Gilbert sat in silence, absorbing General Beckett's words. This was the first time the General had been this serious since their first meeting.
"Sir, I know strength is important, but my father commanded an entire legion. His strength stood at the pinnacle of the Federation, yet he still fell. So what's the point of having so much strength?" Gilbert asked.
General Beckett's face hardened, his gaze serious.
"Listen, Gilbert-Commander Reginald was the most honorable individual in the Federation. He didn't die because he lacked strength, but because that was the way he chose to go out. If he had wanted, he could have broken away from the Federation, living out his days as a king in his corner of the solar system. He chose not, he chose to still honor his oaths to the Federation, ensuring it didn't lose the Asura Legion."
Gilbert frowned, his frustration surfacing.
"With all due respect, that makes no sense. Why attack the federation yet still follow an oath? It would make more sense to just go all the way."
General Beckett nodded slightly to his logic.
"You're right- it wasn't the most optimum choice. Truth is, your father didn't hate the entire Federation. He hated the ones within who despised where he was from where and what he represented." General Beckett replied
Gilbert's expression shifted, staring at him with lost eyes.
"Where he was from?" He asked
"Your father never grew up rich, unlike the other commanders. The people who contributed to his advancement-the ones who helped the formation of the Asura Legion- came from areas that we would now consider Tier III cities. That shaped the way he viewed the Federation differently from his peers at the top. It was his view that all areas in the Federation are just as important and should be treated the same, this created a divide between them which existed up to this day."
Beckett's tone deepened, as a heavy air settled between them.
"So here's the thing if he allowed the Asura Legion to fall or break away from the Federation, who would stand up for his ideals? Who would protect the people who helped him?"
Gilbert stared at Beckett, his eyes burning red, though no tears fell.
"I don't get it why do those from Tier I cities despise the rest of us?" He asked his voice ambivalent.
Beckett's gaze remained steady, his response measured.
"Since before the time of the Federation people have hated others they saw as their inferiors for many reasons. Some deemed them criminals, some for their greed and self-interest, some saw them as uneducated, some thought they didn't fit the aesthetic they created for beauty, and others, they hated them for no reason at all."
Gilbert's expression fell, as they heard the reasoning.
"But those things have been banned for years now and many of the people who held those views are supposed to be dead," he said after a moment of thought. "Wouldn't those values have died out with them?"
General Beckett chuckled lightly, though the sound held no humor.
"What makes you think all of them are dead?"
His tone was calm, feeling the question quite naive.
"It's not like those who held those values were punished. Some were even protected-helped by those in power protecting their survival. So, even when the law banned those ideals, they didn't vanish. They simply hid-thriving away from prying eyes."
His eyes relaxed as for the first time General Beckett looked tired.
"And those people? They had children. They passed their beliefs down. Unless you were to take every newborn from their arms and then eliminate every adult and child who carries those ideals, those values will never fully disappear."
He exhaled slowly."Like cancer in the body spreads, survives, and continues to eat away at the Federation making survival almost impossible without it."
The silence that followed was thick, the reality of Beckett's words lingering heavily between them.
Patting Gilbert on his thigh, Beckett rose from the floor.
"Well, that's it for tonight. Go and get some rest."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Gilbert alone with his thoughts.
Several minutes passed in silence before Gilbert slapped his forehead, frustration flickering across his face.
'I'm so dumb I forgot to ask him about the Dread Marines.' he thought
Shaking off the thought, he finally made his way back to his barracks.
Once inside, the quiet of the room settled around him, his mind replaying the events of the past week's deployment, testing with Aniela, and now, tonight's conversation with Beckett.
Scenes flashed through his mind, each one overlapping until exhaustion finally took hold of the blanket of dreams draping over him.
*****
Two days after returning from deployment, Squad 5A9 was once again at the landing bay, surrounded by units boarding fleets for departure and others disembarking from their missions.
As Gilbert watched several fleets take off, a knight approached them, carrying the three scales of a High Knight on his pauldron. His armor was a patchwork of new metals and worn pieces, its once smooth etched sigils fractured by time and repairs alongside new etchings.
Without much care in the world, the knight yawned directly in their faces before addressing them.
"Squad 5A9, right? Which one of you is Sergeant 141?" he asked, casually spinning a pistol on his index finger.
Gilbert stepped forward and gave a salute.
"That would be me, sir," Gilbert replied.
The knight scratched his beard, looking Gilbert up and down before nodding.
"I am High Knight 1A5. You're under my command until it's time for you to deploy with your unit. Now follow me," he instructed.
Without another word he turned and started walking, his pace unhurried. The squad fell in behind him, keeping a few paces back.
They soon arrived at a dusty hover bus, its appearance so ancient that it looked like it had been around since the Citadel's earliest days.
Gilbert eyed the vehicle skeptically as Kean released a low whistle.
'Not even where we're from still has hover vehicles this old. I wonder if this thing even moves,' Gilbert mused internally.
They loaded into the vehicle, its frame groaning as the engine struggled to life, the bus shuddered as it wobbled off the ground before finally moving forward.
Inside the bus was cramped and bare, lacking seats entirely except for the drivers, only rails were available for them to hold onto as it lurched forward.
There were no windows, just a single monitor displaying the outside world, flickering slightly as it relayed their surroundings.
Knight 1A5 standing by the door finally addressed the squad.
"Alright, listen up. The trench is divided into several grids, each with a lift leading into the nest. The corners are the safest, but the closer you get to the center, the more dangerous it becomes."
He paused briefly, ensuring they were paying attention before continuing.
"You'll be entering at Grid Center Left One—CL1. At the top of the lift, you'll be provided with all necessary resources before being lowered in. Retreat will only be permitted once your allotted time is up—not before."
Looking at them all to ensure they understood.
"Any questions?"
Gilbert scanned his squadmates, noting that none of them had any questions. With a simple signal, he confirmed they were okay.
The squad traveled in silence, the only form of entertainment being Kean's subtle antics, which despite being unspoken, was somehow still distracting.
After several minutes, they arrived at the trench, where towering fortifications and heavily militarized structures stood.
Canons lined the perimeter, their barrels poised, ready for action.
Above ships, moved steadily through the air. Surveying the one thing that dominated the landscape, the trench with depths unseen and so wide it is impossible to see the other bank without their helmets.
Stepping down from the bus, their new leader remained silent, guiding them through the dense, militarized complex with quick strides.
Around them, squads moved with urgency, weapons ready and prepared for any unforeseen circumstance.
The soldiers' armor mirrored that of High Knight 1A5—a patchwork of repairs, each scar of metal telling a story of past battles, near-misses, and relentless survival.
There was no idle chatter here.
Finally arriving at the supply depot, they saw other squads waiting in line, receiving ammunition, food, medical supplies, and repair materials.
"Anastasia, can you check what we have?" Gilbert instructed as he tried to keep a firm tone.
As she moved to take stock, Gilbert turned his attention to the surrounding squads.
The difference was noticeable.
The posted squads—the ones stationed here by assignment—wore patchwork armor, their gear scarred and repaired, each piece carrying the weight of past battles.
The punishment squads, however, were easy to spot.
Their armor was uniform and well-maintained, but their expressions told a different story.
They stared at the trench with an unnerving stillness, a silent understanding settling over them—a resignation that mirrored what he had already seen in his squad. Anastasia approached Gilbert, her expression calm.
"I've counted the supplies. If we encounter light combat, they'll last about five days. But if things get heavy, we'll barely have enough for one—maybe two—confrontations."
Kean, the only one unfazed by their surroundings, stared at her like he had misheard entirely.
"You're telling us that our supplies won't even last a day?"
Adam, who had shifted gears entirely since their arrival, met Kean's eyes with a blank expression, his tone matter-of-fact.
"You scavenge whatever you find down there," he said. "Our mechanic and medic better be at the top of their game. And hopefully, no one has a problem eating unprocessed Styx meat."
Vivian made a gagging motion at the mention of eating unprocessed Styx meat, shuddering at the thought.
Before the conversation could continue, High Knight 1A5 called them over.
Gathering around him, they noticed several other squads assembled nearby.
The High Knight's tone remained calm and detached, but the weight of his words was unmistakable.
"Alright, listen up. We're going down in fifteen minutes. Get your minds ready—hopefully, some of you will make it out alive. Or not. It doesn't matter."
His gaze swept over them, his voice devoid of hesitation.
"Just kill as many Styx as possible."