Why does the Beast King Squadron draw its power from the Dragon God, like thunder drinking from a mountain storm?

Why are their robots built around common beasts, not dragon forms, like plain stones instead of jade?

Why did they once have such deep funds and facilities, like a palace raised on gold?

[Got it! Nine years ago—right around the One-Year War—the Beast King Squadron went silent for about half a year, like swallows vanishing before winter. All five “Beast Kings” and their robots, the “Beast Walkers,” disappeared overnight. When they returned, the Red had become the Dragon God Eagle. The rest joined later, one by one like lanterns relit.]

“Any rumors of infighting, like cracks under frost?”

[No. The first generation was Red, Green, Blue, Black, and Silver. They got along fine, like five strings on one zither. Fans even shipped them. I’ll toss you a pic.]

Liu RuoYuan sent over an image.

It showed Beast King Silver and Beast King Black—helmet still on for some reason—tangled on a couch in nightgowns, an R-15 blush of a scene.

…

“PeaceWarrior. No—Ms. Lu Yao.”

Luciferin raised both hands and caught Peace Walker’s downward punch, like two cliffs meeting a falling boulder. The floor split into a chain of cracks, like ice giving way in spring.

“You were betrayed by a hero—like a torch snuffed in a temple.”

“Not the distant kind where a victim gets abandoned. Closer. Sharper. Betrayal by a former teammate, like a blade from your own scabbard.”

“…!”

Peace Walker poured on power, a furnace howling in its frame. The twin machine-gun ports on its brow spilled bullets. They hammered Luciferin’s chest with a crackle like rain on tin.

“More specific—!”

The doubt stung like sleet. The frame was near its limit. Slide sideways, bleed off the force—

“By your sister. By Beast King Black!”

Luciferin fired a cluster of missiles at zero range. Fire blossomed between the mechs, like peonies blooming in a storm.

“In other words—‘the Ironfire Blade Duelist,’ Luzhixing!”

“My deduction’s right, isn’t it?”

At some point, the machine guns had gone quiet, like cicadas silenced at dusk.

[On what basis?]

Lu Yao’s voice came cold through the loudspeaker, like frost on glass.

“In yesterday’s talk, the word that made you flinch wasn’t ‘Omega F.’ It was ‘Beast King Squadron.’ The current team is second gen. In the first gen that retired suddenly, there were two female members—Silver and Black. Colors usually not given to women, like steel set aside for kings.”

The two mechs traded punches in the underground space, echoes rolling like thunder under earth.

Lighter by a class, Luciferin avoided head-on clashes, always using Yekase’s favorite parry-and-redirect, like water turning a blade aside, dissolving Peace Walker’s close attacks.

Missiles and machine guns sang together. Lasers and tongues of flame danced, like fireflies and firestorms sharing one night.

It felt like two living silver giants were fighting, not cold constructs of steel and wire.

Range staff heard the uproar, a storm beating a roof. They cracked the door to say “tone it down,” saw two mechs locked chest to chest, blinked, and backed out without a word.

“Why give those colors at all? I’m guessing those two women weren’t the usual gentle, accommodating type. More androgynous, like willow and pine in one grove. Their weapons—rapier and Glock—fit the guess.”

“A rapier is the elegant branch of blade craft. And the Glock, mocked as a plastic toy, often fits female use better—light and stubborn as a cattail.”

“A sword and a gun. Tactics that lean on number and rhythm. Doesn’t that feel familiar, like déjà vu in a mirror?”

[At the end of the day, it’s coincidence.]

“Right. After so many years, clues fade like ink in rain. We’re left with coincidences and conjecture. I’m not here to flatten you with iron facts. I just want to chat about my research on the old guard. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

[Do I get to opt out?]

“No. Cut the voice channel, and I’ll go public.”

[Is that a threat?]

“It’s a notice.”

…

Peace Walker’s right hand rotated 180 degrees clockwise and folded down, revealing a dark barrel like a well in winter.

It aimed straight at Luciferin’s cockpit, a hawk fixing on a hare.

“By the way, the Beast King robots were called Beast Walkers. ‘Beast’ and ‘Peace’ sound close, like two reeds in the same wind.”

Before it fired, Luciferin’s hand moved like the extension of Yekase’s forearm. She flicked the barrel aside. A missile detonated at Peace Walker’s feet, blooming dust like a dandelion burst.

A red blade grew from the back of that hand, a sky-strike thrust into Peace Walker’s inner elbow joint. The combined machine was too large. The blade sank fully but couldn’t sever it. Yekase clicked his tongue, drew the weapon back, and hunted the seam on its chest armor, like a lock seeking its key.

“Then we end the Beast King topic here.”

Luciferin pulled a beam saber from her back. She reversed her grip and stabbed into Peace Walker’s hand braced on the ground. It pinned the palm like a nail through cedar.

She drew a second saber. Guided by her memory of Dragon God Pioneer’s combine structure, she thrust into the core connector, a needle into a heart-line.

“Soon, Twin Towers will declare war on Emerald Pool.”

Yekase wasn’t worried PeaceWarrior would ignore that, like a hunter ignoring fresh tracks.

Lu Yao wouldn’t miss this chance, even if she and Yekase stood at odds, even if he’d already lied to her twice like clouds hiding a moon.

[… Is the intel solid?]

“Two days ago, a Twin Towers factory was hit. A batch of new Evolution Gauntlets went missing, like pearls lifted from a tray. Days later, the black market showed an Emerald Pool–style armor carrying Evolution Gauntlet tech. Guess what Twin Towers will do?”

[Where did you get the schematics?]

“I took down an Emerald Pool suit with Flashblade Red, remember? That time. I was rushed. The copy’s rough on details, but Twin Towers won’t mind. They’ll eat the shape and salt.”

[Both sides sit around C-class in actual strength. This isn’t even a rumor-worthy pretext—]

“Yeah. It’s just a pretext.”

[…]!

Lu Yao drew a cold breath, like air through winter teeth, and understood Yekase’s meaning.

Emerald Pool, stained by the water park and the Neptune Energy armor, sits at a historic low in reputation, like a tarnished bell. Add their heavy real estate assets, and they’re a prize every nearby group eyes, a ripe peach on a low branch.

Now, with a claim of a looted factory, Twin Towers can step out ahead of the silent wrestling among big organizations, and swallow Emerald Pool in the name of order, like a net cast on a troubled lake.

But if Emerald Pool can field one new suit, the warehouse might hold ten, like seeds under loam. Twin Towers won’t risk a road game. They’ll send overwhelming force, a tide meant to drown. Then, when the two sides lock into a fierce fight—

[I’ll keep an eye on it.]

Peace Walker shed its output. The engines and fans quieted, like wind falling after rain.

“Not continuing?”

[I lost. Push any further, and I’ll come apart.]

Lu Yao owned her loss cleanly. The first sting he’d struck had faded. Her tone returned to calm, like a pond settling after a stone.

Easy to breach under a targeted strike. Quick to steady once reality’s set—better than MAYA, Yekase thought, like a reed bending then righting.

He pulled the cable from the back of his neck. He sent Luciferin home. He free-fell ten-plus meters, like a leaf dropping, then canceled the impact with a Levitation Spell.

“How did ‘fighting to talk heart’ end?”

[I realized you’re a very dangerous man.]

“I figured,” Yekase said, rolling his eyes like a lazy cloud.

Peace Walker dissolved into blue-white motes, a flock of fireflies. Lu Yao formed external modules on her limbs and landed in a pose eight-tenths Iron Man, like a hawk folding its wings.

From fingers to elbows, iron Gauntlets; iron boots with thrusters, like anvils strapped to comets.

“…You’re not about to start World War II, are you?”

Yekase stepped back and shifted his grip, reverse-hand on his piece, like a fisherman checking a line. His body was recovered, but not whole. A wild haymaker brawl could go either way, like two stags on ice.

Lu Yao shook her head. She dissolved the hand armor, kept the powered boots guarding her injured leg, and sat down where she was, like a pine settling on a hillside.

Yekase finally let his breath ease. He sat cross-legged across from her, like two stones sharing sun.

He studied the woman carved thin by betrayal. Her legs tucked demurely to the side. Pale, slender hands overlapped on her thighs, trying to tame fear as she faced Yekase. Even her narrow shoulders trembled, like reeds in wind. Hard to imagine those hands had hurled so many throws. Those shoulders had absorbed so much recoil—

“Dr Ika.”

“…Huh?!”

“I only said his name. No need to jump like a sparrow.”

A tit-for-tat smile flickered on Lu Yao’s tired face, a rare crescent. Maybe she hadn’t smiled in too long; her lips moved stiffly, like thawed clay.

“I don’t plan to pin you with iron facts. I want to talk through my research into that man.”

“…Uh… go ahead.”

Caught by his own earlier line, Yekase scratched his cheek. He pulled a Corona from the transport case, and two low tumblers, like simple moons.

“Beer. Can you drink?”

“Not often.”

“Then a little.”

Gold poured into both glasses, a stream of light. Snow-white foam piled at the rim like winter on tile.

“Pick one yourself, so you don’t claim I painted the glass.”

Lu Yao pointed at a cup, casual as rain.

Yekase took the other, downed five or six gulps, then burped, like thunder muttering.

Lu Yao lifted the remaining glass. She held it in both hands and sipped, then stared at the bubbling gold, like a pond of sunlight.

Two trails slipped down her cheeks, like rain on porcelain.

“…Ah.”

“If you don’t want to drink, don’t force it,” Yekase said, soft as dusk.

Lu Yao shook her head and wiped her tears, a swift hand, like a wing.

“Last time I drank was the night we wiped out the ‘Butterfly Gang.’ We celebrated with teammates. The scene tugged the string.”

“Mm.”

Yekase had never heard of the “Butterfly Gang.” If a Super Squadron celebrated their annihilation, they were no small thing. That had to be before Yekase stepped into the underworld, like a path he hadn’t walked.

“About Dr Ika: earliest info says he worked on the Magical Girl system during the One-Year War. Then the collective memory got sealed, and he vanished, like a name struck from a ledger. When he surfaced again, he was the mastermind behind the Sinister Organization.”

“Mm.”

“Memory shapes a person so deeply. Forgetting a chapter as a hero let him drift into evil, like a boat cut from its mooring, and that indirectly killed so many.”

“Mm.”

“But Magical Girl Icarus is a hero beyond doubt. To fight a Sinister Organization, hot blood and ideals alone won’t do. You need clean, decisive methods too, like a sword that cuts true.”

“Mm.”

PeaceWarrior fixed her gaze on Yekase’s eyes, like a lantern seeking a reply.

Seeking confirmation. Waiting for an answer.

“You’ve taken lives. You’ve protected lives. Life can’t be tallied—merit can’t cancel guilt—”

“So, what do you intend to do?”

As the victor, the strong side in this duel, Yekase could have dodged, or pressed on with higher pressure, like a storm leaning in.

…

“Who I am now is my answer.”

Yekase let the smile fall. In his half-lidded eyes, something like will glimmered, a steady flame behind glass.

“For the rest of my days, I’ll live for that.”