86 - Volume 12 - Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

THE KIND, BEAUTIFUL WORLD PROMISED BY BEAUTIFUL, KIND QUEEN MARY

“You’re just a Mascot in the end. Why would you feel responsible for the Eighty-Six? For mere soldiers?”

If she truly was nothing but a Mascot, she wouldn’t need to shoulder this responsibility.

When she was offhandedly asked that question, Frederica thought that the time had finally come. The Imperial house Adel-Adler had been reduced to mere puppet rulers and rarely showed themselves to the low-ranking nobles, to say nothing of the commoners. Since her father, the emperor, died and she was enthroned when she was still an infant, it was only natural a national of another country wouldn’t recognize her for who she truly was.

But the serpent facing her now was the Amethystus of House Idinarohk, his Esper powers blessing him with wisdom and insight that bordered on the supernatural. Frederica wasn’t naive or optimistic enough to believe she could keep her secret from him forever.

So she faced him carefully, maintaining a mask of composure to keep him from noticing.

“I…”

On paper, Frederica’s background held that she was the illegitimate child of a powerful noble. The Empire’s nobility abhorred children of mixed blood, so her family never publicly acknowledged her, but as a noble daughter, she was given a fine education. She was placed under the care of the president, Ernst Zimmerman, by one of the nobles who sponsored him, and at her birth family’s wishes, she was sent to the Eighty-Sixth Strike Package, which doubled as both an elite unit and a propaganda booster.

Frederica prepared to say out loud the answer she’d prepared ahead of time based on this false background. The kind of answer one would expect of the daughter of a militaristic Imperial noble.

“I, Frederica Rosenfort, am the sole Imperial noble in this Strike Package. Even if my ancestors do not acknowledge me, I shall uphold the pride of this country’s nobility and stand upon the field to lead the soldiers into battle. Mascot though I may be, I am still a soldier, and maintaining morale is my sovereign duty.”

Vika blinked once. “I see. So you have circumstances you can’t disclose.”

“…!”

“Letting slip something you weren’t asked is akin to openly admitting to a fabrication… You’re a bad liar.”

This time, it was Frederica’s turn to be left speechless. Vika eyed her coldly as the color drained from her face. She wore her heart on her sleeve. All he had to do was rattle her a bit, and she immediately went pale. Did one really need to steel themselves so much just to tell a single lie?

If she was truly born to nobility, then she would have been properly trained since infancy to control her emotions and expression, but Frederica looked like she’d never received any such lessons. And if her birth family didn’t regard her highly enough to teach her such things, her circumstances were probably not as important as Frederica thought or as Vika had suspected.

“Well,” he began, “I can’t say I care all that much about your situation, so I will leave things at that. However…”

The serpent prince made to continue, but then he cocked his head. Come to think of it, Frederica was awfully close to Shin—a Republic native, perhaps, but still the direct descent of Marquis Nouzen. If she was born as an offshoot of that bloodline, she may have mistakenly assumed the might and duty of House Nouzen were her own. If so…

“…what are you trying to protect? The soldiers, or your own conscience, which dreads abandoning and hurting them?”

“I… I…”

“You must know to make that distinction. If fear of betraying your conscience leads you to insist on becoming involved when you lack the power to protect them, and your attempts to help fail and only result in you running away, then you’d have been better off abandoning them in the first place.”

<<No Face to Area Network.>>

Just as in the first large-scale offensive, looking at the ruins of his motherland stirred no emotion in him.

As the sight of the burning national army headquarters once again reflected in his optical sensor, this thought crossed the mind of the Dinosauria designated as No Face—the Shepherd once known as Václav Milizé.

His fuselage and turret had their backs to the statue of Saint Magnolia, which crumbled in the flames.

<<All areas of the Republic of San Magnolia successfully seized. All phases of Operation Passionis are now complete.>>

Seemingly content with this outcome, the surrounding commander units turned their optical sensors toward No Face. All of them were Dinosauria possessed by the hateful conviction of child soldiers, converted into vengeful Legion.

Once, they were known as Eighty-Six. But their new name was—

<<No Face to all commander units in Area Network—addressing all Agnus.>>

Using data gathered from the prototype High Mobility type developed by Zelene Birkenbaum—Codename Mistress—and the experiments involving the offensive amphibious battleship type, Schwertwal, and the surface battleship type, Ferdinand, the commander units were able to achieve immortality. They had ascended to become Agnus, unkillable by the blades of humankind and capable of rising after death.

<<For the sake of annihilating the remaining bastions of human influence, the next operation will now commence. First Area Network is tasked with working toward the conquest of the Federal Republic of Giad by gathering information from surviving Republic forces.>>

Despite it being well after bedtime, Lena wasn’t able to sleep. She sat in front of the desk in her room, dressed in a shawl and negligee, her mind buzzing with thought after incessant thought.

The Strike Package’s home base, Rüstkammer, was no longer safe. At this time of night, all the curtains had to be completely closed, and with a blackout in effect, the office was quite dark. Now that everyone was fast asleep, the base’s atmosphere was somehow suffocating, and TP sat sleepily under the desk lamp’s light, clearly irritated. Lena regarded the cat with a strained smile.

“…You could just go to sleep, you know.”

The cat meowed at her, likely in denial, as if to say it didn’t wish to sleep without her, or would be too anxious to get any rest, or something to that effect. The spoiled black cat blinked its green eyes at her. Patting it lovingly on the head, Lena sank back into her winding thoughts.

A burning train. Screaming and yelling and the color of flames. Her homeland, the Republic of San Magnolia, sealed off and converted into a decadent banquet of vengeance. Republic citizens fleeing into the Gran Mur for safety. Gunshots roaring in applause. Embers billowing up like campfire. The crumbled fortress walls she couldn’t save, that she abandoned, that she left for dead. The colors of fire and blood. The voices of hatred and resentment. Flocks of Liquid Micromachine butterflies, soaring up to the sky like they were ascending to the heavens.

The ghosts of the Eighty-Six, who, in choosing hatred and lust for revenge, became Shepherds and joined the ranks of the killing machines. Their voices, chanting and barking and demanding one thing: slaughter.

We will have our revenge.

A degree of hatred and resentment that simply didn’t overlap with her image of Lieutenant Lev Aldrecht. The man who, out of a desire to save his wife and child, chose to hide his identity as an Alba and travel to the Eighty-Sixth Sector to fight. The same man who, in the Spearhead squadron’s barracks at their final disposal site, fretted over those children and their Juggernauts. Who saw them walk to their deaths once every six months.

Did he manage to satisfy his grudge?

He was willing to let the children he looked after kill him. He saw himself as guilty merely for being a Republic citizen. Was dying at Rito’s hand the atonement he desired?

If even Aldrecht was guilty, were the other Republic citizens who died to the Eighty-Six’s rage back there allowed to atone through their deaths?

Was that vision of hell, that inferno of death and resentment, what those countless fallen Eighty-Six, what that old head of maintenance wished for at the end of their hatred? At the end of their fury? If so…

Those thoughts haunted Lena, robbing her of precious sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, she heard the screams of Republic citizens and the loathing of the Eighty-Six. How could anyone rest in that state?

But suddenly, a soft, reserved knocking on the door cut through the silence of the night. TP perked up his ears and beat Lena to the door.

“Lena? Are you still up?”

It was Shin.

Lena got to her feet, wondering what brought him here. The moment she heard his voice, her dampened spirits lifted somewhat, and she immediately felt guilty for the moment of unfettered excitement.

“Yes,” she said. “Is something the matter?”

She opened the door, finding Shin standing there with a sour expression. Despite it being nighttime, he was in full service attire, his tie straightened perfectly. Behind him was Lena’s adjutant, Second Lieutenant Isabella Perschmann.

“The second lieutenant did say as much, but…I see it’s true.”

“Huh?”

It had been nearly a month since Zelene was left in her shielded container, cut off from all contact with the outside world. After the second large-scale offensive began, Shin hadn’t come to visit her once. Vika, too, only saw her a single time after the offensive and hadn’t visited since. The intelligence personnel who had managed her so far were nowhere to be seen anymore, either.

If she was human, this long period of confinement in absolute silence and darkness would have been unbearable, but Zelene was Legion, so her isolation was a trifling matter. The Federacy military knew this, so it must not have been intended as interrogation or torture.

They were either reviewing the information she provided them or had otherwise given up on her as a reliable source of intelligence.

…She could only hope the latter was not true.

So Zelene thought in a voiceless sigh, sitting within the silent darkness of her confines. She allowed herself to be captured by the Federacy so that the Legion wouldn’t destroy humankind and to stop the Shepherds, which were now driven not by the Empire’s final order, but by their own thirst for vengeance. But now all the information she’d told them was cast into doubt, and they would likely dismiss the information about the Legion shutdown procedure as fake intel, too. She couldn’t allow that.

But then the cameras and microphones wired to the container were turned on from the outside.

“You’re not dead— Well, no, I suppose you are technically dead. But you haven’t broken down, have you, Zelene Birkenbaum?”

Within the cheap camera’s pixelated footage stood an unfamiliar young officer. He looked to be roughly twenty. A pureblood Onyx with pitch-black eyes and hair, reminiscent of a starless night sky. He had the pale features typical of Imperial nobility, his expression as cold and cruel as a spear and his oblong eyes glinting sternly. He was like a deadly sharp blade—one that would soundlessly and effortlessly cut any who dared touch it.

His armband had the unit insignia of a skeletal hand gripping a longsword burning with spectral flame. Zelene was overcome with icy hostility. Even her electronic voice, as artificial as it sounded, had a touch of resentment in it.

<<…The Nouzen clan.>>

The insignia belonged to an elite unit under the service of the family that ruled over the Empire and the Imperial military. They were issued personally customized Feldreß and made up of only those who possessed Nouzen blood—they were the Onyxes’ strongest trump card.

“Yatrai Nouzen. The Nouzen heir in command of the Crazy Bones Division.”

His deep voice echoed around the room, matching the dignified way he carried himself and the cold, collected glint of his eyes. The sharpness of his tone would have intimidated most people, but Zelene was unfazed.

<<I have nothing to say to any Nouzen save for Shinei, descendant of the conquerors.>>

Someone coming here again meant the Federacy was intent on drawing more information out of her. They may not have trusted Zelene since she was a Legion unit, but, as she shrewdly concluded, they eventually came to accept that the information she could provide was accurate.

In that case, there was still leeway for this kind of negotiation. Even if it meant allowing the Legion to continue and leaving her sins unatoned for, she would refuse to speak to them of all people.

Yatrai smiled thinly, as if he saw through her intentions. It was a smile of cold calculation. The grin of a ruler who showed no mercy to those he trampled underfoot.

“Come to think of it, you came from a lowly Pyrope family, didn’t you, Birkenbaum? Indeed, it would make sense for you to bear a grudge against an Onyx.”

<<…>>

Her hatred toward the Onyxes. Toward conquerors like him. An indignation built up over a thousand years of repeated disgraces—the feeling was much too intense to be written off as a “grudge.”

“But you’re in no position to say any of that, you scrap-metal monster.”

Even though they were of the same bloodline, that kindhearted boy would never do what this Nouzen man did—carelessly calling her the common derogatory term humans used for the Legion. He reminded her that she was no longer human, only a lump of scrap metal to be discarded and destroyed.

“If you refuse to share what you know, it’s all the same to us. We’ll just dispose of you…and that would be your loss alone. If you refuse to speak, it’ll be your wish that goes ungranted, not ours. It’ll weigh on your conscience, and you’ll have nothing left to hope for. Everything you worked to achieve will crumble away into nothing.”

Her silence wasn’t a tool for negotiation anymore.

“Now that you’re just a lifeless machine, you’re hungry for the chance to do some good and save lives. Isn’t that right, Zelene Birkenbaum? If you’re holding on to any information, spit it out. Right here, right now. And then…”

He probably saw right through Zelene’s silence and into her thoughts. This next-generation Nouzen sneered at her with an arrogant, cruel smile fitting of the bloodline of conquerors.

“…we’ll decide if what you say is worth anything.”

After ordering an intelligence officer to wring every last drop of information out of her, Yatrai left the confinement room. With the western front’s retreat, Zelene’s container had to be moved, too. The information bureau’s current headquarters were in an abandoned village, and her container was stored in its church’s crypt. Placing a woman who had died ten years ago and was now a mechanical ghost in a resting place for the dead had a touch of irony to it.

Yatrai passed the thick metallic doors installed in the entrance to the crypt, and then quite suddenly, he dropped his shoulders and started grumbling.

“Aaaah, goodness me. Doing this is so stressful.”

He hung his head and frowned, his back hunched forward without a shred of dignity or motivation. His harsh demeanor from just a moment ago, the intimidating air of the next head of the great warrior house of Nouzen, both gone without a trace. The first lieutenant serving as security officer stared at him with open surprise, momentarily forgetting to show him courtesy. Yatrai didn’t take offense to the officer’s impoliteness, or rather, he didn’t seem to register it at all. Like the royalty of the past, commoners weren’t worthy of his attention any more than a fly on the wall would be.

“As if the Ehrenfried’s nerve-racking third son and the damn president, terrifying as ever, weren’t enough, now the blasted Brantolote hag’s lost her temper. Everyone’s so oppressive. Why do I have to put up with all of it? What did I do to deserve this?”

As Yatrai slumped over despondently, Joschka, who was waiting for him outside, called out to him in a teasing voice.

“So, Nouzen, you finally admitted you’re going to be the next head… That’s how you introduced yourself to Ms. Zelene, right?”

Yatrai pouted in displeasure.

“That’s because my older brother, Mitz, was named the successor. I have no desire to follow him, but his children are all girls, and my other brother, Totsuka, died in battle, making me technically the next in line to succeed the title… I’d rather not, of course.”

He must have hated the idea of succession so much that even after accepting the inevitability of it, he felt pressed to emphasize how much he didn’t want the role—not once, but twice. House Nouzen, a family that was old even when the Empire had been young, was prolific, with many members woven into the government, military, and countless corporations. But serving as the head of such a family wasn’t as appealing as one might believe.

Although the position promised great power, the responsibilities and decisions one would have to undertake were just as grand, to say nothing of the scheming and greed one would be exposed to…along with a millennium’s worth of history, grudges, and deaths.

“And then there’s the current head’s grandson, who was discovered last year. Ultimately, he abstained from participating in the Nouzen succession race.”

Joschka hummed and crossed his arms. All the sons of the current Nouzen family head, Seiei Nouzen, had either absconded or died from illness or in combat, which posed a succession issue that House Nouzen had been grappling with for many years now. This was something Joschka, a member of the noble Maika family, had heard about. The power struggles within House Nouzen had finally settled down once Mitz—the elder son of Marquis Nouzen’s younger brother—and his younger brother, Yatrai, were tentatively named heirs.

But then the marquis’s grandson, Shinei, was revealed to still be alive, further shaking up the succession issue behind the scenes.

“I mean, Shin has no backing,” said Joschka. “He didn’t get the kind of education Imperial nobles have, so even if you were to forcibly install him as heir, he wouldn’t know what to do.”

“If he were to marry one of Mitz’s daughters, both Mitz and I would willingly back him, of course.”

But the Nouzen branch families had daughters of marriageable age, and Marquis Seiei’s daughters had married into other major noble families. Thinking they had probably suggested something similar, Joschka replied:

“It won’t fly.”

Shin already had a girlfriend, after all. Besides, the idea of a marriage arranged for political purposes, with romantic relationships being reserved for concubines and lovers, was a value of the Federacy. Shin, who was native to the Republic, would find it hard to accept.

“Yes, so it seems.” Yatrai huffed. “The current head doesn’t want to burden his grandson with the Nouzen name. And it’s probably the same with the Maikas.”

“…Well, yes. The marquess wants Shin to remain her precious child and to remain a kind grandmother in his eyes.”

Joschka could understand—both how Marquess Gelda Maika felt, and how Marquis Nouzen felt. Shin was a child who possessed their blood, but one whom they wouldn’t have to act like family heads around. A grandchild they could raise without having to look at him as a pawn for the clan’s survival or a soldier to bolster their might—a grandchild they could simply love unconditionally.

A child like that was something they, as former Imperial nobles, had never been allowed to hope for.

Yatrai, however, made a slightly peculiar expression.

“…No, both the family head and Marquess Maika might feel that way, but that’s not all there is to it.”

Joschka stared back at Yatrai curiously, but the look was not returned. His black eyes—that merciless gaze was engulfed by the darkness of the Nouzen bloodline.

“The Strike Package’s Headless Reaper. The ace and commander of the Federacy’s elite, trump-card unit… The warrior king of the Eighty-Six. Both Marquis Nouzen and Marquess Maika aren’t so foolish as to pester him with shouldering the family name, not with the war situation being as poor as it is. That’s what it really comes down to.”

Only half a month had passed since the operation in the Republic. The front lines had been pushed back dozens of kilometers, and by now, the distant rumbling of artillery had become everyday background noise for the Rüstkammer base. And likewise, the daily lives of the captains and their vice lieutenants also changed, with the addition of regular high-level command training.

As he listened to a lecture from the 2nd Armored Division’s supply staff, Raiden pondered on the army’s current shortage of staff officers. Many soldiers, noncommissioned officers, and staff officers died during the second large-scale offensive, and many more lost their lives in its aftermath in an attempt to maintain the stalemate on each front.

On the other hand, the Strike Package had a higher-than-regulated number of staff officers, meant to assist company officers like Raiden and the other captains and vice captains who lacked authority. Those staff officers could be reassigned to help units on other fronts at any time. So to ensure the young soldiers wouldn’t be left incapable of handling situations in their absence, the staff officers volunteered to take turns offering them special lectures like this one.

But in the meantime, the Strike Package still had not received its next orders.

In truth, the site they would be deployed to next was already decided, but the orders about their next mission, or any background information about it, hadn’t yet reached Raiden. Were they having trouble pinning down the exact destination, or were they wary of the information leaking out?

“…Not that they’ve stopped trusting us or anything.”

The thought quietly spilled from his lips. All their achievements had been reduced to nothing, and two weeks ago, they’d failed in the Republic rescue operation. They had technically succeeded in their top-priority objective—namely, aiding the relief expedition retreat—but their commander Richard Altner had died in the line of duty, and the Republic had fallen.

To Raiden, these were objective failures, and he had to ask himself if such failings had influenced the Federacy military’s approach.

For the time being, he counted this as the Federacy providing them the time off they were promised during the month of October. Thankfully, unlike in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, their legal guardians sent them an abundance of distractions, such as movies, cartoons, and comic books, so there was no shortage of things to do. The war swinging against them hadn’t started influencing the amount or quality of their food yet, either.

Even the neighboring city of Fortrapide, which had evacuated most of its citizens, still had some of its coffee shops, stores, and pubs open for business in order to cater to the Vargus and Strike Package members.

But even so.

“I feel like we should get moving at some point…”

The bitter sense of futility left in the wake of the operation in the Republic—the retreat that had forced them to leave behind Republic citizens… He didn’t want that to be the note they went out on.

“Busywork helps keep your mind distracted, doesn’t it?”

In addition to the captains and vice captains who were the primary recipients of this special lecture, all Eighty-Six who were ranked platoon captain and above were also required to attend, as they could end up filling in for their superiors if the need arose. This meant that Kurena and Anju had to go, too.

But since there were so many of them, out of consideration for the Processors’ usual daily duties, they were split into several classes. At present was the morning class, for the vice captains, and the two girls’ lesson was later that day after lunch. The two of them were poring over the text they were given to read in preparation for the lecture. They were in Anju’s room, which she’d furnished elegantly with dried flowers and assorted decorations, though Kurena had to bring a chair from her own room.

…Up until now, Kurena had often shirked doing her homework, and so she struggled to prepare for the lecture. Kurena pouted—if only she’d taken the time to study and do her lessons a month ago. To think she’d wind up scrambling to make up for it now, with the war going badly and no time to spare.

As Kurena spun the pen in her hand in time with her whirling thoughts, Anju could only smile wryly.

“I really think it’d do you good to go back over the basics.”

“Mm… I guess. I thought there wasn’t enough time for that, but you’re probably right…”

She closed the preparation text and called up the file for the foundations manual. It had the kind of bulky, inaccessible-looking cover that was typical of military texts. The design immediately put her off, but Kurena swallowed her displeasure and opened the file.

As Kurena flipped to the appropriate chapter and started going through it with her brow furrowed, Anju returned to the topic at hand.

“Maybe they arranged these special lectures to keep us too busy to brood over the situation. But…”

“Yeah. We can’t simply stop thinking about it, but at the same time we don’t want to overdo it distracting ourselves.” Kurena finished her sentence.

They both sighed, thinking of the same person.

“…Lena,” said Kurena.

“Is she going to be all right?”

Lena was currently in uniform, but the trunk beside her was full of plain clothes. It also included her personal necessities and a few poetry anthologies she was reading—but nothing work-related. And next to it was TP’s carrier.

Beside her luggage Lena stood dejected, her shoulders drooping.

“…I’m sorry,” she said.

They were in the Rüstkammer base’s airfield, awaiting a transport plane. With one hand, Shin held TP’s carrier and shook his head in denial. The cat had been meowing repeatedly like it was begging for something.

“Don’t be. I’m just glad I picked up on it before you pushed yourself too hard.”

He peered into Lena’s face—which, besides her frown, did look a little pale—before gently continuing:

“I know that it might be difficult to suddenly shift gears and go on leave, but just think of it like this: Knowing when to rest is part of work, too.”

“She saw her homeland destroyed before her eyes, and on top of that, she had to witness so many people shot and burned to death. It must have been hard on her. Even we weren’t unfazed, so imagine how it must have felt for her.”

“…Yeah. Just remembering it makes me sick.” Kurena nodded, pursing her lips.

The way the Legion mercilessly slaughtered so many innocents… The way the Republic ruthlessly gunned down her mother and father. When she was fighting in the Republic, and later on, when they retreated, Kurena was able to maintain her composure. At the time, she didn’t even think of it.

There was no time for her to dwell on the death of her parents in the midst of battle, with all her focus on the march and the safety of her surroundings.

But when they came back to the Rüstkammer base—back to the comfort of a kind of home—when she entered her room and could finally wind down, the memories came rushing back to her, stabbing at her old wounds.

She saw her parents murdered in a dream and woke up screaming. Only when the girl in the room next to hers—a girl from her platoon—hurried over to ask her what was wrong did Kurena finally realize it was just a dream.

Kurena, are you all right?!

When the girl said that, Kurena was too frozen up to respond. The concerned girl made her some hot cocoa—each room came equipped with an electric kettle—and Kurena finally settled down only after she drank it.

That kept happening for a few nights. She became scared of going to sleep, and a few days later, right as she started considering consulting the medical staff if she became unable to get any rest, the nightmares stopped. She was fine for now, but…

“I don’t like seeing people die… And the thought that Lieutenant Aldrecht and all those Eighty-Six we don’t know suffered enough to wish their plight onto others hurts, too…”

“…Yeah.”

Seeing Eighty-Six, just like them, overcome by so much hatred, and witnessing people die such gruesome, terrible deaths was a painful experience, even if they weren’t on either side of the exchange. It truly was painful—even to the Eighty-Six, who were used to seeing mangled corpses…who were used to seeing people caught in the awful balance of being too wounded to survive but not wounded enough to die quickly. Some of them had to go to counseling following the operation and were ordered to take time off to recuperate.

And while Lena may have been the Eighty-Six’s Queen, the Republic was her homeland, and its people were her countrymen.

“At least Shin was nearby and caught that Lena had stopped eating.”

Realizing that something was wrong, he asked Second Lieutenant Perschmann, who confirmed Lena hadn’t been sleeping, either. He realized that Lena, her personality being what it was, would push herself to the brink, and so he reported to Grethe, who scheduled a meeting with the mental-health team.

Their prescribed treatment was for Lena to be removed from her duties for a month and put on leave—and she was being sent to recuperate on the transport flight later that day.

Lena was shocked to hear the doctor’s orders and soon became dispirited and apologetic. She spent the few days between the medical visit and the flight in a funk.

“…Dustin and Annette were fine, apparently. How come I’m the only one being ordered to rest…?”

“I heard that Dustin was told to refrain from participating in active combat, too, so we can’t take him to the next operation. And Rita wasn’t on the battlefield to begin with.”

Lena puffed up her cheeks grumpily. “…Her name is Annette, Shin.”

“Come on, you can let that slide.” Shin chuckled.

“No. Call her Annette.”

“Okay, okay, Annette… Take care of yourself, Lena.”

Hearing this, Lena finally managed a small smile. “I’ll try.”

She then brought her hands together and leaned forward, trying to rouse herself.

“Apparently, the military medical facility I’m going to has its own ranch, and they teach you how to interact with the animals. I think I’ll pay it a visit. Maybe I’ll learn how to ride a horse! Do you know how to ride one, Shin?”

“I’ve never ridden a horse… I do know how to ride a bike, and I had to get a driver’s license as part of my training.”

Bikes were used for recon, and automobiles were used for transportation, so despite Shin being a Feldreß operator, he was given classroom time and basic training on how to operate other vehicles. He couldn’t handle large trailers and the like, and at present, only the honor guard and reconnaissance units in select regions used horses, so he didn’t know how to ride those, either.

Shin regarded her with a teasing smile.

“Before you do that, though, you should learn how to crack an egg.”

“I can crack eggs just fine, and you know it! We both took cooking as an elective!”

There was a time when they studied at a school built in Fortrapide during their scheduled leave. More students had been attending than when the Strike Package was first established, and it was there that Lena learned that she didn’t need a hammer to crack an egg open, and Shin discovered that as long as he followed the recipe, he could produce decent tasting food.

As long as he followed the recipe……

Second Lieutenant Perschmann approached her. She had green eyes and red hair that was pulled back into a bun. Her figure was delicate, and she wore silver-rimmed glasses and stood with her back very straight.

“I told them to pick a docile horse for you,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Also, I hear the head of the medical facility makes very good omelets, so you ought to have them teach you… You might end up becoming better at it than a certain captain whose name shall be omitted, who keeps neglecting such simple steps as beating the egg.”

Shin raised his hands in the air, as if to ask her to stop teasing him so much.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Lena said, managing a smile, although it still came across as a little forced.

“Yes, well… You’re on vacation, Colonel. Try to have some fun.”

“Okay…”

“I’m honestly kind of jealous of Lena… Vacation must be nice,” Rito mused, leaning his chair diagonally back and looking up at the ceiling.

“Do you really feel that way?” asked Mika, who sat across from him with her cheek resting against her hand.

“Of course not,” Rito replied indifferently.

He’d never leave his comrades behind to take a trip in the country, and Lena probably wasn’t any more comfortable with the idea than he was. More than anything, the idea of leaving Shin behind on the battlefield and going somewhere far away likely didn’t sit well with her at all.

“I mean, look at us now. We’re resting because they told us we should, but…we’re all kind of on edge.”

They felt like they had to do something…like they couldn’t bear to sit still. But there was nothing to be done in this situation, leaving them at a loss.

“It’s because we’re panicked and confused…that we have to rest properly,” Michihi said.

They were told to take time off to dispel their conflicted, fretful emotions or else to swallow and suppress them.

“So they want us to lie in bed, like we’re injured?”

“I guess it’s pretty nice that they’re giving us time to rest.”

With each squadron in the Eighty-Sixth Sector having a set number of members, even the injured and the sick couldn’t be excluded from the fighting. It was hard to believe they were being allowed time for mental or emotional damage.

“I guess it’s good for Claude, too.” Shiden glanced at one side of the table. “Gave him the chance to find his brother and dad.”

“Claude was seriously pissed off at them, though.”

“Anyone would be, all things considered…”

His half brother from his father’s side had served as a Handler for Claude’s unit without telling him and fought alongside him before the first large-scale offensive. Then, afterward, Claude lost contact with him. His brother was too ashamed to reveal his name, but now that the Republic had completely fallen, he’d stepped up to become a volunteer soldier out of concern for the situation.

Needless to say, the possibility that his brother had died during the large-scale offensive hung heavily over Claude’s mind, so the shock of this discovery made his anger swell. During the first meeting the Federacy military arranged for them, Claude became so incensed that it had to be postponed.

Tohru, Grethe, the old lady, and the priest all had to step in to calm him down and convince him to agree to another try. But even then, Claude had shouted at his brother, asking him what right he had to show his shitty face after all this time.

As the others glanced at him, Claude’s mood seemed to plummet. Just having his brother mentioned irritated him.

“…Well, I guess having to deal with that asshole does make for a good distraction.”

“Same here…,” Tohru said languidly from the seat next to him.

Despite being his closest, oldest comrade, Tohru had never seen Claude react with such rage—not to anyone. So having to hang around him while he was in such a mood was exhausting. Despite that, as Claude said, it did help keep their mind off things like the slaughter of the Republic citizens, the hatred of the Shepherds, which now housed the minds of their fallen comrades, and the unreasonable antipathy of the Republic citizens.

Those were all unnecessary concerns that Claude and Tohru were too busy for. And perhaps, in fretting over Claude, this also applied to the old woman and the priest, who had just experienced the irreversible loss of their country.

“But, Claude, it’s about time you forgave your brother. If you reject him too hard, he might just back off, and if anything happens to either of you, whoever’s left would regret it forever.”

“Shut up… I know that.” Claude squinted bitterly behind his glasses. “I’ll talk to him next time.”

He then turned his snow-white eyes to Rito.

“Speaking of distractions, you must have it the hardest, Rito. Shouldn’t you try to do something to keep your mind off things?”

Rito jolted upright upon being called out. Claude was probably referring to how he’d had to kill Aldrecht.

“Oh, me…? I’m fine…”

“““Don’t force yourself.””” Shiden, Mika, and Michihi spoke in unison.

“That Shepherd you defeated was someone you used to know, right?”

“The more you brood over something, the heavier the emotional burden becomes. Even Lena had to take time off.”

“If it’s weighing on you, make sure you get some rest. Either that or do what Claude said and find a distraction.”

“Mm…,” Rito said after a moment’s pause. “Fine. I’ll ask for permission to take time off and leave the base tomorrow. Maybe I can go on a walk or look up weird books in the library and eat lots of cake at a coffee shop.”

“Wait, the library’s open?”

“It’s just the head librarian and his wife now. They still check out books, and they’re projecting film media in place of a theater and do storytelling for the Vargus’s children.”

“The dining hall and PX in the base are planning some events, too. If you need a change of pace, you can check those out,” said Shin as he entered the room.

If he was here, that meant Lena’s flight had departed. Afterward, Raiden returned from his lecture, followed by an oddly exhausted Kurena and a calm Anju.

“It might be a bit late to suggest this, but let’s hold a party before our next mission. To celebrate Halloween and boost morale.”

Most of the staff from the dining hall and PX weren’t actually soldiers but rather civilians who had entered military service. With the front lines having fallen back and this base being closer to the fighting than ever before, they were undoubtedly afraid, but they still did what they could to keep spirits high. Throwing a party would be a nice way to show appreciation for all they had done, as well.

“That sounds like fun—I’m in!” Rito said, leaning forward. “And, Cap’n, you can wear a Reaper costume!”

“No, costumes aren’t mandatory, so I won’t be dressing up.” Shin shook his head.

“Nah, Shin, you should. Gotta liven things up, y’know?” Raiden cut him off.

“The moment you stop smiling, you lose, right?” Anju chuckled. “Let’s take this chance to do a moon viewing, like Kujo wanted.” She smiled.

“Huh? What’s a ‘moon viewing’?” Claude reacted to the unfamiliar word.

“You’re making mooncakes?” Michihi, who knew the term, asked quizzically.

Everyone repeated the word, confused. “Mooncakes?”

“Dustin, do you have a minute? I got the requests for the next screening session.”

“Oh, thanks.”

As they crossed paths on the way to the dining hall, Marcel called out to Dustin and handed him a notepad, which he accepted gratefully. After a stern warning from the mental-health team’s counselor, it was decided Dustin would not participate in the upcoming operation. He was also told not to attend training for now, so while his mind might have been occupied, he had plenty of time to burn. That was why he’d started organizing movie nights.

Every day, they’d switch genres—one day action, the next romance—and he’d set up folding chairs in empty meeting rooms and dim the lights to simulate the atmosphere of a cinema. Once they heard about Dustin’s idea, Olivia and the Alliance’s expedition members asked the PX’s staff to set up stalls that sold popcorn and carbonated drinks.

The screenings were always a success. Some of the Processors requested a splatter-film marathon, and Dustin had to wonder if that was a good idea after their last operation. He hadn’t been there to watch in person, but he had Vika supervise in his place. Vika himself watched the thing, and contrary to Dustin’s concerns, the Processors laughed enthusiastically as gore flew all over the screen like bits of ripe tomato.

Dustin could only conclude that this, too, was a way to relieve stress.

The Federacy’s western front had been pushed back farther than it had at the founding of the Strike Package—even farther than two years ago, when they rescued Shin and his group. After the Republic aid operation, which was essentially a rout, most of the Eighty-Six were detained in this base, where they remained.

Vika’s homeland, the United Kingdom, also had to continue its retreat over the last month. Communications were still ongoing, so he knew his father, the king; and his brother, the crown prince, were still alive. The southern farmlands had become a battlefield, but they had still managed to bring in the harvest. Despite that, there was no telling what they would do after the coming winter.

Dustin himself was able to keep his mind off things thanks to this idea of his. And as a perk of being the planner, he could always secure the best seats for whatever romance movies Anju wanted to watch and maybe see them with her if given the chance.

Zashya and Annette looked at him like he was human trash for doing it, though. Which reminded him…

“Hey, Marcel… I haven’t seen Annette around for the last few days. Have you spotted her anywhere?”

Marcel paused to think.

“I haven’t seen her, either, come to think of it. I wonder where she is.”

Theo was currently stationed in a base on the outskirts of the Giadian capital of Sankt Jeder. Compared with last month, the corridors were full of reserve soldiers gathered for practice drills. As he walked through the halls with his new colleagues, carrying training materials, Theo spotted a familiar flash of silvery white and stopped in his tracks.

“What’s wrong, Theo?” one of his colleagues asked.

“Oh, nothing, I just thought I saw someone I know…”

Was he imagining things? No, upon looking again, it really was someone he recognized. Her Prussian-blue uniform stood out among the sea of steel-colored Federacy uniforms, along with her slender form, unbefitting a soldier. She walked off, her expression sterner and grimmer than he’d ever seen it…

“Annette…?”

What was she doing here?

Just before lunch, Dustin and Marcel entered the first dining hall. Even after the boisterous meal started, however, Annette was still nowhere to be seen. As the room grew crowded, Grethe and her adjutant joined, having reached a stopping point in their work. Shin raised a hand, signaling two empty seats for them. Raiden pulled the chairs out, and Tohru and Claude went to get them trays, since they both looked exhausted.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it… Colonel, do you know where Annette is? She didn’t come see Lena off.”

Shin asked the question casually, but Grethe and her adjutant briefly fell quiet.

“She went to Sankt Jeder on business… She’s off to meet the Eighty-Six children. The little ones, who were too young to take to the battlefield.”

An odd silence hung in the air. Raiden, Anju, Kurena, Shiden, and Rito all stared at Grethe, confused. Shin leveled a puzzled look at her, too.

“…But there weren’t any children that young left in the Eighty-Sixth Sector.”

He’d spoken about this with Lena once, a long time ago, before they had even met face-to-face.

But what about the Eighty-Six? How many of us are left?

I think that in two to three years, we’ll all be gone. The people in the internment camps aren’t allowed to reproduce, and most of those who were infants when the internment happened have died by now.

The Eighty-Sixth Sector had no proper medicine or sanitation, and with their parents and guardians dead, most infants didn’t survive the first winter. The few who had were sold off inside the Gran Mur, never to return.

The ones three years Shin’s junior—Rito’s cohort—were the youngest surviving generation of Eighty-Six. In the Eighty-Sixth Sector, where children had been sent out to fight in their early teens, there’d been no such thing as being “too young” to be put on the battlefield.

No such children should be left in the Eighty-Sixth Sector.

“I see… I suppose that’s what it must have looked like to you.” Grethe sighed softly. “But as a matter of fact, there were. Yes, the Processors we rescued along with them were shocked. They didn’t think any young children were left, and they told us how harsh life in the internment camps was—that none should have made it. Yet even so, the Federacy held out hope that some children must have survived.”

The Federacy simply didn’t understand how harsh life in the internment camps was. They didn’t realize it had been so difficult that those inside couldn’t believe an infant would have survived it.

Children were removed, you see. Children who couldn’t fight, or who lost the ability or the will to do so.

Among the Eighty-Six sheltered by the Federacy, there were children too young to fight, those who’d experienced crippling injuries in battle, and those who refused to enlist in the military. Such children were sent to facilities or were adopted by foster families in the Federacy.

The Federacy had welcomed these children who should not have existed.

Grethe’s violet eyes filled with hatred and disgust.

“The little ones who endured the sickness and the cold were sold off, right? And sent back within the Republic’s walls…”

The house owned by his “new mommy and daddy” in Sankt Jeder was large and pretty. So large that it made him ill at ease after growing used to the cramped untidiness of the internment camp’s barracks he’d known when he was little.

Before he was returned to the internment camp, he’d been kept in another large, pretty estate as far back as he could remember, and this house reminded him of it. This, too, scared and unsettled him.

He was terribly afraid, but he knew that if he let that feeling show, he’d be yelled at. So he faked a smile, and that seemed to satisfy his new mommy and daddy.

His master, too, had always demanded that he smile. And then, too, he had desperately faked a smile to please him.

He felt the back of his neck tingle with heat.

Filthy little piglet.

Someone’s voice—the voice of a person who couldn’t possibly be in this house—echoed inside his ears. He froze up. Once again, he was dragged back to that large, pretty mansion, to the confines of his master’s cramped, cold cage.

Filthy piglet. My adorable, dirty little piglet. What are you? Speak it. Say it with your own voice.

That curse had been burned into his mind back then.

“I am a filthy piglet who should be happy he’s being kept by Master.”

He had to say this. Whenever he was asked, he had to answer right away. If he didn’t, horrible things would happen. He’d be whipped, dunked into freezing water, or even killed like his little sisters had been.

…Although, even when he gave the correct answer, Master would still do horrible things to him. His younger sisters all died in the meantime, and he alone survived. After a while, Master said he had no need of him anymore and sent him back to the internment camp.

Then the Republic had fallen to the Legion’s attack, and, still a young child, he’d moved to the Federacy’s internment camp, from which he had been adopted into this home.

However…

Good. Now for your next order.

…Master issued another command. Ever since he was adopted a second time, Master had started giving out orders again. Unlike back in the estate, now he only used his voice. Master didn’t show himself anymore, but he kept issuing his commands, unseen.

Ask your father for this information. Pester your father and tell him you want to know where that unit is going. Go to the injured Eighty-Six, say you’re there to wish them well, and milk them for information.

It was only his master’s voice. He never saw the man anymore when he received his orders. But he’d been sold into the Republic from the internment camps when he was still a baby. The terror had been instilled in him, controlling him for as long as he could remember.

The fear of disobedience had been imprinted into his very bones, so even to this day, he was under his master’s control. So much so that he couldn’t comprehend that now, when he was under the Federacy’s protection, his master couldn’t touch him anymore.

He was ordered, and so he had to obey. This was the only thought he was allowed to have, so even in the present day, he was incapable of anything else.

“With pleasure. I’ll do anything you tell me.”

This was the only answer he was allowed to give.

Good boy. Now—

Master spoke, with a voice different from the master who had owned him and his sisters. It was a different voice—a different person. But he gave him orders and demanded obedience, so this person, too, was his master.

I must obey.

Must obey.

Must obey.

Must obey.

Every single order, even the scary ones and the painful ones. Anything they tell me, I must obey.

Just like always, have your father tell you—which battlefield will the Eighty-Six go to next?

Thoma Hatis was a supply and communications officer serving in the Sankt Jeder military headquarters. Since the second large-scale offensive and the resulting fallback of all the front lines, his days had been quite busy and hectic. But that day, he was finally given time off. He took his time waking up, had a leisurely late breakfast, and sipped on coffee his wife had just brewed as he started over on a book he’d stopped in the middle of.

He intended to go to the department store that afternoon to do some early shopping with his wife and young son for the upcoming Holy Birthday. Thoma had two biological daughters, who had both married by now, but his son was an adopted child he’d taken in a year or so ago.

Since the day he’d been adopted, the boy always had a fake smile plastered on his face. Thoma got the impression he was constantly afraid of something. He could tell something terrible had happened in the boy’s past, but he didn’t want to ask. Reminding the child of those events might reopen old wounds, after all, and he didn’t want to force a scared, frightened child through that pain.

Suddenly, Thoma heard a loud knock at the front door.

“Who’s that?” he said.

“Are we expecting guests?” asked his wife.

House Hatis was a family of low-ranking nobility, a hereditary house of knights, and when the Empire became the Federacy, they were stripped of their title and domain. They were allowed to keep a modest fortune, which included this small mansion in the capital. Thoma walked through the halls of the estate, far too large for a family of three, and approached the front door.

“You’re Colonel Thoma Hatis, yes?”

Upon opening the door, Thoma was greeted by the sight of the Federacy’s familiar steel-colored unform, but the people standing on his doorstep were an unfamiliar group. Their armbands had the letters MP etched onto them. What were the military police doing at Thoma’s doorstep when he was off duty?

“I am. Can I ask wha—?”

“Excuse us.”

The officer leading the unit gently but firmly pushed past Thoma and entered the house. His wife peeked her head out to look, but the soldiers who followed him inside held her back. Upon entering the living room, the officer knelt silently. In front of him on the sofa was Thoma’s little boy, visibly tense at the unusual event.

“Ren Hatis, before you were adopted into this home, your name was Ren Kayo, correct?”

“…Yes.”

“Check him.”

He instructed one of the military police officers escorting him to face the boy, who was turned around with movements that, while not violent, allowed no resistance. Their repeated offenses, directed at a small child, made Thoma’s anger bubble over.

“What are you doing?!”

He made to draw closer, but another MP stood in his way. With the sound of clicking heels, a slender girl stepped out from behind the open door and walked inside. She had short argent hair and eyes of the same color. She wore an unfamiliar, Prussian-blue uniform with a classy bolero skirt.

A classy, Prussian-blue uniform—the Republic.

Seeing that uniform and the color of her hair and eyes, his son contorted his cherubic face with more fear and terror than Thoma had ever seen before.

“Eeeek…!”

Noticing his reaction, Annette grimaced, but she soon shook it off and spoke, pointing a finger at the back of the suppressed Eighty-Six boy’s slender neck.

“Over there. Scan him.”

An MP held up a simple scanner and switched it on. This was a piece of technology employed by combat medics, developed by the Federacy military’s battlefield medical teams over ten years of fighting the Legion. It detected fractures, and quickly found bullets or shell fragments that had entered the body.

The display indicating quasi-biological components lit up, and the device beeped.

In the large meeting room in the western front’s integrated headquarters, the western front military’s chief of staff, Willem Ehrenfried, switched off the Para-RAID upon receiving the report.

“Confirmed… The wiretap in Sankt Jeder has been eliminated.”

“I believe I already reported that the Para-RAID isn’t related to the information leak, Chief of Staff Ehrenfried.”

“Yes, I heard you. But are you really sure that’s true, Henrietta Penrose?”

As Annette made no attempt to mask her suspicion and misgivings, the chief of staff continued.

It was night in Annette’s office, when the Strike Package had deployed to the Fleet Countries and the Rüstkammer base was empty.

As for the series of cases where the Legion seemed to know where the Strike Package would be stationed and were able to accurately prepare and intercept them, Willem had become convinced that intel was leaking out of the Republic when a Republic officer thoughtlessly appeared before the Strike Package in the United Kingdom.

Willem secretly had the officer pursued and his background checked, and they arrived at the answer without having to question the man himself. He wasn’t working with the Legion, of course, but his careless wireless communication was likely being intercepted by the enemy.

That just left the question of where the information was leaking from in the Federacy, and how. The Para-RAID communications carried out during operations were indeed not the issue.

“The Republic military were the ones who developed and used the RAID Device,” said Willem. “The Federacy only copied it. Sensory Resonance was technology only employed by the army—only by soldiers. Am I correct in assuming this?”

“What do you mea—?”

“Technology that allows one to share their senses with another, unobstructed by distance and physical barriers. It’s unimaginable that such an invention would only be used for battlefield communications. There’s no end to its applications in other fields.”

For example, it could be used to keep an eye on the internment camps with the help of friendly inmates. Or for safe, detailed monitoring of human test sites when experimenting with lethal diseases. Or simply to watch exciting “manhunts” taking place in the internment camps.

“The Republic military could do anything to the Eighty-Six, after all. To Republic soldiers, they were subhuman, without basic rights, cattle in human form— Oh, pardon. I wasn’t trying to be sarcastic toward you.”

As Willem spoke, his black eyes filled with an icy chill that didn’t match the smile on his lips, he noticed the color gradually drain from Annette’s face. He wasn’t being cynical—he was only stating the facts.

But indeed, despite still being a girl in her teens, Henrietta Penrose was a military major and she had volunteered to come to the Federacy, knowing full well how others would view her. Treating her as a young girl incapable of confronting the cold harshness of reality would have been an insult.

“If there were RAID Devices that the Republic military was, at the very least, not openly aware of—implanted for nonmilitary purposes, likely illegally, would you be able to track them? Or, perhaps you know of some technological limitation which would rule out that possibility?”

Annette remained frozen and pale for only a moment. As Willem watched her, she regained her composure, just as he had expected she would. Her argent eyes soon grew pensive. She was thinking rapidly, shaking off any ethical considerations or commonsense assumptions which might hinder her judgment. There was no time for guilt now.

“Yes. It’s not impossible. Technologically speaking, it can be done.”

The existence of RAID Devices used outside the battlefield, and their application as wiretaps—both were possible. Annette nodded and looked up at him, her silver eyes glinting with firm light.

“Understood, Chief of Staff Ehrenfried,” she said. “I’ll go check the old documentation in the lab. If I find any records of tuning unidentified RAID Devices, we’ll be able to start tracking them from there.”

“Roger that—it looks like we’ve captured the receiver from the Republic’s side, too. We appreciate your cooperation, Major Penrose.” The military police captain nodded, switched off the RAID Device, and bowed to Annette.

They were back in the base in Sankt Jeder, in a meeting room guarded by MPs who prevented anyone from entering or leaving. The arrested Eighty-Six children all had quasi-nerve crystals implanted in their bodies—each identical to the RAID Devices used in the Eighty-Sixth Sector. This was despite the fact that every one of the child soldiers’ implants, which had been embedded so they could serve as Juggernaut processors, were extracted when they were rescued by the Federacy.

“They were in the internment camps, not on the battlefield, and since we assumed they were too young to fight, we never checked,” said the MP captain. “To think they would plant RAID Devices in children that young and use them as wiretaps…”

For a military group, how and where units and soldiers were stationed and mobilized was sensitive, top secret information. This was especially true of the Strike Package, which went on highly classified, high-profile excursions into the Legion’s territory. Those on a need-to-know basis with regard to their deployment destinations and mission objectives weren’t allowed to disclose this information to anyone, not even their families.

But in the calming atmosphere of their homes, in the presence of their families, some people’s tongues would loosen. And if the inquirer was an innocent child, one would become even less cautious. And if said child was one of the Eighty-Six, saved from the clutches of persecution and abuse, and they were asking about the achievements and celebrated service of the older Eighty-Six, some people might even feel driven to answer.

“And all the Eighty-Six’s legal guardians are old nobility and government officials,” the captain continued. “They would make for premier sources of information. Whoever is behind this likely predicted such people would agree to become guardians as part of their civic duties, and in the short time before we rescued the Eighty-Six, they implanted the devices in secret. Whoever came up with this is as capable as they are heartless.”

Even though the Eighty-Six children were suspected to be the source of the information leak, it took so long to round them all up because of their guardians’ status. One couldn’t simply arrest the children of high-ranking officials without any evidence.

Annette, however, had a different view. She leveled him with a sober gaze.

“Ah… That’s not exactly right. It wasn’t as brilliant as you make it sound.”

The MP captain looked back at Annette, whose words dripped with venom. To him, she was still a girl, young enough to be his little sister, and by more than a few years. Her pale face contorted in displeasure.

“More than likely, they implanted the children with RAID Devices early on and merely repurposed them for this… They’re basically toys. Once they’ve served their purpose and become used up, they get discarded.”

Her silver gaze, firm and grave, twisted in disgust. The Para-RAID wasn’t only useful for transmitting sound. It could communicate anything picked up by the senses. Only sight and hearing were deemed practical for the military, but just because the other three weren’t seen as beneficial didn’t mean they couldn’t be used. One could configure the Para-RAID to transmit one’s sense of smell, taste, and touch. To share emotions to the same extent one would feel in face-to-face conversation.

And they had abused that.

Annette gritted her teeth. The outrage. How could they commit such an…inhuman atrocity?

“They implanted RAID Devices in children they took from the Eighty-Sixth Sector, and then they toyed with them. They tortured them, raped them… Killed them. And the whole while, they Resonated their sense of touch and emotions to others via the Para-RAID, so they could delight in their agony. And when they got bored with them, they threw the survivors away, back to the internment camps.”

Shin raised his head in surprise. The timing of everything was all too convenient—surely, that didn’t mean…

“Colonel Wenzel… Don’t tell me the reason you sent Colonel Milizé away today was because of this?”

Grethe heaved a fed-up sigh. She realized that was the natural conclusion, and she’d assumed someone would ask.

“No, that’s just coincidence.”

Shin looked at her with suspicion, but Grethe didn’t budge. She continued in a calm, patient tone, like that of a teacher reacting to a model student whose answer had nonetheless failed to consider something basic.

“For starters, Captain Nouzen, it was you who reported to me that Colonel Milizé was unwell. It was only because of that report that I had her see the mental-health team… And besides, Second Lieutenant Jaeger, who’s also from the Republic, is still here, isn’t he?”

Shin blinked once. With all eyes on him, Dustin—who was seated in the corner of the room like the forgotten family dog—nervously raised his hand.

Shin, who had indeed forgotten Dustin until just now, regained his composure. Like Grethe pointed out, it was he who had reported Lena’s poor health to her. And when asked earlier where Annette was, Grethe replied that she had gone to see Eighty-Six children. All this implied that the entire series of events was done in coordination with the Federacy military’s counterintelligence.

“…My apologies, Colonel.” Shin hung his head awkwardly, his face red.

Grethe smiled at him, amused. “Don’t worry. She’ll be back once she’s feeling better. Just wait.”

Sitting across from Chief of Staff Willem, the lieutenant general who served as commander of the western front hummed and nodded.

“Chief of Staff, we can put the wiretaps’ communication network to good use ourselves, can’t we?”

“Of course. The Legion will only notice they’ve lost them as an information source when they realize they’re looking at dull news reports without any mention of combat.”

“Good.”

To ensure the Legion didn’t realize the wiretaps were seized, the Federacy rounded up all the Republic interceptors operating them. That way, they could study everything, from the ciphers used to contact the wiretaps to the hierarchy between the interceptors, allowing them to assume their identities and repurpose the communication network to suit their own ends.

From the brief exchange, the lieutenant general realized that even the Federacy’s freedom of press, which was supposed to be guaranteed, was being temporarily suppressed.

“Leak false information about the western front, especially concerning the Strike Package’s movements. In the two weeks until the unit actually deploys, we can have the Legion waste resources for no reason on locations where the Strike Package won’t actually appear. And in the meantime, finish building the defensive perimeter and reorganizing the army, understood?”

“Everything is going according to schedule,” Chief of Staff Willem replied in a detached manner. “Including the Kampf Pfau railway gun. We’re planning to set the first defensive line using the volunteer soldiers we drew from the Republic refugees. The Republic’s betrayal will be repaid, with its citizens risking life and limb to compensate for it.”

The major general who served as chief of staff of the Federacy’s second northern front was a Deseria woman with beautiful skin the color of night and sleek black hair.

“I will now go over our next operation.”

The second northern front’s army was made up of three armored divisions, meaning it had fewer soldiers and Feldreß compared with the western front, which had five divisions.

In contrast to the primary battlefield on the plains, the terrain of which was difficult to defend, the second northern front was protected by the large Hiyano River, which divided it from north to south. The river stood in the way of a ground invasion, and since ancient times, river crossings had served as natural fortifications that forced factions to split their armies across the two banks.

The satellite bombardment had forced the second northern front’s army to retreat and, as a result, they’d lost their grip over this natural fortification.

Having been pushed back into open terrain, this army’s forces, which were built around defending the riverbanks, weren’t going to last long against the Legion’s armored forces. But with the Federacy military’s overall lack of manpower, they couldn’t hope to have their ranks bolstered. The eastern and southern fronts, which likewise used natural impediments such as mountains and rivers to save on manpower, had also been required to fall back, and they, as well as the other three northern fronts, were all in dire need of more soldiers.

And so to overcome this predicament…

The chief of staff spoke. This was a meeting between each front’s supreme commanders, chiefs of staff, as well as each armored division’s commander and staff officers, but many of them were far too busy to participate. As such, everyone but the chiefs of staff, front commanders, armored division commanders, and operational staff officers participated remotely, with holo-windows hovering over their empty seats.

“Our top-priority objective is to move our current defensive line forward and rebuild it along the river. At the same time, we will turn the entire contested area into a mire to impede the advance of the Legion’s armored forces. To do so, the Eighty-Sixth Strike Package will serve as our advance unit in an operation to destroy the flood-control dams.”

Second Lieutenant Noele Rohi was one of the countless company commanders stationed along the northern front and a descendant of a regional knight—the lowest rank of Imperial nobility. She stood frozen in place, having just received yet another casualty report—informing her that more of her territory’s people had died in combat.

Tsutsuri, Nukaf, and Lurei were confirmed to have died during the second large-scale offensive last month. And this month, Kina and Elam joined the dead.

“No one died in my unit. Why did so many people die in the other units?”

She bit her lightly rouged lip as she gripped the letter she had received from the deceased soldiers’ families. Sons who’d passed on ahead of their parents, wives bereaved of their husbands, brothers robbed of their older siblings, younger sisters deprived of their older sisters, daughters grieving their fathers.

Through this letter, written by the town headsman, their vivid voices called out to her heart.

Princess, please. Daughter and princess of wise and great House Rohi, which ruled over our town. Do not let our children die anymore. Protect your subjects. Remove the hardships looming over us. Banish the mechanical threat and guide us through this cataclysm. As our ruler, with your wisdom, your courage, your mercy—save us, your weak and meager subjects.

“…It will be done. I am your ruler, after all.”

Her smoky, cocoa eyes filled with grief as she nodded. Those eyes unique to the Cairns. Her well-kept, soft hair, the same color as her eyes, was tied into braids that slid down the shoulders of her military uniform.

I won’t let anyone else die. I cannot let my precious subjects shoulder this pain. Too many have died already during these eleven years of war with the Legion—in the first large-scale offensive in the summer of last year, and in the second large-scale offensive a month ago, when burning stars rained from the heavens and a tidal wave of steel washed over the land.

Many died. Officers, noncommissioned officers, and more than anything, countless soldiers. At this rate, her remaining subjects would have to enlist, too. The war cost them the power plant that made their town wealthy. They lost their employment, and, unable to return to their former livelihoods, they became impoverished. Now, the second large-scale offensive had forced them to evacuate; they had to enlist to ensure that their families had roofs over their heads.

And this time, even more of them would die. She couldn’t let that happen.

“There must be something, someone who’s wrong here. Something doesn’t add up. How else does so much death make sense?”

Yes. This was wrong. It made no sense for people to die like this. So many people dying was wrong. This country, its government, its president, its nobles—they were all too negligent and made light of the people’s lives. They weren’t doing their jobs, and that was why things ended up like this.

But it wasn’t too late to set things straight. If there was a mistake, then it needed to be corrected. Yes, it wasn’t too late even now—even if she had to do it herself.

“There must be something I can do… Think, Noele.”

News of the “wiretaps” wasn’t made public and wasn’t disclosed even within the Federacy military, but those involved in the case were secretly taken into questioning.

“…Hmm, I think it was Ren Hatis who showed up in my room at the hospital.”

“What did you talk to him about?”

“Nothing. He spoke with my roommate, Kigis, about where he was living and his father, but their conversation didn’t mention the Strike Package.”

As Theo answered the MP officer’s questions, he thought he felt an unpleasant tingling in the back of his neck…where the RAID Device had been implanted in him in the Eighty-Sixth Sector so as to be unremovable.

So the small Eighty-Six boy who’d come to visit him in the hospital had the same thing. He came, holding the hand of his uniformed stepfather, to visit Theo and the others in the hospital despite not knowing any of them. At the time, Theo’s mind was too burdened with his own injury to question it, and his fellow roommates were much the same.

Now he realized it was unnatural—why would a child that age, who couldn’t have survived in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, visit fellow Eighty-Six he didn’t even know? Thinking about it now, it was painfully obvious.

“It happened to you, too, Rikka?” asked Yuuto, in the same meeting room as Theo. “A kid also came to visit us. It was probably the same one.”

“A little girl stopped by my room,” said Amari, who was in the same rehabilitation facility. “She said she was there to see her elder Eighty-Six sisters.”

The MPs inquired about what they were asked and how they answered. Before long, the questioning was over.

“Thank you for your cooperation… Contact us if you remember anything else.”

“Hmm, can we ask something, too? What are you going to do with the captured wiretap children?”

The MPs nodded casually.

“Yes, it makes sense you’d be concerned. We removed their RAID Devices, and we’re questioning them about the Republic citizens who ordered them to gather information.”

Seeing the change in Theo’s expression, the MP raised his brow in a joking manner.

“It’s just questioning, not an interrogation. I know soldiers like you don’t like us MPs, but we’re not going to mistreat children. We have homes to go back to and families to look in the eye after this, you know.”

“What about their homes?” Yuuto asked quietly.

“We’ll return them if we can…but it’s hard to say. Their foster parents will have to be questioned for violating official regulations. Who’s to say if they’ll want to take in those children again after they were made complicit in an information leak? Well, if nothing else, there are orphanages in the capital we can bring them to, so they won’t be thrown out into the streets.”

“Can’t we take them in?”

“What, you want to play house and raise children while fighting a war?” The MP officer cracked a sarcastic smile. “You’re Operators. Your job is to destroy Legion. We can’t have you making light of that responsibility.”

He said it sharply but casually—like smacking a barking dog on the nose. And it was this casual manner, rather than his sharpness, that made Theo and the others swallow nervously. The cruel lashing of his words was done as naturally as he would discipline a hunting hound.

The MP didn’t notice the silent alarm of these young soldiers. Or perhaps he merely paid it no mind.

“And then we’ll need to round up and check the other Eighty-Six who aren’t confirmed to be wiretaps.”

“Round them up…?!” Theo looked up, tense.

“Ah, pardon the expression. We won’t round up any Eighty-Six who’ve enlisted like you. We’ve already checked you for RAID Devices, and we know of the Strike Package’s achievements. You worked hard. We didn’t mean you, but rather the Eighty-Six who didn’t enlist.”

Theo swallowed his words for now and let the MP continue. He didn’t seem to notice or care what Theo or the silent Yuuto and Amari were thinking.

“Besides, there’s a group that left their family homes and facilities and went missing right when we arrested the wiretaps. And while they’re not the source of the intelligence leak, they’re clearly suspicious. We want to bring those girls under our protection as soon as possible… The more ammunition we have against the evacuated Republic government, the better.”

When shells rained down from the heavens like divine judgment, followed by countless Legion assaults, the second northern front was forced to fall back, leaving behind many dead, injured and missing.

In the end, who was at fault? Who deserved the blame? That question burned inside Mele—one of the northern front’s young soldiers.

Mele had no answers, but he did know one thing—ever since the Federacy took over, nothing had gone their way.

Eleven years ago, when the Federacy was still the Empire, Mele was just a boy. His hometown became wealthy thanks to the cutting-edge power plant built there. When the revolution took place, all the grown-ups said it would make the town a better place.

But nothing good came of it.

The power plant was abandoned because of the revolution and the war. All the children were forced to attend school, something that had never been asked of them before. Their town became impoverished, and their lives became harder.

Until now, they hadn’t had to think about their future employment. They would simply inherit their parents’ line of work. But now they were required to decide on a future profession, and his own parents’ job—cleaning up the power plant—was gone. And they had no way of restarting the agricultural work of their great-grandparents, either.

So, left with no choice, Mele enlisted in the army. But there he was forced to undergo training and education he didn’t want.

“…How did it end up like this?” Mele grumbled.

He had an Amber’s barley-colored hair. The blue eyes he’d received from his grandmother were something he secretly took great pride in, because the princess of his town told him once when they were little that his eyes were pretty.

These past ten years had been one bad thing after another, so why wouldn’t anyone do something about it? President Ernst, who led the revolution, or the nobles, officers, and noncommissioned officers who keep pressuring him to do things he didn’t want to—why didn’t anyone do something?

So many bad things had happened—everyone knew how awful it was, so why didn’t they all resolve this right away? It made no sense.

Someone had to do something. Anyone… They needed to make things right this time.

“I can do this.”

Noele suddenly realized…there was a way. A way to end the Legion. A means of delivering her people from death. A silver bullet to grant them swift salvation, and just like the blue bird of happiness, it’d been in her hands the whole time, glinting as it waited to be noticed.

And now that she’d hit upon this wonderful solution, it seemed all too simple. Why didn’t the president and the former nobles and the generals ever think to do this? Were they simply negligent?

On the territory Noele’s family formerly owned, they’d built a facility with the aid of House Mialona, the governors, which had turned Marylazulia into a special municipality on the cutting edge of science. All they needed was the town’s—

“—Nuclear power.”

Ernst was seen as a hero of the revolution, which bought him a great deal of support from the citizens. But the losses and sacrifices that came with the second large-scale offensive, along with the many casualties and war expenditures over the last month, led to a stark decline in his approval rating.

“I have no problem with recruiting volunteer troops from refugees of the Fleet Countries and the Republic, given that they willingly agreed…but I’m opposed to forcing the volunteers onto the front lines. We should focus on building defensive installations instead. We can always rebuild buildings, but there’s no taking back lost lives.”

Despite the president’s words, he sounded totally unfazed in the face of this predicament. More than anything, he stressed saving a single life over both maintaining the front lines and the survival of the nation itself. Even now, he sat on his leather seat in the president’s residence, proclaiming this logically inconsistent idealism.

This was the worthy justice the Federal Republic of Giad was established on, he said. The ideal all must adhere to if humankind was to hold on to its pride and dignity.

The high official sitting across from him made no effort to mask his displeasure. The president was fussing over the lives of foreigners, prioritizing them over the survival of his own country and its people. And that wasn’t all.

“Our own men will die as a result of those policies. And if, on top of all those deaths, you raise taxes to expand our defensive facilities, your approval ratings will fall even further.”

“I imagine they will,” Ernst said, his expression unwavering. “What of it?”

His ashen eyes seemed to be smirking behind his glasses. At this point, the high official couldn’t restrain himself anymore.

“Sir, you speak of protecting people’s ideals, but you don’t actually care one bit about that, do you?”

Ernst didn’t seem to care an ounce about his approval ratings or self-preservation. Just as he didn’t seem to care about the fate of the front lines or his nation, he didn’t seem to value his own life. Or the very ideals he claimed to uphold.

Ernst’s expression didn’t budge. His ashen eyes were like the inside of a world-weary fire-breathing dragon, whose flames had all burned out. The high official groaned. He’d fought alongside this man as a comrade in the revolution eleven years ago. This man had led the Federacy for over a decade.

He’d once seen him as a friend and someone worthy of his respect. Now all he saw was a monster.

“Sir. I… We are only human. We can’t side with a dragon. If you’re going to insist on acting this way, we will not be able to follow you. And if you continue despite knowing that…you will be betraying us all.”

The company commander sent word for everyone to gather, and so Mele, along with his platoon members—Kiahi, Otto, Milha, Rilé, and Yono—all gathered in their unit’s warehouse. The people from their special municipality had been assigned to combat units or swiftly promoted to noncommissioned officers and were scattered among different units in the armored division. This company, commanded by the princess of their line of regional knights, was the only one comprised solely of those from their special municipality.

Many of the ones who’d gone to other units ended up dying in battle, but everyone in their unit survived, since they had the princess to guide them.

“We have a solution.”

So when the princess passionately spoke to Mele’s company of transport troops, as well as three other such companies, everyone watched her excitedly without doubting a word she said. When the first large-scale offensive struck the Federacy, her graduation from the officer academy was accelerated, and their Princess Noele now stood as a respectable company commander.

Standing next to Noele were younger officers from her same year—the sons and daughters of regional knights from other villages. Just like Mele’s princess, they were young heroes who led companies of soldiers from their domains.

“We have a means of destroying the Legion. A means of ending this war. The military’s higher-ups simply haven’t realized it yet. Or maybe they’re just hiding it, so the high nobles in the congress can keep up their little waltz. After all, they’re so good at stepping on one another’s feet.”

She was mocking the Imperial congress, which had a tendency of being too caught up in factional rivalries to make any decisions, but her metaphor was itself indicative of her upper-class upbringing, and it was lost on Mele and the other soldiers, who had no idea what a waltz was.

“…So what you’re saying is that the military top brass, the president, and the nobles are guilty for everything.”

Kiahi, who was like an older brother to them all, roughly summed up her words, and that was indeed how Mele saw it, too. The army, the president, the major nobles—they were the ones at fault. The generals leading them, Ernst, the government, and the nobles commanding the army were to blame for all the pain brought on by the second large-scale offensive and the Legion War.

Kiahi smiled, his pale-yellow eyes glinting in jubilation.

“That means the revolution ten years ago failed,” Noele said. “But…this time, everything will go well. We’ll beat the bad guys and change the world. This time, for sure. We’ll become heroes.”

She looked at Kiahi, at the soldiers, at Mele, her words seeming to back up their expectations.

“We must correct the Federacy’s mistakes now. And to do that, we must spark a battle for justice that will snap the Federacy out of its slumber. They are lost within the darkness of illusion, so we will light up the blue flames to guide them!”

Noele made her grand declaration, bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders, her expression racked with pain and grief. They all cheered their radiant princess-general, their passionate show of approval filling the warehouse. Kiahi thrust his fist into the air and howled. Otto, Rilé, Milha, and Yono shouted the princess’s name.

Everyone was gripped by the premonition that she—no, they were about to do something truly great to save the world in its time of crisis. Mele, too, was driven to cry out like the rest of them.

Up until this point, everything had felt wrong, but from now on, it would all be okay. It wouldn’t be long before things were made right. After all, they had the princess to tell them who was to blame for all the bad things, to make it clear whom they needed to beat. All their anger, anxiety, and discontent was justified, and the princess had found the ones responsible and proven their crimes.

Everything was going to be fine. It would all go well. Their wise, reliable princess would fix everything. All Mele needed to do was follow her guidance.

“Please join me so that we may defend your homeland, your families, and this country.”

Her words filled Mele with joy and relief.

Under the cover of night, four of the second northern front’s transport companies in the 92nd Support Regiment simultaneously went missing. The units’ noncommissioned officers, subordinates, and officers all disappeared. The report mentioned the possibility of desertion.

In the army, desertion under enemy fire was a grave crime. A military police unit was instantly sent out to search for them and began tracking their movements. The deserting soldiers were apparently headed back to their birthplace, a special municipality in the Shemno region. Perhaps they hoped to hide out in their homeland—the military police officers frowned at the plan’s naivete.

But when they arrived at the special municipality of Marylazulia, the defecting soldiers were nowhere to be found. The town’s citizens were evacuated during the second large-scale offensive, but the facility personnel dispatched by the regional governor and their families still lived here. And when the military police visited those personnel, they received grim news.

The deserters had passed by a facility at the edge of town. They took something kept there, then left.

The facility in question was an abandoned power plant. It was built in the final years of the Empire, then destroyed during the revolution, and when the Legion War broke out, it was deemed too dangerous due to its proximity to the front lines and was decommissioned.

…And that power plant housed a nuclear reactor.