86 - Volume 13 - Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

THE GRUDGES LINGER

Kiki disappeared the morning of the previous day.

At this point, Yuuto was all alone with Citri. And Citri looked ill—her face was pale, her lips were pursed like she was enduring pain, and she constantly kept her distance from Yuuto. Her change was finally starting, it seemed.

“…Citri.”

He called out to her, but all she did was level a weary look at him. She was lying on a bed of conifer branches to maintain her body heat, with her head resting on a pillow of evergreen leaves.

“If we walk all day today, we should reach Neunarkis… Can you walk?”

“…Yes.” She nodded languidly and unsteadily got to her feet. “I’ll get there even if I have to crawl… I have to go back.”

The city of Quitortan, along the evacuation route in the eastern end of the Neugardenia combat territory. Much like other old Imperial cities, it was made up of narrow streets. As Shin peered at the silver-haired group standing behind a barricade in one such street, he spoke.

“—All 1st Battalion units. We will now commence the retaking of the old Quitortan district.”

The Republic insurgents’ “declaration of independence” and occupation ended up adding more work for the Strike Package, meaning they had to divide their already-limited forces in half.

In other words, their original mission of securing the retreat route in the combat territory of Blanc Rose remained the same, but on top of that, they had to liberate the occupied cities of northern Neugardenia along the retreat route. In addition, they had to remove any obstacles in the way before the first unit to retreat, the 67th Armored Division, passed through.

“Our top-priority objective is removing all the barricades. As for the insurgents, they’re amateurs. They’ll probably fall apart the moment they’re threatened. But if they ignore our orders, or if it seems we won’t be able to remove them before it’s time for the 67th Armored Division to pass, you can assume that you have no choice but to shoot to kill.”

Cannon shells boasting an initial velocity of sixteen hundred meters per second naturally didn’t have any nonlethal options. The Vargus troops tasked with recovering any surrendering insurgents also carried assault rifles loaded with live ammo. Given time and supply-chain restraints, they couldn’t order any rubber bullets used for riot suppression.

Grethe, who was commanding the four armored divisions of the Strike Package from a command post set up in the rear, added:

“Just try to refrain from doing so unless strictly necessary. But if things come to that, I’ll give the order.”

Somewhere deep down, Shin and the others pondered that, with the possibility of the front lines’ complete collapse fast approaching, the situation had become so strained that there was no time to waste even talking about this, but Grethe remained earnest.

“You need to remember. You are firing on my orders. You are limbs, and I am the brain. The responsibility for pulling the trigger lies with me. This isn’t something minor officers like you should be concerned with. Remember that.”

The maid got away, but they were able to take their primary target, Ernst, hostage. With this, the New Republic of San Magnolia and its citizens were untouchable to the Federacy, which would be forced to protect them.

Or that was their plan, but Primevére and her ten comrades watched the news with stunned eyes. The suppression efforts began in no time. They were in the president’s modest estate, in its small living room.

“Why?”

She uttered that question, only for Ernst, a gun still fixed on him, to answer with the sardonic smile of a teacher admonishing a student.

“I’m not sure what you were expecting, but I have a vice president to fill my place… With me being unable to act, all my authorities transferred over to him. They can just dismiss me at this point.”

Even as he lost his status and stared down a gun’s barrel, he looked completely undisturbed and spoke to Primevére with a tone that came across as chipper. It made the Bleachers’ remnants shudder.

Looking around his trembling captors with his ash-colored eyes glinting like a will-o’-the-wisp, Ernst cracked a thin smile.

“If anything, I’ve been wondering when they’d fire me now that I’m not needed anymore, but my popularity kept me in office. Getting dismissed like this suits me just fine. It took them way too long to do it, if you ask me.”

Ernst Zimmerman had reached the position of president through the support of the people and the backing of the Onyx clans.

“—Apparently, he was a favored figure to support ten years ago.”

Seated in an armored infantry carrier, Joschka mused to himself as he listened to the news on the radio.

Ernst was the husband of the leader of the revolution, who’d been killed by the regime. Inheriting his wife’s will, he became the second leader of the revolution, a tragic hero who’d lost both his beloved wife and his child to the tyrannical royals in one fell swoop.

Exactly the kind of figure the masses would gravitate toward.

A man who, in his mad adherence to his wife’s ideals, voluntarily accepted the burden of becoming a statesman.

But Ernst was no longer needed.

Joschka got a glimpse at Ernst’s madness in the command center during the first large-scale offensive. His inconsistent, contradictory idealism took the importance of human life to its logical extreme of affirming their death. Showing this madness of his so openly would hurt his soldiers’ and subordinates’ morale.

So discarding him at this point was acceptable—this was likely what the Onyx clans decided.

Those lowly, unsightly, cunning magpies who had plagued the Empire since its foundation. Those black rats who swarmed over anyone who reeked of power and wealth, only to abandon their prey once they grew weak and died, before seeking the next prey to devour.

“That’s the one thing I’ll thank you for, Yatrai Nouzen. Thanks to you, Princess Yuuna’s child doesn’t have to inherit the headship of your clan of shitty bastards.”

Assisting the retreating forces was the Strike Package’s primary objective. This meant that using high-explosive rounds might produce rubble that could block their path. And so…

“—Commence operation.”

The Reginleifs stormed in, swiftly gaining control over each block. The moment Shin declared the beginning of the operation, their power packs let out a high-pitched screech, which was the first blow. A ten-tonne machine moving at hundreds of kilometers per hour required considerable output. The loud roar of armored weapons deafened the ears and shook one’s stomach, and that alone was intimidating enough to force a timid soldier to yield.

And most of the Republic insurgents weren’t soldiers, but complete amateurs.

With his monitor zoomed in, Shin could see the figures hidden behind the barricades stumble back. As Undertaker and his platoon closed in on them with a swift, headlong charge, the insurgents chickened out and began to flee.

The Reginleifs moved faster than an armored weapon usually would, but the troops they spotted carried assault rifles and portable anti-tank recoilless guns. Neither had the firepower to damage a Reginleif head-on.

But even so, a few of the insurgents stuck the barrels of their assault rifles over the barricades…only for most of their guns to remain silent. They’d either forgotten to load the first round or neglected to undo the safety… Common mistakes for amateurs who thought shooting a gun only involved pulling the trigger, and fresh conscripts who weren’t used to handling automatics.

Undertaker, which led the platoon’s wedge formation, reached the barricade. The insurgents likely believed they’d set the barricade up firmly, but it went flying with all the brittleness of a paper cutout. As the people behind it scrambled to get out of his way, Shin turned Undertaker around.

Between the Reginleif lording over them, taller and more intimidating than any tiger, and having to hear the roar of its power pack from up close, the people finally started fleeing in earnest, bumping into one another and falling over. He hoped to avoid a stampede, but the chaos had its advantages.

Having them flee into the streets would have made things tricky. Three units from other platoons fired their wire anchors. Tachina’s and Matori’s units used the buildings on the side of the road as footing to swoop over the crowd’s heads and block their path, while Sashiba’s unit climbed up to a building’s rooftop and fixed its smoothbore gun on the insurgents to keep them in check.

Sashiba, now positioned above them, ordered through the external speaker at full volume for the insurgents to get on their knees and put their hands behind their heads.

Seizing the insurgents was, as it turned out, all too easy.

“Infantry forces, recover the surrendering insurgents.”

The female troops conscripted from the Vargus moved in to arrest them.

This was all according to predictions, but the insurgents in every city proved unable to resist the Reginleifs moving in. All that remained for the child soldiers was to go about this without having to dirty their hands. After ordering the standby military police who had joined them to move in, Grethe turned around.

“—Aide control staff, you can step down now. You’re worried about President Zimmerman, right?”

She turned to Frederica, who looked more anxious about things elsewhere. She couldn’t have her stay in the command post in this condition, and Grethe knew she couldn’t tell a child concerned about her family to not worry.

“I think you’re better off not watching what’s going to go down there, but if you feel like you have to, do what you must. If you want to tell the task force what the situation inside is like before they move in, that could be helpful.”

Frederica looked at her in surprise. The Strike Package, being a combat unit, had a different chain of command from the forces affiliated with the training base on the home front. This meant Grethe wasn’t in a position to directly issue him orders, but—

“I can contact his base to ask Second Lieutenant Rikka to have a RAID Device on.”

The hundreds of thousands of the front’s soldiers continued their retreat. With the logistical support having fully withdrawn, the requisitioned Vargus conscripts deployed to Harutari. The combat units moved into the areas vacated by the logistical support units and began their march as well.

Fundamentally, the army’s march and retreat both progressed rapidly, with multiple units supporting one another as they moved. A minimal number of units was left behind on the front lines to fight off the Legion before progressing under covering fire from the second fortification line.

However.

The armored infantryman Vyov abandoned his position with his comrades and fled the deadly battlefield. But as he fled, he heard an unbelievable order.

The second northern front’s army was to retreat.

In other words, they were running. All of them, the noble generals, the Vargus troops, the Fleet Countries’ volunteer troops. They were going to retreat and do nothing to defend or save Vyov’s homeland.

They’re all abandoning our city!

Hiding in the Neikuwa hills with countless other renegade soldiers, Vyov bit his lips in frustration. They were traitors after all. This was why he abandoned them and ran.

But then a force of Löwe swarmed into this valley full of traitors, directed by the Rabe that had detected this spot full of enemies. They didn’t even need to fire any weapons. Using their fifty-tonne bodies, they trampled both infantry and armored infantry alike.

Vyov and his comrades tried to flee, but the narrow terrain of the valley made them get in one another’s way.

“Wh-where’s the armored division?! They can defeat Löwe!”

Vánagandrs were the type of unit meant for defeating Löwe, after all, and with the Legion having intruded so deep in, the armored unit relegated for mobile defense was supposed to engage them.

“Why aren’t they coming to help us…?! Those u—”

But before he could shout the word useless, a metallic leg crushed Vyov alive.

Despite many calls for support coming from the breakthrough point, Gilwiese and the Myrmecoleo Free Regiment couldn’t move from their position. The fleeing soldiers’ panic only seemed to increase as time went by, but no matter how much Gilwiese and co. shouted at them to get out of the way, they didn’t listen.

Of course, Gilwiese and his regiment couldn’t stomp over them, so they could only remain seated inside their cinnabar-colored Vánagandrs, their frustration building. It was then that a Para-RAID call came in from the archduchy’s ace division Flame Leopard, who were preparing to deploy.

“Still cheating death, mutt?”

Both the contents and the tone of the call were awful, but the one speaking was a colonel who was relatively friendly toward the Myrmecoleo Free Regiment, as members of the Brantolote archduchy went. Normally, Gilwiese would have laughed it off, but he wasn’t in the mood, so he replied curtly.

“Sad to inform we’re all still alive, Colonel. The deserters are getting in our way, so we can’t deploy.”

“I’m aware. So I’m calling to tell you there’s no need for backup anymore. Prepare to retreat.”

This left Gilwiese surprised. Behind him, he could hear Svenja, who’d been cowering silently so far, hold her breath. He knew a retreat order was issued across the front, but falling back to the second defensive line without waiting for the first line’s infantry to retreat? Even if they were on the brink of complete collapse, they were going to abandon the first line while there were still soldiers fighting there, without even offering any covering fire for their retreat?

“Colonel, sir, that would…that would make the infantrymen’s morale completely plummet. We’ll have even more desertions if we do that.”

“I’d imagine so. But we have no choice anymore. I repeat, Major. Retreat. We’re abandoning the cannon fodder.”

A retreat order was given to all armored units stationed on the second defensive line for mobile defense. The soldiers ignored the principle of units moving in tandem, completely abandoning the first defensive line. However, with the combat zone full of deserters, they couldn’t offer any cover anyway, and if the disorderly swarm of soldiers were to reach the second defensive line, they would end up blocking the armored units’ retreat, too.

And so rather than reducing their expensive armored units to nothing more than stationary turrets that would be lost in combat, the armored units prioritized a retreat that would allow them to at least fortify and maintain the second defensive line.

At the same time, a retreat order was also given to all artillery forces and combat engineers. This left the first defensive line with nothing but abandoned infantrymen. Artillery fire on the enemy ceased; instead, focus switched to bombing any crucial facilities and collapsing bridges the Löwe could cross.

The infantry weren’t pleased with this development. Precious Feldreß and heavy artillery, along with the regular artillery and armored personnel with the technical skills to operate them, were worth more than a rank-and-file infantryman, so their survival was prioritized. They knew this as basic logic, but now that they were all full of chagrin and mistrust, the logic did nothing to convince them.

The fact that those with technical skills—in other words, artillerymen, engineers, and armored personnel who’d been given more advanced education and training—were mostly former nobility and their subordinates only further fueled their anger.

The armored division that never came to their aid, the cowardly artillery unit, the engineers who were never really combatants. Why were those weaklings prioritized over the ones who put their lives on the line in combat?

We were the ones who paid all the sacrifices so far, who should have the right to return alive.

The order sapped what morale the troops who just barely held their ground in the defensive battle had left. More and more decided to flee rather than die as disposable pawns for the nobles.

Not that making that decision at this point meant they would actually manage to escape.

These were units that still remained on the front lines, preventing the breakthrough points from expanding and keeping the invading Legion at bay. Units that were still in the middle of intense combat. With the enemy right in front of them, they would immediately be devoured. They couldn’t run.

So no matter how disgruntled they got or how much of their will to fight they lost, the troops who remained to intercept the enemy had to stand their ground if they didn’t want to die.

And so under the cover of this cold calculation, the armored divisions, artillery, and combat engineer units retreated with what few infantry they were able to recover.

In the end, the people of the Republic were nothing more than oppressors for the Eighty-Six. They didn’t want to shoot them to death or needlessly hurt them, but they had no reason to treat them with any semblance of mercy.

They kicked away their barricades, aimed their laser sights at them, and when the insurgents fled into buildings, they unleashed a barrage of machine-gun fire to drive them out. They did aim above their heads, meaning their shots only resulted in raining them with rubble from the walls.

As one group frantically hurried out of a building, Shin ordered them to get on their knees and cross their arms behind their heads before setting out for the next block. Vargus troops followed him, performing body checks on the surrendered Republic insurgents before taking them away.

He kept his high-frequency blades on, their shrill screech scaring insurgents away, but they only ended up running to where the Vargus were waiting, whom they clung to, begging for help. Yes—he tried, with all his might, to make it so Grethe didn’t have to order them to open fire.

They arranged the order with which they would seize the different blocks and when the Vargus would appear, making it so the insurgents would flee to where the Vargus were waiting even without the Eighty-Six actively herding them there. They used large speakers they were able to prepare for this operation to transmit messages all across the city, ordering the insurgents to surrender at high volume. The tone of the announcements was imposing and overbearing, intended to spur a panicked person to reflexively obey.

The task of recovering those who surrendered was relegated not to the visibly combative military police, but the unit made up of Vargus women, which lulled the insurgents into thinking they wouldn’t be mistreated and kept hidden the fact that, once out of the city, they would be roughly forced into transport vehicles by stern MPs.

Shin took a turn, and his optical sensor detected a young man carrying a recoilless gun on his shoulder. Undertaker instantly turned to face him, only for the young man to hold up not his large gun but instead a child. Perhaps this wasn’t his intent, but it looked like he was using the child as a human shield as he begged:

“Wait, I have a child! A little boy!”

“Throw down your weapon and surrender! You won’t be harmed so long as you don’t resist!” Shin shouted through his external speaker.

The man threw down his recoilless gun and fell to his knees. If he was going to bring up at this moment that he had a child with him, he should have evacuated to begin with. The fact that he was so adamant about resisting that he brought a child to a combat zone, that he was trying to resist armed soldiers despite being a powerless civilian, that he joined this reckless revolt had all slipped from his mind now.

It wasn’t just reckless and meaningless; it was outright harmful. This, coupled with the realization that the Republic finally displayed clear intent to defend itself, was a headache and a half.

Shin could only grumble to himself and exhale deeply, trying to lower the pressure building in his mind.

Yes, at long last, the Republic’s people embraced the will to fight and protect. To stand up to keep their families, loved ones, and children safe. And so there were some who chose not to flee.

Even as Reginleifs charged at them like monsters of pure violence and tyranny, they stood in their path, resisting with assault rifles, recoilless guns, and handmade incendiary bottles.

—But so what?

Dustin fired his laser sights at all of them at maximum output. The high-energy beam burned the skin upon direct exposure, making the insurgents flinch away or kneel, allowing the Vargus to close in and apprehend them. And while a few didn’t flinch away despite the burns, Dustin drew on them with Sagittarius’s ten tonnes of weight.

After all, he had no duty to preach about justice and humane virtue anymore. He couldn’t save Citri, he idly looked by as his country became corrupt, and he believed he was doing something while doing nothing at all. He was weak, cowardly, and foolish, so any cruelty and brutality were just another drop in the bucket for him.

And so Dustin was the most merciless of all in this battle. So much so that his two Eighty-Six comrades from the 8th Platoon were trying their hardest to stop him.

“Dustin! Hey, Dustin! You’re going too far!”

“You don’t have to push yourself—just get back! These are your people! Don’t! Get! Carried away!”

But the only voice he couldn’t hear was Anju’s. Which only made sense—he hurt her, so she had nothing to say to him.

“Don’t worry. Our top priority is getting them out of the way, so don’t mind— Whoa.”

His console issued a warning, His optical sensor detected the silhouette of a mass requiring attention. He turned to look. A small group was hidden in the narrow streets of the Federacy city, carrying portable recoilless guns on their shoulders.

Every hair on his body stood on end. Before he knew it, he’d switched on the external speaker.

“—Don’t shoot! It’s dangerous!”

But they fired.

Dustin jumped away, evading the barrage of explosive warheads launched his way. The slow, unguided missiles missed Sagittarius, passing by its legs. But on the other hand, the group that fired the recoilless guns fell over, embroiled in flames.

Recoilless guns offset the intense recoil of a large missile by spewing flames from the back of the launcher. In order to ensure the backfire didn’t rebound and hit the user, these weapons were not to be used in closed environments.

The sight of his countrymen rolling on the ground on fire made all the blood drain from Dustin’s face. And at the same time, he was overcome with intense self-loathing at his inappropriate behavior in the middle of combat. Why did he just warn them? They attacked him, so why didn’t he counterattack? Why didn’t he pull the trigger?

“…Can’t I even shoot to defend myself…?!”

Why am I…so weak…?

Dustin was clearly in a state of self-abandonment. Anju could tell, but she couldn’t find the words. Because she was the one trying to keep him in place. She’d cheated, casting a curse on him, turning Dustin’s own pure heart into a weapon against him.

Dustin’s heart was too weak to protect others, too, which was why she’d been able to place that curse on him.

“…Just like a witch.”

She mocked herself. Ironically enough, it was the same as her Personal Name. It was Daiya who’d given her that title, but now it felt like a curse.

Weak people weren’t capable of doing good, and yet they were perfectly capable of inflicting bad. Just like how Anju put that curse on Dustin.

If she could not be good or kind or just, then at the very least—

“Because…I’m a witch.”

Because I am an evil witch. A greedy witch.

—she would hold on to the thing she was grasping, so that it wouldn’t be snatched away.

Her system blared out an alarm. She fixed her heavy machine guns on the approaching shadows as a chubby, amicable-looking middle-aged woman ran over to her.

“Wait, we surrender, so please help us—don’t kill us!”

So the woman shouted as she ran over, but she was hiding an incendiary bottle behind her body. Anju felt worn down and desolate already, her blue eyes chilling to a freezing edge.

Even though they were upheld in name only during the Legion War, the international laws of warfare did determine that civilians must be protected. But only as long as those civilians remained noncombatants—so long as they didn’t carry out attacks against soldiers.

—Congratulations, idiot. You just signed your own death warrant.

Without her realizing it, a thin smile played over her lips. The reticle moved, following her line of sight. With the flick of a finger, she switched to her secondary armament, the heavy machine guns, and prepared to pull the trigger. Someone’s words wafted up in her thoughts before popping like soap bubbles.

—They killed my mom and dad, treating them like trash for target practice.

…Isn’t this…what I’m doing right now? Treating people like trash for target practice? I don’t have to do this, but now that I have the chance, I’m trying to vent, to lash out—by shooting people?

She froze up in that moment. And at the same time, a reprimanding voice filled her ears.

“Cease your fire, Second Lieutenant Emma!”

That order, instilled in her mind through training, made her pull her finger away from the trigger. Just the heavy, resounding steps of the Reginleif were enough to make the woman jolt and flee.

“We didn’t issue any such orders, Second Lieutenant! Don’t act out of line!”

Shouting at her was one of the 1st Armored Division’s intelligence staff officers. With Lena absent, they’d taken over her duties with more staff officers than the other divisions commanding them.

The officer spoke with the stern, loud voice they used for orders and rebukes…but upon spotting Anju’s condition, they suddenly softened their tone. It wasn’t just because she’d stiffened in response to the call, but because she was clearly rattled and trembling.

“…Understood, Second Lieutenant Emma? You didn’t shoot. You did the right thing, and you didn’t shoot.”

Murder scared her. The reality of war did nothing to ease her into the idea of shooting someone, be they enemies, Republic citizens, or anyone else. And the officer said that Anju’s belief—this fear—was right and just.

“You’re a person on the side of kindness. You don’t want to hurt people or sadden those close to you. And that’s the right thing to do. The way you carry yourself is the right way to live. So you were right not to shoot. You did good.”

And yet that was weakness, too. She was too weak to protect others, only capable of doing unsightly things.

“…!”

No. It wasn’t that she was capable of doing evil. Her weakness simply made her get carried away, gravitate to the simpler—and evil—way out. She was weak, and she tried to use that weakness as an excuse—to tell herself she wasn’t capable of doing good.

“…I’m—”

Weak. And a cheat. But if despite that, I’m able to stay on the side of kindness, on the side of the just, then I—

Watching the merciless suppression efforts in the news, Primevére realized what the Federacy was trying to do. They avoided blatant displays of brutality like killing unarmed civilians while making a public display of how they one-sidedly crushed the insurgents. As a warning to strike fear into others. Or perhaps this was like a coliseum match, or a circus, meant to satisfy the masses’ hunger for palpable, satisfying justice.

“Th-this is inhumane… They’re treating our Republic people like circus animals…”

The Republic people being hunted down were like martyr prisoners, while the Reginleifs were like wild animals or gladiators, and the Federacy people watching this were the audience of the amphitheater.

As he watched this cruel Roman holiday that should have faded into the annals of history, Ernst furrowed his brow.

“You think you’re ones to talk? You threw the Eighty-Six into the Eighty-Sixth Sector, and you’re trying to trap Federacy soldiers on the front lines, and you think you get to say that? Oh, and you can spare me the ‘human-formed cattle’ hogwash. Even you people don’t really believe it. So yes, how could you people engage in such inhumanity?”

Primevére twitched at his remarks. If he knew this much, the answer for why was all too clear.

“To protect our families.”

Ernst regarded her silently, and Primevére raised her voice, growing enraged.

“Yes, to protect our families! So my precious children, my husband, my parents, and my siblings don’t die on the battlefield! That’s what the Eighty-Six were for! That’s what…labeling them as pigs in human form was for!”

If they didn’t reduce them to something inhuman—if they didn’t have to think that the Eighty-Six were someone’s children, husbands, parents, siblings, friends, lovers; if they had no way to defend their families but to fight—they wouldn’t be able to stand their own vileness.

And when one wanted to be blind to their own vileness, looking away only made sense.

“This is all the same; we’re doing this to protect our families! That’s all! If the Republic is in the way and can’t retreat, the Federacy has no choice but to fight! We have to protect our families! We don’t care for Eighty-Six or the Federacy, so long as our families are safe!”

As she hollered at him, tears spilled from her eyes. She spoke out of love for her family, her comrades, and her homeland, but it was just vileness coated with a thin veneer of love. The true form of that love was the evil that came when one placed the things they held dear against the things they didn’t care for on the scales, then decided to discard the latter.

And this was vileness everyone carried within them, so why did this man look at her with feigned ignorance, blaming her like none of this applied to him? Why was he forcing her to be aware of it?

“Everyone’s the same! The Federacy’s the same! Everyone’s fine with sacrificing and killing others so long as they’re safe! That’s just how things work!”

Ernst sighed softly, like a firedrake spewing out a stream of flame.

“—Could you please try to not irritate me?”

For a moment, what happened next didn’t register in Primevére’s mind, of course—or the other Bleachers’. A loud, dull thud filled the room, followed by Primevére spinning for a moment before crumpling to the ground.

“…Huh?”

The Bleachers froze out of reflex. Primevére had fallen to the ground like a broken doll, and she lay still. Her sprawled limbs were twitching as dull red spread over the carpet. Her head’s shape had changed—her skull had caved in.

They didn’t instantly register how the attack happened—that was how casually Ernst threw away the chair he had used to bludgeon Primevére before picking up her discarded assault rifle. He checked the chamber, then loaded the first bullet with an exasperated smile.

“Love, eh? Yes, well, I suppose love would do it. It is at the very core of humanity. I do know people have killed and discriminated in the name of love.”

None of the Bleachers fired at him. Some did neglect to load the first bullet, like Primevére had, but some of them didn’t, and they could have fired if they pulled the trigger. But they were transfixed in place by the black anger burning in this firedrake’s eyes as he calmly smiled at the sight of bloodshed.

“But…saying you don’t care because of love. That you have no choice because of love. Using love as an excuse, as justification, without trying for reflection or improvement. Not even trying to better the vileness and unsightliness of humankind.”

He flipped the assault rifle over, gripping the barrel and holding up the gunstock. The gunstock of this collapsible assault rifle had the strength of a metallic pipe, with a weight of four kilograms, exceeding that of most bladed weapons. He held the gunstock’s tip up like a bludgeon.

“So you speak of love when all you do is use it to affirm your own vile ways? If that kind of love is what defines humans—”

—then creatures like that deserve to perish.

Most of the noncombatants were a disorderly crowd who couldn’t last against an armored unit. The 1st Battalion was able to take control of all Quitortan’s blocks in no time. It was quicker and easier than when armed Republic soldiers had rounded up, restrained, and taken away millions of unarmed Eighty-Six.

Grimacing as he made that irritating association, Shin sent Grethe a report that the operation was complete. The other battalions sent similar reports from the other cities, too. The armored division that was set to pass through increased the speed of its march. Since they did so despite being ahead of schedule, the vehicles the insurgents were carried into had to wait until they passed.

What is it now?

Shin furrowed his brow. The armored division’s retreat was higher on the priority list compared with ferrying away the insurgents, so the insurgents having to wait was understandable on its own. However…

“—Strike Package commander, I’m sorry, but if you don’t hurry and get out of here, the next force will get stuck.”

As that question crossed his mind, he got a wireless message from the scout unit sent ahead of the armored division. Both had to communicate using the command post as a relay point, meaning there would be a time lag, so they cut the usual introductions and went straight to explaining the situation.

“The armored and artillery forces are fine, but the infantry at the end of the line are pretty much stampeding. They basically have no chain of command anymore. They’re not sticking to the order of retreat, so if you don’t want them to catch up to you, you need to hurry.”

Shin grimaced. He was informed, of course, that there were deserters from the infantry unit when the Saentis-Historics line collapsed, but…

“You guys should prepare to get off the highway. If you don’t, that angry mob will surround you, and you won’t be able to move.”

The Federacy forces ignored established retreat theory, hurrying the armored and infantry forces ahead while only offering minimal artillery support to the infantry left behind in the defensive line. They rained fullbore gun rounds, which couldn’t compare with howitzers and had limited ammo, on all fronts.

The Federacy’s railgun, the Kampf Pfau, boasted long-range abilities that could be fired at the front lines while remaining a safe distance away. It had low accuracy that had to be compensated for by firing a large number of shells at once, but when it came to bombarding an entire battlefield, the width of its circular error probability proved effective.

But it had two fatal flaws: its great weight, which meant it could only move along the railway, and the slow movement of the spades required to offset its recoil.

Once the trajectory of its shots was reverse-calculated to determine its position, the Morpho began their counterattack. The Kampf Pfaus deployed across the different fronts, as well as their crews, were exposed to a rain of 800 mm shells. The Kampf Pfaus were meant to keep the Morpho in check by matching their superior range—which, of course, meant the Morpho were just as capable of counterattacking the Kampf Pfaus.

The peacocks that offered artillery support to the front lines were shot down one by one by lightning rained down from the giant butterflies. As the bombardment died down and silence descended on the front lines, a floating bridge filled the void of its predecessor, and Aranea units crossed the many rivers flowing through the battlefield. The metallic army stood over the horizon, waiting for the bridges to link the two shores.

And at this point, the Federacy no longer had the cannons that would keep that at bay.

The 69th Armored Division’s scouts warning was accurate.

Shin and his group set up a defensive line away from the highway that served as the evacuation route, then watched as the routed infantrymen rushed through it in the same disorderly chaos one would expect of a swarm of mice or locusts. The highway was by no means narrow, but they filled it up like a black wave. They didn’t walk in organized ranks, nor did they match the speed of their march, pushing through people and groups ahead of them. They had no way of telling which division and regiment they were passing by, and with the chain of command collapsed, they were nothing more than a mob of people.

The groups pushed one another for a time, picking fights and suspecting the others of being one of those new self-propelled mines. Their fear of nonexistent enemies made their pace slower as they kept arguing. A group marching on foot wasn’t going to move fast to begin with, but their foolish behavior only served to further cut down their speed.

In the midst of their march, those who stayed behind in the trenches of the first defensive line just barely managed to hold on. They needed to recover as many infantry as possible while they held their ground, and yet.

“…They’re going slower than I expected.”

Shin held back the urge to click his tongue. Knowing the infantry wouldn’t stay away even if they told them to, the Strike Package deployed their defensive line in the Lyskiv Forest, hoping the rugged terrain of the virgin forest would deter them. The only ones passing through were those who had abandoned their allies and fled right away.

Even so, if they had acted quickly, the units holding on in the first defensive line may have been able to retreat before they got wiped out.

…Why?

Why weren’t the soldiers capable of keeping a cool head and maintaining basic judgment?

The ones hanging on in the first defensive line were mostly Vargus units. Despite being abandoned by the fleeing infantrymen and the armored units and artillery that had retreated, and the fact that they would be isolated once the remaining trenches and fortifications fell, the Vargus saw death in combat as an honor. They would face the metallic surge with smiles on their faces, firing their machine guns until their barrels burned red-hot, swinging their axes and swords until they chipped into nothing.

A Para-RAID connected from a pillbox—one that was relatively nearby but overall far from them, where a Vargus unit was stationed.

“You, from the Zoto village. You still alive?”

“Oh, you’re the one from Gima Mima! You’re still hanging on, too?!”

They exchanged news, saying that an old distant relative or the youngest son from the house next door fell in battle. They leaned in excitedly, talking about how someone got hurt. As he laughed in satisfaction, his comrade from the village of Gima Mima spoke.

“The lord gave us the order to fall back, too. The scrap monsters’ main force will arrive soon, and it’s clear we won’t be able to stop them, so we should just retreat.”

“Finally, huh? Roger that. Except…”

That except was likely in reference to the scrap monsters’ main force: the large group deployed on the riverbanks. They had destroyed all the anti-tank impediments and were slowly crossing the river to where neither armored infantry nor armored weapon could stop them.

“I can’t see us giving them the slip. They’ve caught up to us now.”

The next bombardment hit his position, blowing away all the trenches.

And so the main force of the Legion’s 1st Echelon crossed the river and finished clearing all the mines and anti-tank impediments. They formed an opening point, maintaining it as part of their forces encroached deeper into the Saentis-Historics line. They followed the scouting unit that had been sent ahead to secure their path, rushing into the defensive position. The only things standing in their way was the minimal rear guard who stood their ground, and mines and traps left behind.

The tidal wave surged forward, using its superior mass. The Legion’s 1st Echelon swallowed up the retreat path, which was full of people, with some of the Legion using their momentum to enter the Harutari reserve formation.

The Strike Package, who were assisting the retreat to the Harutari reserve formation, ran into the tidal wave of the Legion’s 1st Echelon. They knew what was coming thanks to Shin’s ability, but there were just too many of them. They were able to withstand the attack thanks to the way the Federacy’s cities were structured, but the other units consolidating the Harutari strip’s defenses had to fall back—effectively leaving the Strike Package and the retreating units isolated in the midst of the enemy.

Watching the blips on the holo-screen, Grethe asked Shin a question. Their allies were falling back, but what of the enemy’s movements?

“Is this the last of them, Captain? Or are there more?”

“There’s more coming. The Legion are launching an offensive with a large unit at the back of the front. It’s corps…no, army-size in scale. It’s probably a second echelon.”

“Army-size…?!”

In this case, the word army was used to describe a group made up of several armored corps. A collection of several armies was called an army group, and in the Federacy’s case, they counted as a front army, with the western front’s army being made up of two armies of five corps each.

In other words, reinforcements equal in number to half the size of the western front’s army were about to reach the Harutari defensive line.

Grethe made her choice. The Strike Package wouldn’t last the coming battle on such level ground without reinforcements. And if she had to choose between fleeing infantrymen who wouldn’t necessarily be useful anymore and the Strike Package, which still maintained its order as a unit, the latter was more valuable.

“—The mission is over. We’re falling back, too, while offering cover for the units present.”

The survivors of the rear guard who had stayed behind until now, made up mostly of Vargus, spread out and began to retreat. They moved in small units to remain hidden from the enemy. This was why they were passing through inconspicuous roads. There were no infantry left for the Strike Package to wait for.

“In order to avoid getting in other units’ way, the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Armored Divisions are to gather in Roitich City, where the Harutari line support unit is deployed. The 1st Armored Division is to gather in Nakiviki City, then head west and return to Rüstkammer base.”

Soon after, instructions arrived from the division HQ. The Strike Package was to conclude their current mission, fall back, and make way to defend the Rüstkammer theater.

Took you long enough, Grethe grumbled to herself.

“With the Legion having encroached on the Harutari defensive line, the surroundings of the Rüstkammer base will soon become a battlefield. We’ll be fighting to protect our homes next.”

The commander of Miel’s orphanage was a beacon of kindness. He led the children, who were both foreigners and slow to run, even as soldiers from the front line were fleeing for their lives. But that kindness was the military police officer’s undoing.

They were in the plains of the Montizoto territory. With the retreat of the front lines happening faster than expected, the howitzers of the long-ranged Skorpion units sporadically reached as far as there. And then suddenly, the military police officer’s head—vanished.

“Huh?”

What did him in was the fragment of a shell, whose impact Miel and the other felt from afar. A 155 mm shell’s killing range was seventy-five meters—meaning that they almost certainly killed anyone within that range, but of course, its fragments could reach even farther than that while maintaining their force.

The officer’s head had been blown off instantly, reducing him to a corpse that crumpled limply to the ground. One of the girls in his group froze, splattered over with the mist of flesh, blood, and bone.

Miel and his group all stopped in their tracks as well, having lost the adult who’d been guiding them.

Abandoned on a battlefield where howitzer fire occasionally hit, left behind by the other refugees because they were slower, Miel and the other children were isolated and trapped.

Since he’d lived there for a few months, it was only natural to call Theo over to confirm the floor plan for Ernst’s estate—which made him bitterly realize that they were planning on storming in. So Theo thought as he stood in the temporary command post set up in the base’s barracks module.

They intended to go in and swiftly eliminate the insurgents without regard for the hostage’s—for Ernst’s—life. The ones who’d called him, sectioned off part of the base, and were using the military’s barracks module were the army, not the police. Even if the military was in a state of emergency, with all the fronts in a state of crisis and the capital in a state of political upheaval, the army had moved in to resolve the incident at Sankt Jeder despite not having the authority to do so.

The command post was full of red-haired, red-eyed Pyropes, as were the troops and noncommissioned officers sectioning off the base, and their unit insignia was that of a burning leopard. This was one of the armored divisions stationed near the capital, the Flame Leopard unit. The Brantolote archduchy’s elite unit, made up solely of personnel affiliated with them.

They were intent on a nighttime operation, so as to hide the fact that they were effectively abandoning the president to his fate. They evacuated all the civilians from the high-end neighborhood and kept the media away from the area.

The maid, Teresa, had escaped soon after the insurgents occupied the place, thanks to Ernst. Theo became angry upon hearing an officer say that things would have been easier if it was the other way around, but he wasn’t allowed to so much as speak, much less share his opinion.

Once they were done with him, they drove him out of the command post like a dog. He stood in the hall, full of frustration and alarm. What was he going to do? He had to come up with something. He didn’t want to just stand by and let this happen, just idly let someone he knew die.

His phone vibrated. It was a message from his current superior officer—it said to put on his RAID Device and remain on standby.

“…Roger.”

He wondered what this was about, considering the state of the capital, as he put on the silver ring he’d brought just in case. Someone instantly Resonated with him and spoke, panting.

“Theo…! Oh, what a godsend! You’re near Ernst’s estate, are you not?!”

Frederica’s power to see the present state of those she knew. Just like she said, this was a godsend. Perfect timing!

“Frederica, good timing. Help me out!”

If they knew the state of the estate, where Ernst was, and what the Bleachers were doing, it might be possible to take control of the place without Ernst getting caught in the cross fire. Of course, he couldn’t risk having the Flame Leopards and, by extension, the Brantolote archduchy learn of Frederica, but he could just say this was thanks to Shin’s or His Highness’s ability.

He could feel Frederica nod enthusiastically through the Resonance.

“Yes, correct, we must help each other, Theo. We must go inside—”

But what she shouted next caught Theo entirely by surprise.

“—and stop Ernst!”

Fighting as they retreated, all the units made their way to the gathering point in Nakiviki City. Each unit moved in order from the defensive line set up in the Lyskiv Forest northeast to the Kashine Foothills. After preparing their next defensive line in the abandoned city of Ruvokiv on the Kashine Foothills, Shin’s 1st Battalion finally moved out of the Rishikiv Woods with their covering fire.

They moved north, avoiding the highways full of infantry, and made way to the eastern city of Farekiv. But then the 4th and 5th Battalions deployed along the foothills disappeared along with the hills themselves.

Immediately following that, Shin looked up through his optical screen to the gray sky. Just as his radar systems detected something approaching, he felt the impact. A high-speed projectile with intense firepower.

“A Morpho?!”

“The Kampf Pfau…probably got destroyed.”

In order to destroy the Kampf Pfau in the back of the Federacy defensive line, the Morpho had moved to the very rear of the Legion’s 1st Echelon. There was no way Shin would be able to discern the moment a Morpho attacked with the wailings of countless Shepherds and Sheepdogs assaulting his senses.

Following that, more areas got bombarded—Farekiv City, where the 7th Battalion just arrived; once again in the Kashine Foothills; the Rishikiv Woods, which the 1st Battalion just left; and the highways the infantry marched on. As 800 mm shells rained down like divine thunder, the Legion armored unit charged at the 3rd and 4th Battalion in the Ruvokiv City defensive line while they were still rattled from the shock waves and fragments hitting them.

“Tch. 5th Battalion, Mitsuda is unresponsive. Taking command as vice captain!”

“4th Battalion, survivors are all prepared to attack. Fire once you have them in your sights!”

Covering fire launched from within the smoldering wreckage of the Kashine Foothills aimed at Ruvokiv City. Armored weapons fought while in motion, and that was the forte of the Reginleif, built for high-speed combat. They moved around rather than fortifying in one spot, so despite how heavy the impact on the area looked, they apparently weren’t damaged much.

“Michihi from the 3rd Battalion here. I’m unharmed—1st Battalion, keep up your retreat! We’ll support you until you’re done!”

“7th Platoon, likewise, we’ve got Farekiv City secured. Focus on building the def— Whoa!”

Another bombardment. These were long-range unguided missiles with low accuracy; meaning they hit both the key terrain and unrelated areas just the same, meaning the Reginleifs had nowhere to run. Between the shock waves and fragments, large amounts of sediment rained down from the collapsing hills, washing away and splitting up any units and squadrons unfortunate enough to get caught by them.

—They’re aiming at this escape route.

Shin narrowed his eyes. This retreat road stood out because of the countless infantry moving through it. There was no point in taking out the Legion’s forward observer units because they would get substituted by other Ameise, and there was a good chance a Rabe was observing this battle. It wouldn’t take long before the 2nd Echelon joined the fight. So before that happened—

“All units, prioritize disengaging from the bombardment zone. Make your way to—” He called up the map, looking for a place the evacuating troops wouldn’t choose. “North, to the Tohfar Mountains. Don’t deploy for an ambush and try to keep engaging any enemy armored units to a minimum.”

The armored units they were seeing now were just disposable pawns to keep the 1st Armored Division pinned down in the bombardment zone. So while they couldn’t altogether ignore them, they could use the Morpho’s own bombardment to beat them.

The staff officers commanding the 1st Armored Division made an addition, updating the map with several rendezvous points. They weren’t telling each battalion to gather there, but for each unit to prioritize evading enemy fire rather than focusing on moving as a platoon or battalion.

As he listened to First Lieutenant Canaan Nyuud and the Longbow squadron reply over the staff officers’ voices, Shin closed his eyes for a moment. The retreating 2nd to 4th Armored Divisions were spread out between the escape route along the Blanc Rose combat territory to Roitich City—in other words, it was probably that they’d also been hit by the Morpho bombardment. The Kampf Pfaus had likely been eliminated, and all the Morpho units that appeared fired all over the Harutari strip.

“Shit…”

White snow began to flutter down from the dull-colored sky.

With the irritating peacocks destroyed, the Morpho were able to freely strike at the Federacy’s reserve position, only to stop upon receiving a report from their forward observer units and set their sights on a new target.

There were still fleeing soldiers and the units that were defending them in the bombardment zone, but firing to separate and isolate them would be easy. A Morpho was well-equipped to destroying the rats’ nests, but it was too large to eliminate every last skittering one, so there was no need for the Morpho to chase down units after they’d been scattered.

With the Kampf Pfaus decimated, the Morpho no longer needed to change position, and they aimed their long barrels on the spot.

<<Radar reading detected.>>

…A radar reading?

The next moment, a bombardment of shells penetrated the Morpho’s gigantic form—fired by the last Kampf Pfau the Federacy never deployed in any of the fronts, as a backup to counter the Morpho.

“How stupid are you, you dumb hunks of scrap metal? Did you really think we’d use all our aces for artillery support against the Morpho?!”

“That covering fire was meant to lure them out, too. Use this chance to take out as many Morpho as you can!”

It was a brave counterattack using their artillery forces as bait. The Kampf Pfau’s operators, who completed their firing schedule with bloodcurdling expressions on their faces, instantly raised their spades to switch to another position, riding along the train tracks to vanish from the enemy’s sights.

Without air superiority, the Kampf Pfau didn’t have the means of confirming whether it hit its mark or not. But even if, at worst, it failed to take the target out, it kept the Morpho in check and suppressed their arrogant control over the battlefield at the very least.

They may have been mass-produced at this point, but Morpho were still precious few in number. As the Morpho were wary of counterattacks, their bombardment became sporadic again. They began switching positions as well, moving their fourteen-hundred-tonne massive forms around so as to avoid being hit.

Having been spared from the shower of lightning and steel, the soldiers resumed their retreat.

A deafening exhaust noise, akin to a fearless dragon’s roar, approached them from behind.

It was in one corner of the Harutari reserve position, supported by conscripted Vargus—old, female, and child soldiers, as it was inadvisable to send the artillery and armored division troops they’d recovered back out to fight yet. The infantry troops hiding within the trenches, attempting to hold off the next incoming wave of Legion, all turned around to look.

The noise was simply that overbearing.

“What’s that?!”

“Shit. That’s…!”

Those who didn’t know that model had never heard such noise before. And those who knew it regarded it with both awe and loathing. The heavy, rumbling steps of its multiple legs quaked the ground like the galloping of a destrier. Its special, high-output power pack allowed its unusual weight to strike with surprising speed.

It wasn’t a Vánagandr, and it wasn’t Legion, either, of course. Once one heard it and laid eyes on it, they would never forget its presence. This loud, overbearing roar—

“Azhi Dahāka…!”

“The Nouzens finally let loose their man-eating dragons…!”

“Devour them!”

The operators all shouted out of their units’ external speakers at full volume in unison, in an act of psychological warfare. The voices of men and women intermingled together in a battle cry that was both gallant and ominous as their metal-black forms strode past the trenches. Unlike a certain someone who conducted herself like an empress, the Onyx warriors didn’t waste their time on something as meaningless as painting their units in their own colors. They didn’t need such superficial embellishments to prove themselves, as the countless achievements they made on the battlefield spoke solemnly of their might.

Like a dragon baring its fangs, they attacked the Legion armored division from both flanks at once. They tore into them, devoured them with all the ease of closing a maw. They achieved this with their unnatural speed and the might it afforded them.

Azhi Dahāka.

Much like a Vánagandr, it was equipped with twin 120 mm smoothbore machine guns and stalwart armor. But the difference was it wasn’t a two-seater, but a single-seat unit, where the operator handled both piloting and firing at once. And—

“Crawl and wait for our hooves to crush you, you pieces of useless scrap! The Crazy Bones Division is upon you!”

The Azhi Dahāka’s armor had a thickness that was not much different from a Vánagandr’s. Still, with its combat weight of seventy tonnes, this giant dragon used its legs to push the large Löwe into the ground from overhead. The impact of their landing and weight cracked the Löwe’s relatively thin top armor, smashing the Löwe into the snowy ground, where they twitched like dying insects crushed underfoot.

Having crushed the enemy, Yatrai operated his Azhi Dahāka to jump to the next target, with his lieutenant staying behind to swerve his turret and finish off the unfortunate Löwe with a close-range shot.

Yes, they jumped. Despite their weight, they leaped and jumped like warhorses, freely moving about the snowy battlefield. Despite being heavier than any Vánagandr or Löwe, they had a high-output driving system that was capable of moving that weight with speeds that rivaled the Legion. That was the Azhi Dahāka’s most striking feature.

But of course, that meant its fuel efficiency and maintenance costs were destructively awful. On top of that, its control system was extremely sensitive, and its power system was difficult to handle and prone to problems if its output dropped even a little.

It also required robust operators capable of withstanding its overly high, excessive acceleration and its intense inertia.

The machine weighed seventy tonnes because of its powerful driving system, the cooling system needed to match it, and the buffering system that kept the unit from destroying itself. With these, it achieved an extreme amount of speed that would shake up any operator, making it impossible to control the machine with just experience and intuition.

This was a guaranteed monster, only created with the backing of the noble Nouzen clan’s wealth and influence and controlled by their unique bloodline.

Having been struck from the flank, the Legion detachment was split in two as the Azhi Dahāka dug into them. Their vanguard had already been bitten into and was in the dragon’s gullet, beaten down one after another by the Azhi Dahāka. Meanwhile, the two vanguard units of the Crazy Bones Division tore through the enemy group, slipped out of the enemy ranks, and then took a sharp turn to once again bite into the scrap monsters’ flanks like hungry sharks.

From the corner of his optical screen, Yatrai could see soldiers scurrying into the trenches to reorganize their forces. They were decisive and quick-witted enough to not waste the chance the Crazy Bones Division’s arrival granted them. These weren’t Federacy civilians, however, but Vargus beastmen.

As he landed a blow into the unarmored turret joint of an approaching Löwe, instantly dispatching it, Yatrai switched on the external speaker.

“You’ve fought well. Reinforcements will come soon. Hang on until then.”

“…Understood.”

The reply in the radio came after a pause of awe, or shame and humiliation at those who’d died… He didn’t know what governor they fought under, but they did a bad job of disciplining these men.

“But we must make a request. The renegades who abandoned our brethren cannot be trusted. Please do not reuse them and send those of our own as reinforcements.”

Yatrai let out a breath as he smirked. “Very well. But in exchange, hold this position until your dying breath, you lot.”

“That goes without saying.”

The radio transmission cut off there. His lieutenant, who’d remained silent during the transmission, spoke up instead.

“Lord Yatrai, the division of forces across each front, and the recovery and reintroduction of the artillery and armored troops, are all going according to schedule, but there’s a delay in reintroducing the rescued soldiers back into the ranks.”

The artillery and armored divisions that had begun to retreat first were all recovered and brought to the Harutari defensive line; at the moment they were preparing to have their units reorganized and reintroduced back into the fold. Meanwhile, the infantry unit that had begun to flee before the order was officially issued had long since arrived at the defensive line and were also to be sent back to fight. However…

As Yatrai remained silent, awaiting an answer, his lieutenant continued:

“They’re deserters. Cowards. They weep and scream like children that they don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Fools.” Yatrai laughed them off coldly.

Indeed, they were shallow-minded fools. They honestly believed deserting under enemy fire meant they’d escaped the battlefield.

“Tell them to gun them down one by one until they start shouting, Yes, sir. And that they are not to send reports like that ever again. What did we give them those Vánagandrs for? If those soldier dogs can’t discipline the roosters, it reflects poorly on us as cattle keepers.”

His lieutenant laughed. Yatrai didn’t know it, but the reason he was picked to be the next heir of the Nouzen clan wasn’t because of his family’s influence or his blood relation to Marquis Seiei. It was because he had a quality that was crucial in these war-swept times—cruelty and brutality fueled by pride and callousness that had been unmatched since the family’s founder.

A grandchild of mixed blood, whose only merit was his direct descendance to the current head, could not match him.

“By your will, Lord Yatrai. My back is yours.”

While he wasn’t on the battlefield, Theo was still a soldier, and the situation in the capital was dire. He needed to carry a pistol on his person. He cocked the slide, loading the first bullet. The Federacy’s standard-issue sidearm was a small model with limited capacity, and he didn’t have a spare cartridge with him, so he didn’t have many shots. But if Frederica’s words were true, there’d be no need to shoot anyway.

Still, to be on the safe side, he sneaked through the manor’s window, his gun loaded.

“Wait, who’s that?!”

“What are the guards doing?!”

He heard the Flame Leopard unit members raise their voices from afar. They had the area on lockdown to prevent the insurgents from escaping, but they didn’t expect someone to come in from the outside.

Stepping over the floor, which was littered with glass shards, he rolled through the carpeted floor of the hallway. A moment later, he heard bullets hit the window frame from outside. The blaring of gunshots came a split second later, the shots traveling fast—this was a unique phenomenon in rifles. This was sniper fire, aimed at the entirety of the northern perimeter of the manor, the window included.

“…Whoa. They actually fired at me,” he whispered, keeping his head down.

Theo’s infiltration had been spotted a long time ago, but the Flame Leopards took time to report in and receive orders before attacking. This was likely because these noble units weren’t so coldhearted as to shoot a Federacy soldier of their own accord. These were warning shots that weren’t met to hit their mark but simply intimidate him.

“Frederica, where’s Ernst?”

“In the living room. The Bleachers are…as far as I can tell, all there, too.”

Indeed, as Theo pressed his back against the wall, he couldn’t hear any talking or footsteps. And while the president’s private manor wasn’t built so shoddily that whispers could be heard from afar, the blaring of a rifle’s gunshot would still be audible. So if there were any guards on patrol, they’d have reacted to the gunfire by now.

…I should probably assume this place is empty except for the living room.

He still made his way there while wary of other noises. Indeed, the place was full of people. On top of hearing wet, sticky footsteps, he could practically feel the body heat of many people.

—Wet footsteps. Indoors.

He bitterly tried to imagine the situation inside. What’s more, there was an ominously familiar stench in the air. For a while now, Frederica had been wordless, like she was holding back tears. He drew closer to the door’s shadow and peered inside.

And then Theo gulped in shock. Frederica had told him the gist of what happened, and he’d guessed as much from the stench of blood. And yet.

Standing in the midst of the Bleachers, who lay scattered on the carpet like objects, and brandishing an assault rifle with a bloodstained stock was an ash-colored firedrake, his head drenched in blood and his trademark suit covered in stains.

The snow silently fell, only to melt into mud from the heat of shells flying through the air, gun barrels turning red-hot and the exhaust pipes of armored weapons and trucks belching smog. As Reginleifs flew about the battlefield, they splashed through the mud, their white armor becoming coated with muck.

With the Kampf Pfau keeping the Morpho in check, their bombardments turned more sporadic. As Shin and the 1st Armored Division intentionally advanced through steep mountains, which impeded the movement of polypedal units, the Legion ground forces pursuing them also had trouble navigating the area compared with open terrain.

As they traversed ravines between precipitous cliffs, along unpaved roads littered with coiling tree roots and branches, even the small Reginleifs had to move in small groups. They kept traveling while confirming the terrain, so they could avoid running into a dead end, which meant they couldn’t progress too quickly. Even if they wanted to descend to the foot of the mountains, the terrain there was too flat, and the place was covered with Legion remnants. They could only advance through the mountainous road, the sole silver lining being that the forested terrain kept them out of the Rabe’s watchful eye.

Down on the surface, the deserters were still scattered all over the battlefield like hungry locusts. They rushed and congested the road paved for the Harutari defensive line. Worse yet, they tried to push into the Harutari line’s trenches without contacting the garrison, and they ended up setting off mines, pushing away wire fences, and blocking lines of fire—effectively assisting the Legion’s offense.

Shin couldn’t restrain his anger at the sight. Why was everyone being so stupid? If they could see that the situation was going south, why were they so insistent on having their way? They let their own concerns, their fear guide their emotions.

Another unit began pursuing them. Finding a strategic spot, they set up a defensive line and intercepted the enemy’s advance guard as they struck at another unit from the flank. Reginleifs were not effective at stopping in the middle of combat. Units stopping to set up a defensive line meant risking losses, but they had no infantry to rely on except for the Vargus troops escorting them. If the infantry cooperated with them, their chances of survival would have been better, but they didn’t consider that.

Shin couldn’t restrain his anger at this foolishness.

…Why?

They put their weakness and foolishness on full display, as if they were confident they could get away with anything. Even the thought that others might get caught up in the trouble they caused or that they might be endangering themselves was of no concern. They were getting carried away with their self-destructive behavior.

Why do you do this?

Upon hearing that its consort Morpho had been felled by that inferior Federacy railgun, Nidhogg’s Liquid Micromachine brain seethed with memories of burning humiliation. That Federacy railgun. That inferior model, with its poor accuracy, smaller caliber, and lower initial velocity compared with a Morpho like Nidhogg. And despite all that, it was the long-distance cannon that had once defeated it.

—It defeated me. Once.

He could hear the familiar wailings of a Morpho from surprisingly nearby.

It’s our turn. Our turn.

It was the voice of the Morpho that had dropped firebombs on the evacuation train in the Republic Relief Expedition two months ago. It was, surprisingly enough, only a few dozen kilometers away from Shin and the Spearhead squadron, within range of howitzer fire. The long-distance artillery cannon, boasting a maximum effective range of four hundred kilometers, had encroached so far that it was a stone’s throw away from the Harutari reserve position.

It was too close to be aiming at the Harutari position. Which meant it was—

“Aiming for the Kampf Pfau?”

It didn’t care for the infantry at its feet, even if they were routed troops, or for the Vargus who may be lying in wait somewhere, or for the Strike Package members located in front of the position.

It sang that it was its turn, wailing its dying words. It was likely a former Eighty-Six, one who chose hatred for the Republic above all else and tried to burn it all to the ground.

“…You killed so many.”

And it still wasn’t enough. It still wanted to kill more. And now its enemy wasn’t even the Republic anymore. It had its sights on the Federacy, which was unrelated to the internment and prosecution it had experienced in life, claiming it was “its turn.”

At this point, it wasn’t even revenge anymore.

…You poor soul. The thought crossed Shin’s mind coldly.

However, it wasn’t the same mercy Shin felt for the Legion and the souls trapped within them, but a stronger, more intense loathing. This soul had forgotten the honor of fighting to the bitter end, and was consumed by vengeance…only to forget whom their hatred was even directed at. It was so overcome by its instincts as a combat machine that it let its hatred carry it away, sinking into meaningless slaughter.

In the end, he’s just like them.

The same as the Hail Mary Regiment and all the deserters on this battlefield, who used their foolishness as an excuse to stop thinking, used their weakness as justification to let selfishness guide them. To be powerless and pathetic.

Unsightly. Outright…infuriating.

Shin took a breath—the swift, sharp breath of a starved predator facing prey.

“1st Battalion, follow me. We’re striking at that idiot who showed their face on the front lines.”

But that said, the 1st Armored Division had been split up into small groups on their march due to the Morpho bombardment, meaning they weren’t organized into battalions—or even platoons, in some cases.

“Shin, what?!” Kurena, whose 5th Platoon had joined another group in the split, replied in surprise.

The units near Undertaker followed, regardless of their squadron affiliation. Thankfully, the three units from Shin’s platoon were close by and followed. Raiden’s 2nd Platoon also joined in.

“Kurena, you know what to do. Stay here.”

“Raiden, I’m counting on you!”

She did understand. With both Shin and Raiden away, she and Anju were the next in the chain of command. As one of the veterans from before the Strike Package was established, she had to stay around to take command of the 1st Armored Division.

“I’ll take care of things here. So you have to make it back!”

“They’re being reckless again… Lerche, cover for them.” Vika sighed, ordering Lerche to help.

“That goes without saying.”

“No, one battalion won’t be enough. We’ll support your way out! 2nd Platoon, all units that can respond are to gather and link up with nearby units!”

“Aaah, what a pain! Nouzen, just sent you an updated map!”

Rito consolidated their surrounding troops as Marcel sent map data he’d swiftly pulled up. Shin was acting on his own accord, and Grethe reluctantly approved of it.

“Eliminating this target will be necessary for a certain retreat, Captain Nouzen. I’ll request a decoy to stall it. Take it out quick and get back here.”

“Roger.”

As that conversation took place, Anju’s mind wandered. Raiden joined Shin, while Kurena stayed behind. And what of her?

…Dustin.

If she was going to pick only Dustin, the right thing to do would be to see Shin off. This didn’t mean he would fail to make it back. Shin was strong and more than capable enough of fending for himself. He wasn’t as weak as Dustin and her, so surely, he’d take care of the Morpho and come back safely.

But after all…

Shin’s a weak Reaper who can’t fight alone.

So if someday, everyone abandoned him like Anju was about to, he’d just fight all on his own, then eventually become exhausted and die. Even in this battle, Shin might be reduced to a hero’s death and never make it back.

And Anju didn’t want that to happen.

—Big Brother looked a bit pitiful back there.

She knew Shin was actually weaker and less reliable than he seemed. This was why they couldn’t let him, their kind Reaper, become everyone’s hero. He wasn’t strong enough to bear the weight of everyone depending on him, and they weren’t going to contribute to him falling apart.

Me, I’m…I’m weak and unreliable, too. Weak and a cheater. But I can at least manage this… I can, on my own, save him. And protect those I wish to keep safe. Even if that’s the kindness of a cheater, I can at least stick to that. Weak and unsightly as I am, I can at least do that.

Her eyes narrowed in resolve. Kurena and the units around her, Raiden’s Wehrwolf and Shin’s Undertaker—they all had autocannons with direct sights and tank turrets. They’d need a surface-suppression unit with sweeping range and indirect sights. On the other hand, Kurena, as temporary commander, had forces to escort her.

“Dustin, Yuu, you two stay here. Michihi, you come with me!”

“Roger that, Anju.”

“I’ll link up with the 5th Platoon and take over covering fire for Kurena.”

Dustin alone remained silent. Assuming he hadn’t heard her, she switched the Para-RAID only to him.

“Dustin, listen… You’re pure, so—”

“…?”

He regarded her with what felt like confused silence. He said nothing, likely unable to accept what she was about to say. But if he just remembered it later and realized, that was good enough.

If it’ll be what inspires you to remember what you are, of the self you’re losing sight of, it’s enough.

It looks like it hurts.

It’s obvious you wouldn’t forget about him.

He let her open up about the scars she wanted to lose. He affirmed her desire to not forget the person she loved. He was so pure, he wouldn’t even ask her to forget about him.

If you do that, you’ll never be happy.

He wished for her happiness. And though he was too weak to protect those words, that purity, right now…

“You’re so kind, you can only live in purity. So you can’t let yourself cheat… But for someone as kind as you, this is probably the only way you know how to live. You can’t betray who you are.”

I think that’s a curse, but…I’m a witch, after all. A greedy, unfair witch.

“I’m an unfair woman, so I’ll take advantage of that kindness… Keep your promise and don’t die.”

Because I promise I’ll come back.

Since the Morpho had metallic legs in place of wheels, it technically could leave the rail. Its massive weight couldn’t be supported by most ground foundation, sinking into the earth, and even if that didn’t happen, it couldn’t hope to travel as fast as it did on the tracks, but it was still possible. And so Nidhogg found a firm, paved military road it could slowly, gingerly move on.

It walked slowly, like an insect creeping along, but mere infantry knew better than to approach the gigantic dragon. As they ran in terror, trying to gain distance from it, it aimed its long-range radar at them, making their body fluids boil from the powerful radar waves for a spot of amusement as it waited for the faulty enemy railgun to shoot.

Come at me. I’ve come all the way here, to where I can’t move. Shoot me. This time, I’ll shoot back before you can land a hit on me.

Of course, its grudge couldn’t reach the other railgun, and yet—a reaction on its antiair radar. High-speed projectiles detected.

—There!

With almost childlike glee, Nidhogg turned the bearing of its elongated barrel. Reverse-calculating the projectiles’ trajectory, it started on identifying the Kampf Pfau’s position. It ignored any rounds that were on course to miss it by a wide margin and spread out its heat-disposal wings. Its consciousness, which remained clotted with the hatred it had died with, was submerged with the madness that came with accepting its instincts as a murder machine. It finished identifying the firing position. Its barrel trembled, adjusting its sights as it prepared to counterattack—

But then…

A tank shell fired at it from an entirely unexpected direction, striking it and rattling its sensors and mechanical thoughts.

His reticle followed his line of sight, intersecting with the Morpho’s frame as Shin squeezed the trigger. His APFSDS shell hit it directly, causing its reactive armor to explode, covering the Morpho in black smoke.

Peering at him coldly, Shin spat out, “Idiot.”

Pursuing a routed, defeated army to deliver blows to its exposed back was the most efficient way of inflicting losses, but doing so also disturbed the Legion’s own ranks, and charging straight ahead without losing speed meant one’s vigilance of their surroundings was lower. And to begin with, not all infantry units had fled, with some of them still fighting.

And in the midst of a battlefield where it was hard to tell friend from foe apart, a slow, dull railroad artillery appeared. Blinded by victory, it carelessly moved in, even getting off the rail tracks that would have allowed it to flee to safety. And it allowed itself this arrogance despite facing the Eighty-Six, who’d been conditioned to fight the menacing Legion in defective aluminum coffins.

And being one of them, the Morpho knew this. But joining the army of mechanical ghosts, it’d grown arrogant and drunk with power, neglecting the vigilance the battlefield demanded. Despite all that, it still had the mindset of a disposable Juggernaut, a disposable Processor. It failed to grasp the Morpho’s importance and value as a tactical weapon, complacently convincing itself it was worthless.

If so, then you’re not the ghost of an Eighty-Six anymore. You’re only basking in idle despair at the place where you were taken, not trying to go anywhere or be capable of anything—just another powerless, unsightly fool.

“Engaging the enemy. Colonel Grethe, you can tell them the Kampf Pfau doesn’t need to distract it or keep it at bay anymore… As expected, this idiot was waiting for it to shoot so it can fire back.”

Grethe frowned from the other side of the Resonance. “I’m going to have to ask you to relax, Captain. That kind of pointless report isn’t called for.”

“Roger,” Shin replied, but her words went in one ear and out the other.

His style was melee combat using close-range armaments—atypical for an armored weapon, it required extreme concentration. By now, Shin’s thoughts were fixed solely on the enemy unit before his eyes.

Radar waves fundamentally traveled in a straight line, meaning their detection range narrowed on the surface over the horizon. And if one hid in the shadows of any hills, valleys, houses, or trenches, it was possible to evade Nidhogg’s narrow detection range altogether.

Only once it was hit head-on with a tank shell did Nidhogg realize that armored weapons were approaching it. At that point, the enemy unit was already within two thousand meters of it, within the range of a tank shell. Conversely, the Morpho’s prided long-range, elongated barrel, with its range of four hundred kilometers, meant that Nidhogg’s enemies were too close to effectively aim at.

They were rapidly traversing those two thousand meters, too. These weren’t the usual metal-black units with the Federacy flag. They had armor the color of polished bone, and a tank turret on their backs extending like a scorpion’s tail. They crawled on four legs, like skeletons creeping in search of their lost heads.

—Juggernauts?!

No. Its database search called up another name—Reginleif. The Federacy’s unique high-mobility combat Feldreß. Nidhogg understood this, but the emotion that gripped it didn’t go away. The Juggernaut. The same kind of unit it once used alongside its comrades, back in the Eighty-Sixth Sector.

The feeling of being attacked by fellow Eighty-Six, the illusion of being blamed by its comrades, made the ghost of a child soldier now known as Nidhogg shudder.

No. No, they aren’t my comrades. My friends, my whole squadron got turned into Legion with me. They all feel the same way. So they wouldn’t— My friends wouldn’t blame me!

I…

I did nothing wrong. I just wanted to get back at them, at the white pigs!

But its scream reached no one. The headless skeletons mercilessly rained cannon fire on it, which had become every bit the monster it was named after.

Guided projectiles rained self-forging fragments on it, and tank shells pierced into it from its flank. High explosives rammed into it, and machine-gun fire swept over it. The Liquid Micromachines that formed its barrel, the scales of its explosive reactive armor, and its six antiair autocannons were all rapidly reduced to nothing.

Despite being unable to properly align its line of fire on them from this range, it still tried to move its barrel. Rather than aim at them, it tried to escape their line of fire or perhaps splash the liquid metal that was charged with propelling the shells in its barrels. Its 800 mm railgun was fearsome and unmatched, but once it couldn’t shoot, it was effectively useless. It could only stand there as the Reginleifs bombarded it with tank shells from three directions, each one of them an accusation of its sins.

Stop it. No more. Help me!

But no one—not even the red-eyed Reaper—could hear its screams.

The slow missiles had initially only been fired to serve as a decoy. The Morpho’s antiair autocannons swerved to shoot and intercept the missiles as they flew through the air, a trail of flame left behind. But as the guns’ sights and the Morpho’s attention as a whole moved up, Undertaker and the other Reginleifs loaded with tank turrets fired at it from both flanks. This destroyed all six of the autocannons at once.

On his own, Undertaker would struggle to silence all the antiair autocannons, but fighting in a team with several units operating in tandem, they were able to eliminate the autocannons with ease.

Following that, the missiles overhead dropped their cluster bombs, and the 88 mm projectiles rained down on the Morpho after a delay. This intentionally triggered the explosive reactive armor, scattering explosions, flashes, waves of heat, and loud sound that blinded the Morpho’s sensors.

In the meanwhile, Shin and his platoon’s three units, along with Raiden’s 2nd Platoon, split up into three and approached it.

“Artillery configuration units, half of you leave your ammo as is, and the other half, exchange your ammo to incendiary bombs.”

Armed with explosive projectiles, artillery units were to counter the railgun’s fire, while the incendiary bombs were to counter the electric wires it would soon likely deploy for melee combat. With high explosives hitting every time it tried to align its sights, the Morpho was unable to stop Shin’s approach. The back of the unit trembled, and as expected, its radiation-expelling wings unfurled. It took aim at Undertaker and his companion units, swinging its countless metallic whips down like bolts of lightning.

“—Incendiary bombs, fire.”

But then hellfire struck them, sending them limp and inert to the ground. The battle with the first Morpho, Kiriya Nouzen, already taught Shin that the close-range wires were weak to high temperatures.

With units drawing on it and all its means of attack lost, the Morpho began swinging its turret around with movements that seemed almost desperate. As it moved, it dragged the inert wires on the ground, trying to horizontally sweep at an approaching Reginleif—and purged all the wires halfway through the motions. The momentum of the swing sent the wires flying like countless arrows. The sweeping trajectory of that silvery torrent made the Reginleifs brake where they stood and duck to dodge it.

“Whoa!”

“That was close!”

But Shin alone was able to just barely slip through the torrent and continue his charge.

As the main force of the 1st Armored Division stayed behind to secure their way out, Dustin listened in on the ongoing battle through the Para-RAID. He didn’t join the detachment that’d gone to eliminate the Morpho, of course. He lacked the skills, so much so that Anju had explicitly told him not to come along.

It felt presumptuous of him to feel jealous or envious. Despite the battle only having started a short time ago, it was already approaching its climax. As the other Valkyries were forced to stop in their tracks because of the Morpho’s desperate counterattack, Undertaker alone—as had become his trademark—lunged forward. The headless Reaper gambled on a one-on-one, relying on his transcendent combat skills, which none of the elite Eighty-Six, to say nothing of powerless Dustin, could hope to match.

…But—at that point, Dustin thought—he didn’t save Citri.

For how strong Shin was, unlike Dustin, he didn’t consider saving Citri, a fellow Eighty-Six.

You really are strong, Shin. Why didn’t you…?

I…

—How long will this continue?!

I shouted those words, even though I couldn’t change things, even though I was blind to how powerless I was.

Such thoughts haunted Dustin’s mind, in the midst of combat and the middle of the battlefield. Despite being a Republic Processor who lacked the skill and experience of an Eighty-Six or a Republic soldier, he let anguish dominate his mind.

And in the sense that he let anguish distract him—yes, he was weak.

“Dustin!”

Who was it who called out to him in warning? By the time he snapped out of his thoughts, there was a shell approaching him from overhead.

“…Ah.”

The shell hit.

“Dustin!”

It wasn’t a tank shell, but an unguided projectile, and while it wasn’t a direct hit, it did strike from point-blank.

With a 155 mm shell that could blow a Vánagandr to bits on a direct hit exploding at his flank, Sagittarius took severe damage and got blown away. They were fighting in a thick forest in the steep mountains. Sagittarius rolled deep into the verdant darkness, disappearing past the veil of snow.

The Para-RAID cut off. His blip on the radar screen went out, too. Frederica wasn’t back yet. His squadmate who shouted the warning, Yuu, instantly exclaimed:

“Kurena, we need to rescue him!”

Kurena examined her radar screen for a few seconds, looking over the blips for the units under her command, the enemy distribution, and the spots where enemy reinforcements and predicted ambushes were before making her call. She spoke with the sternness of a commander on the field, who had to instantly read multiple sources of information and think fast on her feet.

“We can’t. If we cut into our forces any more, this entire area will fall apart.”

They were holding on, waiting for Shin and the others’ return, so they could move to more advantageous terrain. If they let forces move out from their unit while they were fighting to maintain a defensive line, all the forces under Kurena’s command could end up being wiped out.

“I can go alone—”

“I can’t approve that. This isn’t a range where you can look for him and get back on your own. And we don’t have time to wait for you to do that, either.”

Marcel picked up on the situation and analyzed the point where Dustin had crashed and the terrain there. It was a ravine that was deeper than it looked. There was no way to tell where his unit had rolled off to, or if it might have gotten caught on something. And if his unit was heavily damaged and crashed into a ravine, there was no way of telling if Dustin had survived. They couldn’t afford to send Yuu into danger if Dustin was dead. If Frederica was there, they’d have been able to at least confirm if he was alive, but she wasn’t.

One of the staff officers made an announcement: Dustin Jaeger was designated MIA. They were to continue their retreat.

“Your decision wasn’t wrong, Second Lieutenant Kukumila… Don’t make it harder on her, Second Lieutenant Kouzo.”

“…Roger.”

As she heard Yuu respond hoarsely, Kurena closed her eyes in regret for a moment.

I’m sorry, Dustin, Anju.

The wires were simply swung and released, making their trajectory straight without allowing for any tricks. And with his dynamic vision accustomed to melee combat with Grauwolf and even Phönix, Shin was able to easily dodge them.

In a split second, he was able to discern a path that would let him weave through the gaps in countless wires and slide Undertaker into that narrow region. As he moved, he input the command to switch his armament.

The enemy’s 800 mm turret, with its hundreds of tons of weight, couldn’t instantly change the direction of its swing. With nothing in his way, Shin swiftly strode pass the cannon. With the thirty-meter long barrel now reduced to nothing but an expensive bludgeon, Shin crept into the dragon’s flank. As he turned his eyes, spotting the silvery liquid metal bubble in the corner of his vision, his sights moved along with his gaze and aligned on the target.

“…I’ve seen this before, too.”

It could narrowly wind and coil the liquid metal forming its barrel to turn them into countless thin blades or convert them into spears that it could launch from its barrel. Undertaker fired HEAT rounds with a timed fuse, which burst and splattered the liquefied projectiles within the barrel. The Phönix he’d fought on the northern battlefield used its liquid metal armor to unleash projectiles in exactly the same way.

When the Morpho saw what was probably its trump card get effortlessly disposed of, its giant form oafishly and, this time, clearly cowered. It tried to crawl away on its legs covered in mud. The large dragon was desperately scrambling off, even though it could still try to kick Undertaker away or beat it with its barrel.

It was weakness. The weakness of choosing hatred, letting hatred stain you but not even being able to follow through on that hatred.

“—Pathetic.”

It started swinging its barrel—not so much to intercept Shin but more like an infant batting their arms around in a blind, frightened tantrum—only for Shin to fire his wire anchor onto the edge of the turret. Leaping up, he reeled the wire back, traveling much farther than his usual jumping distance to reach the top of the turret.

As the toxic dragon Nidhogg crawled over the ground, looking up at the sky, the Valkyrie Reginleif lorded over it, with the blue, unreachable heavens at her back.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Nouzen’s being stupid and trying to beat it on his own again!” Tachina from Shin’s platoon cursed.

Raiden was inclined to agree. “He’s never going to learn, is he, the dumbass…?!”

He could relate to how Shin felt, but why wouldn’t he show some restraint? While he flaunted his strength by going one-on-one, Raiden was the one who had to take over command and offer him support. He held back the urge to click his tongue. If they were out of their units, he’d kick Shin in the ass right about now.

But then suddenly, one extra Para-RAID target joined the Resonance.

A creeping, black evil dragon, and a white flash judging from the heavens. It was like a scene out of myth. A warrior god or a hero slaying a dragon.

And it was for this reason that the routed soldiers looked upon this sight with eyes of anger and profound suspicion.

“If you can do that…”

If you’re really heroes, if you’re that strong, why won’t you…why won’t you people…?

Shin landed on top of the mostly perpendicular barrel, at the very tip of the spear. Undertaker descended its length by tumbling down as opposed to running, arriving at the opening between the wings on its back. As his unit was about to slide from the momentum, he thrust his pile driver down to brake, then used his blades to tear open the maintenance panel in the way.

The original Morpho had stirred and squirmed when Shin attached himself to it, trying to shake him off, but it appeared this ghost lacked the fighting spirit that Frederica’s knight, Kiriya Nouzen, possessed. At the time, the Legion hadn’t yet discovered how to turn themselves into butterflies to escape, and so the Morpho had resorted to shooting directly above the barrel to blow both itself and Shin away. This one didn’t have that kind of firm resolve.

…Albeit even that young man, with his firm resolve, met his second death without ever taking revenge for his ruler.

Shin could hear a voice over the radio. It was the murmuring of an infantry soldier speaking through an emergency frequency common to all units.

“If you can do that… If you can beat a Morpho that easily…”

Why didn’t you take it out sooner? Why didn’t you protect the Federacy? Why…

…didn’t you save us?

Shin couldn’t suppress a sneer. That’s what they’re saying?

—You have power, too, after all.

These soldiers, and the survivors of the Hail Mary Regiment who’d howled in anger and hate as they disappeared in a flurry of bullets. Each and every one of them had power. Even those young men who couldn’t save their friends with all that hatred burning through them—pinned the blame on someone else.

They could all point at another person and say it was someone else’s fault, something else’s fault. They had the power to condemn others and call them evil.

When it came to people… Even those without the power to save themselves had the power to push others down. The power to warp someone nearby into evil.

He remembered it still. The face of those young men, so united in their thoughts and emotions that he couldn’t tell their faces apart. Those fearsome expressions of humans who had cast aside individuality to become parts of the group.

Seeing those horrible faces made Shin utterly terrified at the time— of this power that could make an entire country shout as one and of its outcome, which was the Republic and the Eighty-Sixth Sector.

With that kind of power, the Republic could have even destroyed the Legion if they really put their minds to it, but all they did was use it to knock the Eighty-Six down. And the outcome was the Eighty-Sixth Sector. Shouting at the top of one’s lungs that it was all someone else’s fault eventually brought the Republic to ruin, the Hail Mary Regiment to ruin, and now it was doing the same to these soldiers.

This is why we can’t win. This is why we lose. This is why…you’ll always be helpless.

He averted his gaze, and his reticle followed, aligning on the Morpho’s processor. He switched to his primary armament, the 88 mm tank turret. As the silvery Liquid Micromachines bubbled, likely attempting to escape, Shin fixed his eyes on them and mercilessly pulled the trigger.

Fire—impact, and burst.

Flames billowed from the Morpho. Countless Liquid Micromachine butterflies soared off, abandoning their body. And somewhere within the unit, an independent circuit triggered a self-destruct sequence.

All this had been previously observed and confirmed. So Shin gave a brief order. And the Eighty-Six, already accustomed to hunting down Morpho, switched their ammunition type before he even said the word.

“Fire.”

As Undertaker jumped off the giant dragon’s carcass, countless incendiary rounds ruptured behind him. The silver butterflies were caught in the inferno, and the hellish vision of one child soldier’s screams lingered. As the Reginleifs calmly walked away from the burning dragon’s corpse, the Morpho self-destructed in a blinding flash that saw them off.

They arrived at some city ruins on the western part of the former Niantemis territory, fifteen kilometers away from the Federacy territory of Neunarkis. They were only one day’s walk away from Neunarkis—and yet Citri lacked the strength to make even that short journey.

Niantemis was annexed by the Empire over a century ago, and the city ruins gave the impression that the paved, maintained Republic townscape had been refurbished into the form of a winding, mazelike city meant to serve as an Imperial stronghold. Only the sign of a train station from across the fence, where the tracks heading west cut off, stood as testament of this city’s old homeland.

And yet seeing the name NEUNARKIS on that faded sign made Citri smile.

“Yuuto… We’re in the Republic. This is the country where I…”

Where we were born.