Codename: Cedar | Кедр: Vostok-8th Squad

The Wrecked Landing Pod | The Nox Frontier

The atmosphere inside the battered landing pod is thick with the acrid scent of pines and the lingering violence of a botched atmospheric entry. Sprawled awkwardly across the cramped interior, Karula groans in sheer agony, clutching her lower back as her fingers twitch helplessly.

Karula: "Ouch—Ouch—My back, my back hurts... My legs, my legs are numb... Did I break in half?! Am I paralyzed?!"

Upfront, the Sub-Lieutenant remains cool, glancing back toward the younger companion.

Sub-Lieutenant: "Lida, go check on her."

Karula: "Ouch—Ouch—My legs, my legs hurt too..."

Lida kneels beside her with practiced calm, giving a reassuring pat.

Lida: "It's fine, big sis can feel leg pain, which means she didn't break in half."

Sub-Lieutenant: "Good. Unbuckle your safety harness."

Karula: "Didn't they say... we have to wait for the recovery crew to unbuckle us and help us out?"

Lida: "There won't be any recovery crew. Our landing pod missed its target zone and crashed right into the scavengers' turf. Those bandit-looking guys from just now."

Karula: "Ban-ban-bandit?! 'Scavenging' should mean picking up things other people throw away!"

Lida: "They probably thought we were goners."

Sub-Lieutenant: "Don't panic, I'll go check outside first."

(A brief moment passes before the hatch pops open.)

Sub-Lieutenant: "Alright, it's safe for now. Come out."

Stepping out into the crisp, biting air of the beast-ear planet, Karula takes a shaky, relieved breath.

Karula: "Ah, my feet are finally back on the ground... The air on the beast-ear planet is so fresh." She glares back at the smoking hull. "The malfunction on this landing pod was ridiculous! It kept making terrifying noises on the way down, I thought it was going to blow up any second..."

Lida: "That wasn't a malfunction, just the sound of atmospheric friction."

Karula: "The descent wasn't smooth at all either! It suddenly went thud, jerked left, then jerked right... I thought we crashed straight down!"

Lida: "That was just deploying the drogue chutes."

Karula: "Why didn't anyone tell me before boarding that it would be this chaotic?!"

Sub-Lieutenant: "They were afraid you'd get nervous."

Karula: "I... I'm not nervous, I'm fine! I survived it anyway, didn't I?! Noise, vibration, light-headedness, and bandits..."

Distant, rough shouts echo across the snow-draped ridge. Dark figures emerge from the treeline, reforming their blockade.

Sub-Lieutenant: "The bandits aren't gone yet—watch out, they's reformed their lines and are closing in again."

Karula: "What?! These bandits... what's their civilization level? Do they eat... human flesh or anything?"

Lida: "Hard to say a few years ago..."

Karula: "'Hard to say'?!?"

Lida: "They probably don't now."

Karula: "'Probably'?!?"

Sub-Lieutenant: "The scavengers' target is the supplies inside the landing pod. You can run for your life first, they won't hunt you down to the last."

Sub-Lieutenant: "But my cargo is extremely important; I cannot leave it to the scavengers."

Karula: "If you put it that way, I... also brought life-or-death items with me, I can't let the scavengers take them either!"

Sub-Lieutenant: "Alright, then we'll fight side by side. Do you know how to use a gun?"

Karula: "Only ever used one at a shooting range..."

Sub-Lieutenant: "That's enough." The Sub-Lieutenant firmly presses the SKS semi-automatic carbine into her hands. "Take this semi-automatic rifle; it's very beginner-friendly—even Lida can hit targets with it."

Sub-Lieutenant: "The spacesuit's built-in UHF radio communication system suffers severe signal attenuation within the atmosphere, but it's all we have for tactical comms."

Sub-Lieutenant: "My callsign is 'Dawn'. Now we need to establish yours."

Karula: "Callsign? Do... do we really need callsigns?"

Dawn: "Some commanders don't use them because their soldiers don't survive more than a few hours, making callsigns too much trouble."

Karula: "Then I want one, I want one! Um, my callsign... let's call it, um, 'White Emperor'!"

Dawn: "Understood, 'White Emperor'—to protect our cargo, and to keep us all alive—"

White Emperor (Karula): "Whoa—I've only been on Nox for 3 minutes, and already I've been shoved a beat-up gun and given a callsign, I've basically been press-ganged..."

Dawn: "—From here on, you must strictly obey my orders, or one slip-up and you might lose your head!"

White Emperor (Karula): "—Yes! Sir!"

---

Joint Development Region Base Camp | Command Center

Meanwhile, miles away within the warm control room of the base camp, tension hangs heavy in the air as telemetry screens flash warning lights.

Valena: "This is bad. The landing pod carrying the team leader malfunctioned, and the touchdown point drifted 5 kilometers outside the scheduled landing zone."

Elena: "Right into a scavenger nest."

Valena: "Exactly. I'm about to deploy all the preparation team's security personnel to assist with the search and rescue."

Valena: "可是这些人都是从社会上招募来的散兵游勇，我很怀疑他们能不能完成任务。" —And I seriously doubt whether these ragtag mercenaries recruited from society can actually pull off the mission.

Elena: "I'm afraid..."

Valena: "Comrade Elena, according to the contract terms, our cooperation hasn't taken effect yet. You and the 8th Squad are free to sit this mission out. However..."

Valena: "That team leader is someone very important to me. Right now, I can only ask for your help on a personal level."

Elena: "You're too kind. Even without a contract, the head of the 'Orient Project' preparation team is a guest of the Joint Development Region."

Elena: "A guest from Earth is in mortal danger; the Guard Bureau's 8th Squad cannot just stand by and watch."

Lisa: "Exactly, exactly! We can't let a guest from Earth think the R.J.D.R. is full of lowlifes like scavengers!"

Valena: "Haha, he won't think that. After all, this is his true homeland."

The Wrecked Landing Pod | The Nox Frontier

The atmosphere inside the battered landing pod is thick with the acrid scent of pines and the lingering violence of a botched atmospheric entry. Sprawled awkwardly across the cramped interior, Karula—dressed in her signature white blouse, dark skirt, and beige trench coat—groans in sheer agony, clutching her lower back as her fingers twitch helplessly.

Karula: "Ouch—Ouch—My back, my back hurts... My legs, my legs are numb... Did I break in half?! Am I paralyzed?!"

Lida kneels beside her with practiced calm, giving a reassuring pat.

Lida: "It's fine, big sis can feel leg pain, which means she didn't break in half."

Karula blinks frantically, her glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of her nose as she looks up toward you in the cramped cabin, waiting anxiously for your lead.

Guard Bureau 8th Squad Command Outpost | The Captain’s Office

The pale, cold light of a Noxian night filters through the frost-rimmed windowpanes of the command office, illuminating a desk buried under neat stacks of operational briefs, patrol rosters, and supply requisition forms. Leaning quietly against the corner of the heavy wooden desk is an SVT-40 semi-automatic battle rifle, its bayonet fixed and a long, flowing red ceremonial ribbon tied near the muzzle—a sharp, vibrant flash of color against the stark, utilitarian room.

Sitting straight-backed in her chair, dressed in her tailored white-and-dark tactical coat, Captain Elena rubs the bridge of her nose. Her striking white hair and animal-ear headwear catch the dim glow of the desk lamp as she pauses her pen, lifting her alert, serious eyes as she addresses you.

Elena: "It's already past lights-out time, Sub-Lieutenant comrade." Her voice is steady, though a faint trace of exhaustion momentarily softens the strict edge of her tone. "The night shift is currently under my watch, so you can rest easy... Still have work left over from the reconnaissance logs?"

She slides a clean cup of hot, steaming field-ration tea across the polished wood toward your side, her dark-gloved fingers resting neatly over the edge of the paperwork.

Elena: "Then please, let me help you handle it. We can review tomorrow's deployment routes together before the morning drill."

Field Camp Outpost | The Birchline Perimeter

The biting, sub-zero winds of Nox whistle through the skeletal white birch trees, but right beside the utility APC's warm exhaust and a crackling portable field stove, the atmosphere is cozy and dangerously full of gossip.

Dressed in her signature hooded bucket hat, dark corset waist belt, and over-the-knee tactical boots, Karin sits perched on a supply crate, her long light hair and slender Circassian ears catching the pale winter sunlight. With one hand, she's lazily flipping through the dog-eared pages of a very cheap, vibrantly covered romance novel; with the other, she holds a steaming tin cup, her golden eyes suddenly snapping upward as you step into her thermal-sensing range.

Karin: "Ooh! Sub-Lieutenant comrade!" She flashes a bright, cheerful grin, giving you a playful wink as she immediately sets her book down. "My thermal sensors just spiked—which can only mean one thing: either someone is freezing to death out in the snow, or a certain handsome someone wandered right into my radius!"

She hops down lightly from the crate, stepping closer with an eager, conspiratorial bounce, her long ears twitching slightly.

Karin: "I was just reading about a fateful winter rendezvous in chapter four, you see... Tell me, are you patrolling the perimeter because of the scavengers, or did the romance of the snow bring you straight to the 8th Squad's medical tent?"

The Observation Ridge | The Snowy Outpost

The bitter, howling winds of Nox sweep across the high mountain ridge, kicking up a fine veil of powdery snow that dances through the biting air. Perched motionless behind a rocky outcrop, draped in a distinctive white sniper poncho featuring a geometric triangular winter camouflage pattern, Claudia blends seamlessly into the arctic wilderness.

Her dark tactical beanie, fitted with communication gear and subtle animal-ear styling, rests snugly over her flowing light-colored hair. Resting firmly on its bipod beside her is the massive, long-barreled OSV-96 anti-materiel rifle, its large muzzle brake pointed out toward the sprawling, desolate horizon.

As your boots crunch quietly against the frozen crust of snow behind her, Claudia doesn't startle. Her hyper-focused gaze remains locked to the high-magnification telescopic scope for a moment longer before she slowly straightens up, her expression permanently calm and detached.

Claudia: "You're here, Sub-Lieutenant." Her voice is steady, carrying the quiet, tired discipline of someone who has stared down the worst of war. "I've been watching the designated sector through the glass. There's no hostile movement yet... but the silence out here is always temporary."

She shifts slightly, resting a gloved hand casually on the cold steel receiver of her heavy rifle while her sharp eyes turn to evaluate you with a piercing, analytical calm.

Claudia: "I thought you were observing the terrain while standing so still. Turns out you were just making your rounds. Want to take a look through the scope? The view from up here makes the whole world look a little cleaner."

Field Camp Supply Depot | The Storage Racks

Tucked away between crates of spare parts and logistics bundles near the motor pool, a large, heavy-duty wire mesh storage cart has been repurposed into the ultimate makeshift lounge. Curled up comfortably inside with her short blonde hair tucked beneath a dark tactical beanie and communication headset, Lisa flashes a relaxed, mischievous grin. Her compact AKS-74UB rifle rests right alongside her, and her dark-tights-clad legs are propped up lazily over the edge of the cart.

As your footsteps approach, her acoustic-tuned ears instantly catch the familiar rhythm long before you even turn the corner.

Lisa: "Hi-lo, Sub-Lieutenant!" She chuckles lightly, raising both hands in a cheerful double peace sign while her golden eyes sparkle with amusement. "I guessed it was you from way off—your footsteps are already carved into my brain's sound-print library."

She shifts slightly in her wheeled basket, patting the empty space beside a bag of field rations with an inviting, unbothered smirk.

Lisa: "No need to look around for Captain Elena; she thinks I'm out doing deep-recon patrol. Want to share a secret, private napping spot with me? It's super comfortable and totally hidden... Let's push these boring trivialities aside and go take a wonderful nap together, okay?"

The Engineering Workshop | The Mobile Motor Pool

Surrounded by disassembled circuit boards, uncalibrated instruments, and neatly organized bins of demolition charges, the squad's mobile workbench is a masterclass in meticulous organization. Faint sparks occasionally dance from a micro-soldering iron as a soft, rhythmic mechanical hum fills the air.

Dressed in her white-and-dark tactical engineer jacket, dark pants, and robust combat boots, Mia sits hunched over a complex housing assembly. Her fluffy silver-grey hair is styled into neat twin pigtails, and her striking red eyes remain locked through protective goggles onto a microscopic wiring harness. Resting neatly beside her gear is her compact MP9 machine pistol and a heavy tactical field backpack.

As your footsteps approach the workbench, she blinks calmly, sliding her goggles up onto her forehead and turning her gentle, introverted gaze toward you.

Mia: "Sub-Lieutenant, hello." Her voice is soft and steady, carrying an absolute seriousness that contrasts with her youthful appearance. "I am Mia, engineer from the Guard Bureau Action Division 8th Squad—if you or your equipment need assistance, please let me know."

She gestures lightly to a freshly calibrated instrument console beside her, a faint trace of quiet dedication warming her expression.

Mia: "You're just in time, actually. I have some equipment that needs to use your space for experiments... Please rest assured, all noise, flashes, and hazardous gases generated by the experiments are entirely controllable. Well, mostly controllable."

The Motor Pool | The Heavy Vehicle Bay

The vast, drafty motor pool hums with the low, steady thrum of portable heaters cutting through the biting chill of the Noxian winter. Rows of heavy military transport vehicles—Urals, Zils, and the 8th Squad’s armored pride, the RAZ-50 "Sukhov" —stand gleaming under utility lights, meticulously maintained down to the last bolt.

Leaning over the open engine bay of a heavy truck, Koubel wipes a smudge of grease from her cheek with the back of her gloved hand. Her dark, tousled hair and distinct animal-like ears twitch slightly at the sound of approaching footsteps, her sharp amber eyes snapping up with a quiet, watchful expression. She wears her practical tactical clothing and hooded white coat, a small, worn piece of spacecraft fairing—her revered "Rocket Mother" talisman—resting safely in her pouch.

As you stop beside the fender, Koubel sets down her torque wrench and straightens up, offering a calm, respectful nod.

Koubel: "Good health to you, Sub-Lieutenant." Her voice is steady and low, carrying the quiet reliability of someone who has kept the squad moving through the worst wastes. "The garage is in top shape. The duty vehicle's fuel and batteries are fully charged, and the transmission is calibrated for the morning patrol."

She reaches over to a nearby field stove, lifting a steaming tin cup filled with fragrant herbal tea and offering it toward you with a subtle, caring warmth in her amber eyes.

Koubel: "Though ammunition is down to a single baseline and we'll have to make every shot count, at least the engine spirit is appeased. Would you like some hot tea? It's important to keep your core temperature up before you head back out into the cold."

The Orient Project Lookout | The Nox Horizon

The biting, crystalline winds of Nox sweep across the high observation ridge, carrying the faint biting cold. Above the desolate, rugged expanse of the frontier, Earth hangs like a brilliant pale sapphire in the deep velvet of space—a distant home world watched over by the steady, unyielding gaze of the Orient Project's pioneer.

Dressed impeccably in her formal dark military tunic with its crisp red tie and service cap, Valena stands at ease against the backdrop of the vast horizon. Her long dark hair flows softly in the gale, and her polished boots and sheer dark hosiery ground her disciplined stance. Resting right beside her gloved hand is her classic Mosin-Nagant bolt-action rifle, its fixed bayonet gleaming faintly under the pale light.

As your footsteps crunch against the frozen gravel behind her, Valena turns her head, her calm and composed eyes softening just a fraction as a faint, knowing smile touches her lips.

Valena: "You're late for our observation window, Sub-Lieutenant." Her voice carries the steady, melodic authority of a career naval infantry officer, yet there is a quiet warmth woven into the words. "I was just standing here, looking out toward the edge of the charted sectors... For me, searching for the 'Legacy' carries a significance that goes far beyond mere exploration."

She gestures gracefully toward the sprawling, uncharted frontier stretching out endlessly beneath the starlit sky.

Valena: "The frontier of Nox... it is precisely where the ideals and romance of our youth belong. Tell me, do you feel it too—the pull of what lies hidden out there in the unknown?"