86 - Volume 13 - Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

I UTTER THE NAME

The Federal Republic of Giad’s combat areas were located in the northwest of the continent. During the dark days of winter, it wasn’t spared from the Legion’s tyrannical grasp. And yet the cold soil under the curtain of powder snow was harder than metal, making the four northern front lines relatively preferable. By contrast, the southern and western fronts were brutal. The snow that fell during night melted due to sunlight and the atmospheric temperature. The resulting water seeped into the land and turned the whole area into a quagmire.

It wasn’t a sea of mud thick enough to impede the Löwe and Dinosauria, but it did slow down towed howitzers and supply trucks, and it tripped up the armored infantry. Any trenches they dug were full at the bottom with freezing muddy water, sapping away the soldiers’ body heat, stamina, and morale.

And this was doubly true of the poor infantry soldiers who had to sit there, exposed to the cold in their metal-black combat uniforms and snow camouflage overcoats.

The steel army walked across the trenches. The final soldier who’d stayed behind to fight somehow managed to crawl out of the trench, only to trip over his numb, freezing legs and fall over. Before he could cry for help, a Löwe’s stake-like leg crushed him. Its revolving machine guns roared, firing sweeping barrages at the fleeing soldiers. A moment later, 155 mm explosive shells rained down and exploded above the suppressed trenches, unleashing a shower of self-forging fragments over the murder machines. This was the final artillery support the soldiers who just died had ordered.

“Now! Charge! Take it back!”

Such barrages were fired over several spots in the trenches, positioned to strike the advancing Legion from three directions. Infantry charged out from surrounding trenches, kicking up snow as they rushed, diving into empty trenches under the covering fire of their allies. They shot at Legion that survived the bombardment, aiming from close range with their rifles or otherwise using what precious few 88 mm anti-tank guns they had. The trenches they slid into were covered in equal parts slush and the blood and remains of their allies.

The Federacy’s unique trenches, which were perpendicularly bent to soften shock waves, and the steel and concrete anti-tank barriers were all worn out and crumbling from days of nonstop fighting. Their allied armored unit was pulled back to the rear, relegated to mobile defense, and wasn’t there to help them.

“There are no Vánagandrs to help us, and the artillery units have their hands full supporting everyone. So we’re the only ones who can protect this place!”

Stopping for a smoke became a habit of hers ever since the second large-scale offensive. She blew out a puff of violet smoke into the cold, snow-specked air. The artillery commander’s daughter, with her long black hair and black-rimmed glasses, looked over her battlefield covered in snow and mud.

Artillery units fought their battles by firing high-firepower ordnance, deployed dozens of kilometers behind the front lines. Things weren’t as hectic as they were on the trenches built right before enemy lines, but so long as fighting continued on the front lines, requests for artillery support came in nonstop.

And so in what scant moments of pause they found between one battle and another, her subordinates had time to eat their proper meal for the day—combat rations consisting of a main dish of a meat pack, with biscuits they could dip and crumble into the sauce. In the meanwhile, she took her cigarette and got her share of caffeine from a cup of coffee substitute.

“Looks like everything’s abuzz on your end, artillery girl.”

She glanced back, catching sight of a familiar young man—the commander of the armored division. The armored division, too, was called in to intercept the enemy wherever the infantry’s trenches were being broken through, leaving them with little time to rest, but they seemed to have found some time to return for supplies and maintenance. Armored weapons were extremely heavy, which strained their engines, requiring maintenance equal to their operation time.

He had a cigarette between his teeth, and a noncommissioned officer walked over and lit it for him. His tanker jacket was faded from overuse, and fatigue was clearly visible on his soot-covered face. Behind him was his eight-legged mechanical mount, encased in mud up to its underbelly.

“Right back at you, armored kid. Doesn’t look like the scraps’ offensive is dying down anytime soon.”

“Sadly. This one’s gonna last awhile.”

He curled up the corners of his lips, a cigarette in his mouth and his eyes mirthless. The long battle was exhausting him, but there was no end in sight nor was the situation tipping in their favor. He wouldn’t be able to keep going if he didn’t at least force a smile.

“I wasn’t keeping count, so this is just me eyeballing it, but…I have this feeling the Legion’s numbers have only increased since this offensive’s started.”

The artillery commander’s daughter frowned. “I guess the Legion that used to be Eighty-Six finished their massacre in the Republic.”

“And they’ve changed their methods on top of that. This isn’t them just throwing big numbers at us to pressure our front down. They’re watching how we fight back and luring out the less organized units, sending in their main force there to break through them. That’s how they’ve overrun sectors with a lot of reservists multiple times already.”

To make up for the massive casualties they suffered in the first large-scale offensive, the Federacy military had to rely on reservists and cut down on their training time. Soldiers with insufficient education and training were also less disciplined and organized. They couldn’t compare with veteran soldiers who spent the last decade surviving the Legion War.

They made small but significant errors in judgment and were easily rattled or perhaps simply unlucky. The new soldiers fell apart in situations where experienced soldiers were able to hold on.

“And to take back that lost footing, veteran units have to throw themselves into danger and lose troops. The flights to heaven have been awfully crowded since last year’s large-scale offensive. Too many to send back, too. Those who don’t make it in time end up packed together and frozen.”

If it wasn’t autumn, I’d have slid a bug down your back by now.

When Vika told him this, it took Shin a second to realize why he said it—before it dawned on him that Frederica must have told him her real identity of her own accord.

Her true background was information they didn’t disclose to others out of concern for her safety, but if Frederica herself had decided to tell him, he wasn’t going to disagree with that choice. Vika seemed to understand that, so his talk of sneaking bugs down people’s backs was just a joke.

…Except his words prompted Lerche to charge at Shin with a poor frozen butterfly in hand, so Vika only treated it as a joke because he couldn’t find a bug even after looking for one.

Either way.

“—Oh. You already know where the base is. So you were already drafting the plan when the satellite bombardment cut you off.”

Since he was already in on the secret, Shin saw no need to hide everything else from him. Shin called a meeting for some made-up reason and was now seated at a table with Raiden and Vika.

“We already decided on the operation’s name, what units would participate, and its date before the second large-scale offensive happened. But now that the situation’s changed, we need to reexamine our information, and we’re reformulating which units should take part.”

Operation Overlord.

Its goal was to seize a Legion command position and use Frederica’s blue blood as an empress to configure who had command rights over the Legion. Since the murder machines were still carrying on the Empire’s dying will, she could order them to shut down or self-destruct. It was a grand operation aiming to put an instant, decisive end to the Legion War. And with the second large-scale offensive surrounding all humankind and pushing them against the wall, it was their last chance to turn the tables at the eleventh hour.

“The free regiments we were hoping to include in the operation ended up being deployed across different fronts to compensate for casualties, and they can’t be moved… Problem is, we don’t have much time to prepare.”

Prior to the meeting, Shin had checked on progress with Joschka, who told him the elite divisions under the major nobles, kept out of combat so far as reserves, were being sent into battle. On top of that, the nobles were considering conscripting more soldiers to make up for their insufficient numbers.

The Strike Package for Operation Overlord, and so once Lena returned, he wanted Frederica to tell her and Grethe the truth. As brigade commander and tactical commander, Grethe and Lena would need time to consider the operation. And besides, having to withhold the truth about the possibility that the war could soon be over weighed on him. Being able to confide in Vika about the operation made him feel the slightest bit guilty, however.

He got the feeling that Lena could end up becoming oddly jealous if he didn’t tell her soon.

With this concern—which was both strange and inconsequential in the grand scale of Operation Overlord—crossing Shin’s mind, he looked over at a map of the western front displayed on a holo-screen. Raiden raised a brow, apparently sensing what he was thinking, and Shin decided to kick him in the ass later.

“Recently, several corps-size Legion forces have appeared on the western front. These forces aren’t the same size as the ones that wiped out the Republic… If I had to guess, a surviving country to the west or south must have fallen.”

It must have been a country from the southern or far west countries—which they hadn’t been able to establish communications with—or perhaps an eastern, far eastern, or southwestern country.

Vika scoffed. “New units have appeared on the United Kingdom’s eastern and western fronts, too. The one on the eastern front is probably the one that destroyed the Fleet Countries, but we don’t know where the one on the western front came from. Your assumption that a country must have fallen is likely correct.”

“Even a large country like the United Kingdom and a mountainous one like the Alliance are being pressured. It only makes sense that smaller countries would end up falling… The Federacy isn’t going to last for much longer, either.”

Even just holding their positions resulted in a mounting death toll, while the enemy’s numbers only increased. Even with refugees joining the conscription pool, they were starting to scrape the bottom of the barrel in terms of how many trainees and reservists they had. The Federacy truly wouldn’t last long.

Eventually, they’d end up in a situation much like when Vika used all his remaining Alkonost units to retake the Revich Citadel. Right now, their only choices were to either throw themselves at a breakthrough solution, reckless though it may be, or wait until the enemy ground them down to nothing.

“Yeah… So we have to pick the bare minimum of forces we’ll need and confirm the information we have. Once we have that, we’ll make our move.”

This was the first time she was entrusted with having to explain things like this.

“This is about our plans for the time being. The Strike Package won’t participate in operations on any of the fronts.”

Gathered in HQ’s briefing room were the captains of the 1st Armored Division—like Michihi and Rito—and their lieutenants, as well as Shiden, who was the captain of HQ’s defensive unit. And standing before them and giving the briefing was Kurena, who seemed rather excited. Claude and Tohru were also there to offer extra information if needed in place of Anju, who was absent.

“So we’ll remain in training until we’re informed of our next operation… We can’t all get time off, but in between training, we’ll take turns to rest.”

“Oooh.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Also, engineers from the western front’s forces will be coming to set up a new reserve position in the strip of the Zasifanoksa Forest that’s next to the base. We won’t be helping with the construction, but we can stay up to date on its structure.”

Mitsuda, commander of the 5th Battalion, raised his head.

“Reserve position? I thought the western front’s army was spread along the reserve position on the Saentis-Historics line. Are they setting up a reserve position for the reserve position?”

“The Saentis-Historics line became the new main line after the reinforcement work was done. They don’t want to fall back any farther than this, but they do need to set up a position they can retreat to if it comes down to it.”

“…Oh. They’ll reach the fields and factories if they fall back anymore.”

All fronts in the Federacy, the western front included, had been forced to pull back to the very edge of the combat territories. Since the Federacy had the largest territory in the continent, they still had land they could retreat to in terms of sheer surface area. However, the next time they’d be forced to do so, they’d be in the production territories, where the farmland and factories that supported the Federacy’s vast population were.

A front’s army included tens of thousands of troops. Placed over a stretch of land, they would take up a hundred kilometers, including the rear ranks. They’d end up occupying the entire outer circumference of the production territories.

“So they have to be prepared for everything,” Michihi said, looking up at the ceiling.

Indeed, resolved as they were to defend their homeland, they had to be prepared for the worst.

Locan, the 7th Battalion’s commander, raised a hand. “I understand training for the operation, Kurena, but what about supplies?”

“About the Reginleifs’ parts, we’ll be supplied the bare minimum we’ll need on the next shipment.”

The Strike Package was deployed in a rotation, with one of the four armored divisions on leave. During that time, that division’s Reginleifs were sent back to the factory for inspection and overhauling. But now all four divisions were to deploy to the operation together, with every spare unit and those scheduled for inspections being sent out. This plan was meant to resolve the issue.

The captains all responded negatively to the words bare minimum, so Claude appended, “They don’t have enough to deliver the amount we need, but Supplies and Arsenal are busy like crazy right now. Colonel Grethe had to do a lot of convincing to secure us this shipment, so no complaining. Also, try not to wreck your units.”

The captains nodded with strained smiles, but Shiden piped in:

“Roger that, I guess, but if yer gonna ask someone not to wreck their unit, you might wanna talk to your captain first, Claude boy.”

“True enough. I’ll let him know.” Claude nodded nonchalantly.

But this was no joke; she really would have to tell him not to do anything reckless with his unit going forward. With that thought in mind, Kurena took over the briefing again.

Shin looked coolheaded, but he was actually really prone to letting the blood go to his head… This was something Kurena only realized recently.

“Er, and about getting new troops. The Vargus civilians are finishing training over in Fortrapide City, so they’ll join us, mostly as accompanying infantry. Other units aren’t in a position to lend us their infantry anymore.”

“…Mostly as infantry?”

The captain of the 6th Battalion, Kunoe, sighed. It was almost like the new troops were meant to compensate for Processors who might die in the battles to come.

“I hate this… I thought I was used to this, but seeing our friends die still hurts.”

At least until Operation Overlord starts, Kurena thought.

The details were still undecided, so they couldn’t tell the others yet, but eventually, they’d inform all the captains and Lena, who wasn’t here. They needed to let Grethe know, too. She was a colonel, meaning she wasn’t a noble, but she didn’t know about Frederica’s identity. As brigade commander, she needed to be informed about the operation.

Shin and the others had spoken to Frederica and decided to wait and see how Ernst and the other top brass of the military would respond. But before that, Kurena would need to ask Bernholdt to arrange a meeting with the new Vargus recruits, and she’d need to check the defensive formation, too…

Whoa…

Being commander meant you were really busy, as it turned out. Kurena frowned, trying to keep her expression out of sight.

“…Like you said, if we can identify the communications satellite, we’ll be able to confirm if the base…if Zelene’s information is true or not.”

Operation Overlord hinged on the authenticity of the base, making it the most crucial bit of information when it came to boosting the operation’s chances of success. Shin brought up the communications satellite Zelene had mentioned as one possible clue, and Vika nodded.

“If the Rabe moves in to operate in its place in case it’s lost, that would imply the satellite is in scheduled communications with the base, even if via relay. If that’s the case, locating the satellite shouldn’t be that hard. After all, when the satellite bombardment happened, the Federacy was able to notice the change in how many satellites were up there.”

Artificial satellites remained in orbit and floated at a high altitude, hidden above the horizon. This made them difficult to detect, but depending on how strong a radar’s output was, it could spot satellites from a great distance, and under certain conditions, they could even be seen with the naked eye. If any satellites that remained in orbit after the second large-scale offensive existed in records dating back to the start of the Legion War, it was likely the satellite they were looking for could be among them.

“If we can identify both the base and the satellite, we’ll be able to record how long their transmissions take. Indeed, if we can identify a transmission, we’ll be able to confirm it’s between the base and the satellite…and if we’re lucky, we might be able to directly transmit a shutdown order to the satellite from outside, without taking the base.”

If the satellite was caught on radar, that meant it was within range for transmissions to reach it. However…

“That’s impossible, isn’t it?” Shin promptly cut him off.

“Probably.” Vika nodded, unaffected.

If it was possible to transmit to the satellite and update command ownership over the Legion from anywhere, Zelene wouldn’t have mentioned the base as the key to shutting down the Legion. And given they hadn’t deciphered the communication encryption the Legion used, falsifying a transmission would be difficult. And of course, a military satellite’s security wouldn’t be easy to crack.

Raiden, however, cut into their words. “Wouldn’t you be capable of that? Intruding and falsifying.”

“I won’t say I’m not, but… Come to think of it, Milizé asked me something similar not long ago. If I’d have spent the years I worked as a commander on the front and improved the Sirins, developing their artificial intelligence, I might have been able to do that. But if I’d focused on that, the United Kingdom wouldn’t have lasted. So I told her that I had no intention or time to do so.”

It was possible technologically speaking, but he lacked the resources to do it. Hence, he could do it, but he wouldn’t.

“Stop saying complicated—”

“Hacking into the communications satellite would likely take me that much time. Would you like for me to step away from the fighting to do that?”

His homeland couldn’t survive for years, so clearly, they couldn’t wait for that. Even knowing this, His Highness asked that question. Raiden shrugged.

“No, we need you here. We’ve got Lena and Major Zashya to function as commanders without you, but they can’t fix up the Sirins.”

“Running your mouth, aren’t you?” But even saying this, Vika flashed an amused smile.

Come to think of it, Shin had stopped hearing them call Vika by their nickname for him: Your Highness. Pondering this, Shin put the conversation back on track.

“We’ll need to confirm the satellite is actually working first… Won’t that be enough to confirm the base, too?”

“It’ll be better than nothing, and that’s the Intelligence Department’s work regardless… By the way, have you heard of how the Intelligence Department got the Merciless Queen, with how she refused to answer anything confidential, to actually talk?”

“Mm? No.”

“Torture doesn’t work on the Legion, does it? They must have forced her somehow, then.”

Vika had an expression like he just heard a truly funny joke.

“They used coercion… They read out the names of important figures who’d died or gone missing in the Imperial faction’s last resistance one by one, then had Zelene repeat the names to identify who was a Shepherd and who wasn’t.”

“…”

Speaking the names that Shepherds had in life was a violation of protected information. And so if she was able to repeat a name, it wasn’t one, and if the protection prevented her from doing so, it would identify that name as a Shepherd. However…

“…Isn’t that just a lot of busywork?”

Shin had no idea how many people were listed, but the important figures would likely take a long time to read out. Imagining it painted a rather silly image.

“The interrogators took turns over several days, and it made Zelene overheat, causing her issues a few times. All they were doing was testing for ways to question her, so you can sympathize with her for when the real questioning begins. Formulating the right questions would take considerable time, too.”

“Gotta feel bad for ’em…both for Zelene and the people questioning her.”

Shin had to agree. But on top of that, he came to a realization.

“…They could use that method to get her to expose the name of that base’s commander unit. If there’s a recording of their voice anywhere, some old transmission or anything, I’ll be able to tell if they’re really in the base—”

Raiden and even Vika looked apologetic for some reason.

“We can’t know for sure if the commander unit for that base is necessarily from the Imperial faction, but yes, that could work.”

“So they’ll keep reading out the names of Imperial soldiers they’ve confirmed are Shepherds, then have her say if they’re the commander of the base. That’s extra stupid work.”

This meant that Zelene would be forced to repeat that stupid image over and over again. Shin did think he wanted to go see her once before the operation. But now…he felt like he needed to hear her complain.

“But, Shin, would you be all right doing that? Getting close to the front lines and that base put a strain on you.”

The distance between the active battle zones and the base was still far relative to the Eighty-Sixth Sector. And with the Sheepdogs active, which hadn’t been a problem back then, the wailings of the Legion were much stronger now. Indeed, since the second large-scale offensive started, there’d been more instances where the strain felt too much to bear.

But Shin replied with that in mind. Yes, it was harder on him, and he appreciated the concern, but… Well, if he insisted on digging his own grave.

“Yeah. So handle my paperwork for me for a while, Vice Captain Shuga.”

“What?! Why, you…!”

“…If that’s all it takes to get the load off you, that’s good, but we can’t afford to have you collapse before the operation. Zelene trusts you, so having you question her would be ideal. And having you move away from the fighting for a while is efficient since it’ll give you time to rest, too.”

Ignoring Raiden’s complaints, Vika casually gave his advice, to which Shin shrugged. The Strike Package would certainly participate in Operation Overlord. Shin had no intention of staying out of that operation, and he doubted any of his comrades wanted that, either.

They were Eighty-Six, after all. They trusted only in their own strength and that of their comrades, and they resolved to fight to the very end. The meaning of their battle had changed for each of them since they left the Eighty-Sixth Sector, but the will to fight on remained the same for all of them.

And so as their commander, leaving the unit for even a short time was a choice that Shin couldn’t afford to take, both in terms of keeping up with his training and maintaining the unit’s morale.

“I can’t do that.”

Upon spotting Anju returning from the base’s annexed maneuvering ground alongside Dustin, who was in his tanker jacket for the first time in a while, Frederica hurried over to confirm his return to duty. He was exempt from operations and training for the moment due to the Republic of San Magnolia Relief Expeditionary Force.

“Ooh, Dustin. Are you well enough to be out and about already?”

But once she asked that, Frederica realized what had happened and curled her lips up into a smirk. She didn’t need to hear an answer to see he was doing well enough.

“…My, my.”

He was already clearly tired on his feet. He was too exhausted to even lift his head, and Anju, who contrasted him in how unaffected she looked, cracked a strained smile.

“He’s gotten pretty rusty. He’s motivated enough, but his body isn’t keeping up with his mind.”

“Much to my shame…”

“I told you, you can get back in shape and work on your reflexes, but it takes time to get used to it… What should we do, though? I don’t think I can train with you every time, with the way things are now…”

She was free now because she’d had Kurena, Claude, and Tohru handle the briefing, but with preparations for Operation Overlord on top of her usual duties as platoon captain, she was quite busy. She was, of course, ready and willing to help Dustin get back in shape, but she couldn’t do it at the cost of her responsibilities.

“Don’t worry about me, Anju,” Dustin said, his head still hung from exhaustion. “I know how busy you are right now. I’ll ask Yuuto or…Ichihi—whoever’s free—for help, so I’ll manage.”

He brought up the names of his fellow 6th Platoon members, but he was so tired, he couldn’t pronounce the second name right. And with how bad his mental state was, he ended up blurting out his unfiltered thoughts.

“I mean, ideally, I’d love to have you help me train…but we eat together every day, and we hang out when we’re free. And we put up those dried flowers together, and making bouquets together was fun, so honestly, I’m good for now. I can’t take any more of your time.”

“D-Dustin?!”

Anju glanced between Frederica and Dustin in a flustered manner, and hearing her panic, Dustin finally looked up and recalled Frederica was there. Frederica, meanwhile, appeared a bit stumped on how to respond to this stream of gushing, and she eventually decided to smile with all the kindness of the Holy Mother.

“It seems you two are happy together every day.”

“Oh gosh…!” Anju ran off, red in the face.

Dustin, left behind and with his face every bit as flushed as hers, stood stock-still with Frederica staring at him.

“…Being happy together every day is all fine and dandy, but I will have you know Anju is a big sister to me. Make her cry, and regardless of what Shinei will do, I will personally throw you out to the Legion.”

“You heard about that…?!” Dustin looked at Frederica, aghast.

“Of course I did. I was made aware of every little detail, bikinis included.”

Dustin slumped to the ground in despair.

“—Anyway, that’s all we know for now.”

“I’ll check up on the operation’s progress status with Joschka later, and I’ll report what we know and give him our advice. If the major nobles are still grumbling about which forces to pick, I’ll have Ernst put them in their place.”

“True to your words, you’ve grown strong. Using your bloodline and backing like that.”

“…That’s only because we don’t have the time or leisure to be picky about our methods,” Shin replied with a glare, but not one directed at Vika.

His foster father was Ernst, the president of the Federacy. Knowing him, he’d resist the idea of further conscription, which was fine, but his job wasn’t to turn ideas down all the time. So in place of conscription, he’d force the nobles to hand over their troops.

If he was going to preach his ideals of not sacrificing children, of not sacrificing people, of putting his life on the line to defend what’s worth protecting, it was about time he put some effort into saving people without having to take losses.

But that thought made Shin wince. There was another reason Ernst didn’t approve of Operation Overlord.

“There’s also…Frederica.”

With time running out and not enough soldiers, the military’s top brass could make a move to keep the new Imperial faction, who posed a threat to Frederica’s safety, in check. During the operation itself, the Strike Package would always be around to protect her—using their achievements thus far and Shin’s importance as a reconnaissance unit—but this time, the Onyx and Pyrope nobles would be sending out their subordinates. This meant Pyrope units would be in the operation, too.

In all likelihood, this included the new Imperial faction’s units—the units loyal to Archduchess Brantolote, who sought to supplant the former Imperial line. Of course, the Federacy wouldn’t go around openly exposing the empress’s survival to the new Imperial faction, but anything could happen on the battlefield. They would have to assume things wouldn’t go as planned, and there was a chance they would find out.

“Can’t we say she died in battle?”

“We could, assuming that would work…”

They could handle the slander of bringing a young Mascot girl to the battlefield and getting her killed, but they couldn’t be sure that would actually shake off any questioning that followed.

“…Vika, at worst, could she seek refuge in the United Kingdom?”

“You’re asking me that knowing it’s a volatile proposition. Don’t be unreasonable.”

He couldn’t consent to it, after all. His Highness grumbled with a sour expression and, with that same expression still, appended:

“To begin with, we shouldn’t be having this discussion without her present. She has come to terms with things in her own way, and we should not ignore her resolve. Just like how you…”

You, the Eighty-Six, would not want others to make light of your pride.

Shin fell silent for a moment. It felt like a long time ago now, but it’d been only a year ago that they were taken in by the Federacy, and Ernst, Grethe, and the Federacy’s people hurt their pride in what they believed were acts of kindness. And he was doing the same thing without even realizing it.

“…You’re right.”

“I will participate in considering countermeasures, though… But yes, if the major nobles end up bringing forth their strongest units, we can expect the Nouzen clan’s infamous Crazy Bones Division. Since they like being conspicuous and vying for glory so much, we can probably push all the troublesome issues onto them afterward.”

The fact that he came up with a suggestion right off the bat showed that His Highness was being relatively magnanimous this time. As Raiden and Shin stared at him, Vika gracefully shrugged as if to say this was just what they deserved. Not Shin and Raiden, but rather the infamous, conspicuous Crazy Bones Division.

“All I’m saying is that you lot do not seek glory as it is, so you may as well let them take all the credit for better or for worse. They may not want it, but in the end, they reap what they sow.”

Surely, Marquis Nouzen and Marquess Maika weren’t so old and senile that they’d let the heroic Eighty-Six steal all the glory from their family, with the situation being what it was.

At least, that’s what a certain Nouzen youth said with a brave face and a hint of smugness.

Joschka shrugged in a friendly manner, a smirk he couldn’t restrain on his lips. They were discussing the outcome of the forces that would be participating in Operation Overlord.

“It’s not just Shin; the entirety of the Nouzen clan will be coming out to the front. Isn’t that right, Division Commander Yatrai Nouzen of the Nouzen clan’s prided, elite Crazy Bones Division?”

“…I think it’s a better use of that elite unit compared with being worn out while fighting in the mud,” Yatrai grumbled, waving a hand in displeasure. “And it’ll be a joint operation with the Pyropes, so we won’t be going out alone. That’s why House Maika, with its claims of neutrality, decided to send out your Strix Division, too.”

But this wasn’t much of a retort against Joschka, who replied with a grin. They were close in age and both military officers, meaning they knew each other well enough to talk occasionally, but in the end, Yatrai was an Onyx and a Nouzen, at that. He couldn’t stand Joschka.

“Good for you. Despite already being close to the current family head, the youngest child of a branch family gets to be successor. That’ll do wonders for your prestige.”

“Nooooo!” Yatrai grabbed his head and shouted.

Sipping tea elegantly with an unconcerned expression beside Yatrai was his fiancée, a daughter from a major Nouzen branch family and vice commander of the Crazy Bones Division. She raised her head, calling up the controls for the holo-screen that broadcast news in the background and raising the volume. This cut off Joschka and Yatrai’s argument.

“Pardon, Princess. Were we loud?”

“No, Sir Joschka,” she said, her eyes fixed on the screen.

Her lush black hair was done up and wavy. Her black eyelashes hung over her jet-black eyes.

“It’s just…the contents of this news are a bit disturbing, with regards to public order in the civilian front.”

Speaking of reinforcements, Rito recalled something.

“Shouldn’t Yuuto be back by now? I guess fractures take a long time to heal…”

Saki, who was Yuuto’s substitute commander of the 4th Battalion in his absence, grumbled like a cat, “His injuries are already mostly healed, though.”

Saki had long black bangs, which hid her golden catlike eyes, and a lithe, feline physique that made the origin of her Personal Name, Grimalkin, abundantly clear.

“But apparently, they still can’t send him into battle right after he’s been discharged from the hospital. He’s supposed to go home for rest and recuperation.”

Normally, a patient would remain under the care of doctors and nurses while in serious condition, and once they were past that point, they would be sent to heal at home. That was normally the situation, at least.

“But we’re Eighty-Six; our home is this base. When he called me last time, he said they weren’t letting him go back to base because they knew he’d do something reckless during his recovery period. It happened because he ignored the nurses when they scolded him for moving around too much.”

“…Yeah, I’d say he earned that lack of trust,” Tohru remarked.

“Honestly, I really need him to come back sometime soon.” Saki fell over grumpily. “Being substitute commander doesn’t suit me… Don’t you know when he’s supposed to return, Kurena?”

Kurena nodded, sensing Saki’s gaze. She didn’t know, of course, but either Shin or Grethe were bound to know, as they were both commanding officers.

“I’ll ask.”

I have to avoid populated places.

And despite coming to that conclusion, when her consciousness cleared somewhat, she could hear the sound of countless people speaking. She looked around, her head still hazy.

They were in the corner of a plaza early in the day. The sunlight glowed through the cold, clear air of a winter morning, with countless people moving about in that scarce light. Adults clad in warm coats and capes, small children running around with their scarfs trailing after them. Stalls were set up, selling metallic and glass-made ornaments for the Holy Birthday, which was coming up at the end of the month, or blocks of golden butter and large cakes with sugar sprinkled on them like powder snow.

No good. We have to get away from here.

She couldn’t rendezvous with the others, and she didn’t have enough time to stay with them, either. And at the very least, she also didn’t want to get uninvolved people caught up in it.

But for all those intentions, she couldn’t stand anymore. Unable to muster the strength to slip to the side of the civilian traffic, she unsteadily sank to the aged flagstone road. She felt bad. Her vision was swimming, she was breaking into a cold sweat, and her consciousness was fading again.

The foreign objects hidden inside her body were rapidly maturing, threatening to eat her from the inside out even now.

There was no time left. In the truest sense of the words, not a single moment.

But she lacked the strength to get up or even crawl away, and her crumpling body couldn’t even produce a sound anymore. Even her sense of duty to at least move to where there were fewer people, along with her fear of her impending fate, was melted away by the slow, dull churning of her thoughts.

A darker shadow fell over her hazy, dark field of vision. She managed to look up, finding a figure kneeling before her. A woman several years older bent over in concern, having spotted her curled up on the ground.

“What’s wrong? Are you anemic? Should I take you somewhere where you can lie down? Maybe I can get you something warm to drink?”

Her voice sounded genuinely concerned. Suddenly, all the passersby seemed to look at her. No one raised their voice in annoyance. A stall owner approached her to help, and an old lady got up from a bench to give her somewhere to lie down.

Aaah. I don’t want to get them involved. They’re nice people; they shouldn’t get caught up in this.

With all her mind, she forced her throat to move, uttering a single word.

“Run…”

That was the final word she ever spoke.

The black dog seemed to have intuited that Lena’s recuperation period was about to end. It loitered around her more possessively than ever before, as if to say, You’re leaving already? Stay longer! Lena was loath to leave it—and was a little, no, extremely inclined to take it with her, but she knew she couldn’t because Shin would be jealous.

But as it frolicked around her, she looked up at a news broadcast from the western front.

Since the sanatorium didn’t want to burden the minds of its patients, news programs—and especially those that dealt with the war—weren’t broadcast in places open to everyone, like the dining hall. But at the same time, people grew anxious when they were entirely shut off from the news, so only one of the lounges allowed these broadcasts.

Since she was about to return to service, Lena had decided to come to the lounge and check the TV, but unfortunately, the black dog rushing in after her blocked the screen with its large body.

“…An explosion?”

“In Garenike City…a town on the southern side of the old Imperial border,” a sergeant sitting nearby appended. “There was an explosion at the morning market.”

The dog blocking her field of vision finally moved away, its tail wagging happily, allowing Lena to somewhat see the screen. The newscaster kept talking, their words running as subtitles at the bottom of the screen.

The cause of the explosion was unknown, but an investigation was ongoing under the assumption this could have been an accident.

Yuuto brought back all sorts of foodstuffs, as well as a rechargeable radio he’d acquired ahead of time. He bought it to stay up to date on the state of the war, but thanks to that, everyone was able to listen to song programs and drama readings when they took breaks from their long trek on foot.

Listening to the radio while Yuuto went out at mornings to get food from nearby towns was a small, simple pleasure for Citri. Last night, they slept in an old, unused tunnel. It was off the road, meaning people weren’t going to pass by even during the day, and so they were able to stay put even after the break of dawn. Imeno, who was chubby and always reminded Citri of a chiffon cake, leaned in and asked a question of Ran, who was more serious and interested in the responsibility of watching over the radio in the mornings.

“Say, Ran, can’t we change to the drama reading like always?”

Ran agreed and reached out to change the station. Right then, the news broadcast that was playing at the time moved to the next topic.

And hearing the broadcaster’s words, Ran, Imeno, and Citri all froze. Because what they just heard was the news they feared most.

“An explosion…incident…”

“…In Garenike City.”

“Isn’t that…near the house that took Saya in…?”

Saya, one of their friends from the laboratory—one of the Actaeon. The last one they’d called to join them on this journey, who didn’t join them in the end.

Citri covered her face in grief. She’d called her so this wouldn’t happen. She knew Saya, out of everyone, didn’t want this to happen.

“We didn’t make it…!”

“You’re new around these parts, boy. Must be one of the evacuees from the territories, yes? You sure bought a lot.”

“Yeah, my little sisters are tired and cold, but they get hungry just the same, so I have to do the shopping.”

“Ah-ha-ha, being the big brother of the family must be rough. Gotta take care of your kid sisters, though, eh?”

The lady running the fried-bread stall didn’t doubt Yuuto’s made-up story, and he stuffed some of her freshly baked bread into his rucksack. Some had sea trout and mushrooms in cream, while others had sugared fruit. Feeling their heat through the bag, he made his way back to the tunnel on the city outskirts where Citri and the rest were waiting.

Though his steps were fast, he didn’t walk so quickly so as to arouse suspicion. The abandoned tunnel was far enough that people wouldn’t normally approach it. But he wanted to deliver the buns while they were hot, both because he didn’t want to waste the stall lady’s goodwill and because keeping everyone’s stamina up in the cold weather was the natural course of action.

And besides any common sense during winter, Citri and the girls were especially thankful when he brought back hot food, and it put him in a very…strange mood. Warm, plain food from a stall and heated-up canned meals made them incredibly grateful—somehow, despite sleeping outdoors for so long, no one in Citri’s group knew how to start a campfire.

…They were different. The wiretap children were all different from Yuuto and the other Eighty-Six, who were tempered on the battlefield. Unlike them, who survived by stepping over the corpses of their comrades, their hands were unsullied by blood and death.

“…Mm.”

He stopped in his tracks, hearing the news broadcast from a radio in the street. An explosion in a city in the capital’s area. What made him frown wasn’t the incident in and of itself. Citri had already told them there were more Actaeon than the seven who set out on this journey. And of the many Actaeon, not all of them necessarily met their ends in secret—like Totori, who had sneaked away in secret the other day, did.

It was possible one of them could end up dying in front of people—and at worst, those people could be caught up in their fate. This was something Citri and the girls never said out loud, but Yuuto suspected as much. This was why he’d entrusted Amari with reporting the situation to the Federacy military.

What drew his suspicion were the reporter’s words: unexplained explosion. He had Amari report the Actaeon to the army, so this shouldn’t have been “unexplained,” like no one knew anything about the Actaeon.

“Did they not get the report? Did anything happen to Amari—?”

No.

“—They’re doubting my words.”

He may not have fled from the front lines, but going missing without approval would be considered desertion. And they wouldn’t take a renegade soldier’s testimony seriously.

…It was all for nothing.

Shaking his head once, Yuuto walked away.

“—One of the eastern countries must have fallen, then.”

In addition to the conclusion and advice about the command base, Shin informed Joschka about the increase in Legion numbers on the western front. Joschka grumbled over the Resonance.

“The pressure on the western front as well as the adjacent fourth southern and fourth northern fronts has increased. Likewise to the nearby first northern and southern fronts. Legion attacks on the second and third northern and southern fronts are getting more frequent, too. We can probably assume they sent any remaining forces there as reinforcements.”

Shin narrowed his eyes. Things were worse than expected. In the Republic, his ability could extend as far as the former Imperial territories, but it wasn’t vast enough to cover the entire land surface of the largest nation on the continent. He did expect the enemy’s numbers would grow on one or two of the other fronts, though.

Joschka growled in a troubled manner. “We really have to move up the operation, no matter how difficult it might be. At the rate the Legion are going, we won’t have four months of time to spare.”

If any of the surviving human nations were to fall, the Legion forces fighting that nation would join the fight against other fronts. And if that country was already stretched to its limit, the reinforcements would end up pushing them over the edge, destroying that next country and leaving the remaining Legion forces free to take to another battlefield. If that cycle were to repeat enough times, the Federacy’s fronts would collapse. And even if not, they wouldn’t have available forces to send for Operation Overlord, leading to its defeat.

“We’ll have to go for conscription after all.”

“Maybe, as a desperate measure. We wouldn’t want to end up scraping the bottom of the barrel, but it will at least give us the numbers to make up for the armored units we don’t have during the operation.”

Scraping the bottom of the barrel—in other words, soldiers without stamina or talent, who weren’t counted on to complete any operations. They were expendable troops who could only be expected to stand up straight, walk, and maybe squeeze the trigger a few times.

Still, with enough numbers, they’d make for a fighting force. A bullet’s efficacy wasn’t influenced by morale or skill, and having enough people shooting could even compensate for low accuracy. Expendable soldiers also didn’t require any selection processes, and high numbers meant there was no need to spend time training them, either…but of course, anyone sent out to fight was expected to die.

It would mean that even if the Federacy invoked a draft only for the duration of Operation Overlord, they would have to expect vast casualties.

“So your extra information about the base is appreciated. Oh, and ask the prince if he can provide us with some Sirins. We’d like to send them on recon runs around the base.”

“I’ll let him know.”

“…Between this and tracking the enemy’s movements, I’m sorry I have to ask you for so many errands.”

Shin made to respond but was briefly distracted by a memory. The one who’d call the final shots on Operation Overlord wasn’t Joschka but someone much higher, and yet…

“That’s fine by me, so long as we get to keep custody of her for the duration of the operation.”

He sensed the suggestive smile behind Joschka’s reply. “I don’t mind personally, but…she better not mysteriously disappear once it’s all over. The battlefield’s a chaotic place, so if she happens to go missing, we can’t go looking for her.”

Shin keenly picked up on the implication he made. If she went missing during combat, she wouldn’t be pursued anymore… No. They wouldn’t let her be pursued anymore. If nothing else, the only value Joschka—or rather, Marquess Maika’s house—had for Frederica was as a tool to put a stop to the Legion War, and they had no interest in giving the Brantolote archduchy any further authority.

“Of course. And if she were to die in battle, that would just cause irreversible damage.”

“That would be the worst. I know one mean, screeching auntie who’d cry nonstop if that happened. So you better be careful, Big Brother.”

Be very careful and prepare thoroughly, so that Archduchess Brantolote won’t see through your plan—you need to fake a clear, undoubtable death for her. Even burning her unit would leave behind a corpse, so better to have a tank shell blow it to bits.

Shin thought back to the many terrible sorts of deaths he’d seen in the Eighty-Sixth Sector as Joschka brought up a question.

“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of running errands, I have one more thing to ask. There haven’t been any Legion that sneaked into Sankt Jeder’s surroundings, be it self-propelled mines or anything bigger, right?”

This was an odd question, Shin pondered. The capital’s position was set so it was surrounded by production territories, with combat territories on the outer circumference of that circle. In other words, the capital of Sankt Jeder was as far from the battlefield as could be. But he checked just like he was asked and confirmed there were no Legion there.

To be exact, he did spot a few, but they were incredibly far and hard to hear, and their voices were weak to begin with, plus they were up in the sky. So those were probably Eintagsfliege riding the wind or some such. Since the Eintagsfliege were lightweight and the flapping of their wings was weak, it wasn’t unheard of for that to happen.

As he took off the RAID Device, wondering why Joschka would ask him that, he passed by the lounge and heard Guren’s voice.

“…Whoa, not again.”

“It’s creepy, isn’t it? It’s been happening over and over, but no one’s declaring who did it or why.”

Having tuned in to the news by coincidence, Guren and Touka talked over what they saw. Listening in to a snippet of the broadcast, Shin came to a realization.

“…So this is what he meant.”

Joschka had been asking him about this. Explosions had gone off in the capital area and an adjacent central territory. At this point, they were being regarded as terrorist bombings; there’d been ten incidents since the first one in Garenike City, but the culprit behind them hadn’t been discovered yet.

Joschka’s concern that a self-propelled mine had entered under the cover of the Eintagsfliege’s optical camouflage and sneaked as far as the capital made sense, then. It wasn’t entirely impossible, but so long as he was on the western front, Shin would have surely sensed it, so that couldn’t be the case. What’s more, even someone who’d never seen a self-propelled mine would be able to tell it wasn’t a human being. And if it was a self-propelled mine, the incident wouldn’t have been reported as a terrorist bombing—it would have been reported as an attack by the constructs.

But that thought made Shin frown. It wasn’t a self-propelled mine, but this was exactly why…

“…I imagine the people around the capital must be anxious.”

Relative to a terrorist attack, there were few casualties. But that was just to say that some did die, and the thought of oneself or one’s family getting caught meant that fact offered little peace of mind. Since the attacks were sporadic in both time and place, it was impossible to know what the bombers were after and therefore impossible to avoid them.

I just hope we figure out what this is soon, Shin thought as he walked away.

The serial terrorist bombings were an unpleasant affair for those investigating them, too. They were completely inconsistent in terms of time, place, and how many people were around, like a series of explosions with no rhyme or reason to them. These were seemingly random bombings with no demands made or a single word of announcement. No recognized anti-government movements or other organizations to speak of claimed responsibility for them. There was no guessing at what the motives or objectives of the bombers even were.

The only thing the incidents had in common was that both eyewitness testimonies and roadside security-camera footage revealed that the culprits of these bombings were all girls in their late teens. And—

“Again, there are reactions of an explosive, but nothing else.”

No cord or fuse that would be attached to a bomb, no radio receiver or timer device. No ball bearings or nails that would normally be included in an antipersonnel bomb. Nothing of the sort was discovered at any of the scenes.

Because of this, there were very few direct victims of these incidents relative to a bombing. Only those directly adjacent to the detonation got caught up in the blast, and the people who tried to run and ended up trampled were larger in number. In some cases, the only one who died was the bomber herself. They must have had explosives strapped all over their bodies, because they were blown to bits like they exploded from the inside out.

And when more precise security footage and eyewitness testimonies came in, the investigators became all the more confused.

“…The bomber said, ‘Run’?”

The bomber then blew up immediately after, but a nearby stall owner said he definitely heard her say that. Camera footage of another bomber showed her clearly avoiding populated places and going into an alley, where she then blew up. The girl was very unsteady on her feet, and as soon as she made the corner, her feet stopped near a stray cat, and she exploded.

This was, indeed, the most baffling part of it all. They went as far as to detonate explosives in the middle of a city, only to seek to avoid victims, with an unexpectedly low death toll that could only be explained by them trying to minimize how many got hurt. One girl blew up while hiding in an abandoned house, and one of them went so far as to blow up in the middle of a field with no one in sight.

But then an investigator peered at the face of the girl in one paused video.

“This girl… I’ve seen her somewhere before.”

His colleagues immediately looked up, curious, as he gazed pensively at the footage, his brows knit as he traced back his memory. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, so this wasn’t someone he knew personally, but—

“It was recent… Right, it was a wanted-person directive. Yeah, one the army shared with us…”

And upon remembering it, he nodded. Even back then, he’d thought there was something strange about the girls.

“She was one of the Eighty-Six who ran away when they were rounding up the wiretaps.”

Amari instantly delivered the report like Yuuto asked, but the unpleasant MP wrote it off as a lie and ignored her pleas, instead focusing on Yuuto’s “desertion.” He kept questioning her about where he was headed and what for, but if she’d have said he was heading “back home” to the Republic, he wouldn’t have believed her. And if he wasn’t going to believe a thing she was saying, she preferred to say nothing at all.

This apparently marked her as an accomplice, and she was restricted from leaving the recovery facility. This pushed back her return to Rüstkammer, and Amari had no choice but to simply loiter in the lounge with energy to spare.

She noticed a shadow cast in from the entrance to the lounge. Raising her eyes with her head resting on the table, she spotted that same unpleasant MP. He looked around and, upon spotting her, walked over with swift steps.

“…What? I already told you everything,” Amari said, her expression sour.

The MP replied with a stiff expression. Standing next to him was an unfamiliar older soldier who was, based on his rank insignia, his superior officer.

“True. I didn’t listen to you. I said I’d pass your report along, and I didn’t. Forgive me… Please tell us everything one more time. Everything you know, everything you’ve heard.”

“…I guess the Federacy isn’t a monolith after all.”

As they watched the news on the bombings, which had become a constant on TV, Annette said this to Theo as they had tea together, which they’d started doing more often. Theo turned his jade eyes to her. His colleagues eyed them coldly just the same, but their relationship wasn’t anything noteworthy.

Annette raised a slender brow and looked up at the food court’s large TV.

“They really mention a lot of different suspicious groups. ‘The noble liberation front’ this, ‘the purification church’ that… And yeah, the liberation front makes sense; it’s a group calling for the independence of territories the Empire occupied, but…”

“Yeah…” Theo heard things like this about the Federacy, or rather, the Empire. “They were on bad terms back when the Empire existed.”

The rivalries in the Federacy became more pronounced once one enrolled in the military. There was prejudice between former nobility and the civilians, the Onyxes and the Pyropes, and prejudice toward the Vargus, which Bernholdt had told him about.

And in the United Kingdom, there was the division between the vassals and the serfs, and within the vassals, there was antagonism between the Iola and the Taaffe. And even within the Eighty-Six, there was prejudice toward those with Alba or Imperial noble blood. Things had likely been similar within the Empire.

One’s language, culture, social class, or the racial features they were born with. People were scorned and cast out for the most minor details.

“Kurena tells me they sent a military unit just out of rivalry with Shin’s grandfather. If the army’s top brass are still like this, it’s probably the same all over the Federacy… Ah.”

Theo trailed off and turned around, realizing that the footsteps he’d been hearing in the background were approaching their table. A noncommissioned officer with a military police armband approached with a group of officers. They nodded at Theo and turned their eyes to Annette, who looked taken aback.

“Pardon us… You’re Major Henrietta Penrose, yes?”

Having caught a transport flight from the nearest base to the sanatorium, Lena stopped at the capital for a connecting flight back to Rüstkammer. Upon arriving there, she was met with an unexpected reception.

“Er…?”

“Colonel Vladilena Milizé, I’ve been expecting you.”

He was roughly her age, meaning he was a special officer. A black-haired, black-eyed Onyx boy with a gaze that was both frank and somehow didn’t allow for anyone to read his intentions. He had a second lieutenant rank insignia, and despite him waiting for her, she didn’t recall ever meeting him… Actually, no.

She suddenly recognized him. It was the adjutant of Commodore Willem Ehrenfried, the western front’s chief of staff; he was always standing behind the commodore like a shadow.

“I ask that you follow me and don’t resist.”

Dustin got to his feet in shock. The news was playing on a large TV screen in the Rüstkammer base’s first dining hall. Three of the terrorist bombers were identified: Hina Shinaga, Saya Hiyo, and Yukiri Hakuro. All three were Eighty-Six who’d disappeared from their homes, and the police were searching for their peers who’d gone missing at the same time as key suspects. If any of them were spotted, they were not to be approached but immediately reported to the authorities.

The mug shots of several girls were shown, and one of them—a girl with flaxen hair and bright violet eyes. Fair, ephemeral, with kind facial features.

He could never forget her. Even a decade later and with her having aged, Dustin wouldn’t mistake her for anyone else. She was his classmate…his childhood friend. A girl he assumed died after she was rounded up and taken to the Eighty-Sixth Sector along with most of his town in the space of one night.

“…Citri…?”

The newscaster expressionlessly read out her name. Citri Oki.

Lena did not make it back on the day she was supposed to return—instead, notice of her arrest came in. The message itself didn’t mention an arrest, but she was taken into custody against her will and locked up, making it essentially an arrest. This was obviously inappropriate treatment, given that she didn’t know anything.

“…What is this? Why do this?”

As Shin drew on her in outrage, Grethe, who sat across the table from him, didn’t fault him for his demeanor.

“A security issue came up. That said, Colonel Milizé isn’t responsible for any of it… Captain, have you seen the news about the serial-bombing attacks?”

Shin knit his brow dubiously. Checking the news during breakfast was part of his daily routine, so he was broadly aware of it… In fact, on the way here, he’d heard the news reported on the suspects when he passed by the lounge.

He didn’t realize, however, that Grethe avoided calling them terrorist attacks, though.

“Do you know why they’re doing it?”

“Not why, but how… You can ask her for the details and talk to me later.”

Grethe gestured with her eyes at someone he hadn’t noticed sitting in the lounge suite. Amari. She got to her feet nervously. She’d been injured since the Mirage Spire operation and sent to recuperate in the capital. Come to think of it, she was set to return to base soon, but he hadn’t gotten word about her being discharged yet.

Her usual stern expression looked unusually flustered and weak this time, though.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I was going to report it; I didn’t think it would turn out like this…”

“Amari, that’s fine. Explain what happened. And…”

Someone else was set to come back from the capital at the same time as her, so if she’d returned, he should have returned before she did.

“…where’s Yuuto?”

As she entered a room in the military HQ, Annette, who’d been sitting anxiously on the edge of a sofa, got to her feet.

“Lena!”

“Annette. You too…?!”

Lena caught her in a hug as she hurried over, and the two of them clung together for a moment. Seeing her friend’s argent eyes soften slightly with relief allowed Lena to meet her with a reassuring smile, but then she turned around to the other person who walked into the room. Her attitude instantly went from relieved to authoritative.

“I demand an explanation, Second Lieutenant. What is the meaning of this?”

“It’s a security measure,” replied the young officer in a calm voice, despite having basically arrested Lena and taken her to this small annexed building in the military headquarters in Sankt Jeder.

He placed her trunk and TP’s carrier, which he’d taken out of her hands, next to the sofas and then continued. This was a lodging facility for high-ranking officials, with an attached suite bearing appropriately fancy furnishings.

“I believe this is my first time meeting you, Major Penrose. Allow me to introduce myself. Second Lieutenant Jonas Degen, affiliated with the western front’s general staff headquarters. I serve as aide-de-camp to the chief of staff, Commodore Willem Ehrenfried.”

He repeated the full name and affiliation he’d told Lena. But now, faced with two sets of silver eyes on him, he looked back at them and gave her his actual position, which he hadn’t disclosed to Lena earlier.

“But at present, I operate as the Degen family’s sole child, who works under the family led by Marquis Ehrenfried. In other words, my master, Willem Ehrenfried, is taking you into custody for your protection, and I am here to keep appearances in the eyes of the rest of the army.”

Lena frowned. That certainly wasn’t the right way of wording it.

“…Under his protection?”

“Yes. Protection.” Jonas unapologetically nodded.

His features were sincere and youthful to the point of making him appear nearly baby-faced, but his cold expression masked his thoughts and emotions.

“I apologize this had to happen so suddenly. However, this is all quite related to the two of you. The one who got the report neglected to tell their superior officer, and so we’ve fallen very much behind…”

“These aren’t terrorist attacks. But it might be some kind of new self-propelled mine.”

The commentator in the government-sponsored broadcast wore a severe expression, standing for how dangerous the situation had become. And what he said was equally severe.

“All the missing Eighty-Six were parts of the ten thousand Eighty-Six child soldiers we rescued a year ago. It’s not unthinkable that a new type of self-propelled mine, one that’s indistinguishable from a human, may have been among those ten thousand.”

No, it is unthinkable. What an absurd idea.

Even regardless of Shin’s ability, that theory seemed impossible, Theo thought angrily. His anger mostly came from the fact that Annette had been taken away right before his eyes, and he’d been powerless to prevent it. The MPs had conducted themselves courteously enough, but it stopped with their conduct. Annette had clearly been confused and scared at having been suddenly surrounded and taken away. Theo had tried to step in and stop them, but one of the officers predicted he would and moved in to intercept.

He’d asked the officer what this was about, but all the officer said was that it was a “security measure.” Theo knew the military operated on a need-to-know basis, but emotionally, he wasn’t satisfied with any of this.

Having seen the whole thing play out and aware of how chagrined he was, Theo’s colleagues left him alone for now. But the program on TV continued prattling on, unaware of it all.

“Or perhaps it’s some Legion biological weapon. Either way, it’s possible that the Legion are mingled in with the large-scale, reckless criticism the military’s faced since the start of the second large-scale offensive.”

He could hear his colleagues, who were likewise watching the large TV, mumble in annoyance.

“‘Biological weapon’? What is he on about? It’s not like some virus turns people into bombs.”

“No, he probably thinks they’re monsters that came from some lab or something.”

“He watches too many movies. Has he ever even seen a self-propelled mine in real life? You’d have to be blind to mistake one for a person.”

Not only did self-propelled mines have no eyes, nose, or mouth, but their limbs also bent in impossible directions, and they crawled on all fours like animals. People got fooled by them in combat because battlefields were chaotic places and they were able to sneak up on them, but they weren’t so well-made that anyone could mistake them for human after taking a good look.

“I mean, you wouldn’t be able to tell if they actually designed them to look human…but the Legion can’t make weapons that look like humans, nor can they make biological weapons.”

There was one anecdote that was passed off as a joke among Federacy soldiers. The Empire had forbidden the Legion from creating and utilizing biological weapons, to say nothing of the kind of “biological weapons” one might see in a movie.

And to keep these mechanical weapons, which were capable of learning and maturing, from coming up with loopholes, they were given an overly strict definition of what counted as a biological weapon. As a result, friendly units that only so much as carried a knife counted as breaking the protection, causing the Legion to force them to disarm. Because of this, the Legion, created to serve as weapons for the Empire, hadn’t been able to fight alongside Imperial soldiers.

“Besides, if there was some virus that could turn people into self-propelled mines, everyone fighting out there would be mines already. Especially the Eighty-Six—they’ve been battling them for years.”

“…Cut it out.”

As another soldier chided him, the soldier’s expression froze. He glanced at Theo awkwardly, but Theo simply raised his hand and waved it dismissively. This time, he didn’t say it was all good, though.

And the news program went on, still indifferent to the awkward atmosphere it created.

“We can presume, then, that conditions are similar on the front lines. In other words, it’s possible our Federacy soldiers have been unknowingly fighting shoulder to shoulder with self-propelled mines. For all we know, everyone on the front lines might be self-propelled mines—”

“““No, that’s not possible!””” everyone in the room shouted in unison.

Watching commentators make such outlandish theories in a tense, overly serious manner did provide the soldiers on the front lines, who had little by way of entertainment, some levity.

“Wait, did you hear him, guys?! We’re self-propelled mines!” one soldier shouted in exaggerated surprise, and all the soldiers sitting around the radio gave a hearty laugh.

“Oh no, I’m gonna blow up! Mommy, I have to go to where the Legion are!”

Everyone cackled, hugging their bodies in laughter. They started bringing up the names of people who might actually be self-propelled mines—disliked commanders, selfish new recruits, or Republic volunteer troops.

—What if self-propelled mines really did get inside the country, though? That was where their families lived, and the thought of them getting hurt made the soldiers anxious. And so they needed to laugh the idea off.

Jonas spoke, his black eyes cold and emotionless.

“Surely, you’ve seen the series of serial bombings on the news. The culprits—albeit, those girls—are certainly the victims here…”

Amari spoke, her walnut-colored, Eighty-Six eyes wavering in sorrow.

“Those girls are called the Actaeon. The Republic used them—used Eighty-Six—to turn them into suicide bombs.”

The assorted proteins that made up the human body were composed of amino acids based on the RNA within the body’s cells. When a virus invaded the body, infected cells started replicating based on the virus’s RNA instead of their own. There were also fungi bacterium called diazotroph that synthesized nitrogen from the atmosphere to create ammonia, like small, elaborate, cell-size chemical plants.

Republic military researchers were able to use RNA to create artificial cells, protein-based structures that converted nitrogen into nitro compounds. Other artificial cells that coexisted with it had RNA that converted the nitro compounds and glycerin, which was the raw material fat was created from, into another substance.

Normally, when these two cells were placed inside a test subject’s body, these two cell groups remained dormant, but once they became active, they spread to other cells in the body like a virus, injecting their RNA and transforming the cells into chemical plants that produced a certain chemical that was based on nitro compounds.

In other words—nitroglycerin. The raw material for creating dynamite.

Somehow, the Federacy was able to discover the top secret Actaeon research and associate it with the suicide bombings.

When asked why they did such a thing, Primevére only bit her lips. Researchers and high-ranking officials in the Republic military, as well as Republic government officials, had been taken in for questioning in a Sankt Jeder police facility.

“…We tried to re-create the self-propelled mines.”

She couldn’t speak of the real reason in front of people who weren’t her fellow Celena. No one could know about it, not the Federacy and not even their fellow Republic Alabaster and Adularia citizens.

—They did this to defend the noble Celena race.

The nitroglycerin-creating cells (dubbed “Dear”) were injected into the Actaeon. If they could implement it fully, there would be no need to train soldiers anymore or worry about insufficient troop numbers. There’d be no more need to consider if they were able or willing to fight, or fret about age or one’s stamina. Anyone could work.

In the end, the Alabaster and Adularia who were subordinate to the Celena would become an ample source of people they could convert into weapons that would defend the country. So even if the Eighty-Six were to all perish before the Legion, the Actaeon could be used to defend the country. This was much more efficient and simple than the Eighty-Sixth Sector, which required both Processors and Juggernauts.

“Our country’s armored weapons, the Juggernauts, have fallen victim to self-propelled mines in the past. In which case, self-propelled mines could be effective at defeating the Legion, too.”

And so she couldn’t speak of its true purpose to anyone who wasn’t Celena. Instead of giving the actual reason, Primevére took the means—the utilization of self-propelled mines—and turned it into the reason.

The interrogator sitting before her didn’t enact any violence on her, but he gave off a vicious air that implied he would resort to it without any pangs of conscience if necessary. Because of this, she had no choice but to talk out of fear.

“The Eighty-Six were thankfully human-formed, and more intelligent than dogs or cats. By turning them directly into self-propelled mines, we’d be able to fight the Legion without having to rely on Juggernauts… What reason would we have to not develop this method, then?”

The staff of the laboratory in the refugee camps said as much, but Citri, Kiki, and the other Actaeon girls all knew that wasn’t true.

Yes, girls. The Actaeon were all girls in their late teens.

Women had a higher body-fat percentage than men, and larger adipose tissues in their chest, pelvis, and thigh regions than strictly required for survival purposes. In addition, their capacity for pregnancy—the act of carrying a different life-form within one’s body for an extended period of time—meant their bodies could exempt foreign objects from immune-system rejection under certain conditions.

And—girls were less useful than boys for fighting the Legion.

“What we are, Yuuto—we’re weapons to be used against Eighty-Six. When the Legion War ended, we’d be used to dispose of any surviving Eighty-Six.”

Looking just like the Eighty-Six, they would live alongside them—and, once the time came, detonate to kill their own.

“They were likely meant to be antipersonnel weapons. I’ve heard of an anecdote like this. A demonstration tape mentioned that if the Republic was to attack, they would fight back not just with their Republic soldiers, but with all creatures from everywhere they could find.”

This was all before Vika’s birth. It showed magnified footage of artificial cells rapidly devouring adipocytes to grow in size and eventually burst. Following that, a pig scuttered in a panic behind blast-proof glass, before rupturing in an explosion much larger than any explosives placed in its stomach could ever produce.

The Republic was an agricultural country that relied on stock farming. Their vast territory was, at the time, full of countless sheep, goats, cows, horses, and pigs—the number of livestock was significantly larger than the Republic’s population.

“Nitroglycerin. As is, it’s too unstable and reacts too easily, so like dynamite, a plasticizer is used to lower its reactivity. Either way, it lacks the force to damage an armored weapon’s frontal armor. Against the Legion, the Republic would have to use large numbers at point-blank range like the self-propelled mines do, and since nitroglycerin lacks the necessary force, it must make up for that with some kind of trick. But when used against human opponents, all those flaws aren’t a concern.”

The Republic pushed the battlefield to the distant Eighty-Sixth Sector and the fighting onto the Eighty-Six. They didn’t know the Legion had overcome their lifespan and thought the end of the Legion War was in sight. So if any countries survived, they’d need to begin antipersonnel combat.

Lerche spoke with an expression of disgust that she heard of such tactics being used across humankind’s long history of combat.

“Soldiers do tend to let down their guard around women and children.”

They’d come with a flower in hand or beg for candy. And once the soldiers approached, the woman and children would turn into suicide bombs, taking out enemy soldiers.

“No, Lerche.” Zashya shook her head. “It’s more than just that.”

This was what the demonstration tape was about. It’d likely been distributed as a warning to other nations at the time, for if the Republic gained the materials needed for human experimentation…

“They would mainly be used on prisoners of war.… Imagine if a rescued prisoner suddenly suicide-bombed? Be it on the front lines or, worse yet, back on the home front, where it should be safe and peaceful.”

Lerche knit her brow in displeasure. Vika finished the explanation coldly.

“It could happen in the Federacy. They would start suspecting that presumed allies are, in fact, enemies. I doubt they made the thing infectious, but even still.”

“Colonel Milizé, Major Penrose, surely you understand. We must take you under our protection, both for your own safeties and for this country to maintain its form as the Federacy.”

Despite his words, Lena and Annette couldn’t nod in agreement. They said nothing, their silence a clear rejection, but Jonas didn’t so much as furrow a brow. They were frail Celena, and female officers at that. Even if they were to physically resist, they were as powerless as a pair of kittens to Jonas. Their silence alone hardly did anything as a form of resistance.

“As your guard and head attendant, I will assume full responsibility for your safety and comfort. However, I am a man, and it wouldn’t be appropriate to attend to the needs of two ladies, so House Ehrenfried sent subordinates to look after you.”

A few female soldiers silently entered the room and bowed. They were all black-haired and black-eyed Onyxes, and every one of them had the fair but oddly forgettable features typical of former Imperial nobility. For generations, they’d disciplined themselves to serve as shadows to their masters, not seen unless it was required of them.

“They will serve as your shields, should anything happen. But on the off chance the situation requires you to leave this barracks, a few of them must always go with you.”

Fundamentally speaking, Lena and Annette were not to leave this room. The two didn’t respond to this implicit instruction, but Jonas paid their silence no mind. Because just as he said earlier…

Grethe picked up the conversation after Amari, her expression stiff but her voice soft.

“We can’t send Colonel Milizé to the front lines until the Actaeon incident is resolved. You do understand why, Captain, right?”

Grethe had no intention of bringing Lena back at this time.

Anger burned through Shin’s thoughts, but he just barely managed to suppress it. Lashing out at Grethe here and throwing a childish tantrum would solve nothing. More importantly—

“.…Still. This arrest is unnecessary. Can’t we file a complaint?”

Grethe blinked slowly.

“Yes. Of course.”

“Demand that they act swiftly and diligently to resolve this, and that they confirm her immediate return once the situation is over. Tell them that the Strike Package’s 1st Armored Division will not work under any commander but her.”

Leaving the office, he somehow managed to keep a front of propriety and gently closed the door behind him. But then his anger flared up, and he couldn’t stop himself.

“—Shit!”

The intensity with which he breathed the word out made Amari, who’d left the room with him, jolt. Seeing her flinch away from him, Shin forced himself to calm down. He exhaled and then asked again.

“Yuuto’s RAID Device… He took it off during treatment, right? Did he have any other means of communication?”

The Actaeon asked Yuuto to take them home. As a fellow Eighty-Six, Shin could guess at what Yuuto was thinking and felt. Albeit, it came as a bit of a surprise that Yuuto, cold and emotionless as he seemed, had actually agreed to the request. But Shin didn’t question the reasoning behind it.

They asked to go back home, after being deprived the right to return there. To the Eighty-Sixth Sector’s battlefield. So had Yuuto contacted him and asked for help, Shin would have done what he could to provide it. Shin wouldn’t have told him not to do it, and that was likely true of any other Eighty-Six.

Yuuto knew this. So why did he stay silent? Why did he hide it from everyone, like this was a betrayal?

“He couldn’t take you along for this.”

Amari shook her head.

“We’re fellow Eighty-Six, after all… If he’d told you or Saki, or anyone from the Strike Package, you’d have been seen as responsible for this. People would say the Strike Package colluded with the Actaeon.”

“Tch.”

Shin felt his breath catch. So this was what Yuuto feared. The Actaeon were Eighty-Six, and many people had already been lost. And Shin and the Strike Package were likewise Eighty-Six.

“He couldn’t let the Strike Package—all the Eighty-Six—take responsibility for this.”

Citri spoke, drawing her shoulders in. They were hiding in a crypt in the premises of an abandoned church sitting on the border between the Miana and the Nareva territories.

“I’m sorry, Yuuto. I didn’t mean for things to turn out like this. Neither did the girls who caused the bombings.”

Just this morning, the radio reported that another Actaeon girl blew up somewhere. Hearing the tragedy repeat itself, Citri and the Actaeon girls were all disheartened.

“We just wanted to go home before we died. To leave our new homes, so we don’t hurt anyone. That’s all we wanted; we didn’t mean anything else, and it turned out like this… So many people ended up dying because of us…”

Kiki carried on, looking like she was on the verge of tears.

“M-maybe we should have…killed ourselves. If this had to happen, maybe we should have all just ended it back when the Federacy took us in. That way, other people wouldn’t have had to die because of us. We knew that already, but—”

Yuuto cut her off, shaking his head.

“I know you didn’t want this. The information just didn’t get there in time. It’s not your fault.”

Federacy soldiers were much more diligent than the lazy Republic Handlers he knew ever were, and that had lulled Yuuto into forgetting the possibility the report wouldn’t be passed on. Grethe and the staff officers they worked with normally didn’t make light of the Eighty-Six, always listening to their reports and their opinions. And so he’d assumed all Federacy soldiers acted the same way.

Even though they made it clear that they only saw Eighty-Six as capable hunting dogs and nothing more.

But hearing Kiki’s guilty whispering, Yuuto paused for thought and continued.

“You know how Shepherds…how Legion commanders are often based on Eighty-Six?”

Kiki blinked dubiously. “…Yeah.”

“The Legion were able to overcome their set lifespans because they used the Eighty-Six as a base. Then doesn’t that mean all the Eighty-Six ought to have killed themselves before the Legion took them in, so as to keep the war from dragging?”

Kiki looked at him in stunned amazement. Citri gulped. Yuuto carried on, his eyes dropped in thought. His crimson, flame-like eyes seemed to shine from their very depths.

“If someone was to tell me that, I wouldn’t agree with them. I wouldn’t think it’s right, just rolling over and dying for the sake of all humankind.”

And so this wasn’t Citri and the other girls’ responsibility, either. Nor did Yuuto think it was his fault for fleeing the Federacy without saying anything. He wasn’t going to tell the girls they were at fault for not killing themselves, that their very existence was a threat to everyone around them and they ought to be locked up until they die.

Passing judgment on another… Yes, deciding someone’s life for another—

“It isn’t the right thing to say. At least, that’s what I think.”

The Legion were doing more than just pressuring every front, looking for unskilled units to tear into and break through.

<<Unit composition for all Federacy fronts analyzed—shifting operation to second phase.>>

The Legion were originally made to substitute rank-and-file soldiers, noncommissioned officers, and junior officers, and even the commander units controlling the unified network of the entire Legion army didn’t necessarily have the brain structures of high-ranking officers and commanders.

But among them was the Supreme Commander unit No Face, a Shepherd with the personality and memories of Republic Colonel Václav Milizé, a high-ranking commander. And he knew the blow that would lead the enemy army to collapse didn’t have to be achieved through direct violence.

<<Prioritized target set. Focus on encampments with a majority of Republic soldiers. Encampments with a majority of reservists. Encampments with a majority of minority troops. In parallel, commence long-distance bombardment of rear areas.>>

Spanning the entirety of the Legion territories were train tracks capable of supporting their fourteen hundred tonnes of weight. The Morpho’s mechanical, clawlike legs screeched over the newly built tracks as they made their way toward the Federacy’s ten fronts.

One among them was known by the call sign Nidhogg. It was the same Morpho unit that had stalled the train during the Republic evacuation operation, and whose fire heralded the fall of the Republic. After being shot down by the Kampf Pfau, it was rebuilt in the month that followed, and it was now headed to its new theater of war in the Federacy’s western front.

And its last words were:

It’s our turn. Our turn. It’s our turn.

Yes, it had the dying scream of an Eighty-Six. One who deliberately chose to become a Shepherd to take revenge on the Republic, to become a mechanical ghost occupying a murder machine’s control unit.

His hatred was intense enough to cast his life away, and simply burning the Republic people alive was not enough to quell it. Its bloodlust had not yet been satisfied.

It reached its firing point, fixing its sights on the designated coordinates. Nidhogg was informed as to what lay in those coordinates. An impulse akin to laughter filled its Liquid Micromachine brain.

It’s still our turn.

Our turn for revenge, for victory, for slaughter. We can go, right? I can get started, right? It’s still our turn. From now on, it will always, always be our turn. Right?

Multiple Morpho appeared in the region surrounding the Federacy’s territory. Its fire went past the firmly constructed front lines and the reserve formations built behind them, striking the supposedly safe, peaceful cities and villages with 800 mm shells.