86 - Volume 2 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2 

PANZER LIED 

The Special Reconnaissance mission was surprisingly peaceful, and they continued to make progress well beyond its expected duration. Maybe decimating that platoon on their first day of the mission had paid off. If they were to make it out of the contested zones, they would make it into the territories the Legion recognized as their own. Their patrols would become more lax. 

Shin’s ability to know the Legion’s location and discern the direction they were moving in allowed him to pick routes where he and his group wouldn’t run into the patrols, or they would remain hidden until they passed by. They made their way east, avoiding battle whenever possible. They camped out as the season turned to autumn, eating tasteless synthetic food, and continued marching through enemy territory, not knowing when death might claim them. 

That journey was their first ever taste of freedom. 

The Legion’s territories had once been inhabited by people and were dotted with villages and cities—however abandoned. When they had the chance, they would search through these ruins and hunt livestock that had gone feral. When circumstances allowed, they would light fires they could huddle around during their nightly camps, appreciating the gradual change in scenery of the towns and the natural view around them, which no other humans could see any longer. 

It happened when autumn’s presence grew thicker, and the ruins lost all marks of the Republic, becoming more associated with the Empire. 

They had reached their final destination. 

“Fido.” 

“You’re proof. Proof that we reached this place. May you carry out your duty until you crumble into dust.” 

Shin, who had been genuflecting until now, rose to his feet, looking at Fido’s side, which had been hit by bombardment, silencing it forever. Did that final order reach the broken Scavenger? Could its meager intelligence, designed to do nothing else but collect trash and scrap, understand the meaning behind Shin’s words? 

Shin turned around and returned to Raiden’s side. 

“You all right with this, man?” 

Pausing for a moment, Shin realized what Raiden meant; the aluminum grave markers Shin had etched the names of their dead comrades into. He’d only just decided to leave all 576 names—Rei’s name included—here in the wreckage of the Juggernauts, alongside Fido. 

“Yeah. Now that it’s come to this, we’re not going to last much longer.” 

Everyone, excluding Fido, had survived their latest battle, but they had lost all the Juggernauts except for Undertaker. Now, when the only weapons they had left were the small firearms they carried for self-defense, they didn’t have any means of fighting the massive Legion. When the time came for them to fight their next battle, it’d be all over for them. 

But knowing this, Shin gave a faint smile and knocked on Fido’s charred container with the back of his hand. 

“But I want to repay him for everything… Since we can’t take him along any farther.” 

The loyal scavenger who would bring him the bits of armor to etch the names of the dead on was gone now, after all. Raiden managed a thin smile. To think that after all this time, they were staring their demise in the face. 

“Looks like our fun little hike is coming to an end, eh?” 

Taking a deep breath, Raiden wiped away his smile and looked to the west—the direction they had come from. They could see a single patch of steel-colored sky hanging over a battlefield. Yellow petals fluttered through the air, riding the wind. Ahead of them was a set of rails, divided into eight: the remnants of transit used by the people who once inhabited this place. 

“But damn, there’s so fucking many of them…” 

“…Yeah.” 

They had somehow slipped through the depths of the Legion’s territories, and just as Shin once guessed from the mechanical moans he could hear, a countless number of Legion inhabited them. No matter which direction they looked, the Legion filled the plains like a silver mosaic, leaving no gap. A swarm of Löwe and Dinosauria stood on standby. Swarms of Recovery Transport types, the Tausendfüßler, went back and forth in pairs from the back lines of the battlefield like a surging river. 

The Eintagsfliege perched on the trees of a withering forest, covering them like frost. If one was to wander inside, they would find the place’s mineral resources had been mined out, leveling the mountain into a crater and leaving the dug-up ground rust red, a nightmarish rendition of hell on earth. That was probably the work of the Auto Reproduction types, the Weisel, and the Power Plant types, the Admiral. Their frames were so massive they couldn’t be properly perceived, but Shin and the others could just barely make them out, crawling through the fog. 

They had seen the Legion’s massive army moving through the territories, as they had to sometimes spend days hiding beneath the cold rain. And they knew that there was no resisting such a large army of mechanical ghosts. 

The Republic would lose this war. Perhaps all of humankind would. 

—Would the day come when she, too, reached this place? 

Anju returned, having finished connecting the container to Undertaker with a winch and wire. They had stored what supplies they had left into the last container and had Undertaker tow it. 

“Job’s done, you two, so let’s go. If we stick around too long, other Legion might come inspect the noise from the last battle and track us down here.” 

Shifting his gaze, Shin caught sight of Kurena and Theo hopping down from the container and Undertaker, respectively. They had been helping Anju. From here on out, they would advance while taking turns piloting Undertaker. They had agreed earlier that if they got attacked, whoever was piloting Undertaker at the time would fight the Legion while the others ran for cover so as to not get in the pilot’s way. 

After stretching once, Theo put his hands behind his head and frowned. 

“But man, to think the one Juggernaut that survived was Shin’s… It’s set to work on Shin’s parameters, so the controls are hella sensitive. Piloting it scares the shit out of me. Most of its limiters are broken, too.” 

That was the reason Undertaker was capable of performing maneuvers that would usually be impossible for a Juggernaut. Of course, Shin’s piloting skills, which were extraordinary even among the Name Bearers, were also a major factor in enabling those stunts. 

“I’ll go first, then.” Kurena raised her hand in an oddly excited fashion. “I was downed first earlier, so I’m not tired.” 

While it was still functional, Undertaker was beginning to show signs of not having been properly serviced in a long time. And despite the danger of piloting a unit she wasn’t accustomed to, Kurena had the machine rise to its feet. Sitting on top of the towed container, Shin suddenly realized a Legion was following them. 

It wasn’t attacking them, for some reason. It may have been a scout assigned to track them, but it wasn’t calling any other Legion. A lone Legion, following them from behind, as if it was trying to ambush them. When they stopped, so did it, and if they were to turn around, it would likely do the same. 

The Juggernaut’s armaments were short-range, and it could attack only things within its range of sight. They had no means of attacking a Legion hiding beyond the horizon, and it didn’t seem to engage them, either, so Shin kept it quiet from Raiden and the others. Judging from its voice, it was a Shepherd, but it was oddly muffled, and Shin couldn’t tell what it was saying. But it was somehow familiar. 

Where did he know that voice from—? 

Not being able to die when death came to claim you was a peculiar fate. 

So Rei thought, dragging his barely functioning body as if by the very strings of his failing nerves, made of liquid micromachines. 

In order to preserve data, the Legion’s mission recorder was set to transfer the battle data from a downed unit’s files to a nearby consort unit. In the case of a Shepherd, it would transfer everything—the central processor data included—to a spare unit prepared and designated ahead of time. 

Black Sheep, which also used humans as components, could exist in multiples, but there existed only one of each Shepherd. That was because Shepherds had their own individual personalities and could not stand having another individual bear the same existence. However, the Legion couldn’t afford to lose a Shepherd’s high performance as a Processor and prepared a transfer system that moved their consciousness into a spare unit. 

That said, Rei found the mechanism to be pretty much pointless. 

Safely transferring data files the moment a unit was about to be destroyed left them damaged. A perfect transfer was nearly impossible. The majority of the data didn’t survive the transfer, and even if it did, the spare unit barely functioned. Torn to pieces by the cast explosive’s metal jet, Rei’s data files were left in a tattered state of disrepair by the time the transfer had completed. 

He wouldn’t last long. 

And perhaps because he knew this, he tracked Shin’s progress through the territories. Keeping a safe distance so he wouldn’t be discovered… He resolved to see his brother’s final destination. He dragged the battered, creaking fuselage of the spare Dinosauria he inhabited. 

The thought suddenly occurred to him that he probably was Shourei Nouzen’s soul, after all. His data files were disintegrating with every passing moment, but for some reason, the memories of that final battle remained whole and clear. 

He remembered how his instincts as a war machine blended his desire to protect with the desire to kill. He remembered the illusory silver figure of the girl who blocked his way, as if to shield his target from death. He remembered the voice that would still call him Brother, even after the countless lives he’d taken. He remembered it all. 

Shin and his friends advanced into the territories, evading battle and slipping through the gaps in the Legion’s patrols. 

That’s good, Rei thought. Don’t think of battle. Just focus on staying alive for even a second longer. The Federacy is up ahead—humankind’s greatest hope, which faced the Legion valiantly even as it stood surrounded and isolated. 

If he could just reach the Federacy, Shin would surely be given refuge. Unlike the Republic, the Federacy’s troops were all upright and decent. Soldiers of different colors fought back-to-back and wouldn’t leave their comrades abandoned on the battlefield, even if they were reduced to corpses. They would never treat five children who’d escaped death’s maw cruelly. 

And by the time that happened, his sense of self would be all but gone. And that was for the best. Even if he still had a grasp on his sanity now, he would go mad again at some point. The desire to kill would paint afresh over all his desires and wishes…and he would once more call for Shin. 

And if Rei were to call out, Shin would surely come to seek him out again. He would not abandon his stupid older brother, who selfishly killed and selfishly died. Rei’s kind little brother, who wandered through the hellish battlefield for five long years, would come to put him out of his misery. 

I’m sorry. This time, I’ll go to the other side properly. So please, just let me see this through to the end. 

The Dinosauria marched on, each of its steps driven by nothing but prayer. 

“—Anju. Switch with me.” 

Anju, who was in the middle of piloting Undertaker, blinked at the words Shin sent her way via the Para-RAID. 

It had been two days since they’d bid their final farewell to Fido and the fallen comrades Shin had entrusted it with. They were in the midst of a forest, the autumn sun streaming down the foliage, illuminating the deciduous leaves and maple seeds. 

“Isn’t it too early? Wasn’t the noon shift supposed to last until we stop for dinner?” 

“I’m bored.” 

That point-blank, blunt answer made a smile play over Anju’s lips. True enough, Shin wasn’t one for idle chatter, and with nothing to do but look at the scenery, he was probably bored stiff. 

“We’ve got too much free time on our hands. You should have at least taken some books to read.” 

Smiling wryly, Anju reached for the cockpit’s unlocking lever. 

Rei’s gradually fading thought processes filled with relief as he watched Shin and his friends approach the Federacy. If they kept going, they would be within the Federacy military’s patrol lines soon. The Legion focused all their forces on battling the Federacy near the patrol lines. A single, small mobile weapon should be able to avoid detection so long as it used the terrain to hide itself. 

Rei wasn’t sure whether he would expire before seeing them arrive at civilization but… Well, they should be fine. He could pass on peacefully— Nnn! 

A string of information from nearby friendly units had arrived via his barely functioning data link. And as he perceived the contents of that message, anxiety flared through Rei’s nervous network. 

Oh no…! 

As they approached an animal trail leading down a slope steep enough to be called a cliff, Undertaker suddenly stopped. Raiden, who was lying down on a blanket he had carried back from his unit, sat up. 

“What’s wrong, Shin?” 

Shin responded coolly. It was his usual quiet tone, but there was a ring of silent resolve in it: 

“—Whoever’s piloting at the time fights. That’s what we decided.” 

It took Raiden only a moment to understand. 

“…You ass! You knew they were coming!” 

He’d noticed a group of Legion ahead of them that they couldn’t avoid no matter what route they took… Probably since the moment he’d asked Anju to change places with him! Anju jumped off the container, her hair standing on end in anger. 

“That’s not fair, Shin! You can’t do this!” 

Anju tried to approach him, but Shin purged the tractor wire connecting the container to Undertaker. Anju recoiled as the wire flicked away violently, and Undertaker took that chance to use the difference in elevation to bound up the slope. It was steep enough to be a cliff and wasn’t the kind of distance a human being could scale easily. There was no detour in sight, which was probably why Shin chose this route. 

The Juggernaut’s cracked optical sensor swerved their way. It had lost both its grappling arms, and its armor was scorched and burned. Its propulsion system was faltering, and the machine in general looked to be covered in wounds. 

“You guys keep going. They shouldn’t find you if you head into the forest… The Legion’s forces die out a bit farther from here. If there’s people there, ask them to shelter you.” 

They’d already heard him say something like this once, in the battlefield of the Eighty-Sixth Sector. And it was natural they wouldn’t find them. So long as they detected an enemy unit—that is to say, Undertaker—within their territory, the Legion would turn their focus on it. Perhaps Shin had planned even that. 

“Screw that! That just means you’ll be playing decoy for us!” 

“Weren’t we supposed to go together?! You can’t just decide to go on your own at the last minute. That’s—” 

Shutting off the Sensory Resonance to cut out Theo’s shouting and Kurena’s tearful voice, Undertaker disappeared into the trees. 

Raiden punched the container with all his might. 

“God dammit…!” 

Whoever was piloting when they encountered an enemy would be the one to fight. They’d decided this would be a fair way to determine who would fight the last battle, a way that would leave the others satisfied no matter who ended up with the responsibility. But they’d been too naive. If Shin, who could sense the Legion from afar, recognized an enemy they couldn’t avoid, it would be tantamount to him implicitly condemning whoever was piloting at the time to death. And to avoid that, he would simply have to make sure he was the one sitting at the helm. 

“That idiot…!” 

Raiden stood up, grabbing the assault rifle next to him. 

As they were fulfilling their standard patrol schedule, a Legion patrol company suffered an assault from a unit of unknown affiliation. After updating their Friend/Foe ID, the patrol company opened hostilities while transmitting its combat status over the data link. 

This armored weapon fought while ignoring all conventional strategies. Downing a Löwe by bombing it in a surprise attack, it dived into the heart of the formation. There was no match for this enemy unit in their native data, but the wide area network’s database had a match for the model. 

The Republic of San Magnolia’s primary weapon system. Identifier: Juggernaut. Its threat level was low, and both its armor and firepower were weak by armored-weapon standards, but it was comparable to armored infantry. And when fighting on plains with few obstacles, this weak land weapon would have no means of penetrating the Löwe’s solid armor. 

At least, it should not have been able to, but this Juggernaut exhibited combat prowess that exceeded all assumptions. Bringing the battle into melee range, it used the Löwe armor to shield itself from the other Legion’s fire and used its weak firepower to shrink the distance up to point-blank range. 

The Juggernaut was intended for melee combat. Its specs were no different from other specimens, so there was only one difference that could influence its combat capabilities so much: the performance of its central processor. 

Four defending Löwe were destroyed. Forty-five percent of the company’s forces were decimated. And yet, the mechanical demons didn’t feel a shred of impatience. 

Redesignating target’s threat level. Target determined to be equal to the Federacy’s main weapon system. Type: Feldreß. Identifier: Vánagandr. Chances of suppressing the target with current forces deemed unfavorable. Requesting reinforcements and support from main force and nearby units. 

Special addendum: Capture of target advised. 

Transmitting the report and request for orders to the wide area network within milliseconds, the Legion set out once again. 

…The enemy’s movements changed. 

Shin realized that after he’d defeated the fourth Löwe, the Legion shifted their deployment patterns. Both his eyes and his consciousness darted around nervously. When encircling an enemy, it was common knowledge to deploy the units of one’s force in such a way that they did not get caught in each other’s cross fire. And that should have applied just the same for the Legion, even if they did not hesitate to gun the Republic’s forces down along with their consort units… 

But these Legion blocked his path, even if it meant that their allies got caught within their line of fire. They were stalling him. And as if to affirm that realization, Shin’s ability informed him that nearby Legion were beginning to move in his direction. The distance to the closest enemy force—probably this patrol company’s main force—was four thousand meters from here. Taking a Löwe’s cruising speed into consideration, they would likely have Shin within their range in less than a minute. 

If they linked up with the main force, even Shin would be in trouble. Dodging the charging Grauwolf slashes, Shin opened fire and used that momentary gap in their formation to break through the encirclement. His armor shrieked as heavy machine-gun fire grazed it, and an indicator lit up in his machine-status system. His rear left leg had passed the permissible damage limit. 

So that was what the Legion were after… 

Shin’s eyes narrowed bitterly when he realized it. They were after his “head.” They were going to make him a Black Sheep or a Shepherd. The Legion would assimilate the neural networks of dead soldiers and— 

Shin sensed something. Even Shin, who was the most senior among the Processors, didn’t expect to find it here. And that was to be expected; he’d encountered it only once, and it was impossible to distinguish it from others within a crowd. Shin had said so himself once before. This unit was meant for complete suppression of a wide area, and it wouldn’t fire only to down a single target. 

But he could feel its gaze fixed on him now. 

Far away from here, from beyond the range of even the Skorpion fire, he could feel a deep malice, as if he was being glared at by a cold black eye, frozen in rage. 

“I´ll kill them.” 

Perhaps it was because their words were so similar, but for a second, Shin wondered whether he’d failed to kill his brother. The tone was that similar. He flashed back to the night when he was nearly killed. 

Blind terror froze his hands gripping the control sticks. 

I’ll kill them. 

Fragmented images flowed into Shin’s subconscious. Memories that weren’t his own. It was like the Sensory Resonance or perhaps like the ability he had that allowed him to peer into others’ minds when they were connected. 

A cloudy sky. Ruins. Shattered flagstones. And suspended vividly in the distance, with only gray as its backdrop, a bloodstained mantle, small enough for a child, dangling like a hanged sinner. 

I’ll kill them. 

Be they men or women or children or the elderly, aristocrats and commoners alike. 

Everyone, every single one. Without exception. I’ll kill them all…! 

He knew this voice. He knew it from the Republic, from the Eighty-Sixth Sector, from when he fought in the first ward as part of the Spearhead squadron. Four of his comrades died in that battle. It was the one that blew them to pieces, from far beyond the range of the radar— 

“…!” 

Was it his warrior’s instincts or the fact that he had experienced this attack once before that made Undertaker leap aside? The impact came at the same time that the radar blared out its alert. Traveling at an ultrahigh speed with an initial velocity of four thousand meters per second, a barrage of shells with a weight of several tons each rained on the battlefield, wrapped in a massive amount of kinetic energy. The shower of steel fell mercilessly into the Legion’s patrol company. 

The explosion was so loud that Shin was convinced he had gone deaf. A white light flashed over the battlefield, inhibiting his line of sight. The powerful shock waves launched the shell’s fragments in all directions, eating into the Legion’s armor, ripping through them, and blowing them away. The bombardment scattered large chunks of soil and sedimentary rock about, which crashed back down on the battlefield like a meteor shower, carving craters into the ground. 

The autumn field was reduced to scorched earth in the blink of an eye. 

Blown away by the deafening explosion and maelstrom of force, Undertaker just barely avoided the shell’s effective radius. But he was far from unharmed. His main motor was critically damaged by stray fragments that flew into the cockpit. His gyro and cooling-system indicators faded from the gauges, and all his holo-windows had shut down. 

He was lucky to still have his propulsion and weapons systems online. There were still enemies around. Performing damage control almost unconsciously with one hand, he ignored the busted main screen and tried to trace the enemy’s position— 

At that moment, his rear leg’s joints flew off, no longer able to bear the weight of the dying Juggernaut. 

“—!” 

He just barely managed to maintain balance with his remaining legs. But that was the most he could do. The Juggernaut’s main battery, located at the back of the fuselage, was extremely heavy, throwing off its center of gravity so much that it leaned backward. If it lost any of its rear legs, the Juggernaut was entirely incapable of walking. 

The old familiar cussing of an aging maintenance worker echoed in Shin’s ears. 

“I keep tellin’ ya the suspension unit’s weak, so why d’ya keep pushin’ it like that?! …That crazy fightin’ style of yours is gonna get ya killed one day!” 

And here it comes. 

Bursting through the curtain of smoke and sediment, a Löwe charged toward them even with half its legs blown off by the explosion. Looking up at the machine’s front leg, which was swinging overhead and preparing to descend on him, Shin cracked a smile. 

Undertaker was flung back by the blow, pieces of its fuselage scattering into the air. 

Finally locating a section of the rock face with decent footholds, Raiden and the others scaled the cliff and followed the sound of gunfire out of the forest, only to be greeted by that sight. It was the first time Raiden ever saw their Reaper lose. 

His instincts were screaming at him in self-preservation—there was no way a human could beat a Löwe on their own. And his sense of reason tried to hold him in check—if they were to come out now, Shin would have died in vain. 

Fuck that. 

Standing stock-still for no more than a second, Raiden broke into a run, as if propelled forward. Spurred on by the sound of his comrades’ footsteps beside him, he charged through the forest. 

Stirred by loud assault rifle fire, Shin just barely raised his heavy eyelids. All his optical screens and gauges were completely dead, and the interior of the toppled Juggernaut was dark. It hurt to breathe. A burning sensation filled his lungs, and his ragged breath smelled of blood. It didn’t seem as if he was bleeding anywhere, but he felt extremely cold. 

He realized, belatedly, as if it were someone else’s problem, that he had sustained internal injuries. If he was indeed still alive, he should probably do something—at least pull out his pistol and end it all—but he couldn’t lift a finger. 

He could hear the sound of gunshots and the shouting of the comrades he’d abandoned from the other side of the thin, flimsy armor. A part of him thought they were idiots for doing this, but he also thought he couldn’t mock them. Now, by doing the exact thing they were doing, he had landed in this situation, after all. 

It was foolish and meaningless—much like this war—and yet, it was a good death, the kind he would have wished for. An inappropriately wry smile played over his lips again. He had managed to slay his brother and had come much farther than he would have expected. There was nothing left unsaid. 

…And yet, perhaps because it was a moment like this, he realized he didn’t want to die. 

Would he be assimilated by the Legion? 

And if he did become a Legion, whose name would he call? 

Not a single face came to mind. That was his sole regret. 

The screams and gunshots suddenly cut off. Shin’s ability informed him a Legion was reaching out to rip off the canopy. 

Tungsten bullets penetrating through thick armor and the screeching of metal. 

Those were the last things Shin heard before his consciousness sank into nothing. 

Five enemy targets neutralized. 

The only remaining Löwe sent this report to the Sector’s network. It also sent a recommendation to have the prototype—which had offered supporting fire—recalibrated. Despite the recommendation to capture the target, it had fired with the intent to destroy and annihilated a company of friendlies all to terminate one enemy Feldreß. Its processing units’ capacity for sound judgment was lacking, it seemed. 

After sending its message, the Löwe turned its optical sensor to the downed Juggernaut. It, like the other four Processors, hadn’t been destroyed to the extent of its vital signs being terminated. The enemy Processor was brittle, and while extraction and scanning could damage the tissues, once it died, they began degrading. As such, acquiring it alive was the optimal choice. 

The hostile element boarding this Juggernaut was an extraordinary Processor unit, capable of turning the tide of battle despite the machine’s low performance levels. If it were to be provided to a friendly unit, it would contribute to the war effort immensely. 

Combat-oriented Legion like the Löwe had no means of transporting materials, so it sent a transmission through the wide area network, requesting a nearby Tausendfüßler to carry the specimen over to a nearby Weisel. 

And then it happened—the Löwe detected an approaching friendly unit and shifted to IFF (Identify Friend/Foe) mode. It was a Heavy Tank type that wasn’t currently assigned to any force. The Löwe that had detected it fired, and— 

A large blast enveloped the battlefield. 

The Löwe’s thick composite-steel armor, capable of even withstanding a shell from a fellow Tank type’s main armament at point-blank, was mercilessly penetrated by 155 mm armor-piercing rounds. 

The Dinosauria had just fired at the Löwe. The automatic machine knew neither fear nor surprise, but it took it a moment to assess the situation. What had just happened should not have been possible for the Legion. Had the Dinosauria mistaken it for an enemy? Impossible. They’d returned each other’s IFF signatures. 

It had attacked the Löwe while aware that they were both of the same army. In other words, it was an enemy. 

It used old-type tungsten bullets. If it had been a high-explosive anti-tank warhead or a depleted uranium shell, the internal explosion would have downed it in one blow. The Löwe refreshed its IFF information, designating this Dinosauria as a hostile unit. It sent the report of this engagement through the data link and prepared to face the— 

Another attack. 

A consecutive barrage of high-caliber shells ripped the Dinosauria’s barely functional central processor to shreds. It fired so as not to generate any secondary explosions—so as not to allow any harm to befall the nearby Juggernaut. The crumbling Löwe had no way of knowing that was why the Dinosauria fired armor-piercing rounds and not anti-tank warheads. 

The last thing the Löwe’s cracked optical sensor perceived was the strange sight of the Dinosauria extending a hand made out of liquid micromachines— 

Shin was dreaming. 

In that dream, Shin was a small child, and when he came to, someone was carrying him in their arms. Just the two of them, without another soul around, walked through shapeless darkness. It was the same darkness he could always hear beyond the mechanical ghosts’ wails, the boundless void at the depths of all perception, at the depths of the soul. 

Shin looked up, only to see his big brother. He looked a bit older than he remembered, about twenty years old… This was probably how he’d looked on the day of his death. 

“Brother…?” 

Rei smiled. It was his nostalgic, gentle smile. 

“You’re awake.” 

Rei stopped and knelt down, placing Shin on the ground. His young body’s head was too big, and it made it hard to stand up straight. He was able to steady himself after a few attempts, and he looked up at his brother again. 

“This is as far as I go. But after we part ways, don’t just keep running off on your own. You’ve got some great traveling companions, after all.” 

Still kneeling down and looking deep into young Shin’s eyes, Rei continued. 

“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.” 

Looking down in surprise, Shin found he was once again in his sixteen-year-old body. He tried to say his brother’s name, but his voice wouldn’t come out. There was no speaking, no communicating with the ghosts. Returning Shin’s silent gaze, Rei’s face took on an expression of deep sorrow. His hands ran over the scar on Shin’s neck. Just like that night and just like that battlefield, his brother’s big hands ran across his neck. 

“I’m sorry… It must have hurt so much. And my refusing to die and calling you all this time brought you here.” 

Shin wanted to say he was wrong, to at least shake his head in denial. But he couldn’t move his body whatsoever. And saying it didn’t hurt would be a lie. It hurt to have his brother direct such pure hate toward him. It hurt to hear his brother’s voice calling him out night after night, reminding him that he was at fault for everything that went wrong in their lives—because of his sin. It hurt to relive his own “death” countless times in his dreams. It hurt to be plagued by the inescapable screams, always, always reminding him that he would never be forgiven. 

But still, it was because of them he’d made it this far. He could withstand the days he spent fighting the Legion in a fruitless, endless struggle on the battlefield where he was sentenced to die and the nights of bitter loneliness as his comrades perished one after another only because he had the goal of killing his brother to keep him going. 

If he hadn’t had that, he would have fallen on the battlefield a long time ago. It was because he was always there, waiting for him beyond death, that Shin still lived. There was so much he wanted to say— 

But the words wouldn’t come out. 

“You don’t have to obsess over me anymore. You can just forget about me.” 

No… 

“Ah… Okay, I lied. I would like you to think about me from time to time. Just as long as you live your own life freely and find happiness. Then, while you’re living your long, happy life, maybe sometimes…” 

Brother. 

Rei laughed. 

“I won’t wait for you this time… I’m not that patient, you know. You still have a long life ahead of you… Just take care of yourself. And please be happy.” 

Rei’s hands let go of him. He turned around, walking to the other end of the darkness, the edge of the abyss his mother, father, and countless comrades had fallen into. And once he got there, they would never meet again. 

The spell binding Shin’s body suddenly faded. 

“Brother.” 

But his outstretched hand never reached Rei. Perhaps he’d never even heard his voice. An invisible something segregating the living from the dead blocked Shin’s path, stopping him from going after his brother. 

“Brother!” 

Rei turned around with a smile as the darkness enveloped him. This was the same as how he couldn’t grab his brother’s hand at the end of that battle. He knew he would never make it, but he still reached out. 

“Brother.” 

The sound of his own voice roused Shin from his slumber. 

He found himself looking up at a dull artificial ceiling. Shin blinked his hazy red eyes. An unfamiliar white ceiling. Four equally white walls surrounded him, and some device with a monitor was beside him, emitting loud electronic beeps at regular intervals. A heavy scent of disinfectant hung over the air. 

He was lying on a sanitized bed in a small room, with the monitor’s cord and an IV connected to his body. Shin, who had been in a concentration camp ever since he was small and had hardly received any medical treatment in his life, had no way of associating all these things with the fact that he was in a hospital room. 

A burning sensation welled up in the back of his nose, prompting him to hide his eyes with his left hand, for fear of someone seeing his expression. The emotion that washed over him was a mix of deep relief and an equal measure of loss. The fragments of those memories flared up, filling his field of vision. 

He remembered. Finally. That, in truth, he never wanted to lose him. 

Along with the IV, there was some kind of sensor attached to his left hand, and it triggered an alarm the moment he moved it. But it was an alarm with no sense of pressure to it, meant to inform that a monitored patient had woken up. 

The wall opposite the bed lost its white color, becoming transparent, and from the other side, a middle-aged man in a suit peeked into the room. He wore silver-rimmed glasses, and his black hair was streaked with gray. This Jet man had a certain scholarly air. 

A nurse appeared behind him, watching him through a transparent “wall” that seemed to serve as the door connecting his room to the equally inorganic-seeming corridor. He could see similar doors opposite him and on both sides of the corridor, so Shin assumed other small rooms were lined up here. 

“…I see you’ve finally come to your senses.” 

The man spoke in a gentle voice that reminded Shin of someone he had forgotten. Shin wanted to ask something, anything to make sense of the situation, but his voice wouldn’t come out. Assailed by sudden pain, Shin moaned, and the nurse knit her eyebrows. 

“Your Excellency. He’s only just come to and still has a fever due to the side effects of the surgery. Please don’t—” 

“I am well aware. I merely wish to exchange a few words with him.” 

Soothing the nurse with a calm smile, the man placed his hand against the door. That’s a soldier’s hand, Shin thought through the haze. It was the hard, thick palm of a man who was used to handling a gun. The silver ring on his fourth finger oddly left an impression in Shin’s memory. 

“Good day, my boy… To start, would you mind telling me your name?” 

Normally, answering that question required very little thought, but it took Shin a long time to fish it out of his memory. His thoughts were all jumbled up. He didn’t understand the situation he was in well enough to realize this was all the effect of anesthesia. 

A fragment of a memory flickered in his mind—once before, someone else had asked him that question. He recited the answer he’d given then, the long, silver-haired illusion of someone he’d never seen before brushing against the back of his eyelids. 

“Shinei…Nouzen.” 

The man nodded once. 

“I am Ernst Zimmerman, the Federal Republic of Giad’s temporary president.” 

That day, the Federacy’s government-sanctioned news program informed the public that while patrolling the western front, the Federacy’s military had found and rescued five young soldiers presumed to belong to another country. 

The Federacy’s frontline troops had destroyed a Dinosauria thought to be deployed on a Headhunt, only to discover it carried the five of them. Based on the field uniform they were wearing and the OS of their unknown Feldreß, it was presumed they were soldiers associated with the Republic of San Magnolia, their western neighbor. 

The Federacy’s civilians were filled with excitement. At long last, they had hard proof that they were not the only surviving country. They were not alone. And at the same time, they were concerned, worrying for the safety of their neighboring country. They were no doubt quite desperate if they had to send children to the battlefield. 

But when the children were questioned and the contents of their interviews were released to the public, revealing the reason they’d been present on the battlefield in the first place, that concern turned to anger. However, worrying for the children’s well-being remained very central in the public’s eyes. 

Those children were persecuted by their homeland but still fought on, escaped, and made their way here. If nothing else, they should be allowed to live peaceful, happy lives in the Federacy. 

“—That sums up how you came under the protection of our army, but do you remember the events leading up to you being where we found you?” 

Having been asked that question and having to come up with an answer made Shin, whose mind had been hazy, slowly regain lucidity. Recalling what had happened before he lost consciousness, Shin suddenly looked around, his gaze turning left and right. 

Realizing what had riled Shin up, Ernst laughed. 

“Ah, sorry, sorry. You were asleep, so there was no way of communicating this to you, but… Yes, that’s right. You would be worried, wouldn’t you…? Give me one second.” 

He turned around and said something to the nurse. The walls to the left and right lost their color, becoming transparent and revealing similarly artificial-looking rooms adjacent to one another. And in the four rooms neighboring his own were his friends. Raiden, who sat in the next room, looked at him with relief in his eyes before grimacing. 

“You slept for three whole days, you moron.” 

His voice came from the speakers in the ceiling. Shin wondered about the Para-RAID, and then he noticed. It wouldn’t activate. The back of his neck, which was where the quasi-nerve crystal was implanted, stung with a faint pain. The ear cuff, which the Processors were incapable of removing on their own, was gone, too. 

“…Why?” 

It was a question without a subject or a predicate, but everyone seemed to understand what he meant. Raiden shrugged. 

“Beats me. We’ve been cooped up in these rooms since we woke up, too. They said a Dinosauria captured us, but…I don’t remember seeing one of those.” 

Shin recalled his dream. His brother had been possessing a Dinosauria, but…Shin couldn’t feel his presence anymore. And for some reason, he knew Rei was truly gone. But he wasn’t inclined to say it, so he simply shook his head, conjuring up a powerful sense of vertigo. Theo frowned anxiously, noticing how Shin closed his eyes, fighting back the pain. 

“Don’t push yourself if you still feel bad. You were in intensive care until yesterday. They said you need total peace and quiet for a while… Poor Kurena was crying her eyes out until yesterday.” 

“Was not!” 

Everyone ignored Kurena’s fervent cry of objection, though it was easy to see that her eyes were still red. Anju, who sat in the farthest room, smiled at him gently like a pale flower in full bloom. Shin turned his gaze away from her, realizing that was what she looked like when she was terribly angry. 

“Shin? I realize it’s too soon right now, but once you get better, expect a good slap, okay?” 

“Yeah, we’re all gonna have to line up and smack you one. Like, hell, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll beat the shit out of you, I swear.” 

Hearing Theo say that without hesitation, Shin frowned. 

“…It’s not like I intended to die.” 

“Don’t piss me off. Even if you didn’t intend to die, you knew there was an extremely high chance you’d get yourself killed if you went out there. And you did it anyway.” 

Acting as bait for the Legion in that state should have been nothing short of suicide, especially taking the immense damage to the Juggernaut and the shortage of ammunition into account. 

“We had all considered doing that at one point or another. And that’s exactly why we can’t forgive what you did. We get it. You can tell where they are and react accordingly, but that doesn’t mean you can just make group decisions on your own. It’s not fair… Never, ever do that again.” 

“We were so worried about you.” 

And as she said that, Kurena’s eyes filled with tears again. Entrusting his head to the pillow, Shin closed his eyes. 

“—I’m sorry.” 

Ernst, who had watched over their conversation in silence, spoke with a smile. 

“It may feel like we’re holding you captive, but we have to take these measures to prevent a possible biohazard. Rest assured, we won’t treat you poorly. After all, you are our first guests from abroad since the country’s founding. 

“—Welcome to the Federal Republic of Giad!” 

Ernst spread his hands out in a jesting manner, only to be met by cold, unreceptive gazes. He shrugged, as if not paying it much heed. 

“Well, that’s the gist of it. It seems none of us have a full grasp on exactly what happened out there, but if you remember anything, do tell us.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Theo shot his hand up, and he seemed poised to say something, but Ernst simply smiled. 

“You can take your time to remember, for now. I’m sure talking for too long is hard on you right now… And this scary lady here looks just about ready to bite my head off.” 

The nurse, standing in the back and emitting a silent intimidating aura, glared at him. 

Like the president had said, staying awake for long was too hard on Shin’s injured body, and he fell asleep soon after Ernst left. Seeing Shin fall asleep without saying too much to them made Kurena burst into tears again, which prompted Anju to start comforting her. Theo began teasing her as well—his own brand of comforting. When she’d woken up three days ago and found Shin wasn’t with them, she’d wept bitterly and remained prone to crying ever since. 

It’s only natural, thought Raiden as he sat on his bed in his prison cell of a room. 

If one were to ignore the fact that they were locked in, they weren’t treated too badly. They got three meals a day—decent ones, at that—and the rooms and beds were hygienic to an almost superfluous degree. Their questioning was also extremely reasonable. They treated their injuries, even Shin’s, who was in a condition severe enough to require emergency surgery. If this had been the Republic, he would have been left to die. 

But that didn’t mean these people could be trusted. 

They were treated as pigs in human form by their homeland, so they knew better than to simply trust in their fellow man. They weren’t innocent enough to believe this place would offer them unconditional aid and shelter just because they’d made their way here. They would remain here, like sardines stuffed in a can, and once they gave up all their useful information…would they be disposed of? 

Either way, they weren’t going anywhere for the foreseeable future. Shin still needed the medical assistance they offered. What was more, this would be a crappy place for their story to end. So thought Raiden, heaving a sigh as he looked up at the ceiling of his windowless room. He missed the sky. 

The Federacy’s public consensus was one of pity toward the children, but those who were in charge of the nation’s well-being couldn’t decide things based solely on sympathy and compassion. 

Entering the Hospital Module from its adjacent Shelter Module, Ernst walked into an examination room that served as an impromptu conference room. 

“What are the results of the analysis?” 

The Shelter Module, which was isolated for biohazard-prevention measures, was built so it could also double as a prison and had surveillance cameras and monitors in every room. A holo-screen presented integrated data and its analysis results, and one of the intelligence department’s analysts answered Ernst’s question. 

“In terms of them being spies from the Republic of San Magnolia or some other country, I think it’s safe to say they’re clean.” 

The children were on the alert, but it wasn’t a product of training. For example, the analysts were capable of surmising the power relationship within the group by paying attention to the frequency of their idle chatter and how often they mentioned one another’s names or how much attention they paid to one another. And it seemed the children weren’t aware that they were being analyzed in that way. 

And if they’d been trained to be able to deceive electronic measures, there would be no point in sending such proficient spies into the Legion’s territories. The Republic and the Federacy hadn’t even been aware of each other’s survival to begin with, because of the Eintagsfliege’s electronic jamming. 

“They’re a bit too alert, but from what we can hear, I’d say it’s natural given the treatment they’re experiencing. One of the boys, Raiden—he seems to be their subleader—is very much on edge, but that’s understandable, what with the state their leader is in. We are effectively holding them captive, after all.” 

It wasn’t particularly their intent to do so, and since the children were receptive to their questions, there wasn’t much of a need to, either. But them being cooperative wasn’t out of trust, but rather because they didn’t want to be questioned more violently should they refuse. The Republic, however, didn’t seem to be a place that any of them would be willing to lay down their lives to protect. 

“One more thing. Is there any chance of them being a new type of Legion or of being infected with some kind of biological weapon?” 

“We’ll only have a definitive answer once we get all the test results back, but from what we have so far, in conjunction with the preliminary medical exams from when we brought them in, we haven’t detected any abnormalities. But the Legion members don’t use biological weapons or devices that mimic humanity, right?” 

The Legion didn’t produce or utilize any biological weapons—namely, those of the viral or bacterial variety—or weapons that imitated organic life. It seemed they were strictly prohibited from doing so. It stood to reason that the Legion types were made by the Empire to be weapons of domination rather than extermination. 

For this reason, having them employ biological weapons that harmed both friend and foe, or humanoid weapons that were hard to distinguish from average civilians, was prohibited. This was always why the self-propelled mines were—despite being humanoid—rather badly disguised. 

As a side note, the Legion’s definition of biological weapons was one that went too far, as even an unregistered person with a knife could qualify as one. An anecdote was that this was the reason why the old Empire’s army never deployed humans onto the same battlefield as the Legion. 

But that said, the Legion’s control system, namely their tactical/strategy algorithms, were heavily encrypted, and when they were defeated in battle, they were set to fry their internal mechanisms, making them undecipherable. Ever since they’d begun assimilating the neural networks of dead soldiers to overcome their life span programming, the Federacy had employed great caution. 

“The only things that showed up in the scan were those organic devices, which, according to them, are some kind of telecommunication tool. There are some Pyrope families that have the rare ability of communicating telepathically with their blood relatives. The device artificially simulates that phenomenon.” 

“That’s groundbreaking technology.” 

“Yes. Between this, their testimonies, and the data on the Legion’s territories from their mission recorders, I’d say we’ve gotten more than enough out of them, even if they do turn out to be spies.” 

The Eintagsfliege’s jamming was constant across all the Federacy’s front lines, rendering wireless communication impossible. 

“As for the machine we recovered—the Juggernaut, I believe it’s called—its specs aside, the combat logs are priceless. I believe the boy that serves as their leader was the one piloting it? Once he recovers, I would love to exchange a few words with him.” 

“Oh dear. The technical-research institute already has heavy investment in our newcomers. I plan to have all of them serve as my test Operators, and I’m afraid we have no intention of relinquishing them to you. These soldiers experienced high-maneuverability skirmishes, and their combat data should go toward the development of my new prototype. Their talents would be wasted on those hunks of metal you call Vánagandrs.” 

“What did you say, spider woman?” 

“I beg your pardon, drone beetle?” 

“If you wish to speak with them, you may do so later, with their approval, of course. But this talk of making them Operators will simply not stand. We will be better than the Republic.” 

With Ernst’s plain admonition of a common enemy, the bickering officers fell silent. 

“Effort should be rewarded, and they deserve peace for all the fighting they’ve been forced to do. If their homeland will not give them that peace, then the Federacy will do what is just, for these are the ideals humankind should embody.” 

One military officer in the west wing of the room opened his mouth to speak. 

“…Disposing of them would be safer for the Federacy.” 

“Lieutenant General, I believe that discussion is already behind us. And you’ve consented to shelter them as well, if I recall.” 

“I did. But just as you see justice as the only absolute, the military’s first priority is the nation’s well-being, Your Excellency. And I fully intend to carry out my duties and oversee these young soldiers’ fixed period of isolation and examination.” 

“Very good. But you did have the soldiers who rescued them placed in isolation as well, yes?” 

There was always the chance they were asymptomatic carriers. And besides… 

Ernst cracked a tired smile. 

“In the first place…our hands are so full with the Legion that we haven’t even had a chance to decide on what to do about their immigration procedures.” 

Presently, those concerned were working to hastily write up appropriate laws and draw up the necessary documents. 

“This being the case, you five will be citizens of the Federacy starting today.” 

“…You show your face for the first time in a month, and the first thing you say is ‘This being the case’?” 

Isolated in a room of acrylic plates, Raiden spoke sarcastically. Not out of the caution the group had initially exhibited toward the Federacy but out of simple displeasure. 

And who can blame them? Ernst thought, his smile not changing even in the slightest. These children had so much energy and no chance to make use of it. They’d been confined to these rooms for a month, gradually becoming more and more fed up with repeated examinations and questionings. They would naturally grow bored and frustrated. On the contrary, seeing a glimpse of the youthful nature that suited their age was encouraging. 

“For the time being, I will serve as your legal guardian. Take your time to rest and see what this country has to offer, and consider your futures after that.” 

Their futures. 

They’d been informed of their release beforehand and been asked whether they had any specific desires for their future course. Ernst had already read the report containing their responses; they had all requested to be enlisted in the military. 

Maybe the person in charge hadn’t explained it properly. Maybe they’d misunderstood… Or perhaps war was simply all they knew, and they couldn’t consider anything else. The nurses, the doctors, and the counselors all sent similar reports. All five of the kids agreed that being cooped up in their rooms made them feel trapped and anxious. Bored stiff. But more than anything, the situation of the war and the Legion’s movements seemed to interest them. As if they felt impatient because they weren’t where they were supposed to be. 

They had finally escaped the iron grip of the Republic, finally escaped the battlefield… But Ernst realized, sadly, that their personal battles were far from over. 

Theo smirked. 

“You sure you wanna give us that much freedom? Wouldn’t it be safer for you to dispose of us? We’re just some kids from an enemy country you picked up in hostile territory.” 

“Do you want us to kill you?” 

Ernst’s question, spoken with that same pleasant smile, silenced Theo. Ernst understood. He knew they didn’t want to die. But a world at war was the only world they knew, and their experiences in that old world were all they had as reference when trying to make sense of this new one. They couldn’t be blamed for that. 

Shin calmly parted his lips to speak. Ernst was relieved to see his wounds had all healed over the course of the month. 

“What do you stand to gain from saving us?” 

“If we were the kind of society that needed to think of gain or loss when faced with the choice of saving children or leaving them to die, we would lose something much more precious. Helping one another is a mindset that’s fundamental to maintaining a community… And besides…” 

Ernst smiled thinly. It was a cold, cruel smile, terrible enough to even render these children, who had seen hell on earth, speechless. 

“…If we have to kill children because they’re unfamiliar to us… Because of a one in a million chance they might be a threat… If that’s what humankind has to do to survive, then we deserve to be wiped out.” 

The quarantine rooms’ doors slid open, and the children were instructed to change out of their hospital gowns and come out. Naturally, they didn’t have regular clothes of their own, so they were given Federacy military uniforms. 

Even now, the children remained wary of the Federacy and its honeyed words. Were they going to be taken somewhere else, like a laboratory or a prison? If that was the case, they preferred to run and be shot in the back rather than simply hand themselves over to the chopping block. 

Ernst realized this and tried to hide the fact that he knew they were looking for a chance to escape. But at the same time, he ordered the guards to remain alert. They had no intention of shooting the kids should they run, but having them get hurt while they were subdued would be problematic. 

They didn’t seem to suspect anything until they got on the transport plane, and it approached an urban area. The plane landed in a military base on the outskirts of the capital, and from there, they boarded a civilian vehicle that would take them to the city. It was then that their doubts turned into confusion. 

The vehicle left the base’s gate and drove along the main street of the Federacy’s capital, Sankt Jeder. 

“…Ah.” 

Kurena’s eyes were fixed to the window as a slight gasp escaped her lips. Anju and Theo voiced their amazement as well. Shin and Raiden didn’t let their impressions show, but they too found it difficult to look anywhere but the windows as they sat still, holding their breath. 

They saw people. Many, many people coming and going. People the same color as them and sometimes different colors, too. A young girl walking down the street, holding her parents’ hands. An old couple seated at a café’s terrace. A group of students laughing on their journey home from school. A young couple asking a clerk questions at a florist’s storefront. 

Their wide eyes filled with nostalgia, pain, and seclusion. For the first time in nine lonely years, they had seen the wondrously mundane visage of a peaceful city. 

“You did well to make it this far, O pitiful exiles.” 

Their car had stopped in front of a small manor in the corner of a quiet residential area. This was Ernst’s private residence, though he usually stayed at the president’s official dwelling. 

That aside, as soon as they stepped into the entrance hall, they were met with that sudden greeting. Ernst cradled his head with his hand in exasperation as the children froze in confusion. Those extremely confident words that bordered on ridicule were spoken by the high-pitched, shrill voice of a young girl. 

The roughly ten-year-old black-haired, red-eyed girl stood on a small platform she had retrieved from parts unknown. She struck a commanding pose, crossing her hands with an air of self-importance, her chin held high. 

“The great Giad welcomes the helpless with compassion and mercy. We do not expect those of such low station to repay this kindness, so you may accept our sympathy and rejoice.” 

She then pointed directly at Shin. Was her sight keen enough to discern the group’s power balance this quickly? Or perhaps— 

“You red-eyed wretch! Why do you turn your back to me?!” 

“…I was just wondering if anyone else would be joining us.” 

Shin’s tone was decidedly curt. As would be obvious. 

“You just closed the door! Do you take me for a fool?!” 

Shin didn’t answer, which probably stood for affirmation. 

“…I suppose I can expect no better from a Republic plebeian… Even with the blood of the Empire’s nobility running through your veins, you are still—” 

Her scolding stopped abruptly. The girl’s red eyes seemed to be looking somewhere else. 

“…Your neck… What happened…?” 

“…” 

Shin’s breath caught. The bloodred eyes looking down at the girl suddenly grew much colder, the chill of them and awkwardness of the situation causing the girl to flinch. Ernst sighed and opened his mouth to speak. At present, Shin’s scar was hidden behind the collar of his uniform. Although Ernst had seen the scar when Shin had first arrived, he’d never asked about its origins. 

“Stop that, Frederica. I’ve already told you their circumstances… You yourself have wounds you wouldn’t want others to pry into, do you not?” 

“…My apologies.” 

The girl bowed her head with surprising meekness. Raiden, who was visibly taken aback, turned to Ernst. 

“This your daughter? …Not to be rude, but you could probably work a little harder to discipline the munchkin.” 

“Ah, well, she isn’t my daughter.” 

“How dare you assume I am the daughter of some petty paper pusher!” 

Apparently taking offense, the girl puffed up her chest. She seemed to have found joy in the situation turning to her favor again. 

“I am the esteemed—” 

“Frederica Rosenfort. Due to particular circumstances, she has been placed under my care.” 

Ernst ignored Frederica’s glare. 

“For the record, I made arrangements for her to pose as my daughter. It saves me the trouble of pointless explanation to outside elements, you see. Oh, and you five are also technically my adopted children now. Feel free to call me Dad if you like.” 

A long pause ensued. 

“…I was only kidding. You don’t have to look so disgusted…” 

That remark even earned him a fresh glare from Shin. 

“Well, to get us back on track, you will be living together with her for the time being. Frederica is a touch ignorant of the ways of the world, but I would be happy if you could see her as a younger sister and try to get along.” 

Frederica’s lips curled up into a haughty smile. 

“I am the pet you miserable lot have been given to cleanse the pain of war and persecution from your hearts.” 

Shin squinted his eyes, and Frederica smiled, as if she’d seen through him. And regardless of whether she harbored any ill will toward him, her smile felt like a sneer. Oddly enough, within the layers of the deceptively simple expression, he could also sense a feeling of solidarity. 

“Not just I, but all the things this man presents to you are the same. A safe and comfortable estate, a motherly maid, a guardian to serve as your father, an adorable younger sister— 

“It is the Federacy’s decision to compassionately grant you a replacement for the family, home, and happiness that were stolen away from you… Do cherish me, my lovely older siblings. Let us befriend one another, as fellow victi— Whoa?!” 

Frederica screeched as Raiden reached out and ruffled her hair wildly in what might have been his idea of a friendly handshake. Flailing in an attempt to brush off his hands, she ran back and clung to the golden-haired, blue-eyed slender maid standing behind her. 

“Teresaaaaa! They’re bullying meeeee!” 

“Now, now, my lady. I do believe this was entirely your fault.” 

Mercilessly cutting down Frederica’s whining, Teresa directed a smile worthy of an ice queen at Shin and his group. 

“I’m sure you’re all tired. How about I pour you some coffee?” 

Having eaten a slightly early dinner, the kids each went to their appointed rooms and, as expected, fell asleep. And who could fault them? Ernst thought as he enjoyed his cup of coffee, alone at the dinner table. A convenient, peaceful city and a home they could relax in were all concepts that had eluded them for far too long. For them, the change in environment likely felt as though they had arrived in a whole new world. Of course they would be exhausted. 

Frederica walked into the room, pouting in a dissatisfied manner. 

“They’ve all fallen asleep. I intended to hear their tales of the Republic. What a vapid evening this turned out to be…” 

But the deck of cards in her hand suggested that her wanting to speak to them was just an excuse to play. 

“Shall I pour you some milk, Your former Majesty?” 

“Imbecile. I have no recollection of ever abdicating my title. And what is this talk of milk? Do not treat me like a child.” 

“Kids aren’t supposed to drink coffee before they go to sleep.” 

But with that being said, Teresa—who had finished making preparations for tomorrow morning—walked in, carrying cups of coffee. One for Frederica and one for herself. 

“Thank you for dinner, Teresa.” 

“Think nothing of it, sir. However, kids of that age certainly do have such healthy appetites. It is pleasant to have someone enjoy my meals…for a change.” 

The glare she shot in his direction implied the contempt she felt for his consistent absences from home due to work. Her complaints of how poor young lady Frederica was forced to eat her dinners alone were still fresh in his mind. 

“I apologize… And I will probably trouble you a great deal going forward.” 

The children knew nothing but persecution and war, malice and death. Getting one accustomed to peace and goodwill was far harder than getting them used to the opposite. 

“Perish the thought, sir. Serving you is my duty, after all.” 

“…Do you see me as a disgusting man for this?” 

He gazed at Teresa’s features as she looked back at him. The spitting image of the woman he loved more than anything, and yet, his heart was never moved in the slightest when he looked at her. 

“Perhaps you think this a foolish act of compensation on my behalf…that I’m using them as substitutes?” 

“—I do not, sir.” 

Contrary to her words, Teresa’s voice was cold. Her features, befitting an ice queen, truly were frozen over. Teresa had said that was the only way she could act before him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He couldn’t keep surrounding himself with illusions forever. 

“A person can never be substituted. Each and every one holds a unique existence.” 

Frederica said plainly: 

“Even so, there are people willing to settle for illusions. No matter what form they take.” 

Ernst brought his coffee cup to his mouth. 

“And just who were those words directed at, Empress?” 

“That’s…” 

Breaking the sentence off, Frederica fell silent. Looking down at her cup of coffee, watching the dark liquid ripple as if it were reflecting her own heart, she pursed her lips. 

She’d been surprised when she’d seen his picture and even more shocked when she’d met him face-to-face. His age was different. Half the blood running through his veins was different. The color of his eyes—and most of all the hue and intensity of his expression—were different. So why…? 

…Why were they so alike? 

They were different people… But in the way he was trying to reject being imprisoned in a cage of peace, their features almost intersected. 

“…Kiri…”