After the event, the Blood Khaganate became a vassal of SWAT, forced to reduce their army and dismantle their once-proud bunkers in the wasteland canyons. The Khaganate understood that it was better to submit to SWAT as a vassal than to become breeding slaves or simply be massacred.

In the palace of the Khaganate one morning, the Blood Khaganate retainer bowed to Wanderer. The young man stood tall, now without his iron exo-clad armor, dressed in a simple white garment.

Wanderer observed the retainer, noting the stark contrast between his current appearance and the imposing figure he once was. "A humble retreat indeed," his gaze lingering on the man's bowed head. he still never see anything on his life. a ex enemy bow to him without hidden hatred on their eyes.

"Well, actually, it's kind of funny," Wanderer continued, tapping his lips thoughtfully. "They don’t give you a name since Khaganate culture removes people's names while in power, I can't call you 'Retainer' while you work with me, as that kind of structure doesn't exist anymore. From today, I will call you... Sanada." He nodded to himself, waiting for Sanada's reaction.

Sanada raised his head slightly, his eyes meeting Wanderer's gaze. There was a flicker of something unspoken there, a mix of gratitude and resignation. "Thank you, I'm Sanada," he murmured, the word feeling foreign yet oddly comforting on his tongue. "It's... an honor to serve under someone who understands the great war."

"Yes, you know, your red-clad appearance and your story remind me of Sanada Yukimura. I'm kind of a weeb, you know," Wanderer said with a chuckle.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Sanada's mouth. "I see you're well-versed in the ancient histories, Wanderer," he remarked, "In another life, perhaps I would have donned such colors proudly, leading my men into battle with honor and valor...But alas, fate has seen fit to place me here, in this desolate wasteland, on the dying age”

His shoulders slumped slightly,. "What say you, Wanderer? Do you believe in destiny, or do you forge your own path?"

Wanderer blushed slightly, avoiding his gaze but then recovering. "Can you reduce such language? Please."

Sanada chuckled softly, "Of course, my apologies if I've strayed too far into abstraction," he said, "Put simply, I'm curious about how you steer your course in this treacherous terrain, how you manage to keep your forces cohesive despite the ever-changing circumstances."

"I don’t know. Even I always wonder about myself. It’s kind of luck as well. I mean, no matter how many books about war you read or how many hours you spend on war simulations, the outcome of battle is always wild," Wanderer replied. trying look calm despite feel..weird on sanada much flowery way of word

"Indeed, there is a certain unpredictability inherent in warfare," Sanada reflected,. "It seems we share similar thoughts on the subject. Perhaps that is why our paths crossed."

Wanderer nodded slowly,

Furqan interjected, "Alright, enough philosophizing about destiny and paths. We've got a mission to plan. We need to make our move before Violence does. Any ideas on how we strike back at this rogue faction?"

The group fell silent again as they contemplated their next move. Finally, Wanderer spoke up, his voice steady and determined. "I have a plan in mind. But it'll take some time to set up."

"And the plan is... a feast! Ahah!" Wanderer burst into laughter.

Everyone shared an unsure look as Wanderer laughed. "What the..." Furqan muttered, confused.

"A feast? Are you joking? We're mercenaries, not party planners," Furqan replied,

"Come on! I'm tired in body and mind. Let’s show our gentle side to our new ally," Wanderer said, looking at Sanada with a smile.

Furqan sighed but couldn't help but smirk at Wanderer's unexpected proposal. "Alright, alright. A feast it is. We'll showcase our hospitality and our might before Violence does. But we'll keep our guards up, just in case. Don't want any surprises."

"Yes... hoho hoho ohho," Wanderer laugh

Furqan shook his head, chuckling at Wanderer's peculiar laughter.

"Alright, you heard the man. Let's start preparing for this feast. Make sure everything is top-notch, from the food to the decor. We want to make a good impression."

As the feast commenced, the atmosphere was lively. Laughter and music filled the air, creating a vibrant backdrop for the gathering.

Blood khagan palace is was made by dark wood. with paint of color of red, their design is closer to a temple than a palace or fortress.

Sanada observed the behavior of others with an unreadable expression, sitting cross-legged while sipping his drink. Wanderer noticed him and decided to join, settling beside him.

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"Tell me... how do Khaganate people enjoy themselves?" Wanderer asked, his voice loud enough to be heard over the electronic music.

"The Khaganate people are fierce, but they know how to celebrate," he replied, his voice carrying a touch of nostalgia. "Traditional Khaganate festivities often involve grand feasts, where the community comes together to share food and drink. Music and dance play a major role, with the rhythmic beats of drums and flutes resonating through the night."

He paused for a moment, his gaze distant. "But it's not just about the festivity. The Khaganate people also value honor and strength...Traditional games, like wrestling and archery, showcase their prowess and skill.."

A trace of a smile played at the corners of Sanada's lips as he added, "And of course, there is the consumption of 'khuushuur,' a deliciously stuffed dumpling, especially after a feast."

Wanderer raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Khuushuur?"

Sanada nodded,. "Khuushuur. It's a specialty dish of the Khaganate, often served during celebrations or special occasions. Think of it as a meat pastry, stuffed with mutton, onions, and sometimes even potatoes. It's a delicious treat that brings people together, shared over laughter and conversations."

"Seems good... you must teach our chef about it," Wanderer suggested,

Sanada raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by Wanderer's suggestion. "You want our cook to learn how to make khuushuur? It would honor me to share our cuisine with your people.”

He paused, a small smirk on his face. "But I am confident in your cook. And with my guidance, we can bring the Khaganate's flavors to your table."

Outside the base, Chrome stood alone with a drink in his hand, gazing up at the moon. After taking a sip, he sighed, enjoying the tranquility of the night. Suddenly, Nodira snuck up from behind and covered his eyes playfully. "Guess who?" she said, using a mock manly voice.

Chrome chuckled slightly, recognizing her voice. "Well, with a zombie voice like that, it can only be you, Didi. What brings you out here?"

He turned, grinning. "Want a drink? The party's still going, but there's plenty of night left." He offered her a goblet of local brew. its liquid casting a faint shimmer in the dim moonlight. Nodira grinned and accepted the goblet, taking a small sip before responding.

Nodira took a sip. "Just needed a break from the noise. It's nice out here. So," she leaned against a pillar, "anyone catch your eye tonight?"

Chrome nodded in agreement, a content smile on his lips "Yeah, it's good to see everyone having fun. It's a reminder that we're still human, even with all the craziness." He paused, taking a drink. "But you're right. Sometimes, it's nice to just chill under the stars. Makes you think."

Nodira nodded, her gaze turning to the stars scattered across the night sky. "It's amazing how the night sky has a way of putting things into perspective, isn't it? The vastness of the universe reminds us of our own insignificance. But at the same time, it fills us with wonder and a sense of purpose."

She took another sip of her drink, her face illuminated by the gentle glow of the stars. "Perhaps we should make it a tradition to sneak out for these quiet moments under the stars."

Chrome chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. "That's a splendid idea.. Count me in for this tradition."

He raised his goblet in a toast, his eyes reflecting the twinkling stars above. "To the stars that guide our way, and the quiet moments that ground us."

Nodira raised her goblet in response, her voice filled with gratitude. "To the stars as our guides, and the peace that they bring."

Their goblets met in a soft ring, the sound lost among the rustling of the breeze. They sipped their drinks in content silence, letting the night wrap around them like a comforting blanket as they relished the tranquility of the moment.

The day after the feast, Wanderer stood in front of his exosuit armor, a brush in hand, ready to transform its appearance. He dipped the brush into a vibrant blue paint, carefully applying it to the surface of the armor. “My art is more stunning than AI, because... im not even intelegent”

The aesthetic of the Blood Khaganate army outfit had inspired him, and despite the paint's lack of practicality, he believed that art preserved beauty in the wasteland.

Once he finished painting, Wanderer set off for the mermaid settlement again. He had trade to conduct, gathering supplies necessary for establishing a new base in preparation for the impending mission against Series 9. recent victory against khaganate is bring good loot. but many of his equipment is turn into a fray. he need quick replacementAfter completing his business, wanderer feel all of his body screaming for pain. a too much rely on Real time psyche ability. and scaling the valley with exosuit in yesterday make him even cant make a stright posture while standing. its was the blacklash of of using exosuit. its give the wearer extra strengh and protection. but damaging the inner muscle if used in extensively.

he then shallow some pills to ease the pain. its make him relaxed a bit. he then look at center of rayaskent. he made his way to Vila's school, where he found her sitting in a gazebo behind the School.

Vila looked up as he approached. “Wanderer, this is a troubling situation. The constant threat of tribal conflict could be a real problem for both our communities.”

Wanderer leaned back. “Yeah… do wars just happen? Do people naturally want to fight, or is it just powerful people pushing it?”

Vila's expression turned reflective. “Wanderer, These questions have fascinated philosophers and thinkers for millennia. Some argue that war is inevitable, born from our primitive need for survival and resources. Others believe it's a choice, driven by ambition, greed, and a desire for control.”

“I want your answer, not one from bygone books,” Wanderer replied,

Vila nodded. “Wanderer, I believe war isn't inherent. We can be aggressive, sure, but that's not all we are.” She looked at him. “It's complicated, but I think our choices matter. War isn't inevitable; it's a choice. What do you think? Is war in our DNA?”

Wanderer sighed, “I’m a warlord. I’ve killed many people. I’ve razed many cities. I’ve killed many babies. War is not natural. First, you need your soldiers to fight for a reason—like material gain, money, influence, land, or something illogical like pride, vengeance, hatred. You need to control all of those aspects to create a war.”

Vila looked at him with understanding. “Wanderer, you understand war. But even with all that, we can still try to understand each other and work together.”

Wanderer considered her words. “I guess the reason your city is at peace is by design as well. Many major factions in the wasteland need a place to trade without spilling blood. They agree to 'peace' in some sort.”

Vila nodded, “You're insightful. Indeed, Rayaskent was established as a neutral zone, a place where different factions could come together to trade and interact without the threat of violence.”

Wanderer raised an eyebrow, “Don’t act so dumb. Do you bribe them?”

“I assure you, Rayaskent operates out of a sincere commitment to peace and community development. Our position as a neutral zone is built on trust, fairness, and mutual benefit.”

She met Wanderer's gaze, “dishonesty and deceit are not strategies I embrace. I believe in building relationships on honesty and integrity.”

Wanderer leaned back, crossing his arms “So, do you think you’re just lucky enough to exist because factions like Series 9 and SWAT see you as an oasis?”

Vila considered his question thoughtfully before answering. “Wanderer, luck plays a part in any success story, but in our case, Rayaskent stands as a testament to perseverance, cooperation, and mutual respect. Rayaskent more than just an oasis—it is a safe haven where people can thrive without fear of violence or chaos.”

Wanderer hummed thoughtfully,

Vila raised an eyebrow, sensing his dismissive attitude. “Wanderer, your response seems a bit dismissive. Is there something specifically you're having doubts about? Your questions and thoughts are welcome—open dialogue is one of the cornerstones of Rayaskent's society.”

Wanderer changed the subject. “How old are you, really?”

Vila chuckled softly at the unexpected change of subject. “Wanderer, my age is a mystery to many, but I suppose you've earned the truth, given our prior conversations. Let me tell you, I am much older than I appear. “ She smirked playfully.

“However, I must admit, my youthful appearance has its advantages. It allows me the chance to experience the world with a fresh perspective every few centuries.”

Wanderer raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “How do you manage to keep your motivation up? If I were you, I would already be praying to God to die.”

Vila's expression softened. “my belief in the goodness of humanity still burns brightly within me. I see the capacity for change and kindness in the hearts of people, even amidst the chaos of the Wasteland. That hope gives me the strength to persevere and continue striving for a better future.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “And you, Wanderer? What keeps you going?”

Wanderer sighed, “It’s because God hasn’t given me death yet. That’s simple.”