Chapter 13 — The War Council

The tent smelled of wax and sweat. A battered map of Seoul lay on the table, dotted with pins and black smudges where offensives had failed. Lantern light trembled across the faces of leaders from across Asia and beyond — the fragile coalition trying to hold a world together.

Elyndra Eva rose first, her white hair catching the light. She placed both hands on the table and spoke with the quiet authority of someone used to being obeyed.

“We are here to discuss the liberation of Seoul. Repeated attempts have failed because of one thing: the Twin Tyrant. If we fail again, the civilian cost will be catastrophic.”

Around the table sat the others: Meiyun from Beijing, composed and watching with narrowed eyes; Ayanami Rika from Japan, silent and alert; Seo Hana of Korea, hard and blunt as the city she defended; plus several regional commanders whose faces had grown older under the apocalypse.

Reports were read: civilians terrorized by remnants of The Hunter, supply lines bled dry, morale fraying at the edges. The Hunters were dismissed by some officers as thugs that would be cleared—until the conversation returned to the Tyrant.

Seo Hana leaned forward, emotions raw.

“Enough hesitation. We strike Seoul directly. Cut the Hunters down, face the Tyrant, and reclaim the city. No more waiting.”

Murmurs spread. The plan was simple, brutal, direct. For soldiers exhausted by indecision, it had appeal. Even Eva’s expression softened into agreement — until a low voice cut across the tent.

“That plan will get us all killed.”

A hush fell. The masked figure known as the Revenant stood where he’d stood since arrival: quiet, unmoving, an anomaly among generals.

One burly commander snapped back.

“And what would you know, stranger? Do you oppose every plan just to sound dramatic?”

Kohaku’s visor glowed faintly red. He stepped forward.

“Your plan is suicide. You march in with banners high and march out in coffins. Seoul is not a fortress to storm; it’s a graveyard ready to swallow the living.”

Silence pressed on the tent like a weight. Hana’s jaw tightened.

“So you claim my strategy is worthless? Speak clearly, Revenant.”

Kohaku moved slowly, then removed the chestplate of his field armor. The tent inhaled as claw-marked scars showed across his torso — old wounds blackened with age, deep ragged lines that did not belong to any ordinary battle.

“At seventeen I fought worse than your Type-5. A beast with two heads—a bear and a bull. It was a Type-6. That thing was a gatekeeper of hell. Compared to it, your Twin Tyrant is a lesser nightmare.”

Whispers rippled through the council. Eva’s eyes sharpened.

“You survived that?”

“Barely. My scars remind me why I don’t gamble lives.”

Eva leaned on the table, challenge and curiosity mixed together.

“Then tell us plainly—how do you kill a Type-5?”

Kohaku’s answer was short, precise.

“Fire and ice. Freeze its legs to pin it, then burn it until it cannot regenerate.”

Understanding spread across faces like dawn. The room that had been split along blunt proposals and desperate hope slowly united around a single logic. Hana exhaled — grudging but practical.

“So be it. My assault combined with your methods. We hit at once.”

By agreement, Seo Hana’s frontal attack would clear Hunters and draw attention while Kohaku’s traps and incendiaries prepared to bind the Tyrant. The coalition would strike as one.

That night Kohaku worked in the metal-spark glow of his tent, assembling devices that smelled of oil and danger. Rika watched him hammer quietly at a new incendiary canister.

“Those weapons… will they be enough?” she asked softly.

Kohaku did not look up. Only the ring of steel on steel answered.

Dawn came with the rumble of engines. VTOLs sliced the morning, tanks rolled like thunder across mud, and columns of troops moved under flags patched together from lost nations. Flamethrower tanks and infantry with incendiary launchers took their positions. Reinforcements from allied survivors formed a motley but determined line.

Outside the camp’s gates, Sakura Koyomi leveled her camera toward the armada and breathed into the microphone with practiced zeal.

“Today, the Liberation Army marches on Seoul. For the people trapped inside, this may be their first real hope.”

Brad adjusted the lens and murmured off-camera.

“Do you think they’ll win?”

Sakura’s practiced smile trembled.

“We have the Revenant. If anyone can, it’s him.”

Soldiers on trucks stared at Kohaku as they rolled past. Whispers climbed in the ranks.

“Isn’t he the one who wiped out The Hunter in Kyoto overnight?”

“Shut up, kid. Keep your head down or you’ll attract trouble.”

The convoy moved out to the thunder of metal and the crackle of radios. As the armored line crossed the rise toward Seoul, the coalition held its breath — for strategy embraced, for the lives on the line, and for the unknown that awaited them inside the ruined city.

The march had begun.