Martha sat across from Sariel, Mikael, and Mariabelle, each of them eying their surroundings warily, but gradually settling in as the tea was poured. There was something almost surreal about the setting—the airstrip bustling with activity just beyond the barricades, troops at attention, guns aimed but fingers steady, and the wind carrying the scent of both freshly brewed tea and the lingering acrid bite of spent ammunition.

Sariel picked up her cup, her sharp eyes fixed on Martha as she took a careful sip. "You know, when I got your invitation, I wasn't sure if this was a trap or some kind of elaborate ruse. But I have to admit..." She swirled her tea. "You're either desperate, or confident beyond reason."

Martha allowed herself a small smile. "Desperation and confidence often walk hand in hand when it comes to war. You know that, Sariel." She took a measured sip from her own cup, her eyes never leaving Sariel's. "We're here to offer you an alternative. A chance to end this madness, to stop being tools for someone else's twisted plans."

Mariabelle leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting from Martha to the troops stationed all around them. "And why would we join you, exactly? What makes you think we're willing to betray the Cross Army?"

Edea leaned forward, her voice low and even. "Because we know, Mariabelle, that you didn't sign up for this. None of you did. You became Apostles for reasons that had nothing to do with the current agenda of the Cross Army." She paused, letting her words sink in. "The Cross Army has lost its purpose. It's no longer about honor or defending a cause. It's about power and control, at the cost of everything else."

Mikael raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "And you think you're the ones to correct that? The ones who ran from the battlefield, from the Cross Army's ideals?" He looked at Martha, a challenging glint in his eyes. "What makes you think you're still fit to stand among us?"

Martha set her teacup down carefully, her eyes meeting Mikael's. "We left because we saw the truth. The ideals of the Cross Army were twisted beyond recognition. We fought for freedom, not tyranny. I know you, Mikael. You still value that freedom, even if you've forgotten how to fight for it."

Sariel chuckled, the sound sharp and mirthless. She set her cup down with a clink and leaned forward, her eyes boring into Martha's. "You talk a good game, Mary the Bloodiest. But I'm not convinced. If you're so confident that you still have what it takes, why don't you prove it?" She gestured towards the airstrip. "A duel. You and me. Right here, right now. Let's see if you've still got that fire in you."

The air seemed to grow heavier as Sariel made her challenge, the troops around them shifting slightly, murmurs breaking out among the ranks. Anthony and Jacob exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of how this sudden turn would play out.

Martha, however, remained calm. She tilted her head, a sly smile curling at her lips. "A duel, is it? Alright, Sariel. I'll indulge you." She stood up slowly, her light armor shifting as she rose to her full height. "But I'll go easy on you... for the first fifteen seconds. After that, you'll have to keep up."

Sariel's eyes narrowed, a grin spreading across her face as she rose to meet the challenge. "Don't hold back, Mary. I want to see everything you've got."

They moved towards the center of the airstrip, clearing a space as the troops around them backed away, forming a wide circle. The tension was palpable, the air buzzing with anticipation. Mikael and Mariabelle watched from their seats, curious expressions on their faces.

Edea sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. She turned to Anthony and Jacob, her voice low. "This is how they settle things. It's about honor, about proving themselves. If Martha can win Sariel over, we'll have made significant progress today."

Anthony nodded, though his eyes remained on the two Apostles now facing off in the center. "Let's hope it doesn't get out of hand."

Sariel drew her sword, the blade glinting in the midday sun, while Martha unsheathed her own weapon, the metal singing as it was freed from its scabbard. The two women faced each other, their eyes locked in a silent challenge.

"Ready when you are," Sariel called, her stance shifting slightly as she prepared to strike.

Martha nodded, her expression calm. "Remember, fifteen seconds." She raised her sword, her posture relaxed but her gaze unwavering.

Sariel lunged first, her speed blinding as she closed the distance between them. Martha moved with a fluid grace, her sword meeting Sariel's in a clash of steel that rang through the airstrip. For those first few seconds, it seemed as if Martha was barely putting in any effort, her movements controlled, measured, as she parried Sariel's blows without missing a beat.

Sariel pressed harder, her strikes growing more forceful, her expression one of fierce determination. But Martha held her ground, her blade moving with precision, deflecting each attack as if she were simply toying with her opponent.

The fifteen seconds passed, and Martha's demeanor shifted. She stepped forward, her strikes suddenly faster, more aggressive, as she began to push Sariel back. The difference in their skill became apparent as Martha's blade moved with lethal intent, each swing forcing Sariel onto the defensive.

Sariel gritted her teeth, struggling to keep up with the sudden change in pace. Martha's eyes were focused, her movements smooth, and in that moment, it was clear why she had once been known as Mary the Bloodiest.

After a few more exchanges, Martha stepped in, disarming Sariel with a swift movement, her sword coming to rest just inches from Sariel's throat. The entire airstrip seemed to hold its breath, the soldiers around them frozen as they watched the two women.

Martha held Sariel's gaze, her expression softening. "This is not about proving who is stronger, Sariel. It's about fighting for something worth believing in. You can still choose to fight for the right cause."

Sariel was breathing heavily, her eyes searching Martha's. After a moment, she let out a breath, a grudging smile tugging at her lips. "You're still as formidable as ever, Mary." She stepped back, lowering her head slightly in acknowledgment. "Alright. You have my attention. Let's hear what you have to say."

A collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the crowd as Martha lowered her sword, stepping back and nodding towards Sariel. The duel had ended, but the real battle—the one for their allegiance—was just beginning.

Mikael clapped his hands slowly, a smirk on his face. "Well, that was quite the performance. Perhaps there is something worth listening to here after all."

Mariabelle, who had been watching quietly, finally spoke, her voice thoughtful. "Maybe it's time we stopped following orders blindly and started thinking about what we're really fighting for."

Martha smiled, her eyes meeting those of the Apostles. "Then let's sit back down and talk. There's a lot to discuss, and not much time."

With that, the group returned to the table, the tension slowly easing as they sat back down to continue their conversation. It was a small step, but it was a step towards something greater—towards ending the war, together.

The tension in the air thickened as Mikael, the 3rd Apostle, calmly sipped his tea and tilted his head toward the assembled soldiers, his piercing gaze landing on a particular group of Russians. His voice carried a weight that seemed to demand compliance without effort.

"One of your weapons," he said, his tone measured. "Let me see it."

Immediately, the sound of multiple firearms cocking reverberated through the air. Troops aimed their weapons at Mikael, silently communicating their refusal. It was clear: even with negotiations proceeding relatively well, no one was willing to hand over their equipment to one of the Cross Army's Apostles.

Mikael didn't flinch or seem offended by the hostility. Instead, he smiled faintly and raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "Ah, so wary. I suppose I can't blame you. But surely, in the interest of mutual understanding, you'd allow me to examine just one? I'm merely curious about the tools of war you use to challenge us."

Edea and Martha exchanged a glance, sensing the tension building to a boiling point. However, it was Stepan who subtly diffused the situation. He leaned toward a nearby Russian soldier, whispering quietly but firmly, his words carrying the authority of experience.

"Show him the AN-94," Stepan instructed, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Make sure it's one of the high-end models. Something too advanced for them to figure out without years of study."

The Russian soldier hesitated for a moment before giving a slight nod. He stepped forward, still gripping his weapon tightly, and made his way toward Mikael. The soldiers surrounding him kept their weapons trained on the Apostle, ready to act at the slightest provocation.

The soldier held out his AN-94, its sleek design and complex mechanisms gleaming in the sunlight. Mikael's interest was immediate, his sharp eyes scanning every detail of the rifle with an intensity that suggested he was already deconstructing its design in his mind.

"Fascinating," Mikael murmured as he reached out to touch the weapon, his gloved hand hovering just above it before making contact. He turned it over carefully, examining the unique two-round burst mechanism and the ergonomic design. "Such craftsmanship. And the complexity... this is not a tool for the unskilled. It requires precision and discipline. I assume your people are well-trained to wield such a device?"

"Only the best," the Russian soldier replied curtly, his voice steady despite the Apostle's imposing presence.

Mikael inspected the rifle for another moment before nodding thoughtfully and handing it back to the soldier. "Impressive. It's clear your kind takes your craft seriously. Such ingenuity, yet so reliant on machinery. A stark contrast to the magic and tradition we've relied upon for centuries. I wonder... do these weapons make you feel powerful, or does their existence remind you of your fragility?"

Stepan stepped in before the conversation could take a more heated turn. "They're tools, nothing more. Like your scythe or Sariel's blade. What matters is how they're used, and by whom."

Mikael chuckled softly, his expression unreadable. "Spoken like a true soldier. I respect that." He returned to his tea, as if the tension of the moment had dissipated entirely.

Meanwhile, Sariel, who had been quietly observing, seemed unimpressed. She leaned forward, fixing her sharp gaze on the Russian soldier. "Impressive as it may be, your weapon relies on mechanisms and ammunition. Take either away, and it's useless. A sword, however—" She gestured to the blade at her side. "—requires only the strength of its wielder. Care to test that theory?"

"That's enough, Sariel," Martha interjected, her tone firm. "The negotiations are going well. Let's not ruin them with a petty display."

Sariel smirked, her eyes glinting with challenge. "Afraid I might be right, Mary the Bloodiest?"

Martha sighed, setting down her tea. "If it'll get you to stop posturing, fine. But I'll warn you now—I'll go easy on you for 15 seconds. After that, don't blame me for what happens."

The troops and Apostles alike murmured as the atmosphere shifted once again. A duel between two legendary warriors was about to unfold, and all eyes were on the combatants as they rose from their seats and prepared to face off.

Stepan leaned toward Anthony, whispering, "This is either going to solidify our alliance... or turn into a complete disaster."

Anthony nodded grimly. "Let's hope it's the former."

As the tension on the airstrip thickened, Martha exchanged a knowing glance with Edea. Turning to one of the Scout Rangers from the Philippines Special Forces who stood nearby, she gave a subtle nod.

"Sergeant Reyes," Martha addressed him, "could you please bring the special case we discussed earlier?"

Sergeant Reyes saluted sharply. "Yes, ma'am." He turned and swiftly made his way toward a secure vehicle stationed at the edge of the airstrip.

The Apostles watched the exchange with curiosity and a hint of suspicion. Mikael leaned back in his chair, his eyes following the sergeant as he disappeared into the cluster of military equipment. "What surprise do you have in store for us now?" he mused aloud.

Martha returned to her seat, her expression unreadable. "A demonstration," she replied calmly. "A reminder of the stakes involved and the consequences of choices."

After a few moments, Sergeant Reyes returned, carrying a large iron case with intricate locks on its sides. The weight of the case was evident, but he handled it with ease born from rigorous training. He placed it carefully on the table between the negotiators and stepped back respectfully.

Edea stood beside the case, her fingers deftly working the locks. The surrounding soldiers and officers watched intently, the air thick with anticipation. As the final latch clicked open, she lifted the lid to reveal its contents.

Inside lay the preserved heads of four Apostles who had fallen in previous battles—grim trophies of hard-won victories. Among them was the unmistakable visage of Misa, the 11th Apostle, her features frozen in a serene expression that belied the chaos of her end.

A hushed murmur rippled through the ranks of troops, while the Apostles stared at the contents with varying reactions. Mariabelle's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of shock crossing her face before she composed herself. Mikael's ever-present smirk faded, replaced by a cold, contemplative gaze. Sariel's jaw tightened, her fists clenching subtly at her sides.

Martha spoke into the heavy silence, her tone measured but firm. "This is what awaits those who continue down the path of blind obedience to a corrupted cause. The world is changing, and so are the tides of this war. We didn't come here to boast or threaten, but to offer you a choice."

Edea closed the case gently, her eyes meeting those of each Apostle in turn. "We know the strength and honor you each possess. Aligning with us isn't a surrender; it's a stand against the true enemy—the manipulation and deceit that have twisted the Cross Army's original purpose."

Sariel's gaze hardened as she looked between Martha and Edea. "You think to intimidate us with the deaths of our comrades?" she challenged, her voice edged with restrained anger. "We are warriors. Death is a companion we accepted long ago."

Martha nodded solemnly. "We understand that. But consider why they fell. They underestimated the resolve of those fighting for genuine freedom. They believed themselves invincible, untouchable. We want you to see the reality—that even Apostles are not beyond defeat."

Mikael folded his hands thoughtfully. "You present a compelling argument," he admitted. "But trust is not so easily given. How do we know this isn't merely a ploy to eliminate us more conveniently?"

Anthony stepped forward, his posture respectful but assertive. "Because we have no interest in deceit. We seek to end this conflict with as little further bloodshed as possible. Joining forces could save countless lives on all sides."

Mariabelle broke her silence, her voice soft but clear. "What you ask is no small thing. To turn against the Cross Army is to invite retribution beyond imagination. Yet... if what you say about its corruption is true, perhaps our loyalty is misplaced."

Sariel glanced at Mariabelle, surprise flickering in her eyes. "Mariabelle..."

She met Sariel's gaze steadily. "We became Apostles to uphold justice and protect the innocent. If those ideals have been compromised, we must reevaluate where we stand."

Edea seized the moment. "Help us bring an end to this war. With your insight and abilities, we can expose the truth and dismantle the Cross Army's corrupt leadership from within."

Mikael sighed, a hint of resignation in his expression. "It's ironic, isn't it? The mighty Apostles, contemplating treason over tea with former comrades and their new allies." He looked at Martha and Edea. "Perhaps there's a certain poetic justice in that."

Sariel remained silent for a long moment before finally speaking. "If we were to consider your proposition, what assurances can you give us regarding our safety and that of those who might follow us?"

Jacob stepped forward, his voice earnest. "We can offer protection, resources, and a platform to reach out to others who might share your doubts. This isn't just about ending a war—it's about rebuilding a world based on mutual respect and true justice."

Martha added, "And as for assurances, our presence here alongside you should serve as proof of our commitment. We understand the risks you're taking—we've taken them ourselves."

The Apostles exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Sariel nodded subtly, and Mikael turned back to the group.

"Very well," Mikael said. "We will consider your offer seriously. But know this—any hint of betrayal from your side, and the consequences will be dire."

Anthony met his gaze steadily. "Understood. And the same goes for you. We're extending our hand in good faith. Let's not make choices we'll all regret."

Mariabelle offered a faint smile. "It seems we have much to discuss. Perhaps it's time we moved beyond gestures and got to the heart of the matter."

Edea nodded in agreement. "Agreed. Let's reconvene somewhere more comfortable and secure. There's a briefing room prepared where we can talk freely."

As the group began to make their way toward the designated area, the tension eased slightly. The troops lowered their weapons—though remained vigilant—and the atmosphere shifted from one of confrontation to cautious collaboration.

Martha fell into step beside Sariel. "Thank you for hearing us out," she said quietly.

Sariel glanced at her, a hint of the old camaraderie surfacing. "Don't thank me yet. There's still much to resolve."

"True," Martha replied. "But it's a start."

Behind them, Anthony and Jacob shared a relieved glance. The gamble had paid off—at least for now. There was still a long road ahead, but with the possibility of the Apostles' alliance, the balance of power in the war could shift dramatically.

Vincent couldn't help but grin as he watched the unlikely group move forward. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered. "Maybe we do stand a chance after all."

Kurono nodded thoughtfully. "It's not every day you see former enemies sitting down to negotiate. Let's hope it leads to something worthwhile."

As they entered the briefing room, the door closed behind them, symbolizing a tentative step toward unity. Outside, the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the base—a subtle reminder that even after the darkest days, light could still break through.