Chapter 4: Vendetta

Hans and Sebastian moved as a pair.

They did not follow the tide of refugees, nor did they seek out friendly forces or attempt an open confrontation. Their objective was simple, yet daunting: clear a path so that the survivors could escape without being caught in the crossfire.

Behind a half-collapsed ruin, Hans came to a halt. He raised a hand, signaling Sebastian to stay silent.

Before them, the grim reality unfolded.

The soldiers of the Kaiserreich Nordfall.

They stood around a small plaza. In its center, a stone fountain—once a symbol of the city—had been transformed into a death pit. Lifeless bodies were tossed carelessly into the basin. Some wore civilian clothes; others had long since lost the spark of life. The once-clear water was now murky, thick with blood and mud.

One of the soldiers laughed. Then, the cracks of gunfire rang out.

Bang. Bang.

Bullets were fired into the pile—not to kill, but to confirm. As if even death required an official stamp of approval.

Hans gripped his rifle tighter. His hands trembled slightly. Not from fear, but from suppressing something far more volatile.

Sebastian studied Hans’s face. He said nothing, but he knew. That look did not belong to a prince, nor a child. It was the look of a man taking an inventory of souls.

"Don't move," Sebastian whispered. "We wait for them to leave."

Hans didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the fountain—at the bodies stacked without names, without ceremony, without meaning.

"Sebastian," Hans said finally, his voice a low rasp. "If the law does not come… what is left?"

Sebastian paused before answering. "Only the living remain," he said softly. "And the responsibility to protect them."

Hans nodded. But within him, a different resolve began to harden—cold, silent, and absolute.

The Nordfall troops finally moved out, leaving the fountain behind like discarded trash. When the sound of their footsteps faded, Hans stepped forward. He looked at the fountain one last time. Not with explosive rage, but with a lethal serenity.

"Vendetta," he murmured—not as a loud vow, but as a note etched into his very soul.

They continued through the shattered city until they reached the central bunker.

"Lord Hans, get inside!" Sebastian urged.

Hans tightened his grip on his weapon. "Sebas, protect them. Perhaps it is time I show them who I truly am."

"What are you saying, Young Master? Come inside."

Hans stepped away. He no longer wanted to be shielded or coddled. He was determined to stand on his own. Sebastian sighed, looking at Hans’s retreating back. He did not enter the bunker.

"In that case," Sebastian said with formal gravity, "allow me to die with honor by your side, Lord William."

"Permission granted, Sebastian," Hans replied curtly.

As they moved, Sebastian explained that these brutal tactics bore the hallmark of Generaloberst Reinhardt Stahlkreuz—a man capable of such atrocities alone. Hans didn’t care for the man’s reputation. To Hans, he was simply an obstacle to his return home. He had to die.

Sebastian began to instruct Hans in the art of the kill.

"Sniping your enemy is like hunting any other animal. Fire at the wrong moment, and your chance will be forever lost."

"Patience is the key to obtaining the exact result from your target."

Hans peered through the scope. Bombers returned, dropping supplies.

"Now load your rifle… but hold your fire. Wait until the bombers are directly overhead. The sound of the engines will drown out your shot."

"Ready?"

"Fire."

One shot dropped a sentry on the first floor. A second shot took out a guard below.

"STRAIGHT AHEAD!"

Another round silenced the machine gunner. For the first time, Hans felt it—the grim satisfaction of a debt being repaid.

A rival sniper nearly caught them. "Now the game is cat and mouse! SECOND FLOOR! LEFT SIDE!"

"Do you see him?" Sebastian asked.

"Yes."

"I'll draw his fire. Are you ready?"

"Always."

The sniper took the bait. Hans fired, and the bullet tore through the enemy's eye.

"Excellent aim. You’re a natural hunter," Sebastian remarked. "Mark my words, Hans. One day things will change. We will take the fight to their land, their people, their blood."

The radio crackled. Stahlkreuz was panicking, attempting to flee. Hans didn't hesitate. One shot. The bullet pierced the general’s skull. His troops scattered in terror.

When the coalition forces of Rabenmark and Aurelheim arrived, they found Hans descending from the building. Enemy soldiers were surrendering en masse.

"We surrender!" they cried.

The Rabenmark soldiers stood in awe of Hans's skill, offering a full salute.

Hans returned to Rabenmark a hero, but a haunted one. The citizens whispered as he passed.

"Is that Prince Hans? The one who took down a general alone?"

He ignored them. He only wanted one thing: his mother. But a newspaper headline stopped him dead. Queen Victoria had passed away—three years ago.

Hans collapsed. He ran to the palace, confronting his father with a drawn pistol.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME SHE WAS GONE?!"

"Calm down, my son!"

"YOU TELL ME TO BE CALM AFTER YOU BLOCKED ME FROM SEEING HER?!"

The King embraced him, but the warmth was gone. "I didn't know how to tell you..."

Hans shoved him away. "You should have just told me. You are a pathetic father."

The grief slowly calcified into a vendetta. Hans investigated her death, but found only dead ends. Leonhard’s cold indifference only fueled his fire. After interrogating prisoners and learning of the political pressures that sparked the war, Hans began to weave his grand design.

When the news broke that Leonhard was named the successor to the throne, Hans’s path was set. He entered the military, using his prestige to form an elite, shadow unit:

Appearance: Featureless black helmets, tactical gas masks with glowing red lenses, dark grey-black uniforms without insignia. No names. No ranks. No identity.

Armament: Silenced MP5A5s for CQB, G36s for urban warfare, M4A1s for tactical flexibility, and USP-45/P226 sidearms.

They didn't bring heavy artillery. They brought certainty.

Their exploits shook the continent: foiled coups, dismantled cults, and the disappearance of hostile leaders. No one dared cross them. Hans gave them only one motto:

"If you see them, it means you are already too late to live long."