end.

His father, Riccardo, had urged him to visit her before he left, knowing she was unaware of the true nature of his mission. Officially, Sandro was assigned to assist the general, stationed safely behind the wall. This was the version Vera knew—that her fiancé would remain in the rear lines.

Frowning, Sandro stared at the map absently. Why had he volunteered for this mission? His thoughts were interrupted by Vera's soft voice.

"Did you talk to Lorenzo?"

The question threw him off for a moment.

"Enzo?" he asked, pausing mid-thought.

"You told me yesterday that your father, asked you to visit him. That's why I'm asking."

Sandro sighed, taking the phone into his hand. His eyes drifted to the map on the table, but his focus had already been broken. He stepped back and sat in a chair, his voice tinged with fatigue.

"I meant to. I've been working here all night. You know how it is."

"Yes, I understand," Vera replied. "But you know, despite how Lorenzo acts, if you don't visit him again, he's likely to have another fit of anger—like seven months ago, when you broke your promise and left without saying a word."

A pang of guilt struck Sandro at her words. Lorenzo's condition had always been a source of concern. Despite their differences, Sandro couldn't deny the protective instincts that surfaced whenever he thought of his younger brother.