86 - Volume 12 - Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

BLOODY MARY IS IN THE MIST

The radiation emitted by spent nuclear fuel could be blocked off by thick metallic shielding. While it wasn’t perfect protection, it did go a long way toward minimizing the risk of radiation exposure. This was why, when pursuing the weak, unarmed Hail Mary Regiment, the military continually deployed Vánagandrs wrapped in composite armor made from a mix of ceramic and heavy metals. These cornerstones of the Federacy’s ground force, built with similar armored weapons as their intended targets, each boasted a 120 mm smoothbore gun and a 12.7 mm heavy machine gun, and at fifty tonnes, could travel at up to a hundred kmh.

This pack of metallic wolves raced under the thick, heavy mist typical of late autumn on the second northern front.

The fire of their two revolving machine guns mowed down the fleeing soldiers in a cloud of blood splatter. Those who tried to hide behind crumbled stone walls were hit with tank shells that turned them into a mixture of crushed rock and flesh. Some tried to conceal themselves in the shadows, only to be torn apart as multipurpose tank shells burst in midair, releasing scatter shots that swept through them. Others became so panicked by the pursuit that they charged at the Vánagandrs empty-handed, only to be casually kicked away by their metallic legs.

The Hail Mary Regiment’s soldiers carried 7.62 mm assault rifles—which, in the Federacy, where armored infantry was the main force, were mostly considered weapons of self-defense, carried by transport units or combat engineers. Even the Republic’s Juggernaut, the weakest and most poorly armored of all armored weapons, could deflect 7.62 mm bullets, so naturally, they wouldn’t so much as scratch a Vánagandr’s stalwart armor.

And so the Hail Mary Regiment not only failed to take revenge but were instead killed for their trouble. Swiftly, and quite mercilessly—they were massacred.

All battlefields were shrouded in a kind of mist. No matter how carefully, thoroughly, or meticulously one gathered intelligence, there was no way to eliminate all uncertainty. It lurked everywhere—in the enemy army, politics, climate and terrain, and even in the actions of individual soldiers like those of the Hail Mary Regiment. With such factors influencing its course, an operation could never go exactly according to plan.

That was why, to Lieutenant Colonel Mialona, this battle felt so strange, and so horrific.

“…Just what did you fools hope to accomplish?”

In order to ensure none of the soldiers could possibly run off with the “nuclear weapon,” she’d formed a careful and thorough perimeter around them. They maintained radio silence and used the terrain to hide themselves so as to keep their approach and encirclement from being noticed.

In addition, to ensure the renegades didn’t consider detonating the nuclear weapon in a “Hail Mary” moment, the first thing they did was storm and seize the warehouse where the “nuclear weapons” were being stored. They closely examined all their intelligence, then sent out scouts who swiftly but carefully confirmed the terrain and the target’s position before launching the raid.

And yet, the fact that their approach, encirclement, scouting, and combat all went exactly according to plan made this a very unusual battle.

It was like their opponents had neither the planning, the preparation, nor even the will to resist. With their last ray of hope, the “nuclear weapon,” lost, the situation fell apart, and they all fled in fear.

…Yes, all they did was run.

At first, they only ran, like the stupid, cowardly roosters and hens they were. They didn’t act out of loyalty to their country. Perhaps they thought they were acting out of love for their hometown or their comrades, but they weren’t, in the end. And it certainly wasn’t out of a sense of righteous indignation, true feeling, or a desire for justice.

They were simply spurred on by terror. They couldn’t stand the situation, so they ran wherever their legs would carry them. That was the absurd, foolish truth behind this whole upheaval. They were so rattled by fear that they ended up exposing the front, their own comrades, and indeed the entire country to danger—and all in the name of simple, unsightly escapism.

They hadn’t even tried to see themselves for what they were—pitiful fools who couldn’t contain even one of their own emotions. And with that foolish, powerless, and slothful attitude…

“How did you expect to save anyone when you couldn’t even discipline yourselves? What did you expect to happen, you imbeciles?”

“Princess, save me! Save me!”

“Princess, I don’t want to die!”

“Protect us, Princess! Princess!”

With the sound of her dying soldiers thundering in her ears, Noele wept and screamed in an attempt to shut them out.

“It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault! No, it’s everyone else, not me, but everyone else—”

None of them would think, and they simply clung to me, begging to be saved, so I tried my hardest, I—I tried, I tried so hard, and that’s why I had to do this… But I really— I didn’t really want to!

Her eyes turned to Rilé, running from a Vánagandr. Upon seeing her, Rilé reached out to her with a desperate expression.

“Princ—”

But before Rilé could finish her sentence, a Vánagandr’s foot crushed her to bits. Noele should have never heard her voice—never seen her face again. And yet, she could hear that voice cursing her, see that face blaming her.

“You told us to do it, Princess. You ordered us. You decided to do this, and you got us caught up in your mess.”

“…No!”

We had to correct the mistake. I only acted to protect and save the others. So it can’t be my fault. It isn’t my fault!

“It’s only because all of you couldn’t do it properly! It’s not my fault!”

The fact that we couldn’t make the nuclear weapon, that everyone ended up dying… I wasn’t wrong. I was right! There had to be a perfect solution prepared for me! The world can’t be that cruel… So it’s not my fault I didn’t find that solution. It’s not my fault we couldn’t do it!

“—That’s right.”

Someone caught her in their arms. She turned around and found Ninha smiling at her.

“That’s right, this isn’t your fault. It’s all okay now. I’ll protect everyone.”

Noele felt her breath catch in her throat. In that moment, she completely forgot all the sorrow and fear and tears she’d shed just a moment ago.

Ninha hadn’t said save me or help me or protect me.

She’d said, I’ll protect… Did she mean protect Noele?

“You don’t have to think about anything anymore. No need to make decisions. I’ll protect you from all that. I mean, I’m the only one who’d understand, right? It must have been such a burden, being a princess. But you’ll be fine now.”

I…

Somewhere deep down, Noele did think it was a burden. Being the daughter of a regional knight, having the responsibilities of being an Imperial noble. Those were all things that’d been forced on her. If she could just give up on the title of princess, on all the things forced on her, it would be… It would be so lovely…

And then the revolving fire of a Vánagandr’s machine gun pulverized both girls into a bloody mist.

Most of the nuclear weapons were inside the warehouse seized at the beginning of the battle. Kiahi held the final one in a bucket. He had to hold back the nausea rising up from the pit of his stomach and the weakness setting into his limbs as he walked among the remains of the massacre with unsteady steps.

The nuclear weapon’s bucket was oddly heavy, and though he wasn’t injured, his body felt terribly sluggish. But the anger burning inside him gave him the strength to keep dragging his feet along.

They wouldn’t find that damn leviathan. And all their friends were dead.

And it was all the Federacy’s fault. The nobles’ fault.

The princess’s fault.

Kiahi gritted his teeth. It was because the princess was wrong. The princess had fooled them.

“I thought something was off all along.”

The Federacy, the nobles, the princess. They were all lying to us… Lying to me.

“So I’ll take revenge.”

Like a pathetic rat, he crawled and skulked about, avoiding the eyes of the Vánagandrs, making his way to a spot where he’d be able to stay out of those big machines’ sight. Realizing they wouldn’t be able to pursue him in a confined space, he took cover in a small, stone building.

Of course, unleashing the nuclear weapon in a space enclosed by stone walls would be a useless gesture, since the radioactive matter wouldn’t scatter anywhere, but Kiahi didn’t realize that. He simply believed that this nuclear weapon was his last trump card, and so he intended to detonate the old bucket and thereby wipe the pieces off the board, rather than let his enemy win.

He didn’t even think of the fact that the last time they’d used one of these weapons under the same conditions, it was only strong enough to blow up a single car.

All he had to do was detonate it and destroy everything.

This is revenge. Because it’s revenge, my anger is justified, which means there’s no way this can go wrong.

He tore off the duct tape holding the bucket’s lid firmly in place and stuffed all the plastic explosives he could over the countless eerie metallic pellets filling it. He put in the fuse and got to his feet as he pulled back the detonation cord. Nausea washed over him, and this time, he couldn’t take it and threw up.

…They threw up like this at first, too.

It happened after they opened the fuel rods, and after they detonated the first nuclear weapon and it didn’t work. His friends grew visibly weaker, their appearance changed, and they ended up dying.

It’s like some kind of curse.

They hadn’t been shot or burned by fire, but their bodies started swelling up, their hair fell off, and their skin started flaking. They threw up their own organs, and then they died. Everyone who handled the nuclear fuel died after touching it.

It probably was a curse. Nothing about the fuel looked wrong. It didn’t make any sounds or smell weird. But anyone who touched it died—so it must have cursed. They were never meant to touch this thing.

And the princess knew about it and stayed quiet. The Empire knew about it when they’d put the power plant in their town.

Then I’ll scatter it all over the place.

He wiped his mouth clean and got to his feet. It was only at that point that he realized that he was in a chapel. On the other side of the altar, the morning sunlight rose through the fog, casting a pale glow through the stained glass like the very light of heaven. On the glass was the image of a willowy woman looking down on him with a compassionate smile.

Her beautiful outfit was a glowing, transparent blue.

The governor’s wife, Mary Lazulia. The very person who introduced nuclear power to their village.

Serves you all right. Just watch me, beautiful holy mother in your blue dress.

Kiahi turned around…

…and found himself staring right into the barrel of a heavy assault rifle held by a woman in steel-colored full-body armor.

“…Hah.”

Somewhere, a loud, sharp gunshot blared.

The deafening roar of Vánagandr cannons and the high-pitched screeching of power packs had all died down enough for it to be audible. Milha crawled through the eerie silence in the dim morning mist. One of his legs had been blown off, so he couldn’t stand, and as his right hand crept against the mud, his nearly severed palm was nothing more than an impediment.

His left hand was still fine, but Yono’s body was heavy and kept slipping from his grasp because of the blood. Having to constantly adjust his grip on her was irritating and vexing.

She was annoying, weak, and cowardly, but she was still like a little sister to him. Despite how much of a pain she was, he had to protect her, and her weak, cowardly nature made him want to keep her safe from the world.

So why had she stopped crying and cowering like always?

Mud splashed over his dirty face.

Raising his head, he saw the shadow of a metallic, spikelike leg come down on the ground. The Federacy’s… The Imperial nobles’ mechanical monsters. A Vánagandr. The voice of a woman condemned him coldly from the machine’s external speaker, with the same northern-province intonation as Noele.

“You’re the last of your group of birdbrained, ground-pecking roosters. Is that tattered rag one of your friends? It’s because you good-for-nothing fools didn’t know your place and did things you shouldn’t have that your friends had to die.”

Milha felt his rage seethe. Tattered rag. She meant Yono.

…Yeah. I know.

She hadn’t been crying or cowering for a while now. He had to pick her up over and over again, but she wouldn’t move on her own. Which made sense…

…given that she was missing her head.

And without it, she was missing her mouth and eyes, so she couldn’t shed tears or cry out. And what made her like this, what reduced Yono to this form…

It was you. You officers. Superior officers. The Federacy.

“It’s because you told us to think for ourselves!”

And then wouldn’t forgive us when we couldn’t.

“I… We never wanted that, but you told us to do it anyway! We tried to think and act on our own, just like you said, and now you tell us to know our place and not act?! If that’s the case, why didn’t you tell us we’re good-for-nothings and we shouldn’t do anything to begin with?!”

Even as he spoke, Milha knew the answer. He knew that telling roosters to know their place, calling them good-for-nothings, were things people couldn’t say in the Federacy, words that were forbidden in a country of freedom and equality.

…No. That wasn’t it.

“…You just didn’t want to say it.”

Because saying that in a country of freedom and equality wasn’t the just thing to do. They didn’t want to become unjust. They all knew deep down there wasn’t a shred of justice to them, but they didn’t want others to think they were unjust.

“You just didn’t say it because you didn’t want to be the bad guys! It’s unfair!”

“…You’re right.”

As she spoke, Lieutenant Colonel Mialona pulled the trigger. Machine-gun fire blew the last of the renegades to bits. Looking down at the blood splatter, the lieutenant colonel muttered to herself, seated in the cramped gunner seat. Because of the loud noise of the power pack, her Vánagandr’s operator wouldn’t hear her, despite being in the same cockpit, unless she switched on the internal radio.

“You’re right. A just country is unfair.”

Telling someone to think for themselves didn’t mean all they had to do was think. Telling someone to act didn’t mean they wouldn’t be blamed regardless of what action they took. To people who couldn’t make those distinctions, it all must have seemed terribly unfair.

To Noele Rohi, who didn’t know there was no escaping the consequences of her own actions and simply ran around, weeping. To Ninha Lekaf, who surrendered herself far too late and, despite this, threw herself into the line of fire. To that one soldier who, to the bitter end, never learned or thought anything through and tried to detonate a dirty bomb in a closed space.

To them, freedom and equality was more than they could handle. And the Federacy, which forced those things on them in the name of justice…

“This is what we get for forcing rights on people who don’t want education or seek to learn, who don’t think and plan when given time, on sheep who don’t try to make decisions even when given freedom. Some people want to be sheep who don’t have to think or make choices, who simply follow their leader, and this is what you get for forcing freedom and equality on them.”

They hadn’t considered the hardships that came with freedom and equality, or else they’d irresponsibly believed that simply because they could handle it…

Indeed, to those with the qualities of a ruler—the capacity to be one’s own master—freedom and equality were wonderful things. With the freedom to decide how to live their own lives, they would take no orders, nor would they be forced to do anything…and in the name of equality, they wouldn’t carry responsibility for the lives of others.

They would have the strength of a ruler, but they wouldn’t have to use it to protect the sheep too weak to shoulder that burden themselves.

They lied, saying that under the freedom and equality of democracy, each civilian would be their own king. And those who couldn’t be masters of their own fates would still be responsible for themselves. While willingly accepting their own freedoms, they wouldn’t grant their fellow citizens the peace they desired.

And in Lieutenant Colonel Mialona’s eyes, this was irresponsible.

Those were her thoughts as a former Imperial noble of the Giadian Empire, who’d been responsible for ruling over her people and, as such, had been squarely charged with the duties and concerns that came with the right of dominion. As someone who oversaw the fates and lives of the people.

It was arrogant for the citizens to enjoy their own strength while turning a blind eye to the weakness of the sheep.

“Freedom and equality… To those who simply wish to be sheep in a flock, those ideas are nothing short of cruelty.”

Both the switches for the external speaker and the internal radio were off, and so the lamentation of this governor, who’d been forced to slay the sheep she loved, went unheard.

“—It must have been such a burden, being a princess. But you’ll be fine now.”

He didn’t hear how Noele answered those words from Ninha. The loud, heavy gunfire that followed tore through Noele, Ninha, and, indeed, even the main unit’s radio transmitter itself.

“Huh…?”

As the radio ceased crackling and fell silent, Mele stopped in his tracks.

When the Strike Package’s combat at long last died down, he’d finally recalled his role. He’d tried to report to the princess about the leviathan.

But when he called in, what greeted him was the sound of all his friends, of his princess, being massacred.

“No… No!”

He attempted to reconnect the radio, but there was no response. Kiahi and Milha and Rilé and Yono—none of them answered.

“They’ve been wiped out…?” Otto said, dumbfounded. “Everyone… Everyone but us was killed…?”

Mele fell to his knees in shock. Kiahi. Milha. Rilé. Yono. So many of their comrades…and the princess.

Anger and sadness built up within him—toward the enemies who’d killed the princess, toward the leviathan that wouldn’t save her, and toward himself.

Honestly, he’d known how the princess felt about him. But she was a princess, someone from a different class. A former serf, a commoner like him who couldn’t do anything, wasn’t worthy of such a beautiful princess, so he’d pretended not to notice.

If things had to end like this, maybe he’d have been better off answering her feelings. Maybe the previous night, when he last saw her, he should have kissed her.

The bright rays of the sun shone irritatingly through the trees. A white Reginleif descended from the dam, and the light reflected off its armor. Its crimson optical sensor turned their way. And unaware that Mele and Otto, the last survivors of the Hail Mary Regiment, were standing there in grief among the trees, they passed by and left.

Mele didn’t know that the optical sensor’s control was set to track the gaze of the Processor inside the cockpit. He saw this as a show of the operator’s indifference. He assumed that since he could see them, the Operator must have noticed them, too, and chosen to look away indifferently.

At that moment, Mele felt every hair on his body stand up in humiliation and rage.

I’m in so much grief. The princess I loved died. So why won’t you be sad for me? Why won’t you grieve, too? Get mad for me? Why don’t you ever understand our pain, our sorrow, our agony?

We… You… You…!

“You’re strong, and yet you…”

You’re strong, unlike us. You can do everything, choose anything, and act on your choices. So why didn’t you protect us, help us, guide us? Why didn’t you save the princess?

You’re strong. If you’re strong enough to do this, then there’s no reason why you shouldn’t.

Having to make choices and think is such a difficult, complicated, scary thing. We can’t do it, so you should protect us, guide us, save us. Us, the princess, everything.

And yet you people abandoned the princess… You good-for-nothing, slothful, arrogant, cruel…

“You abandoned her… This is all your fault!”

A figure sprung out of the fallen red leaves, howling like a wounded animal. Kurena was the first to notice it.

—A self-propelled mine…?! Wait, no!

As she focused her gaze on it, a holo-window popped up and zoomed in, showing the figure was wearing the Federacy’s metal-black uniform. They had the face of a young man, unlike a self-propelled mine, and as far as Shin’s ability could tell, the screams of the Legion were distant. So this boy wasn’t a self-propelled mine.

He was human—a Federacy soldier. Kurena’s eyes, which were accustomed to the battlefield, instantly recognized him as a soldier on their side. But then why was he showing so much hostility? So much…bloodlust? Why was he approaching the leviathan youngling, which was passing by in an attempt to avoid attack, with so much hostility and bloodlust?

And the assault rifle he was holding, with his finger on the trigger—

“…H-Hail Mary! Shin!” Kurena shouted, feeling every hair on her body stand on end. Kurena was too far from him; she wouldn’t make it in time from where she was. “There’s a survivor! He’s trying to shoot the youngling!”

As Mele bolted out, bellowing, Otto and their friends were inclined to follow, set off by Mele’s scream and anger. That’s right. It’s all their fault. We have to take revenge for our friends. This is all their fault. So if we can just kill the leviathan, if we can just kill it, the other leviathan will kill everyone else. The terrible Legion, the Federacy, the officers, the nobles, and these guys who abandoned our friends.

It will destroy everyone we hate and everything that wronged us.

Let them all be destroyed!

“It’s all your fault!”

Was it Mele who shouted this? Was it Otto? One of their comrades, maybe? They couldn’t tell one another apart anymore. They were all dyed in the same shade of indignation, fanning their mutual anger.

“It’s all your fault! All this is because of you!”

“We can’t do it, so it’s not our fault! But you’re just lazy, good-for-nothing, arrogant pricks who abandoned us! You walked all over us, over and over and over again!”

“It hurt, it was terrible, and you still did it! It was frustrating and miserable, and you never understood, you never even tried to understand! So this is your fault!”

“You people never tried to protect us, not even once!”

They screamed. They ran. They howled and shouted as one, making their indignation known. All of them, together.

They felt the elation of thinking the same thing, feeling the same emotions, shouting the same words, running in the same direction. The joy of a group sharing the same feelings and choices and actions, of becoming a singular creature.

The peace of becoming one with everyone. It was oh so pleasant, oh so soothing.

Mele and the Hail Mary Regiment survivors he’d become one with were all intoxicated by this pleasure.

Freedom, justice, free will, individuality—none of them could match the euphoria of this feeling of oneness.

Aaah… This is how I always wanted to be. This is what I always wanted to become. To reach this wonderful realm—this vast, grand, boundless flock.

And the symbol of this grandness, the incarnation of their greatness, this force of violence that would destroy everything was right in front of them. He need only hold up his gun to it.

In his sights was that beautiful, fleeting, glasswork mermaid. And they were going to break it—that stunning, rare, and valuable creature. People as weak and foolish and incompetent as them would break it.

All our strength, everyone together. How wonderful.

Serves you right.

But just then—

Undertaker was just descending from the dam’s arch to the riverbed, spurring on the Fisara. It arrived with a heavy thud, using the brakes that allowed the Reginleif to go from its maximal combat speed to zero. In a stroke of luck, he landed in a position between the Hail Mary Regiment and the Leuca, shielding it.

A shower of crimson, red, and vermilion leaves rained soundlessly down on him. Morning had just dawned over the woods, and with the soft sunlight shining through the fallen leaves, Shin faced the last of the renegades.

Assault-rifle fire couldn’t penetrate a Reginleif’s armor, and if they had any explosives, it had to have been an amount small enough for them to hide on their person. Unless they attached them to the Reginleif itself, they wouldn’t do any damage.

But they didn’t stop running. And if they came any closer, Shin would have to shoot them.

Reginleifs weren’t equipped with nonlethal armaments. They had 88 mm smoothbore guns for penetrating tank armor, high-frequency blades, and anti-armor pile drivers, as well as 12.7 mm heavy machine guns, which were only effective against lightly armored units but were far too powerful to be used on humans.

And to begin with, the unit’s ten tonnes of weight alone were a lethal weapon against human opponents. This made even the wire anchors, despite not being weapons, or a simple kick from the unit’s legs fatal.

If they weren’t going to stop, he’d have to kill them.

He placed his hands over the trigger. The system fired its laser sight, and the tank turret automatically quivered. The invisible heat of the laser and the muzzle of the imposing turret made the soldiers flinch. Shin prayed to himself, wishing this would make them stop in their tracks—but unfortunately, every ounce of their fear tipped over into rage with strange swiftness.

Their faces were different, and yet somehow, they all looked the same to him. They were different people, but for some reason, he couldn’t tell their faces apart. Shin shuddered. He didn’t know why, but he was scared from the bottom of his heart.

At the same time, he came to the realization that threats wouldn’t stop them. He had to shoot.

Shin steeled himself, and he forced his stiff fingers to move.

He made to pull the trigger. And then—

—a second before he could do so, the armored infantry and scout unit hurried over and fired their guns without a second thought.

The armored infantrymen’s 12.7 mm heavy assault rifles were just barely usable thanks to the support of the reinforced exoskeletons, as they were originally armaments meant to be boarded onto a vehicle or an aircraft. This wasn’t the kind of firepower an infantryman could typically wield.

These heavy machine guns unleashed a full-auto barrage, accompanied by fire from anti-light-armor full-size 7.62 mm rifles, which tore into the soldiers from the flank. The young man leading the charge, as well as the soldiers following him, vanished from Shin’s optical screen. Their faces, contorted with hellish fury, were instantly swept aside. Their gazes alone, full of hatred that billowed like fire and blood, were burned into Shin’s eyes—but nothing else of them remained. They were blown away, torn apart, and disappeared.

Shin was dumbfounded for a moment. It was too sudden. Even to Shin’s eyes, which were used to how abrupt and merciless death on the battlefield could be, this was an absolute display of death. Even hatred, hatred so intense that it gripped them until their last moments, was gone without a trace.

As he glanced about, stunned, Ishmael spoke, standing there as he shouldered his 7.62 mm assault rifle, which still steamed from the heat of its full-auto fire.

“I told you, Captain. The people you can’t save aren’t your responsibility.”

“…Captain.”

“And that’s especially true of idiots who had nothing to do with you until today, caused everyone trouble because of their ignorant stupidity, and then had the gall to ask why you didn’t save them. Just because they demand that you help them doesn’t mean you have to do it. You’re not some kind of saint, you know.”

Seeing Frederica shudder next to Gadyuka’s open canopy, Vika narrowed his eyes. This was a gesture meant to hide the way the pit of her stomach trembled. Based on the glow in her bloodred eyes, her ability was active, and what she saw went without saying.

“—I told you to abandon them, Mascot.”

A powerless symbol like her ought to have abandoned those it couldn’t save. Better that than to let them get throttled by her self-righteous wishes, only to die. And there was no need to spare them sympathy or force herself to watch the death of such fools.

Frederica threw a sidelong glance at him.

“Nay. To begin with, you have no place ordering me about, Serpent of Shackles.”

Frederica turned to face him and glared at the serpentine prince.

“Indeed, the only thing I would not betray is my own conscience. And my own conscience is also the only thing I can truly protect right now. True, as I am, I cannot protect or save anyone. But if I choose to abandon people, at that point, I would fail to protect even my own conscience. And in that case, right now…”

Her eyes, the color of burning flames, shone bright with the crimson of newly shed blood.

“…not looking away is what I must do. I shall fight this war by watching how people fall and how destruction comes, never looking away. So that one day, when I am strong enough to protect others like you and Shinei, I will not let lives slip through my fingers. And so, you haven’t the right to comment.”

“Conscience, you say.” Vika narrowed his eyes ever so slightly in thin, unpleasant dislike. “Harboring that feeling will only get in your way.”

It was nothing but hollow restraint, one that only had idealistic beauty to it but lacked any power or reality.

“I care not,” Frederica spat out, her crimson eyes burning bright. “You once told me. Even if you cannot become king, you can conduct yourself as a noble. That this is how you wish to be. That even without the title of king, you can hold on to your nobility. So yes—I shall take after that. I shall act and conduct myself not upon a crown granted to me by others, but as the master of my own fate.”

Vika sensed something was off with what she had just said. Master of my own fate. That was no different from the Eighty-Six—that was fine. But…

…not upon a crown granted to her by others?

A moment later, Vika realized. Even the serpentine prince couldn’t help but be shocked for a moment. This girl before him. She didn’t draw on the blood of an Imperial noble…

Looking at him, Frederica spoke in a low voice.

“I see. Truly, surprise does not show in either your conduct or your expression. I should take after that, as well.”

“You—”

“I thought you weren’t interested in my affairs?” She cut him off.

“…Well, I suppose that’s true, but…”

Sheltering a former empress who was nothing but a puppet ruler and had no land of her own was nothing but trouble with no benefit to be had. Even a large country like the United Kingdom didn’t want to oppose the biggest superpower in the continent, and getting involved in the millennia-old rivalries of the old Imperial nobles seemed like a terribly unappealing idea.

However.

“Right now, I might not feel the same way anymore.”

The Empire’s bloodline of eagles, the ones capable of shutting down all Legion units—right now, this member of the United Kingdom royalty was looking at one possible key for ending the hardship all the human nations were facing.

Frederica didn’t budge, though.

“Surely, the Idinarohk’s most prized gem would know better than to act hastily before all the conditions are in place?”

Vika scoffed at her. At least she understood that much.

“Who else knows? Milizé…probably doesn’t. Does Nouzen know?”

“…He does.”

Vika considered slipping a caterpillar down Shin’s back. This wasn’t information Shin could recklessly spread around, and it wasn’t his place to share other people’s personal circumstances with others. His sincerity was praiseworthy in that regard, but…it still ticked Vika off.

“Then I just have to keep cooperating with them. It’s true that I don’t have many cards to play.”

Having Frederica, who was capable of giving the order, wasn’t enough. They also needed to find the location of the command base capable of transmitting the order and seize it. Now that he was trapped in the Federacy and unable to return to his homeland, with only one regiment under his command, Vika lacked the means to help find or seize that place. He had to cooperate with Shin, the Strike Package, and the Federacy army.

And also with Shin’s legal guardian, the Federacy’s interim president—Ernst.

Frederica nodded. House Adel-Adler’s flame-colored eyes gazed into the house of unicorns’ Imperial violet ones. Driven from their thrones though they might be, they would not discard the pride of royalty.

“Take care more than ever before,” she said. “So that we may protect the others.”

Like Ishmael had said, when the Fisara peered out from over the dam arch, the Leuca let out a high-pitched cry and swam back up the channel toward the Kadunan floodway. The Fisara followed it, leaving the dam, and traveled toward the floodway—its massive form passing over the wrecked dam gate and inadvertently completely breaking it this time—and at long last, the two leviathans united in the autumn colors of the Kadunan floodway.

After all the trouble it took to make it happen, Shin wasn’t very touched by their reunion. The other Processors and armored infantry reacted just as tiredly, honestly wishing the two creatures would hurry up and go away in peace. Fido alone gently approached the two of them on the riverbank and gave a few friendly beeps. The leviathans didn’t even acknowledge it.

“Pi…” It sounded slightly hurt.

Seeing Fido drop its shoulders (the back of its frame) dejectedly, Shin couldn’t help but feel like this indifference stood to reason. If a connection had formed between these two different species over such a short period of time, it would have bruised the pride of Ishmael’s Open Sea clans, who’d spent a millennium fighting those creatures.

And indeed, as Ishmael looked at Fido’s saddened behavior with exasperated eyes, the Fisara seemed to notice him out of the corner of its vision and, this time, turned around. It lowered its long neck as low as it could and glared straight at Ishmael. It was terribly clear that if this hadn’t been land—if this wasn’t humankind’s territory—it would have fired its heat ray without question.

“…What? Do you remember me, you bastard?”

Perhaps it recognized the distinctive tattoo of the Open Sea clans. His light hair, faded by sea and sun. The permanent salty fragrance that clung to him mixed with the scent of its nemesis.

And a smile spread over Ishmael’s face, too, a savage and somehow intimate smirk.

“What? Don’t stare at me like that, you bastard. I’ll tear you a new one, kid.”

Shin couldn’t tell if he was happy or angry at the creature. Maybe it was both. The Leuca kept traveling north up the Kadunan floodway, indifferent to them. The Fisara followed it, its long neck bent as it continued glaring at Ishmael.

Once the two leviathans passed through the floodway, the command officers all instantly shouted orders at the surrounding units, forbidding them from touching the creatures.

Ernst received word that the second northern front’s deserters had been disposed of and the remaining nuclear fuel recovered. He exhaled in relief—the crisis in the second northern front had been averted.

Despite that, somewhere in his heart, Ernst felt a twinge of regret.

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

“…True,” he whispered to himself in the empty office of the president’s residence. “I don’t care one bit about anything—after all, I have nothing left to fear for.”

He had nothing that was truly precious to him anymore. All the things he feared to lose, that he felt driven to protect, were already gone. Not even the ideals she believed in but which hadn’t come to pass—the way humanity should act.

But he kept protecting those ideals because they were what she had believed in. A world of kindness and justice, where no one had to be abandoned and everyone could be saved. And if this ideal was to be tarnished, then he wished, from the bottom of his heart, that everything would burn—people, countries, the whole world.

But even that didn’t matter to him anymore.

“Because she’s already gone.”

The 4th Armored Division retreated from the Hiyano River and regrouped with Rito’s unit, which was protecting their path back. Accordingly, the 3rd Armored Division, which had encroached into the territories to the far north, also began its retreat. Once the rear guard evacuated far enough, the Recannac dam’s charges were detonated.

With a rumble, the thin concrete dam arch collapsed, unleashing the blocked waters of the Recannac River to their original flow. After that, the adjacent Niioka dam and Niusei dam had their charges detonated once the squadrons passed by and the retreat of the units that kept control of the area was confirmed.

As those units retreated, like a thread being reeled back, the twenty-two dams heading up the Kadunan floodway were destroyed. Lastly, the Roginia dam, which held up the water at the top of the Roginia River’s stream, was blown up, and at the same time, the floodgates of the old Tataswa floodway and the new floodway were closed.

With this, all the waters of the Hiyano overflowed to the drenched riverbed of the Roginia defensive line, flooding the Womisam basin. The great Roginia River’s mire, which impeded the progress of the Legion, was now restored before the second northern front for the first time in over a century.

With the youngling in tow, the Fisara passed through the river mouth located in what the humans called the seaport of Zinori to reach the northern seas. Hostile metallic presences watched it from afar, but since they did not attack, it paid them no heed. Its attention was fixed off the coast, where the rest of the leviathan’s school was singing.

The youngling Leuca sank its body into the cold water, sucking the liquid between its long, trailing overcoat-like membrane and its armor scales before spraying it in a jet to swiftly approach the school. The Fisara followed it, sinking underwater and swimming back to the school, to its home in the familiar, frozen waters of the clear northern sea.

Within the depths of the lapis-lazuli waters, a memory crossed the Fisara’s mind. It thought of the group of bipedal creatures it had seen in the pond where it collected the youngling. As they murdered each other, it had heard something unfamiliar, barely audible—the cry of an individual which the leviathan could pick up. What could it have been?

In one of the Federacy’s many training bases, one silver-haired, silver-eyed First Lieutenant Henry Knot arrived to become a volunteer soldier. He was a former Republic soldier—in other words, a Republic citizen.

He was praised for his devoted service—quite unusual for a Republic soldier—and allowed to maintain his company-officer rank. When he was called into the first reserve, the other Federacy soldiers training with him kept him at a distance, but given what the Republic did to the Eighty-Six, it was only natural, so he didn’t let it bother him too much.

People would talk behind his back sometimes, but he faced no harassment, which gave him the impression the Federacy army was well-ordered and disciplined.

So when one of his colleagues beckoned him over to the phone booth in their common room, Henry simply pointed at himself, baffled. Soldiers were authorized to make private calls from the booth, but Henry never used it. When he’d volunteered to become a soldier, he’d bid his father a lengthy farewell, so Henry saw no need to talk to him after just a month.

But despite that, his colleague spoke clearly.

“Yes, First Lieutenant. First Lieutenant Henry Knot. There’s a call for you from your brother.”

“Huh?!”

When Henry hurried over, he saw the soldier’s expression was different from usual. The man looked awkward, like he felt that he was doing something wrong to Henry.

“Is your brother an Eighty-Six?”

Henry twitched and stiffened where he stood. Was he being accused of abandoning his family? His stepmother, and his little brother. It was true—he did abandon Claude.

“…Yes.”

“I see. That, hmm…must have been hard on you.”

Those words weren’t what he expected. Henry looked up at the tall soldier in surprise. He was a young reserve soldier, perhaps a year or two older than Henry.

“The internment camps must have started around the time you were seventeen, right? At that age, you think you can do anything, when there’s actually so much you can’t. So it…must have been hard.”

“…”

“So don’t avoid your kid brother because you can’t look him in the eye. If he called you, it means he wants to talk. Don’t take that chance away from him.”

“…Thank you.”

Indeed, Henry had once denied him that chance, so Claude must have been mad. And despite being angry with him, Claude was giving him another chance to talk. In that case…

“…Henry?”

“Claude?”

Claude’s voice sounded like he was trying to gauge the distance between them, but back when he thought Henry was just his unit’s Handler, he used to speak to him in a very unreserved tone. The fact that he started acting like this once he learned he was speaking to his brother was a stark reminder of the time they spent apart and the break in their relationship.

—Big Bro.

Claude would probably never call him that ever again.

“I heard you’re almost done with your training phase, so…I figured I’d reach out before it ends…”

“Oh… Thanks.”

Once he was stationed on the front line, he probably wouldn’t be able to take phone calls as easily as he could now.

“So what are you up to?” Henry asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

The fact that Claude called him meant he was back at his home base.

“Mm… I’m at a moon viewing.”

“Moon viewing?”

“There’s a festival like that somewhere. Shin… Well, my operations commander did something like that two years ago in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, and he decided to hold one again. You put up weird grass decorations and eat this weird candy.”

Henry glanced out the window across the room from the booth and gazed at the moon. The same moon Claude was looking up at now.

“Really…? That sounds fun.”

Since it was apparently essential for a moon viewing, they pulled out long leaves from around the Rüstkammer base’s maneuvering grounds. Sitting in the dining hall, where many such leaves were tied together and hung up as decoration, Shin connected with Lena via the Para-RAID. She was still at the medical facility, but she was looking up at the moon, too.

They made something similar to mooncakes under Michihi’s instructions. Shin mentioned offering up dumplings, and she responded they were made by kneading flour and boiling it. The Orienta members also brought up something about steamed potatoes, but they couldn’t decide on whether that meant potatoes or sweet potatoes, so they made both.

They probably got some…if not all the traditions wrong, but they just winged it based on feeling.

Two years ago, in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, Kujo suggested they have a moon viewing and mentioned something about a rabbit on the moon. Remembering this, Raiden cut apples into rabbit shapes, which, for some reason, turned one of the tables into an apple-rabbit-cutting class.

The supply team complained that just boiling potatoes wasn’t enough, so they put butter on them and made them into tarts. Having received a butter-fried one, Shin stuck his fork into it, noticed it was cut into a crescent, and looked up at the moon, which was in the same shape in the sky.

What they were talking about, sadly, wasn’t quite as poetic—the events of the upheaval in the second northern front. Not a fun topic, to be sure, but Lena wanted to hear about the contents of the operation. She was baffled by the recklessness of making nuclear weapons, grimaced upon hearing about the Hail Mary Regiment’s rash actions, and became speechless when she heard they used a dirty bomb. When he told her renegades tried to get a leviathan involved in the battle, she held her head before finally managing to say this:

“Hmm… It sounds like you had a hard time of it…”

“The operation itself wasn’t that bad.”

Albeit, all the things surrounding the operation ended up being a huge mess. After biting down on a buttered potato and swallowing a piece of it, Shin carried on.

“There were some good things… We were able to confirm in this operation that the Tausendfüßler are configured to decontaminate areas on top of collecting downed units and shell fragments. The effects of the dirty bomb they detonated should be minimal.”

“That’s… Well, at least that’s a relief.”

“Yeah… And, hmm, there’s something I realized.”

“Hmm? What?”

“The ringleader of the Hail Mary Regiment—she was the one who triggered the incident, but when her troops’ demands escalated, and when she tried to meet their expectations, the situation spiraled out of control.”

Shin had heard Ninha’s testimony. The ringleader was from a line of knights who served as a single city’s governors, and the soldiers from that town saw her as their lord and princess. She herself probably took pride in being a worthy leader to her people, in being a just-hearted princess, and her attempts to conduct herself as such were what landed her in so terrible a situation.

“The people who serve under someone can’t just obey. They have to support those above them. Because if they don’t, those they serve under will be driven to strive further and further until they’re crushed under the pressure. So it made me think if we…”

If we Eighty-Six, serving under our queen—

“…might be placing a burden on you, Lena.”

The dining-hall supervisor, having heard about the moon viewing, taught Lena how to make sweet potatoes. Those were circular like a full moon, in contrast to the moon she was looking up at now. While eating one as an after-dinner dessert with the rest of the recuperating soldiers, Lena was baffled by Shin’s words.

Shin, you, of all people, would say that? The eastern front’s headless reaper? You’re not just a king—you’re like a god of salvation.

“You have nothing to worry about. You don’t just follow me; you support me as well. You don’t simply expect things of me; you believe in me, too.”

Your Majesty. That title had respect and trust to it, but no worship or coercion.

“Besides, not having you rely on me at all hurts. You know that already. Or do you want me to start crying again?”

She felt Shin crack a sardonic smile, recalling their quarrel in the United Kingdom.

“…Yes, you’re right.”

“Right?” Lena said, unaware of the proud, fulfilled smile playing over her lips. “Don’t worry, you all support me plenty enough as it is. If anything, I’d prefer it if you acted more spoiled around me, Shin. Like earlier, when you had a severe ‘me deficiency.’”

“Oh. Can I take that as a verbal promise?” Shin replied jokingly.

He sounded like a mischievous child, as if asking Lena whether she was sure she wanted to make that promise.

But then he changed his tone and spoke earnestly and honestly, with a sincere if slightly impatient heat to his voice.

“I don’t have enough of you, Lena. I want to see you soon. To have you by my side.”

Lena giggled. She already had enough rest, having been given the time she needed to work through the feelings of emptiness and guilt that filled her mind. She was free from that inescapable maze of concern and anxiety. She had cleared enough space in her heart to want to talk to her boyfriend on the other side of the Resonance about her dreams for the future or her fun plans for the next day.

“Yes. I don’t have enough of you, either.”

When Anju spotted Claude a ways off, returning from his phone call, she abruptly asked Dustin:

“Are you calling your mother regularly? I’m sure she’s worried about you.”

“Well, she probably is, but…”

A boy his age didn’t feel comfortable having his mother fuss over him too much. Except…

“You said I’m allowed to cheat a little…and that saved us.”

If she hadn’t said that, Dustin’s mother—a woman who’d emigrated from the Empire and had no influence in the Republic—might not have evacuated in time…and might not have survived.

“No big deal.” Anju smiled, but then she looked away from Dustin thoughtfully. “Though…you could cheat a little when it comes to me, too.”

Dustin stared at her, puzzled, but her sky-colored eyes didn’t meet his.

“You’re too pure, Dustin, so you don’t like cheating. So I wish you’d cheat a little and tell yourself you’re doing it for me. Before something happens and you go past the point of no return, I want you to stop and come back.”

She lowered her wavering gaze, remembering someone who never came back. Someone precious she wished would return to her but never did. And Dustin never intended to let her get hurt like that again.

“…If it’ll keep you from hating me.”

He didn’t want to become a total coward, but if it would keep her from being hurt, he could try.

“And you too, Anju. You can cheat a little and say you’re doing it for my sake. You’re not allowed to give up on coming back, either.”

“Oh, I think I’m quite the cheat already, you know? I’m fawning on you because you said I can.”

“Fawning on me isn’t cheating.”

She flashed an impish smile and rested her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. Her giggle tickled his ear, and hearing it for the first time in a month, Dustin smiled blissfully without even realizing it.

Frederica had decided—she would be her own sovereign, master of her own fate. And such a sovereign wasn’t allowed to look grim. If she was too occupied with her own troubles, she wouldn’t be able to save others.

And so—

“First, I must endeavor to resolve my own issues,” she whispered firmly.

“We kept you waiting, lads! A freshly baked pumpkin pie, piping hot and fresh out of the oven!”

“Mm-hmm, I have been kept waiting, indeed! I, too, want a piece!”

The supply squad captain, a first lieutenant, walked in with a large plate of pumpkin pie and was instantly swarmed by the Processors. Frederica gleefully charged into the group of hungry boys and girls for her piece of the pie.

When they’d parted ways, Lieutenant Colonel Mialona brought in all sorts of books about nuclear power and nuclear weapons, her deputy looking on at his commander with a strained smile.

“This is all way over my head.”

Shiden could understand the contents of the books, but she didn’t see any beauty in it. Lieutenant Colonel Mialona had asked her to taste-test all sorts of subjects, but sadly, this one didn’t suit Shiden’s palate. However, she had the feeling that if she did discover something she’d have fun looking into, the lieutenant colonel would be just as pleased.

She’d placed the books in their study room in the base, which resulted in some of the others reading them and one or two of them reading everything before asking the teaching staff for more, so perhaps Lieutenant Colonel Mialona’s efforts did bear fruit.

“Beauty, eh…?”

Shiden felt like maybe, just maybe, she did understand the lieutenant colonel’s words. Looking up at the faint clouds that hid the moon, shining brighter than the other clouds around them, Shiden found herself reaching out to the sky.

As the prince of a large country, Vika handled most of his personal necessities on his own. And while Raiden knew that, he never would have expected him to know how to cut apple peels into uniform ribbons or how to carve apples into rabbits. Raiden thought this as he watched Vika carefully cut an apple into the shape of rabbit ears.

And despite many having something like it on the front lines, he didn’t expect the prince to carry his own multi-tool knife.

“Aren’t you going to make rabbit apples, too, Lerche?” Rito asked.

“Hmm, well, Sir Milan, I’m afraid fashioning fruit is too tall an order for me…”

“I didn’t make her to be that dexterous. Same as how you wouldn’t ask your Scavenger over there to peel apples.”

Fido, which had been gazing up at the moon elegantly outside, approached the open window. Michihi handed it a fruit knife in amused curiosity, but…it seemed even the otherwise talented Fido, which was good at towing Juggernauts and plowing snow, had tasks it couldn’t perform. It tried picking up the knife several times but kept dropping it.

Raiden looked on as Fido dropped its shoulders in disappointment and Lerche placed a sympathetic hand over its optical sensor.

“Vika, we get it, you know how to do it, so stop peeling already. No one’s going to eat all of those.”

Vika’s Imperial violet eyes turned to Raiden in surprise.

“What?” Raiden asked.

“Nothing. I did tell you to call me that, but…I just thought it was unusual coming from you.”

“Well, you know,” Raiden said as he peeled another apple. “I figured calling you ‘prince’ is kind of heavy.”

A prince was one charged with the responsibility to save everyone and was required to take responsibility for it if they couldn’t. It was an endlessly heavy burden that one had to be ready to shoulder if they were to take on the title.

Vika remembered what he told Frederica, and the words the Republic citizens and the Hail Mary Regiment survivors shouted. Help us. Protect us. Save us. They clung, made demands, and followed blindly—a flock of sheep, driving both themselves and the governor girl who led them off the edge of a cliff.

So being a king—not one’s own king, but the king of many, of countless sheep, who both followed and drove one on—meant…

“I’m not one of your subjects…so you don’t need people like me, people who don’t follow you, to call you prince, too,” said Raiden. “At least, that’s what I figured.”

Even if it was a nickname with no loyalty or worship attached to it.

“I never thought it was heavy…” Vika tilted his head.

One’s social station was something one was born into, and it was as much a natural part of a person as their limbs, eyes, and ears. No one felt that their limbs were heavy, and in much the same way, Vika didn’t think his royal station was a burden.

He didn’t, and yet—

“…But yes,” Vika said with an amused smile. “You are not one of my subjects. And if you’re not going to speak to me with respect either way, I would prefer it if you called me by my name.”

Everyone else present exchanged looks, and Kurena was the first to nod.

“Then we’ll call you Vika from now on!”

“Yeah, thanks, Vika.”

“And honestly, you could be more laid-back with us, too, Vika. Call us by our names, for once.”

“Yes! Plus, Vika is kinda long, so how about we just call you Vi?!” Tohru raised his hand, getting carried away.

“Do you want to quite literally be placed on the chopping block, fool?”

“…Stop it, you seven-year-old. It was a joke.”

“Yes, I, too, was joking, Your Highness. I truly was, Sir Jabberwock, so please don’t be so frightened.”

Upon visiting Zelene’s crypt for the first time in a month, Yatrai raised an eyebrow.

“You’re in quite the pitiful state, Zelene Birkenbaum.”

As a Legion, Zelene had mechanisms in place that forbade her from leaking intelligence regardless of her will. Both the Federacy military and Yatrai were aware of that. And they also knew that there was no way of confirming if she was only pretending to be limited by those restrictions.

And that was why Yatrai ordered the intelligence personnel to have her tell them everything. They asked her whatever she might want to say, and all the questions the Federacy wanted answers to.

If she said she couldn’t answer a question, that, too, was a kind of information. It told them what the Legion were prevented from sharing, what the mechanical threat was trying to hide. All those things, when stacked together, served as hints.

Of course, the Legion were never meant to speak in human language, so doing it for too long strained her. And being subjected to questioning for days was a great burden. Set inside her restraining container, Zelene was no longer capable of sarcasm.

<<What do you want?>> her electronic voice asked tiredly.

“Oh, I just came to give you a small reward. I can’t elaborate on the details, but we did discover evidence to support how rigid your prohibitions are. It was worth the effort of checking, because we’ve regained some speck of trust in you.”

The upheaval in the second northern front did allow them to formulate a hypothesis. The Legion didn’t attempt to recover the nuclear fuel. That meant that, if nothing else, the prohibition forbidding them from using nuclear weaponry was incredibly strict and firm.

This prohibition included dirty bombs. Perhaps the use of nuclear reactors and depleted uranium, as well as armor plates with depleted uranium included in them, were the sole exceptions. It was much like the funny story of how the restriction on their use of biological weaponry became so strict, they were no longer able to work alongside regular soldiers.

The Legion were made to replace rank-and-file soldiers, noncommissioned officers, or low-ranking officers on the battlefield. Such ordinary roles weren’t permitted tactical weaponry. In that case, perhaps, like nukes, the prohibition extended to the use of ballistic missiles, too.

“One more thing—and this is strictly out of curiosity. If you don’t want to answer this question, you don’t have to.”

He felt her gaze fix on him from the paper bag placed on top of her container, which had a face drawn on it. Yatrai spoke while gazing into the one cheap camera that allowed Zelene to peer into the world outside her container.

“Your ‘throne’ had a passage that leads into a lake of lava.”

In the depths of the Dragon Fang Mountain in the United Kingdom, at the throne of the Legion commander unit called the Merciless Queen, there was indeed a passage that led into a lake of lava. It was an unnatural place to have in a commander unit’s residence.

“You dug a path underground that didn’t serve as an escape tunnel. Did you do it to have a means of ending yourself? In case no one defeated the Phönix and came for you?”

In case humankind’s defeat was set in stone and they never gained the key to shut the Legion down. Yatrai, a member of a warrior bloodline that had defended the Empire for a thousand years, cocked his head ever so slightly at the undying ghost of another warrior house.

“It doesn’t have to be now. But if you can no longer bear the shame of staying alive, we’re willing to dispose of you—the last descendant of the Imperial warrior house of Birkenbaum.”

This was a modest mercy he would extend her as a member of another waning warrior house, who had to feel the shame of clinging to life.

Zelene’s response was firm.

<<—No.>>

Yatrai raised his brow. It was the first time he heard Zelene’s tone take on a human intonation. Seeing his reaction, Zelene carried on. Yes, she did consider death for the moment all hope was lost. Indeed, death was the proper end for a mechanical ghost like her. However—

<<No. I won’t die. I cannot choose death yet. Because those boys—Shinei Nouzen and Viktor Idinarohk—have yet to give up.>>

Even now, they were still out there, fighting. So for as long as there was a chance any information she could give them would contribute to their operations, to their victory, she had a duty to watch their battles to their conclusion.

<<I cannot afford to die yet.>>

Though they were given permission to leave the base, they had to do so in civilian clothes and with the military police following them.

I guess I am a Republic soldier…, Annette thought.

As she walked through the streets of Sankt Jeder, she saw the news being broadcast on the street television.

“…They’re reporting on it.”

Information about the “wiretaps” had finally been disclosed to the press. The wiretaps were the source of the information leak to the Legion. Since the Legion could still be listening in on their transmissions, the army couldn’t afford to share that information soon after the arrest. It had now been quite a while since the roundup, and the exact dates of when it happened were cleverly left unmentioned, but there were no lies in the report.

The Republic used Eighty-Six children in an act that breached the Federacy’s faith.

“Yeah, that explains it.”

Annette felt hard gazes on her from passersby, probably because of the reporting. There were many Alba citizens in a multiethnic country like the Federacy, and when she was in civilian uniform, there was no immediate way of identifying Annette as a Republic soldier. This implied a general drop in the popularity of Alba across the country, not just Republic citizens.

She heard comments from the crowd like “Hey there, Weißhaare,” a derogatory term for the silver-haired Alba. The military police moved in quickly to block out their looks and insults.

“We’re sorry, Major. You’re cooperating with us, but our people say things like that…”

“Is it just around town, or do Alba soldiers get looked at like this, too?”

A soldier who spent most of their time inside the base likely knew how Alba were seen there. The military police officer made a bitter expression.

“I’m ashamed to say that they do.”

“Native Alba are treated this way, too, and volunteer soldiers from the Republic are seen as traitors…”

The news was full of debates that criticized the Republic, which only made the voices in the crowd all the more enraged. “This is why you can’t trust those weißhaare,” they said. “Cowardly Alba. We saved their lives, and this is how the traitors repay our kindness.”

“This is why those poor Eighty-Six children took revenge on them like that.”

Even comments like that went unsilenced. “The bastards in the Republic treated the children so awfully that they decided to collude with the Legion to take revenge on them”—so said one indignant voice in the crowd.

I agree, the Republic are bastards, but…, Annette thought with a sigh.

She had a strange yearning for another one of those paper cups of caramel coffee with a cute cat drawn on it.

“What, Theo, you one of those wiretaps, too? They put a quasi-nerve crystal in you, did they?” one colleague asked in a poor attempt at a joke.

“Not anymore, the Federacy took it out when they picked us up. Wanna see the scar?” Theo replied indifferently.

“Uh… Sorry. I didn’t think they really put one in you…,” said the colleague apologetically.

It wasn’t funny, but it wasn’t worth getting mad over, either. The colleague apologized profusely, but Theo shook his head, said it was fine, and then returned his ear to the mobile phone he’d been holding away from his mouth while conversing with the man.

During operational hours, using a cell phone for personal calls was frowned upon from an information-security perspective, but Theo was on break, and he was currently in an instruction unit’s base. He did need to watch what he was saying, but he was allowed to make the call.

“…Mister?”

“Oh, sorry, ignore that… How are you doing, Miel? How’s life over there treating you?”

He was speaking from Sankt Jeder to a boy who lived in a territory on the western frontier, one of the evacuation sites for Republic refugees—Miel Renard, the bereaved son of Theo’s old captain.

That’s right, Renard—“fox.”

It was only now, years later, that Theo realized this was why the man had used a fox as his Personal Mark. Incidentally, the captain’s name was Sylvain, so his name meant “forest fox.” His son’s name, Miel, stood for “honey”—“honey-colored fox.” Apparently, their entire family had some kind of affinity for foxes.

“Some stuff happened in a city where all the important people live, but my town is fine. The facility manager and the other Federacy soldiers are all nice. Oh, and…”

“Mm?”

“The food’s really good.” Young Miel sighed profoundly. “Real meat and fish taste so good. And eggs and milk and jam and cakes…”

Theo couldn’t help but smile. That was good to hear. “Once everything settles down, I’ll take you fishing. And we can make cakes and jam, too.”

“Yeah!” He could almost feel the boy nod excitedly and lean in over the phone.

But then Miel hushed his voice.

“Say, hmm… Is everything okay on your side, though, mister?”

“My side? Why?”

“There’re more scary people around there, right? What do they call them…? They have those really long names.”

What was he talking about?

“When the Republic lost in the last large-scale offensive, they said it was all your…all the Eighty-Six’s fault. They gathered around and protested that you didn’t fight hard enough.”

“…Oh.”

He meant the Bleachers. Theo didn’t remember their full name, either, but since their slogan was reclaiming the pure white, Shin took that and started calling them “bleachers,” which caught on among the rest of the group.

“Those guys are only…wherever the Republic people are, so they’re not in the capital.”

“Oh, really?”

“But what do you mean ‘more’ scary people?”

Theo heard that after the second large-scale offensive, the Bleachers lost the civilians’ support and had a stark drop in their political power.

“Well, the important people who’d say stuff like that didn’t come back, but there’s more people bad-mouthing you. They say the Republic wouldn’t have fallen if the Eighty-Six fought right, and they should be fighting instead of them now.”

The leaders who failed to reclaim the Eighty-Six and didn’t save the Republic had all been driven out for their incompetency, but the people had still inherited their rhetoric of pinning the blame of defeat and military duty onto the Eighty-Six. With no one to lead or control them, these ideas continued to swell up on their own among the people.

“After we came to the Federacy, a lot of people had to go join the army. And now their families and the people who didn’t want to enlist are unhappy with that… They’re rioting all over the place every day.”

The Republic citizens who’d fled to the Federacy were scattered around several evacuated towns in the western-frontier production territory of Monitozoto, with their government functions being stationed in the wintry health resort of Laka Mifaka.

A large hotel in the city center was devoted to the government building, while the remaining hotels and the villas in its suburbs were allotted to Celena high officials and former nobles. Despite them being refugees who’d evacuated here, they lived in high-class residences. However, since the people related to the wiretaps were arrested, a strange tension hung over the area. The Federacy didn’t arrest just the low-ranking military officials operating the wiretaps, but also the high officials who’d given them the order to do so, as well. Whenever someone else was discovered to be related to the matter, the Federacy military police would show up to arrest them, too, and so the upper classes weren’t able to enjoy their luxurious lives.

The leader of the Bleachers, Primevére, was one person who was very much on tenterhooks over the possibility of the military police coming for her. She wasn’t involved with the wiretaps, but the lieutenant colonel who was arrested was a comrade of hers. Since she’d lost much of her influence, she was given a relatively small villa, and eventually, the military police would likely come to question her, too.

“…What?”

But that day, Primevére went pale for a reason entirely unrelated to the military police. The Federacy’s news programs reached Laka Mifaka as well. One of her colleagues saw the program and called her attention to it—a mugshot of an escaped Eighty-Six girl.

“The Actaeon survived…and escaped…?”

Among the Federacy army, many soldiers only received minimal education and didn’t have detailed information about the nature of nuclear weapons. The vague news of the commotion in the second northern front’s 37th Armored Division was received by the rest of the northern front and the other fronts as well with a degree of misunderstanding.

A dangerous nuclear weapon nearly destroyed the second northern front, and it was the Strike Package that stopped it from happening. Or the Fleet Countries’ people summoned a monster called a leviathan that protected the second northern front from the nuclear weapon. Or nuclear weapons could destroy the Legion, but traitors tried to hide it. Or the Federacy was meant to win using this powerful superweapon called a nuke, but the leviathans got in the way. Or the traitors tried to cooperate with the Legion with the nuclear weapons, only to be stopped by the Strike Package.

Their stories didn’t make it clear what the Strike Package even was anymore, but they did know it was an elite unit of amazing Eighty-Six heroes. And so the soldiers continued embellishing and exaggerating their stories until what they said didn’t resemble the truth at all.

“—If they’re supposed to be heroes.”

Looking at the mire that spread on the other side of the Roginia line’s currents, Vyov Katou, an armored infantryman, whispered in shocked amazement. Despite having fallen back, the second northern front’s battlefield was still within the confines of the combat territories. Though many of its soldiers and field officers were former citizens of those territories, they weren’t from here specifically. Even so, the outcome the Strike Package brought to this place came as a terrible shock for the soldiers.

There was no flour to be grown in this sea of mud. No sheep or cows or pigs to herd here.

Many of the territories’ people were farmers. To them, the sight of the water and mud destroying this agricultural land and bringing it to a state that would take a long time to repair struck them as terribly cruel.

Vyov gritted his teeth. This wasn’t a solution. This wasn’t a success, or a victory. This wasn’t the future or salvation he was looking forward to!

“What the hell is the Strike Package doing…?”

They were heroes. Elites. Weren’t they supposed to save Vyov and the second northern front?!

“But you didn’t do anything! Aren’t heroes supposed to save everyone?! You good-for-nothings!”

It was sudden.

The faces of the boys who died before his eyes, young men just slightly older than him, their enraged expressions, and the sound of shouting wafted up in his mind like soap bubbles. It made Shin’s breath catch in his throat.

The memory resurfaced, still fresh in his mind. An outrageous and yet terribly heartfelt shout.

It was the memory of the moment when those young men were torn to bits by gunfire.

They all had the same faces. Even though they all should have looked different from one another, when they completely discarded their individuality and moved in perfect tandem, when they spoke the same words, had the same thoughts, and were dyed in the same emotions—their faces all became the same to him.

It was a terrifying moment. People who couldn’t become masters of their own fate, people who harbored no fear whatsoever. Even people as powerless as that could still blame others.

I can’t. I won’t decide. They would say that and still try to place blame. They could still step over someone else.

They were different from the Eighty-Six who’d been made into Shepherds. People who, even through hatred, could not achieve anything. And for some reason, it terrified Shin.

Sensing Shin sink into thought, Lena blinked once.

“Shin? Is something wrong?”

“Huh?”

“Something upset you just now.”

“Oh…” After a moment’s thought, Shin shook his head. “No, don’t worry about it. I don’t quite understand it yet myself.”

“Well, if you say so…”

What’s wrong? As that thought lingered in her mind, Lena returned to the topic at hand. She was curious about that anxious, almost fearful silence, but if Shin himself didn’t fully understand it, there wasn’t much point in pressing him on it. She did know that, as he was now, Shin wouldn’t simply look away from a problem or try to bottle it up and take it solely upon himself.

“Halloween. I’m disappointed I can’t be there this year, but next year, I’ll definitely participate. And I want you to participate with me.”

“Well…I don’t mind, but this year, it’s mostly people wearing sheets to play around as ghosts, so a lot of people want to go all out next year.”

In place of a farewell party, the second northern front threw a slightly delayed Halloween party, but since it was difficult for the supply line to provide an entire brigade’s worth of costumes given the war situation, everyone had to improvise using their personal clothes and whatever materials they had handy. For the most part, that meant sheet ghosts, drawing stitch marks on their faces, using handkerchiefs to make werewolf ears, or putting on thick makeup to look like witches.

Lena paused to think. Sheet ghosts were easy enough to make, but they couldn’t very well cut holes in the sheets.

“Could they see what was in front of them with those sheets on?”

“Apparently not. Most of them decided to change classes to witches, werewolves, or monsters.”

One example that stood out for how simple it was: A few of the Orienta members, Michihi included, put paper talismans on their foreheads to pass off as Far Eastern ghosts—a pretty successful idea. Marcel also got a lot of credit for writing the word ghost on his forehead and walking around with it with a straight face.

“What did you dress up as, Shin?”

“…I put an eyepatch over one of my eyes, and they had me hold a mop, saying it was a spear.”

Like a chief deity and god of death from a certain mythology, apparently.

“That’s cool!”

“Rito, who came up with it, laughed, and Raiden, Anju, and Kurena all snickered at me, too… Rito had a pumpkin drawn on his face, and Raiden wore grease camouflage paint to look like a zombie. Anju used blue makeup to look like a snow queen, and Kurena put on red lipstick to look like a vampire princess. It felt unfair that they laughed at me.”

Shin grumbled tiredly. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate it.

“Yes, but I can understand wanting to take that chance to be cute.”

“What would you wear, Lena? Like, for next year.”

Lena paused and considered this. Being a sheet ghost didn’t seem too appealing.

“…How about that magical girl Frederica likes?”

“Does that count? That’s not really a monster, it’s just a costume.”

“I think it counts as a witch.”

“Isn’t it more of a fairy…?”

Lena thought it didn’t really matter. More crucially—

“How about you dress up as a werewolf next year? With well-made ears, not handkerchiefs.”

“Shouldn’t that be Raiden? He’s the one piloting Wehrwolf.”

“But I want to see you with puppy ears, so I can rub your ears. And a tail, too!”

She then concluded that black cat ears with a tail like TP’s would work as well, and if Raiden being a werewolf was decided, they could put fox ears and a tail on Theo. That way, she’d be able to pat everyone.

Lena’s excited suggestion, however, only resulted in a very disgruntled voice from Shin.

“Ugh…”

Hearing Shin heave an exasperated groan, unlike anything she’d ever heard him make in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, Lena burst into laughter.