The interior of Red Crest headquarters was all function, no flair. And Tatehan couldn't hide his anxiousness as he stepped inside and was immediately struck by how different it felt from the futuristic city outside.

He managed to summon his back pack into his inventory so it wouldn't look like he was some kid going to school.

He'd expected something like this, noting how the place looked from outside the walls. There were no holographic displays or glowing neon signs. He couldn't even point to a particular piece of tech equipment in this place. It looked just... normal.

All he could see were cold metal walls, reinforced doors, and the smell of gun oil and sweat hanging heavy in the air.

Maps covered nearly every available wall space, hand-drawn territory markers, patrol routes marked in red ink, danger zones circled and labeled with monster names. Some maps looked old, edges yellowed and torn from years of handling. Others were fresh, recently updated with new information, still crisp and unmarked by time.,

Weapon racks lined the corridors—rifles, blades, energy weapons, even a few things Tatehan couldn't identify. Everything was maintained but well-used. This wasn't a showroom for display. These were tools that saw daily action, weapons that had taken lives and saved them.

That made him wonder what the clan actually did. Did they hunt bad guys? Or were they the bad guys themselves?

When he'd first heard about a clan (when Kael had mentioned one) he'd honestly thought it would be more like a community. People looking out for each other, maybe fighting together when needed, living in some kind of tribal arrangement.

But what he was seeing now left him speechless and a little confused. It was like being led through military quarters, not a clan settlement.

This had no resemblance to the 'clan' that had initially come to mind. At least, this wasn't what he'd imagined—some native tribe or family group. This was more of a military organization than a clan. They basically had a trading post within their territory which they ran and controlled. And despite the trading post not being as fancy and tech-heavy as the city outside looked, the citizens still used it. Still relied on it.

The Red Crest wasn't just a group. It was a power structure. A force that maintained order in this part of Mars.

The floor was scuffed concrete, made smooth in high-traffic areas where countless boots had passed over the years. Overhead lights flickered occasionally, casting uneven shadows that danced across the walls.

Tatehan matched the pace of the guards, keeping his hands visible and open. A sign of non-aggression.

Voices echoed from deeper in the compound,orders being shouted with military precision, people arguing over supply counts, the distant clang of metal on metal from what sounded like a training area where recruits were sparring.

Red Crest members moved through the corridors with purposeful strides, their walking stance disciplined and graceful.

Most wore the signature red armbands, though their clothing varied. Some were in full combat gear— armor plating, tactical vests, weapons strapped across their backs. Others wore more casual attire, simple shirts and pants, though still practical. But all were armed. Every single one carried at least a sidearm or blade.

They stopped what they were doing when they saw Tatehan.

Conversations died in the middle of sentences. Heads turned sharply. Eyes tracked his movement through the hallway like predators watching prey.

The random stranger being escorted by their gate guard.

Some looks were curious,ones that came with blinking and furrowing of brows, heads tilting slightly as they tried to figure out who this armored newcomer was.

Others were suspicious, with gazes so piercing they seemed to be dissecting him with their eyes, trying to see through the armor to whatever secrets he might be hiding.

A few were openly hostile. They had looks of death on their faces, hands drifting toward weapons, clearly ready to act if he made one wrong move.

Tatehan kept his eyes forward, following the guard who'd brought him in. His hand instinctively wanted to move toward where his sword would summon, but he forced himself to stay calm. Non-threatening. Any foul movement here would end him before he could blink.

He could use his armor's abilities to try to escape, but that would end badly in the long run. These people knew this compound. He didn't. They'd corner him eventually.

His gravity manipulation ability was probably his only real chance if things went south. He could use it to launch himself away, create distance, maybe buy enough time to get out. But that was a last resort. He was here for a reason, and fighting his way out wasn't part of the plan.

They turned down another corridor, this one narrower than the last. More doors here, each labeled with faded paint that had been touched up multiple times over the years—Supply Room, Armory, Medical, Barracks.

Tatehan's mind raced as they walked. What would he say to this Commander? How would he explain that he'd killed one of their people? That he'd come here to honor a promise to a dead man?

That would be a death sentence.

And what if the bio-neural core couldn't even help Kael's daughter? What if he'd come all this way, crossed the wastelands, fought monsters, only to fail at the one thing that mattered?

The thought made his stomach twist.

At the end of the hall was a reinforced door, noticeably different from the others. Thicker and More secure. A small metal plaque was bolted to it, the letters engraved deep: **COMMANDER.**

The guard stopped and knocked twice, sharp and professional, the kind of knock that came from military discipline.

"Commander," he called through the door, his voice carrying authority. "Someone here about Kael."

There was a pause. Silence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity.

Then a voice from inside. Female, but authoritative and kind of rough, the voice of someone who'd given orders for years and expected them to be followed without question.

"Send them in."

The guard pushed the door open with one hand, the hinges barely making a sound despite the door's weight. He gestured for Tatehan to enter, stepping aside to give him room.

Tatehan took a deep breath, steadying himself, and stepped through.

A large desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered in reports, maps, and what looked like requisition forms. A single lamp provided most of the light, casting shadows across the walls where more maps hung, these ones marked with strategic positions and patrol schedules.

Behind the desk sat a woman.

She looked to be in her early forties, though the hard lines on her face suggested she'd lived through more than her years would indicate. Her hair was dark, cut short and practical, with streaks of gray at the temples. A scar ran from her left eyebrow down to her cheek, old, but prominent. Her eyes were sharp assessing, the kind that missed nothing.

She wore the red armband on her left arm, but unlike the others, hers also had additional markings, symbols that likely indicated rank. Her clothing was practical combat gear, well-worn but maintained. A rifle leaned against the desk within easy reach.

She looked up as Tatehan entered, and her gaze locked onto him immediately. Evaluating and Calculating.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then the Commander leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled in front of her face.

"You're the one asking about Kael," she said. It was not a question, more of a statement.

Tatehan nodded once. "Yes."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Kael's been missing for months. Search parties found nothing. We assumed he was dead." There was a pause. "You're here to tell me I was right?"

Tatehan met her gaze directly. "I'm here to tell you what happened to him. And to finish what he started."

The Commander's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. Interest, maybe. Or suspicion.

"Then talk," she said flatly. "And this better be good. I don't have time for games."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.