Note: This work is entirely fictional and belongs to the Alternate History genre, utilizing historical characters and events in a fictional context. All content is a product of imagination and does not reflect reality or political or military stance.

The story contains sensitive elements such as violence, large-scale warfare, tense political conflicts, and alternative historical depictions. It is not suitable for readers under 16 years of age or those who may be psychologically affected.

Continuing to read implies acceptance of all controversial elements within the work.

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"The fluctuations of history can stem from the smallest thoughts of those who seem utterly unrelated. The true nature of all living beings is that they are always connected in an extraordinary way..."

— Excerpt from The Nature of the World, Scholar Emanory.

...

Civilization Zone 3 - Somewhere.

After completing their mission and departing, the Spetsnaz Voro-12 task force secretly rendezvoused with Lieutenant Donskoy's 15th Tank Company and Colonel Makarov to receive special directives from higher command.

In a forest clearing, a gentle breeze swept gracefully across the field, rustling the leaves in a way that would bring peace to any city dweller. Yet, for those present, an ominous aura seemed to envelop the entire area, casting a dark veil over the serene scene.

Lise approached from the outskirts, walking alongside others as they observed the two factions her team needed to meet. On one side stood massive tanks and other vehicles—IFVs and APCs—explained by her companions, their imposing forms leaving her in awe. She had never seen them so clearly until now.

As she drew closer, the soldiers came into sharper focus. Taking one as an example, she could sense the air of mystery and strength emanating from the man inside the hulking iron beast. His dark green or black uniform wasn't as ornate as a knight's armor, but it was clearly designed to withstand harsh conditions. On his head was an odd helmet, with small round pads covering both ears—some kind of advanced tool incomprehensible to the locals.

His sun-weathered face, marked with faint scratches, showed little emotion, but his eyes burned with sharpness and focus, constantly assessing his surroundings. His calloused hands gripped complex equipment inside the vehicle with confidence, a testament to his familiarity with combat and control. He didn't flaunt his strength, but his resolute demeanor and purposeful movements commanded respect. The soldier and his steel beast formed an image both alien and formidable, as if from another world entirely.

Lise's gaze then shifted to the other faction—the RIM PMC, a contract-based military organization, essentially mercenaries. Their atmosphere was starkly different. The RIM warriors appeared rugged and pragmatic, clad in dark green, streamlined uniforms and heavy tactical vests bristling with pouches and straps. Their rounded, flat helmets, adorned with metallic devices, lacked ornamentation but exuded authority. Their faces were stern, with tanned skin and sharp, resolute eyes. Their large, steady hands gripped simple yet effective weapons. Everything about them radiated cold discipline, devoid of excess.

It was clear that none of the individuals here seemed particularly friendly. For Lise, the only woman present and distinctly different, she was bound to attract unsettling curiosity. Stepping behind Vorosimorsk, she whispered, "These people won't do anything, right?"

Hearing the anxiety in her voice, Vorosimorsk let out a reassuring sigh, calming the young woman who was shrinking to appear as small as possible. "Don't worry. The commander of the 15th Tank Company is an acquaintance of mine, and the PMC group is an acquaintance of his. You've got nothing to fear. They might actually be more intrigued by you."

"What?!" Lise exclaimed, misinterpreting his words and imagining something else entirely. But they had arrived, and there was no turning back. She could only silently pray that everything would go smoothly.

Vorosimorsk left four of his team behind and stepped forward to where two figures he was eager to meet awaited. The moment they saw him, they called out.

"Looks like it's started, hasn't it?" one of them said.

"Not quite. Just some light chatter for now," Donskoy replied softly, gesturing for Vorosimorsk to hurry over.

Makarov turned his head. "Well, look who finally showed up." A faint smile played on his lips, his eyes glinting with a familiar cold sharpness—partly teasing, partly probing. "I heard you brought an entire task force. Planning to surprise someone?"

Vorosimorsk smirked, stepping closer and extending a hand to shake Makarov's. "Not exactly a surprise, but perhaps a shock. It's been a while, Viktor."

Donskoy approached, nodding in greeting. "It's been some time, Vorosimorsk. I didn't expect you to come in person. Thought you'd just send a liaison."

"For something this important, I couldn't just sit back," Vorosimorsk replied, glancing at his team behind him. "Viktor, I see you're still as 'heavy-handed' as ever. Did you personally arrange this PMC team?"

Makarov shrugged, his smile unchanged. "Business demands a certain 'quality.' These guys follow orders and act when needed. Unlike some who cling to principles and ignore reality." His eyes flicked toward Vorosimorsk, emphasizing his point.

"Still as blunt as ever," Vorosimorsk chuckled lightly. "But I hope today you can tone down that 'reality' a bit. We're on the brink of a new phase, and I don't want our differences to ruin it."

Donskoy interjected, his voice low but commanding. "Enough. We're not here to rehash old grudges. This requires all three of us to work together."

Makarov glanced at Donskoy, then nodded to one of his officers. "Of course." He gestured toward several boxes and documents being brought forward. "Data on the war's aftermath, potential resources in occupied zones, and plans for long-term stabilization. It's all here. But before we dive in, I want to hear your thoughts, Vorosimorsk."

Vorosimorsk gave Makarov a serious look. "Long-term stabilization? That's what I'm thinking about too. We can't just focus on short-term victories; we need a strategy to ensure control. Otherwise, we're just building a castle on sand."

Donskoy glanced between them, a spark of surprise in his eyes. "Gentlemen, we don't need to get philosophical. We all know the ultimate goal." His gaze shifted between Makarov and Vorosimorsk before continuing. "The question is how to make that strategy practical and effective."

Makarov tilted his chin, smirking. "The most effective strategy is to exploit what we already have. No time to waste. Don't get hung up on 'stabilizing' a world we haven't fully controlled."

"Then I hope you won't rush things," Vorosimorsk countered, his eyes icy. "We need stability before exploitation."

The air grew tense as the two men faced off, each carrying their own ideals. Donskoy, standing between them, observed silently, his eyes calculating.

Finally, he spoke in a calm, steady tone. "We're here to discuss, not argue. You both have valid points, but there's only one path to our goal. And I believe, with proper coordination, we can make this world remember us."

Vorosimorsk and Makarov exchanged glances, their expressions still taut, but Donskoy's gaze compelled them to set aside their differences for now. Sensing the need to shift the conversation, Donskoy asked, "So, what's your next move?" His sharp eyes scanned both men, lingering on Vorosimorsk.

Makarov's gaze met Donskoy's, a faint smile appearing, though his eyes remained stern. Vorosimorsk raised an eyebrow, leaning against a nearby tree while keeping an eye on Makarov, curious about his response.

Makarov's lips curled slightly, his eyes gleaming with confidence and a hint of arrogance. "What's next? We just secured a victory against Papaldia, but that's only the beginning. I plan to reorganize the RIM PMC to prepare for the next steps. The postwar period is the perfect time to expand influence, don't you think?"

Vorosimorsk gave a faint laugh, his eyes flashing sharply. "Classic Viktor. But don't forget, postwar isn't just about expansion. Have you thought about the people caught up in this war? They need stability, not more pressure from your 'grand plans.'"

"The people?" Makarov scoffed. "I don't deny they need stability. But where does stability come from? Strength. Only when they know who's in charge can they live in peace. Don't tell me you're still clinging to those outdated ideals, Vorosimorsk."

The tension thickened, but Donskoy quickly stepped in to defuse it. "Enough, both of you. We all see things differently, but our goal is to build a solid foundation for what we've achieved. Arguing about approaches now won't help."

He turned to Vorosimorsk. "What about you? What's your plan?"

Vorosimorsk shrugged, gazing at the swaying treetops. "I've reported to command and received orders to deploy units to aid reconstruction in the southern regions. The war hit that area hard, and it'll take time to recover. But sitting around waiting isn't my style. I want to join this adventure as an explorer, alongside my task force. We'll not only assist with rebuilding but also explore uncharted territories and seek new opportunities."

Makarov raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "An adventure? You're really diving into that now? I get your point, but adventuring doesn't always yield results. Focusing on rebuilding would be more practical."

Donskoy listened quietly, weighing their words. He knew their approaches differed, but both had valid points. Standing between them, he sought a way to reconcile their perspectives.

"You both have your views, and I don't think they're mutually exclusive. Viktor, you can keep expanding your influence, but don't forget that long-term stability needs public support. And Vorosimorsk, if you want to explore, ensure those ventures bring tangible benefits to the region. We can't do everything at once, but we can move forward together, step by step."

Donskoy's stern gaze met both men. "This isn't just one person's fight. If we don't work toward a common goal, everything we've gained will collapse."

Makarov gave a small smile, this time with understanding. "Fine, I'm not against teamwork, as long as we don't get bogged down in trivial details."

Vorosimorsk nodded, his voice warm but firm. "I'm not here to obstruct. If we're all here, let's find a path we can all agree on."

Donskoy exhaled in relief, though he knew the tension between his two comrades lingered. At least, for now, they were ready to cooperate. "Good. Let's sit down and hammer out the details. We'll need all our wits and patience for what's ahead."

The silhouettes of the three men stood under the canopy, stark against the quiet yet oppressive backdrop, a harbinger of the challenges awaiting them. Suddenly, a loud laugh erupted from behind, shattering the solemn atmosphere. All three turned, their eyes fixed on the source.

Vorosimorsk immediately recognized Lise and her team, surrounded by soldiers from the 15th Tank Company and RIM PMC. The soldiers, especially those from the tank company, were visibly intrigued by the only woman in the group. Lise's distinct appearance made her the focal point of attention. Questions bombarded her—where she was from, whether she was a mage from this world. She smiled calmly, responding with composure despite a hint of unease. She clearly didn't want to reveal too much, but the soldiers' curiosity only grew.

A RIM PMC soldier, his stern face betraying curiosity, asked, "Are you a mage? I heard some people in this world have special abilities."

Lise smiled mysteriously. "You could say that, but I'm not the only one."

Makarov, observing from behind, couldn't resist commenting with a playful smirk. "I don't think she's a mage—she's more of a puzzle. But I'll admit, if she can pull off magic like that, it's not bad at all." He raised an eyebrow, glancing between Lise and the questioning soldiers. "Still, the real value here is the soldiers' curiosity. And looking at her, it's no surprise. Not everyone has such a... unique presence."

Vorosimorsk shot Makarov a glance, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed by his teasing. "She'll definitely leave an impression on these soldiers. But let's not let them bother her too much," he said seriously, though his eyes remained on Lise, who handled the crowd with ease.

Makarov shrugged, still watching. "No harm done. They're just curious." He smirked, adding, "She doesn't look bad next to these soldiers. They're probably wondering what else she can do."

Donskoy only smiled, saying nothing, but his eyes betrayed his interest in Lise. He wasn't sure if she was a mage, but her enigmatic charm was undeniable. Everyone around her seemed drawn into the conversation, momentarily forgetting the looming tensions.

Meanwhile, Lise continued smiling lightly, answering questions with grace, though she knew her secrets couldn't stay hidden forever. For now, she could ease the tension, if only briefly.

Lise stood at the center of the circle of soldiers, her bright eyes maintaining a calm demeanor despite the barrage of questions. Beside her, Rompev leaned against a tree, his sharp gaze paired with a sardonic smirk. Kamarov and Petrov, the two riflemen, were more at ease, occasionally tossing in humorous remarks that made the group laugh.

"Your mage, huh?" a young soldier from the 15th Tank Company asked curiously. "She's... different. Her hair, her eyes, her whole vibe. How does her magic work? Does she wave her hands and chant or something?"

Petrov chuckled, clapping the soldier on the shoulder. "What, you think this is a movie? Our mage doesn't need chants. One look from her, and you'd be sleepless for three days."

The soldiers roared with laughter, but a RIM PMC member shook his head. "Sounds like she's too nice for that. If I were a mage, I'd do something epic—like turn you all into frogs!"

Lise raised an eyebrow but before she could respond, Kamarov jumped in. "Frogs? Mate, you're already one and don't even know it." His teasing tone sent the group into another fit of laughter.

A bolder young soldier piped up. "Come on, Lise, if you're a mage, you've got to have something cooler up your sleeve, right? Show us just one trick!"

Lise shook her head gently, her voice calm but tinged with humor. "Magic isn't for show. But if you keep pushing, I might turn all the soup in your camp into plain water."

Her response sent the soldiers into hysterics, though some paused, wondering if she was serious.

Rompev, still leaning against the tree, gave a soft chuckle. "You're bothering her now. If she gets mad, you won't be laughing anymore. Trust me."

The PMC soldier, undeterred, grinned mischievously. "What if I say I like her? Would she use magic to respond?"

The group chuckled, but Kamarov cut in. "If you try that, she won't need magic. Rompev here will 'explain' things for her." He nodded toward the sniper, whose icy glare was sharp as a blade.

Rompev smirked, nodding slightly. "Exactly. And I won't need magic either."

The atmosphere grew lively but cautious. The team's presence was both intriguing and intimidating. The soldiers from both sides began to realize they weren't dealing with ordinary people but individuals with secrets and strengths beyond imagination.

Petrov, sensing the mood lighten, threw in another jest. "You should thank Lise for being polite. If she wanted, this whole forest would be ash by now."

Lise sighed, shaking her head but smiling faintly. "You're exaggerating, Petrov. But I won't stop you."

The soldiers laughed again, the air growing more relaxed. Rompev remained vigilant, his sharp eyes missing nothing, while Lise's subtle charm continued to captivate both her team and the strangers.

A deep, commanding voice cut through the lively chatter. "That's enough, folks," Vorosimorsk said, stepping forward with a stern but slightly amused tone. "We're not here for a meet-and-greet. Lise, Rompev, Kamarov, Petrov, prepare to move out. And you lot," he addressed the soldiers, "let us do our job before I get blamed for delaying your dinner."

The soldiers let out a collective groan, reluctant to end the fun, but none dared argue with Vorosimorsk's authority. A few still waved at Lise, calling out, "Mage Lise, come back when you're free! We'll have tougher questions next time!"

Lise shook her head, offering a faint smile as she followed Vorosimorsk with a graceful stride. Kamarov and Petrov trailed behind, waving goodbye.

"Thanks for the bodyguard offers," Kamarov teased. "But if you want to stay alive, don't volunteer again. She doesn't need one."

Rompev, the last to leave, cast a cold glance at the lingering soldiers, his eyes tinged with mockery. "Go eat your soup. Lise warned you—don't test your luck."

As the team regrouped, Vorosimorsk led them down a forest path. His expression turned serious. "We've got work to do. Focus on the mission."

Petrov shrugged, slinging his rifle. "Sure, but didn't you see how they were smitten with Lise? We should start charging for fan club membership."

Kamarov laughed. "Charge? Rompev's probably the club president already."

Rompev shook his head silently, while Lise chuckled softly. "You don't need to stir things up. I'm used to it."

Vorosimorsk sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Keep yapping, and I'll throw you all into a campaign with no time for jokes."

The team fell back into disciplined order, though the mood remained light from their banter. Under the canopy, their figures faded into the path, leaving behind the rustling wind and faint echoes of laughter from the camp.

...

After Vorosimorsk's team departed, the forest clearing grew quiet, the earlier laughter fading. Only Donskoy and Makarov remained under the trees, their eyes following the team's retreating forms.

Makarov raised an eyebrow, breaking the silence with a sardonic tone. "Think they'll last long? Vorosimorsk's team doesn't seem like pushovers."

Donskoy gave a small smile, not answering immediately. His gaze lingered on the path, his mind clearly elsewhere. After a moment, he spoke. "That's... not our concern."

Makarov turned, his eyes sharp as knives. "Not our concern, but you know they could succeed. If they don't, what we're doing gets messier."

Donskoy didn't respond right away. He exhaled slowly, then met Makarov's gaze with icy intensity. "I only need to know one thing, Viktor. You're not going back to the Papaldia Empire, are you?"

Makarov stared at Donskoy, silent for a moment. The name "Papaldia" wasn't easy to hear, but he didn't flinch. "That empire is dead," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But the idea of a strong empire never dies."

Donskoy's lip curled in a faint, contemptuous smile. "You and your ideas... never change. But I don't want to revisit that." He turned away, patting the pistol at his side. "We all have our own goals, Viktor. Just remember, wherever you go, I won't let you forget what you've done."

Makarov met his gaze, his expression loaded with meaning. He tapped his helmet lightly, the weak sunlight glinting off the metal. "I won't forget," he said softly but firmly.

The two men stood in heavy silence, the air thick with tension. Then Makarov spoke again, his tone contemplative.

"About the data I've gathered..." he began, his voice cold but calculated. "The Arkonis Corporation will have its own plans for it. Information on strategic resources, potential zones, and long-term control—it's not just short-term gains. My mother won't let opportunities like this slip by."

Donskoy raised an eyebrow, adjusting his cloak. "I see. The Arkonis Corporation will move quickly on your data. And if needed, higher-ups will make bigger decisions." He paused, his sharp eyes locked on Makarov. "But, Viktor, don't let those ambitions cloud your path. If Arkonis takes too much control, we'll face bigger problems."

Makarov didn't seem fazed, instead offering a sly smile. "No problem. My mother knows how to handle things. And if I need to act, I will. But no one controls me too much." His smile turned cryptic.

Donskoy studied him, as if weighing his words, but said nothing more. He simply turned to leave. "Remember my words, Viktor. Your actions don't just affect you—they affect everyone around you."

Makarov stood still, not reacting immediately, only nodding slightly. His eyes remained fixed ahead, as if searching for something hidden in the stillness. His thoughts churned like an undercurrent, relentless and deep. The Arkonis Corporation wasn't just a business entity. With the data he'd gathered, it would become a cornerstone of a long-term strategy—and Makarov would be the one to chart that course, leading the way.