Jason suddenly opened his eyes, the alarm feeling as if it had crawled straight into his skull and begun ringing there—
Tring… tring… tring…
His body felt unbearably heavy, a tight pull constricting his chest. The news he had received from the village—Leo has been taken—kept echoing inside his head, pounding again and again like a relentless hammer.
He slowly got up and sat on the edge of the bed. His hair was a mess, his breathing uneven. Interlocking his fingers, he stared down at his hands, his thoughts spiraling. Can I save Leo? Can I really stop them on my own? Minutes slipped by unnoticed, time melting away inside his thoughts.
Just then, his mother's voice floated in from the kitchen. "Jason! Breakfast is ready! Don't be late—you have school again!" The moment he heard her call, reality struck him. Damn… school today.
He stood up in a hurry. Washing his face, brushing his teeth—everything felt mechanical, routine. He sat at the table with his father and younger sister for breakfast, but he barely spoke a word. Afterward, he got into his father's car and headed toward school. The wind brushed against his face, yet there was no surge of feeling inside him—only emptiness.
At school, he went straight to his usual seat by the middle window. He stared outside, his vision clouded by something invisible. Boys laughed on the field, some ran around freely, and inside his mind, a single thought repeated itself. Leo… what are you doing right now?
The air felt so cold it hurt to breathe. The sky looked drained of color. Before his eyes—only snow, fog, and rows of trembling bodies.
Leo was marching in two rigid lines, walking the death route of the Tai-Mud Mountains.
Two hours had already passed. Bare-chested. Covered in blood and wounds. His hair had stiffened from the cold. Blood dripped from his feet, spilling onto the snow and freezing into sharp, solid spikes. Chains around his neck, chains on his hands, chains on his feet—every step felt like bargaining with death itself.
All around them were snow-covered pine trees, layers of frost clinging to vines and leaves, clusters of dark clouds gathering in the distance, and the endless whooo… whooo… of icy wind. Within this horrifying silence, only the scraping sound of chains and the prisoners' rough, broken breathing could be heard.
Behind them marched the soldiers of the South Division. Four heavy military vehicles followed—each painted a pale beige-green, machine-gun turrets mounted on top, thick ballistic glass, armored plating covering every side. The soldiers barely looked human. Grey-black plated suits wrapped around their bodies, high-tech armor, magazines, radios, and grenades strapped across their chests and belts. Their faces were hidden beneath helmets, visor glass glowing with an eerie low light. They weren't men—they were merciless machines.
Each of them carried a modular assault rifle fitted with optic scopes, side lights, and heavy suppressors. Even the way they walked didn't feel military. It felt like they were programmed—designed purely for killing.
As they marched, one prisoner collapsed. The soldiers tied a rope around him and began dragging his body behind a vehicle across the snow. Flesh peeled away from his body, sticking to the frozen ground. Three more prisoners met the same fate—those completely unable to move were thrown off the slope of the mountain. The sound echoed. Thump… thump… thump. Then, silence.
At a bend in the mountain path, five young men were forced to kneel. Their hands were raised above their heads. Their lips had turned blue from the cold. One soldier roared, "Finish it." The next moment, gunshots exploded, and the snow itself seemed to shudder.
Leo's chest trembled violently. This was something worse than fear—it was the terror of witnessing death.
Leo was breaking. He could no longer lift his legs. His vision blurred. His knees shook uncontrollably. Inside his mind, his voice trembled.
Mom… Dad… I never listened to you. I wasted so much of my life. I chased after girls, caused trouble. God… if you save me today… I swear I'll never walk the wrong path again…
Suddenly—Whip! Whip! Whip! The blows tore into his back. Blood sprayed onto the snow. The soldier who struck him was larger than the rest—bronze-toned skin, solid muscles, short greenish hair, and eyes sharp enough to cut.
His name was Jabuzza Kanarochi.
He roared, "Walk! If you don't want to die—then move!"
Ahead of Leo walked another prisoner—Selim Barber. His hair was deep black, styled in a modern fade or undercut. The top was short and spiky, while the sides and back were shaved close. His face was sharp and angular, with a well-defined jawline and a narrow nose that gave him a stern presence. His eyes were a pale greyish-blue, his gaze focused and steady, yet filled with fear or deep thought.
His skin was fair, smooth even under the harsh white light. His most striking feature was the tattoos covering both arms—from wrist to elbow, intricate black ink patterns resembling mechanical or biomechanical designs.
Crying, he spoke, his voice shaking. "I can't go on anymore… just a little water… how long do we have to keep swallowing our own spit like this?"
His voice cracked with every word.
The mountain peak—the prison of death.
At last, they reached the summit. Out of twenty-five prisoners, only fifteen remained alive. Standing there,Leo saw it.
A massive Iron fortress....