86 - Volume 3 - Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6 

OVER THERE 

There was a nyooz report on TV about the situation in the westin front and how the Federasee millytawy pushed back a lot of Legion that attacked it. 

Six-year-old Nina Rantz raised her head at the sound of a car pulling over in front of her house. It was one of the Federacy government’s official vehicles, emblazoned with the red-and-black national symbol of the two-headed eagle. It was the steel-blue sedan that always brought her letters from her brother, Eugene. 

Her aunt greeted them, and they handed her an envelope that was also emblazoned with the two-headed eagle. Nina ran over, believing it was from Eugene. He had left for the special officer academy six months ago and had seldom visited home since. She hadn’t seen him at all in a month and a half. 

Her kind, beloved brother, older than her by ten years. 

Nina came closer and tried to call out to her aunt but froze when she noticed something weird about how she was acting. Her aunt’s fingers were shaking. The soldier handing her the envelope wore a slanted black sash over his steel-blue uniform and pursed his lips. 

What’s wrong? 

Did something…happen to Eugene? 

At that moment, the TV’s news coverage, which showed footage from the western front, suddenly filled with a blinding flash and a deafening roar. 

As he stirred, shards of broken glass rattled as they slid from his body. Shin rose, lying over Frederica and shielding her from the blast. The windowpanes had all shattered, their glass scattering about. Specks of dust that rained down from above because of the tremor danced and fluttered in the sunlight that flooded the corridor leading up to the Division Headquarters’ office. 

Blood trickled down his left temple; he had apparently been cut by a shard of glass. Shin wiped it away roughly with the back of his hand. His ears still hurt from the shock wave that had passed over him after he’d dived to the floor. 

When he saw the sight through the broken, unhinged windowpanes, his eyes narrowed. 

Frederica unsteadily rose to her feet. 

“…It’s over. Shinei, what of the damage…?” 

“Don’t look.” 

Not giving her time to respond, Shin took her head, which came up only to his stomach, and embraced her with one arm, burying her face to block off her vision. Outside the window, he had a view of roughly ten kilometers of the base. And he could just barely make out what was left of FOB 14; the stronghold and headquarters of a single regiment that housed five thousand troops had been completely annihilated. 

It hadn’t merely been broken or ruined. The destruction was absolute. 

The blurry silhouette of the massive gray structure in the distance was completely gone. Only the clouds of dust fluttering through that vast, open space implied that something once existed there. 

Averting his gaze, he found that the headquarters they were in hadn’t escaped unscathed, either. A stray shell had blasted into one of the nearby hangars, leaving only a large crater where it once had been. It was long-range bombardment by unguided shells with wide circular-error probability—its range of accuracy wasn’t particularly high. All that remained were a crushed barracks, the ruins of a destroyed Vánagandr, and the scattered shell fragments that fell over everything like rain, leaving the place more ravaged than anything Shin had ever seen before. 

Its occupants were likely…all dead. FOB 14, which had also been bombarded, was probably in a similar state. He could hear the faint voice of someone crying for help, no doubt pinned below an armored vehicle that was overturned by the shock wave blast. 

Frederica’s body stiffened upon hearing that voice. Forcibly twisting her neck to the side, she looked out the window with one eye, which widened when she saw the ruin. 

“Th-this is…” 

“Frederica.” 

“Kiri…did this…?” 

“Frederica. Go back to your room and don’t look outside.” 

Frederica suddenly looked up at him, her eyes wavering as she appeared to be on the verge of tears. 

“You’re…” 

“…What?” 

“You’re not going to become like that, are you? Like Kiri…” 

“Of course not. I don’t want to become a Legion.” 

He had no regrets that would make him want to linger in this world after death. 

The commander’s office door swung open noisily. 

“First Lieutenant Nouzen, are you okay?!” 

“Yeah.” 

He was slightly bloodied, but a scratch was nothing given the situation. Biting her lip, Grethe motioned toward the office’s interior. 

“Could you tell where that bombardment came from? We have to pinpoint its location if we’re to counterattack.” 

“Roger that… But—” 

As he let go of Frederica and gently nudged her in the direction of her room, Shin shook his head. 

“Do we even have a way of taking it out after we pinpoint its location…? It probably fired from several hundred kilometers away.” 

Shortly after the Federacy was established, it had to delegate the majority of its national strength to fighting the Legion, which meant it never got around to properly establishing legislation. This forced it to rely on ad-hoc judgment as a stopgap measure. But thanks to that, the people and departments involved in the action of formulating new laws were quick on their feet. And that held doubly true for the president, who maintained major authority over military and national policy. 

“…Henceforth, the Long-Range Artillery type will be designated the Morpho.” 

The Federal Republic of Giad’s presidential residence, aka the Eagle’s Nest—Adler Holst. During the Age of the Empire, it had served as the throne of the emperor and the seat of command for the dictators when they took power. The assembly hall of this grand palace, built in the solemn, overbearing architecture of the late Imperial Age, now served as the National Defense Council’s meeting room. 

The assembly hall’s seats were arranged in concentric circles, with Ernst occupying the central seat of the front row and looking up at the three-dimensional model of the western front projected into the air above them. 

“The first barrage was of fifty-five shells that impacted FOB 14, in the 8th Army Corps’ sector. Seventy-two minutes after that, FOB 13 was hit by a barrage of forty-five shells. Fifteen hours following that, FOBs 15 and 30, which belong to the 5th Infantry Corps, were bombarded with fifty shells each.” 

Luminescence stretched across the 3-D model, extending in parabolas from four points in the Legion’s territory before clashing with the bases. Four sub-screens popped up at the top of the 3-D model, projecting footage of each base’s current state following the bombardments, illustrating how the bases that were supposed to be there were now gone without a trace. All that remained to suggest anything had once inhabited the area were several massive craters. 

“Each FOB was annihilated by the attack. And the twenty thousand soldiers stationed in these bases were killed in the process.” 

In less than a single day, four advance bases…twenty thousand combatants and base personnel…gone. Even as the analyst flatly delivered his report, traces of concealed emotion bled out from his tone. 

“Our current hypothesis, based on the performance of the weapon employed against us, is that it was fired from an 800 mm caliber weapon, with a maximum range of four hundred kilometers and an initial velocity of eight thousand meters per second… We have concluded that the enemy is in possession of an electromagnetic railgun.” 

Ernst’s eyes narrowed. A railgun—a projectile weapon that used electromagnetic conduction to fire a round projectile between two rails. It consumed large amounts of electricity to do so and was a weapon that was extremely difficult to make in smaller sizes. It was also capable of firing projectiles at an extraordinarily fast speed compared to normal artillery’s limit of two thousand meters per second. 

The result granted the projectiles immense destructive power—the warhead’s weight multiplied by its velocity. Impact may dampen its power slightly, but it was still a round traveling at eight thousand meters per second—its weight would easily reach several tons. Even a fortified base would crumble like a sandcastle when pitted against that much force, to say nothing of a prefabricated advance base. 

“The Eighty-Six mentioned it in the report they gave us when we took them under our protection, I believe.” 

“Indeed…though we failed to develop a countermeasure for it in time.” 

The majority of the researchers working in the Imperial integrated military laboratories—which had served as the cradle of the Legion’s birth—had surrendered to the old regime, and their bases had been taken over by the Legion, along with their personnel. Their knowledge—or possibly their brain structures—had likely been assimilated by the Legion at the time. And now that the Republic lacked the minds that had crafted the Empire’s superior weaponry, they didn’t have the technological means of creating weapons on par with what the enemy boasted. 

“The fifteen-hour gap between the second and third volleys presumably stems from severe strain on the barrel. We took that time to prepare every cruiser missile the western front forces have and fired them all shortly after the fourth volley in a saturation attack. As we had no way of observing the impact, we have no way of giving an accurate estimate, but we believe that considerable damage has been dealt to the Morpho.” 

The Eintagsfliege’s jamming and electronic interference made it impossible to fire guided weapons into the contested zones. It may have been possible to fire a guided missile a mere dozen kilometers away with the intent of bombarding an entire battlefield, but pinpointing a target that was as large as a building from hundreds of kilometers away was impossible. 

So if they were to ensure a hit, they would have to compensate for it with numbers, which made them waste what precious little cruise missiles they had all in one go. They were mostly useless in anti-Legion warfare anyway, and the astronomical cost of producing them and launching GPS satellites meant that these were endeavors the Federacy didn’t bother to take on too often. 

“The fact that the Morpho has ceased all bombardment and movement since then seems to back our assumptions. But based on the testimony of the Esper observing it, we failed to completely take it out.” 

Said Esper was Shin. Ernst had only recently learned of his ability but couldn’t blame him for not having said anything. The Eighty-Six’s motherland robbed them of their human rights and made them into living weapons. They knew better than anyone that given the right pretext, human society could overlook any cruel atrocity. They likely didn’t want to be taken hostage or killed—or worse—in the name of the Federacy gaining a convenient, accurate warning system. 

…In practice, had Shin’s power come to light under any other circumstances, their suspicions would likely have been proven right. As terrible as it was to admit, the range of Shin’s ability was abnormally large. He and the Eighty-Six would never have been allowed to return to the battlefield. Instead, they would have been sent to a laboratory in some secure base near the capital and kept like birds in a cage. 

Ernst bit his lip, looking down at Shin’s portrait photo, which was appended with a paper clip to his personnel file and report. Shin had hidden his power, well aware of that risk. And despite that, the situation had been so dire he’d informed them of the attack on the western front, even though it could have, and indeed had, exposed him. 

That he was such a terrible excuse for a guardian that Shin never consulted him despite facing such a crisis filled Ernst’s heart with anger and shame. It was hard to say if Shin was truly afraid, given his five years of experience fighting the Legion. But having to observe that massive army marching in on them, unable to say anything, was likely unbearable. 

A single silhouette—a low-res hologram that barely allowed all in attendance to make out the person’s features—stirred leisurely at the front row of the assembly hall. 

“With regards to the damage estimate, the self-propelled unit that we, the United Kingdom, launched has successfully observed the Morpho at the time of impact. It wasn´t a direct hit, but you did deliver a crippling blow.” 

The United Kingdom of Roa Gracia’s crown prince, Zafar Idinarohk. He was Roa Gracia’s representative, his image transmitted to them by way of a line that just barely remained active thanks to the Legion’s—and the Eintagsfliege’s—retreat. Surprisingly, it was the crown prince himself, not his younger brother, who commanded the southern front where the United Kingdom fought against the Legion. 

The crown prince’s authority was second only to the king’s, and he served as supreme commander of the military. It went to show that the Morpho posed a great threat to the United Kingdom as well. 

A thin, elderly woman—or rather, her hologram—sat up and parted her lips to speak. She was a female officer of the Alliance of Wald and commanded its northern defense force. Her name was Lieutenant General Bel Aegis. 

Ever since the Alliance’s founding, it had upheld a policy of universal conscription, and so men and women alike were conscripted. Their nature as staunch advocates of armed neutrality hadn’t changed at all. 

“If you´ve gotten so close to it, couldn´t your country´s machines have disposed of the Morpho?” 

The crown prince smiled gracefully. 

“I´m sad to admit it lacks the payload required of such a feat. As I´m sure you´ve surmised, they owe their ability to sneak into the Legion´s territories—even on relatively even terrain—to their small stature. Yes… You could say that as far as armaments are concerned, its carrying capacity is equal to that of a young maiden. And we had to sacrifice quite a few units to allow it to penetrate that deeply into enemy territory, which was rather taxing on my younger brother´s nerves. I must ask that you do not demand the impossible of him.” 

That was probably why the younger brother didn’t make an appearance. Judging from the prince’s statement, it was likely a small recon or observation drone remote controlled from afar. And since the younger prince was the one controlling it, one could assume that certain restrictions limited exactly who could control it. 

Lieutenant General Aegis scoffed. 

“My, this is quite the… magnanimous display.” 

They did not simply sacrifice a large number of units in the name of reconnaissance. They also revealed some of their military prowess. 

“Hiding secrets from my partners in an upcoming joint operation wouldn´t do, now would it? Trust is the greatest adhesive that exists between fellow humans and fellow nations alike.” 

He was most likely lying. 

He lauded his country’s achievements, emphasized their sacrifices, and exhibited the power they could offer. Making demands and keeping the other side in check—this was something of a gamble he made to ensure the United Kingdom’s terms in the upcoming joint operation would be even slightly more favorable. 

Sitting on opposite ends of the front row that was arranged in a semicircle, the representatives of the two countries stared each other down in a stalemate. Ernst, who sat between the two, smiled. They had been segregated from each other for over a decade, but this was diplomacy at its core. This was how countries maintained their relationships. 

Lieutenant General Aegis wore a cold smile. 

“Well put, Your Majesty… Now then, would you be so kind as to share with us the Legion´s tactical algorithm? After all, it was your country that developed the Mariana Model, upon which the Legion´s artificial intelligence was based.” 

The prince responded with a smile of his own. 

“Of course I don´t mind, Lieutenant General… Assuming you would be willing to disclose information regarding the Legion units´ physical makeup. Wasn´t your alliance the first to adopt the technology that allows for multilegged mobile weapons to move faster than tank-tread models?” 

An awkward silence fell between the two representatives. Ernst sighed and opened his mouth to speak. Despite the nature of their diplomacy, they didn’t have time for this. And continuing down that topic wasn’t in the Federacy’s favor, either. Out of the three countries present, it was their predecessor, the Empire, that had unleashed the Legion on the continent. 

“I believe it would be wiser to focus on disposing of the Morpho right now…and getting rid of the unit with human-level intelligence.” 

“The Alliance has also confirmed the existence of a sentient, intelligent, commander-type Legion unit… Whenever it takes command, the fighting on the front line becomes much fiercer.” 

“The Legion´s weakness was that despite their numerical and performance advantage, their tactics were simple. The introduction of the commanding units—ones that have overcome this weakness—has been a thorn in our side.” 

Lieutenant General Aegis sank into her seat, looking up. 

“…That large-scale offensive may well have been a feint to call our forces out in the open and get them all in one place. It´s infuriating how crafty those hunks of scrap can be.” 

“I should hope that the Republic—who effectively breeds those commanding units not only by neglecting to collect their dead from the battlefield, but even by sending their most superior soldiers deep into Legion territory—deeply reflects on the error of its ways… Assuming it still exists.” 

The crown prince shook his head lightly. As the Federacy learned about the Morpho’s trial firings through taking the Eighty-Six under their protection, they inevitably shared the circumstances of their rescuing—and the reason they were driven out—with the other two countries. 

“Well, they are a nation of fools that clung to the empty rhetoric of being a democratic republic of equal rights for all, even as they generalized every other race but their own as Colorata. Distinction leads to discrimination, and discrimination leads to persecution. That they did this doesn´t come as a surprise to me… Though I do feel sympathy for our slaughtered brethren and even the Eighty-Six who are not of our heritage but faced persecution nonetheless.” 

With a sigh, the prince turned his gaze to the analyst, who stood silent as he spoke. He then wove his hand in a practiced, elegant movement. 

“My apologies for interrupting your report. Do continue.” 

“Thank you.” 

While the analyst held a certain level of respect for the prince of another country, he was under no obligation to take orders from him. He turned his attention to Ernst, who gave a small nod, which the analyst took as a sign to continue. 

“Let’s continue, then. Judging from its movement speed and firing positions, we presume the Morpho is a railway gun that uses the old high-speed railway tracks to move. Its current position is near the old national border, in the railway terminal of Kreutzbeck City. It can use that position to fire at any base in the Federacy’s western front, as well as have the United Kingdom’s secondary capital city, Heete Birch; the Alliance’s secondary capital, Estohorn; and the Republic’s secondary capital, Charité, in firing range. It is also speculated that it can move along the rails spread out across the Legion’s territories and the contested zones.” 

The three-dimensional model of the war zone transformed into a two-dimensional bird’s-eye-view display that was reduced in scale and magnified. The high-speed-railway tracks were highlighted on the grid map, and the Morpho’s four-hundred-kilometer range was overlaid on it. All the army and government officials in the meeting hall—the two sly representatives included—swallowed nervously at the sight of it. 

“The Federacy’s capital city, Sankt Jeder; the United Kingdom’s capital of Arcs Styrie; the Alliance’s capital of Capella; and the administrative ward of San Magnolia will all enter its firing range.” 

These were the acting capitals of what were possibly the last remaining spheres of human influence after the Legion swept over the continent. In terms of defense, there was little difference between a nation and a snake. They both died once their heads were crushed. 

“Judging from the Weisel’s presumed rate of production, we have at least eight weeks until the Morpho is repaired and ready to fire again. If we do not come up with a way to deal with it before then…we will all be defeated.” 

Ernst spoke softly. 

“Do we have a reliable way of taking it out?” 

The analyst frowned. 

“The western front’s commanders requested a second opinion, but the analysis room’s conclusion was…” 

“…we have no way of effectively dealing with this high-speed, long-distance bombardment.” 

The western front’s army-integrated Command had requisitioned an old castle, which had been a noble’s villa ten years ago, to serve as its headquarters. As such, the conference room was a closed, windowless, dark room with stone walls. A phosphorescent holo-screen was projected over the round table at the center of the room. It illuminated the faces of the corps commanders of the western front forces, all compliant reserve forces, and their deputies. The shadows cast off the aides standing at the back floated over the walls like ghosts. 

“Antiaircraft guns lack the speed and density to shoot the shells down. Besides, even if a 40 mm autocannon could accurately hit them, it wouldn’t do much good against warheads that weigh several tons.” 

After surrounding himself with holo-displays, the chief of staff continued his explanation without paying them any mind. He was young and had the graceful appearance typical of someone of Imperial descent. He was this castle’s previous owner and the son of a high-ranking noble who still held significant influence in heavy industry. Despite his pedigree, he wasn’t the kind of useless man who achieved his rank through inheritance alone. 

Being the child of a noble house in the old Empire, he received special education in his family’s field of study: combat leadership. His level of understanding and experience in the field made most other specialists seem unskilled. The weapons crafted by the empire—like the Legion—were so technologically advanced that it was said they were one hundred years ahead of their time. Such feats were possible only because they produced talented individuals like this man. 

“We’re gathering cruiser missiles from the other fronts, but those aren’t a guaranteed solution, either. We can’t guide them, and their low speed makes them easy pickings for the Stachelschwein. The Morpho itself has powerful antiair armaments, as well.” 

The holo-screen went dark for a moment, and a black-and-white low-res video began to play. It appeared to be footage taken by the United Kingdom’s drone, provided to the Federacy by Roa Gracia’s military. 

It showed a background of city ruins and a cloudy sky. The footage was taken from a low vantage point, roughly the height of a person. Something flared up at the edge of the screen, and immediately after that was a sequence of aerial explosions. The few cruiser missiles that managed to approach their target were shot down, and one missile that actually made it through the barrage activated its seeker, rushing at a massive object beyond the ruins. The missile detonated at short range even as it was shot down by antiair fire, which was where the footage abruptly stopped. 

“These are the most likely results for any method we attempt… However, artillery fire lacks the range to hit it, and with the Eintagsfliege and Stachelschwein deployed, we won’t be able to take air superiority. Staging an air strike would be impossible.” 

Aside from the Stachelschwein, the Legion’s antiair defense was also handled by the Eintagsfliege that were deployed out in the skies. In addition to their main role of electronic jamming, they would attack aircrafts by swarming in their path and jamming their intake vents. The mechanical butterflies were the natural enemy of fighter jets and, in a sense, the most vicious of all Legion. 

“Though, first of all—” 

One commodore, who had transferred from the air forces, chimed in. 

“—there may be some transport pilots in the rear, but all the fighter and bomber pilots changed professions to Vánagandr Operators… And most died in battle over the last ten years. There are hardly any survivors fit to pilot even if we did go on an air strike.” 

“So in the end…” 

The corps commanders’ gazes fixed on the western front’s commander, who gave a solemn nod. 

“Our only choice is to eliminate it in a direct confrontation with our ground forces.” 

A heavy silence filled the conference room. Sinking into his chair, the reserve corps commander groaned. 

“A charge operation into the Legion’s territories, using all of the western front’s forces… A breakthrough in a straight line across one hundred kilometers of Legion-infested land…” 

This plan of attack was so incredibly reckless that even Federacy military officers, seasoned veterans who had been fighting the enemy for ten years, who had bested them in terms of quality and quantity, could see it as nothing but madness. The survival rate of the soldiers and officers who would participate in the operation would be exceedingly low, but should they fail, the western front (if not the Federacy altogether) would fall. Even if the theoretical success rate was close to zero, they had no choice but to try. 

“…The western front’s forces have been reduced by twenty-four percent following the last large-scale offensive, reinforcements and reserves included. And we obviously can’t shift any forces from the other fronts, so we have to carry out this operation.” 

“The Legion’s numbers were hit equally as hard, however…” 

“Their parameters are completely different from ours, and so is their reproduction ability. According to recon, they have five corps’ worth of troops deployed on just the western front. It goes without saying that the Weisel, in the depths of their territories, are unharmed, and in two months, their forces would likely be even larger than that… Heh, having an Esper that can only prophesize your doom is certainly convenient.” 

The vice commander of the 5th Infantry Corps snorted as he flicked a single thin sheet of paper containing an appended report. It was in the form of a personnel file but didn’t have a photograph attached, and everyone present understood why. Pausing for a moment, the vice commander concluded mournfully: 

“Whichever unit we send to handle the Morpho’s elimination…is a unit we will essentially be sacrificing.” 

“Yes… And that’s why we have to pick the people who would do the most thorough job.” 

The ones who would not be missed. 

“The ones we would least regret losing.” 

“Tch…” 

The information analysis section chief, who sat across from him, didn’t fail to notice him click his tongue. 

“Is something wrong, First Lieutenant Nouzen?” 

He was the very image of a stern officer. It didn’t sound like an anxious or suspicious question but rather like he was concerned for him. Yet, Shin wasn’t able to immediately come up with an answer. The officer’s voice felt distant and faint to him… And by contrast, the cries of the mechanical ghosts stirred in his ears without stopping, alerting him to their positions… 

“First Lieutenant.” 

At that second call, Shin came to his senses. He was in an information analysis room in the 177th Armored Division’s home base. He’d been in the midst of searching for the enemy’s position for a few days now, as he’d been requested to “collaborate” with the Division while the operation was being drafted. 

Waving away the holographic electronic document that had been set to be illegible unless it was viewed from a certain perspective, the field officer inclined his head like a hunting dog. 

“Maybe you need to take a little rest. You’ve been doing this nonstop since morning. You may be hearing the voices of the Legion constantly, but concentrating on them for so long is another story.” 

“No.” 

Shin shook his head as if to say he was fine. The field officer sighed as he rose to his feet. 

“…Right. You guys… You really are just like disposable weapons.” 

There was no disdain or mocking in his voice. It was nothing more than an observation. Turning his large back to Shin’s gaze, he walked over to a cabinet on the other side of the room, retrieving what appeared to be his personal tea set, and picked up the tea cozy meant to preserve the tea’s warmth from escaping the teapot. 

The Federacy’s citizens were surprisingly fond of tea. But since tea leaves were mostly available in the continent’s east, all they had was the synthetic tea the production plants put out, which had a distinct medicinal aroma. The scent slowly filled the room. 

“Weapons in human form. Expendable… Replaceable, though only in the event you break completely. You grew accustomed to pretending you never noticed how worn out you had become. If you broke, you ignored the fact that you could feel pain, so you simply continued to fight until you could no longer move. Even as you were exhausted, terrified, filled with hatred, you faced the Legion.” 

He returned with two teacups in hand and placed one before Shin, taking a sip from his own while standing. 

“You’re pale. This isn’t the ‘battlefield without casualties’ that you’re familiar with. Here, we understand that every person who fights for our sake is a human being with his or her own life, so you can go ahead and set your standards for what counts as pain and fatigue a little lower. Pain and fatigue are alarm bells. The fact that they’ve grown dull for you is deeply concerning… While you rest, you can leave tracking the enemy to them.” 

His eyes turned to the office divided by a glass partition, where red-haired, red-eyed Pyropes of various ages and genders, officers clad in steel-blue uniforms, went about their work. Some noble bloodlines inherited unique abilities, and Pyropes—who were the noble bloodline of the Rubela—tended to develop abilities relating to telepathy. Such abilities were highly sought after, as Pyropes were recruited to serve as reconnaissance or interrogation personnel. 

“You would do well to remember this: In a humane world, there isn’t a single person alive who can be replaced by another… For better or worse.” 

The countless soldiers injured in the large-scale offensive were sent away to be treated, to ease the burden on the front lines. But the air in the military hospital in the capital, far from the front lines, was still thick with choking despair. 

Unable to bear the oppressive silence in the sickroom, Erwin Marcel employed the crutches he had finally grown accustomed to using to leave the room, while making sure to not touch his broken right leg. 

He didn’t have any acquaintances in the hospital. Most of the comrades from his company had been killed in the large-scale offensive—and so had his contemporaries from the special officer academy. Some were still fighting on the western front, while others were gone. Just like his classmate from secondary school, who’d entered the special officer academy the same time as he had and even joined the same corps… Eugene, who’d passed away just recently. 

News of the new type of Legion, its capabilities, and the estimate of the damage it caused were reported to the citizens via the news. One could see Sankt Jeder’s streets from the hospital premises, and they were completely silent. Like animals taking shelter on the eve of an approaching storm, everyone fled to their hiding places and held a collective breath. They all cautiously waited for the moment the situation would change, surrounded by this strained silence. 

Freedom of information was fundamental to modern democracy, and there was no hiding what happened anyway; the destruction of FOB 14, the first to be bombarded, was effectively broadcast live as it happened. Foolishly trying to cover it up would only make people rise up in revolt because of misinformation, and so the government probably judged it would be simpler to always report accurate information. 

Their decision seemed to have borne fruit; while there were minor outbreaks of panic and sporadic chaos, for the most part, the Federacy’s citizens kept their composure. Should the western front retreat or fall, the capital would enter the Morpho’s range. So there were a few people who ran, but the majority of civilians went on with their daily lives. 

But that was because they knew, deep down, that despite defending half its past territory from the Legion, the Federacy was surrounded on all sides. There was nowhere to run. 

“…Mm.” 

Since this hospital was a military installation, civilians weren’t allowed to enter it unless there was some kind of unusual disaster or emergency. But Marcel could spot a small figure standing near the gate, which was empty save for the sentries. Examining it, Marcel walked forward, noticing it was a girl he knew. He’d met her when he’d gone over to his classmate’s house once; it was his little sister. 

Eugene’s little sister. 

“What are you up to, munchkin?” 

She jumped with a start and turned to face him. He recalled Eugene’s smile as he’d told him about her timidity. Eugene himself had been very sociable, so he’d jokingly wondered where she’d gotten that nature from. 

…That was also why he’d approached that Reaper from a foreign land. 

The girl’s large silver eyes widened as she looked up at Marcel, blinking in surprise as she realized she recognized him. She wasn’t allowed in, so he exited the gate, and she approached with small steps. 

“I’m looking for Eugene…but they won’t let me in.” 

Marcel sneaked a fleeting glance at the guards. They were a few years older than he was, standing at attention with assault rifles strapped over their shoulders. They simply averted their eyes in visible discomfort. It wasn’t out of any ill will, but even though she was just a little girl, rules were rules. 

Putting that matter aside, Marcel pursed his lips. He knelt down, despite his broken leg, and faced her at eye level. 

“…They said Eugene came back.” 

Federacy soldiers never left their comrades behind, bringing them back even if all they could retrieve were their remains. They always collected them and returned them to their families. Eugene was picked up after that battle, and his coffin was sent back on a supply train, alongside other casualties, shortly before the large-scale offensive broke out. 

But that was a silent, different kind of homecoming than the one this girl wished for. Nina shook her small head, her two neatly done braids gently swinging side to side like a cluster of fireflies. 

“But he’s not back. They didn’t bring Eugene back… All they brought back was a box.” 

“Ngh…” 

Marcel bit his lips. If a dead soldier’s remains were in a state unsuitable to be seen by civilian eyes, they would be buried with the coffin nailed shut. That was likely the case with Eugene. The higher-ups had probably decided to spare his family the sight of his corpse after he’d lost half his body and taken a bullet to the face. 

But little Nina was still too young to comprehend death… So no matter how one attempted to word it, she wouldn’t be able understand how a casket with the national insignia on it could possibly be Eugene. 

Marcel’s teeth dug into his lower lip. He recalled the battlefield in the western front’s deep forest. That scene enveloped in otherworldly, viridian mist. A child soldier…a handsome, ominous reaper clad in a bloodstained flight suit, rising casually to his feet after using the pistol he held in one hand to take the life of his comrade. 

Putting the dying out of their misery was a mercy on the battlefield. And thanks to the fact that his brain was destroyed by the act, the Tausendfüßler wouldn’t collect his body during their terrible headhunts that turned people into Legion. 

Even so… 

His actions made it so Nina never got to say good-bye to her brother. He’d technically returned home, but she was unable to associate the event with his death. Had he even considered this possibility before he pulled the trigger? 

Did you, Nouzen? 

You Eighty-Six… You’re even capable of shooting a friend to death without batting an eye… Just like a reaper… 

“…Eugene… Brother…” 

Marcel averted his gaze, unable to meet those large, innocent silver eyes, incapable of answering the question they contained. Where are you? He felt her eyes accuse and condemn him, even though Nina likely didn’t think to do so at all. 

Why? they asked. Why didn’t you save my brother? 

It wasn’t me back then. 

It was him. 

He didn’t save him. 

He didn’t protect him. 

He was at his side, and he didn’t… 

They were friends, but he still chose the cold, unfeeling Reginleif over him. 

He abandoned Eugene. 

Accuse him, not me. 

He was the one who killed Eugene. 

And it was then that Marcel finally understood. 

He looked down on the citizens of the Republic of San Magnolia, seeing the discrimination and persecution they forced onto the Eighty-Six as inhumane barbarism, but now he understood the reason. 

When people are faced with the unreasonable and the unfair, they have to shift the blame away from their own helplessness… 

…and make it someone else’s fault. 

“Eugene was…” 

As the words spilled from his mouth, Marcel was unaware of the rigid, malevolent smile that played over his lips. 

“Guess it makes sense everyone would be scared stiff when the Legion could blow the whole base to bits from the other side of their territories at any moment.” 

Kurena spoke with a half-hearted tone that didn’t fit her words as she wolfed down her scrambled eggs, eyeing her surroundings with all the indifference of a housecat. They were in the 177th Armored Division’s cafeteria. Even though new reserve troops were brought in, and there were more people dining here than usual, the normally tumultuous sounds of mealtime were dampened by the suspenseful atmosphere. 

Sipping her coffee substitute from a paper cup, Anju remarked, “That new Legion unit—the Morpho, right? They said it’ll take two months for it to be up and running again, so we likely won’t be attacked until then.” 

“Yeah, but they’re basing that estimate off footage they got from a foreign country they haven’t been in contact with for ten years—a video that cuts off from electronic jamming five seconds in, at that—and an Eighty-Six’s extrasensory perception: an ability the Federacy can’t even explain. It’s no wonder everyone doubts it. Back in the Republic, the other Processors didn’t believe Shin until they heard it themselves,” Theo said, stuffing one of the Federacy’s famous sausages into his mouth. 

Anju sighed, admitting that what he’d said made sense. It was surprising, if anything, that the high brass of an organization as realistic as the military accepted the existence of Shin’s special ability so easily. 

“Still, they went public with the situation, and there wasn’t even any panic over it. The Federacy’s military has some impressive skill.” 

“Agreed. If it was the white pigs of the Republic, I bet the Handlers would shit themselves and try to bail as quickly as possible.” 

Theo smirked at first, but his smile suddenly died down. 

“…If something did happen to them, I wonder if the major’s still alive.” 

“Theo.” 

Theo held his tongue as if he’d just been rebuked. Shin cocked an eyebrow, feeling everyone’s gazes on him. 

“What?” 

“Huh? Whaddya mean, ‘what’? Don’t tell me you aren’t aware by now.” 

Shin still looked puzzled, and Raiden sighed in exasperation. 

“…This whole thing with the Morpho, the situation getting critical like this, is kind of making the people of the Federacy aware of the fact that they might die tomorrow without being able to do anything about it.” 

The battlefield was always like that to begin with, but not everyone was fully aware of this. This kind of environment was the most unusual of all for a living being that prioritized its own survival. But Kurena puffed her chest and proudly declared, “That much is obvious for us.” 

Life on a battlefield where tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. The Eighty-Six’s fate was to die at the end of their service, after all. 

But Shin couldn’t help but think. Not fearing death even as it stares you in the face… Accepting the fact that you could die tomorrow… It may have been necessary to adapt to those things for the sake of surviving in the Republic’s battlefield… But somehow, he felt that it wasn’t something to take pride in. Perhaps not fearing his own looming death—believing it was fine if death came tomorrow—was actually… 

Noticing Frederica was peeking in on him from the side, Shin snapped out of his thoughts. 

“Shinei? Is something bothering you?” 

That dubious question made Shin realize he had probably been silent for a long while. 

“It’s nothing.” 

Theo poked Shin’s cheek lightly with the fork in his hand. 

“What, you still tired? There was a ton of Legion present in that attack earlier, so it must’ve been really loud for you… You were tunneling pretty hard at the end there.” 

“I’d bet you didn’t even notice what was going on around you. I think this is the first time you couldn’t recognize that the Legion were retreating.” 

“…” 

Now that Anju had pointed it out, Shin could see the truth in her statement. 

“I tried to contact you through the Para-RAID, but you wouldn’t respond… That’s not how you usually fight, is it?” 

“…You Resonated with me?” 

“…You didn’t even notice…” 

Sighing in a somber manner, unlike that of a child, Frederica glanced over at the others, her black, silken hair flowing down her shoulders. 

“Shouldn’t you all, Shinei included, take this respite as a chance to rest and recuperate? War in the Republic and war in the Federacy are two very different things. Don’t you feel fatigued at all?” 

While they didn’t have any support or command in the Republic, they also weren’t constrained by the military as an organization in the battlefield of the Eighty-Sixth Sector. Drones had no rules to abide by, and Shin’s ability to keep track of the Legion’s movements allowed them to have free time, which they used however they wished. However, that wasn’t possible in the Federacy, which, after ten years of fighting the Legion, maintained the structure of an active military. But in spite of that… 

“At a time like this? Not feeling tired is kind of a tall order.” 

“Maintaining the mental health of its soldiers is one of the army’s duties. Truth be told, many soldiers around your age, from the special officer academy, were sent back to the rear after the large-scale offensive. They’d been diagnosed with neurosis. And you are Eighty-Six, after all. If you ask, I’m certain they will take it into consideration.” 

Kurena grimaced grumpily. 

“What? No. I don’t want that. Screw getting treated like we’re special out of pity.” The cafeteria was noisy, but a high-pitched voice traveled easily. Gazes fixed on them inadvertently, and in the next moment, the atmosphere in the cafeteria turned harsher, as if a cold wave passed through the room. 

…Eighty-Six. They could hear someone spit the words out. The monsters the Republic gave birth to. Those monsters were better off fighting their fellow monsters in the territories. But instead, all they did was summon more monstrosities to their doorstep. 

The malice in the air made Frederica swallow nervously. Shin and the others, on the other hand, didn’t seem even slightly bothered. Why would any of this phase them, at this point? They were driven to the battlefield under the claim that the Eighty-Six had acted against the Republic and led to its defeat at the hands of the Legion. And Shin, who had the blood of the Empire’s nobility flowing through his veins, along with his special ability, was often shunned even by his fellow Eighty-Six as a despicable reaper who bred war and summoned death. 

The world always turns its back on the minority, on the heretics, on those who stray even slightly from the norm. 

“Kurena,” said Raiden. 

“I know… But having them look at us like this is still better than pity. At least we’re used to it.” 

“…” 

“If someone tries to fight us, all we have to do is not lose. But pity’s different. You can say you won’t lose, but people’ll treat you like you already have… And I hate that.” 

Breakfast time was short in the military, and everyone’s eyes gradually drifted away from them. But the cold atmosphere lingered, and Frederica glanced around uneasily. 

Raiden scoffed. 

“…But all they managed to do was buy us two more months, huh? I don’t see them coming up with anything in that small amount of time.” 

“Assuming they think of anything, period. Apparently, they want the operation to start two weeks early… I doubt any solution they’d come up with would do any good, though.” 

“The Federacy can be pretty heavy-handed. Not that I blame them. The Legion have them trumped when it comes to performance, numbers, and information, and there’s no bluffing or shaking their will, either.” 

The Legion had no morale to lower or ambition to take advantage of. They didn’t even hold their own lives in high regard. They lacked any weaknesses that would prevent them from walking all over a human army. Any clever scheme one would attempt to use against them was a gamble more than anything. Trying to plan against the Legion was simply unthinkable. These autonomous drones were graced with strategic excellence and would trample any half-hearted plot made against them with sheer numbers. 

The only true way to face them was through honest strength—a frontal assault. 

“They don’t have enough missiles, their artillery can’t reach, and the air force is out of the picture… Which leaves…” 

“A ground assault. Don’t know if they’ll try to sneak behind enemy lines or smash their way through, though.” 

Just then, a steel-blue silhouette appeared in the cafeteria’s entrance. 

“—Attention!” 

That deep, booming voice rippled throughout the cafeteria. Army discipline had firmly registered the voice in every soldier’s mind, and all present stood at perfect attention. All except for the young mascots, who cowered in fear of the thundering bellow and were late to stand up. Even the Eighty-Six, who were a bit lacking when it came to discipline, were no exception. 

An officer with the rank insignia of a colonel observed the Federacy military’s spotless organization with green, wolflike eyes and nodded. 

“The operation’s been decided. All officers serving as company commander or above are to gather in the briefing room at 0900 hours.” 

It was still seven thirty in Federacy standard time. Heading to his room in the residential sector by himself, Shin once again sank into his thoughts. The words Theo had spoken earlier were still on his mind. 

If something did happen to them, I wonder if the major’s still alive. 

There was nothing to wonder about. He was the only one who knew the truth, and there was no need to tell anyone, so he decided not to share the fact that… 

…the Republic had already fallen. 

He had learned the truth when he helped the Federacy detect the Legion’s movements in their territories. He could hear the Republic’s chaos washed over by the mechanical voices from far beyond the territories, away from the Federacy. From what he’d heard, shortly after the large-scale offensive, the Federacy detected unusual seismic tremors. Those were probably caused by the Gran Mur’s fall. 

He’d expected the Legion to use the Morpho in tandem with their offensive, but the reason they fired it at them only after the fact was likely because they’d already conquered the Republic by then. 

It had been a week since the large-scale offensive happened and the Gran Mur fell. That country—which forced the Eighty-Six onto the battlefield and then enclosed itself in a shell of empty dreams only to forget how to defend itself—couldn’t even last a few days. It was a country he couldn’t consider his homeland, and all the memories he carried of it were little more than fuzzy images from his childhood. Even if the Republic was crushed or wiped out, Shin felt no emotional attachment. 

But… 

Maybe someone will come to help before the Republic falls. 

So until then…you have to stay alive, Major. 

They didn’t make it in time. Shin sighed, gazing at the shards of glass still littering the corridor. 

Major. Could you please…never forget us? 

If we die. Even for just a short while, could you…? 

But it seemed Shin ended up being the one to remember. He couldn’t help but think that he was always the one left behind. By his comrades who died in the Eighty-Sixth Sector’s battlefield. Everyone he spoke to. Everyone he was ever involved with. Sooner or later, he and everyone he ever got close to would be parted by death. 

The Reaper who buried their names, their memories, in aluminum grave markers. He’d never once thought that way of life was a bitter one, but… 

Don’t leave me behind… 

She was the one who’d said that… So why? 

Why did even she leave him behind? 

“…Hm?” 

Shin paused, noticing an envelope inserted in the gap under his room door. He grimaced as he thought, Not again… He sighed, recalling the letters sent by “well-intentioned” civilians, using them as pretext to send the “poor Eighty-Six” luxury items out of pity. It was when he was about to tear it up and throw it away without checking that he realized. 

The envelope was still sealed. 

The Federacy military always opened and checked any letters sent to soldiers, for the sake of security. But the envelope didn’t seem to have been opened. To begin with, all those letters and packages were sent to the military headquarters in the capital, and the supply line didn’t have the leisure to send anything like this over in the western front’s current state. 

Checking the envelope again, Shin saw that it didn’t have the receiver’s name or address, nor did it have a postmark stamped onto it. It wasn’t delivered to him through the postal service. 

“…” 

Narrowing his eyes, Shin flipped the envelope over and, against his expectations, found the sender’s name. It was jotted onto the letter with pencil in the thin, hard-to-read handwriting of a child… 

Nina Rantz. 

Rantz. 

Furrowing his brows, Shin took a utility knife from his pocket and opened the envelope. The single, thin, almost transparent sheet of paper felt like it belonged to the kind of cheap stationery one would expect a child to have. There didn’t seem to be anything else hidden in the envelope. He opened the folded piece of stationery with one hand, and there were only two lines written on it. 

why did you kill my brother? 

give him back 

And then. 

Shin felt a cold, thin smile play over his lips. 

He didn’t know who had delivered the letter— No, considering it was someone who knew both Shin and Eugene and knew what had happened to Eugene, the options were fairly limited. He must have had a lot of free time on his hands. He hadn’t seen him since the large-scale offensive, but he was still alive, considering he’d delivered the letter. There were still some of their contemporaries from the special officer academy in the western front’s army, so it wasn’t too hard to have the letter delivered to Shin, still sealed, without going through the postal system. 

He really did have a lot of free time. 

Or maybe it was exactly because this was the kind of situation they were in. He used the weight of the justice carried in that young girl’s condemnation as a shield. And from behind that shield, he would attack him and call him a murderer. 

“…Figures.” 

Why? 

Why did you kill my brother? 

Why did you abandon him? 

Why didn’t you save him? 

Everyone kept asking him those questions, over and over again, from the day he stepped onto the Eighty-Sixth Sector’s battlefield until now. Time and time again, they kept on asking him. 

You can hear the voices of the Legion. You’re so strong. You always survive like that. So why? He died, so why didn’t you…? Why are you always the only one to…? 

He’d gotten too used to this; he’d grown sick and tired of the blame. And their accusations were completely off the mark, at that. In the end, the only one who can take responsibility for one’s life is oneself. Shin wasn’t coldhearted enough to claim the weak had no one but themselves to blame for their deaths, but having people hold him responsible for not protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves felt absurd. 

But there was one difference this time. 

I was waiting for him. 

That voice of condemnation was the voice of that little girl he’d met only once, and for some reason, it also felt like Eugene’s voice. 

I was waiting for him to return. 

And you knew I was waiting. 

So why? 

Why didn’t someone like you, who has no one waiting for them… 

Why didn’t someone like you, who has nowhere to return to… 

…die in his place? 

“…Good question.” 

There was no one to hear him in the deserted corridor as he muttered in agreement to himself. And in contrast to his inner thoughts, the cheap stationery crinkled as he crushed it in his hands. 

Raiden climbed up the stairs of the prefabricated barracks and stopped when he found Shin, standing still in front of his room. 

“Huh, so you came back here, Shin…? What’s wrong?” 

When he saw Shin’s bloodred eyes turn to him, a shiver ran through Raiden’s body. It was just like that night in the first ward, when four of their friends were blown away by the Long-Range Artillery type. On that night when he realized he was on the verge of the unavoidable confrontation with his brother’s ghost, Shin now had that same dangerous look in his eyes. 

“…Nothing.” 

There was something very eerie about his tone, but Shin probably didn’t realize it. 

“There was a change of plans. We’re still gathering at 0900 hours, but the meeting place is the division commander’s office. And it’s only for the Nordlicht squadron’s captain and the 1,028th Trial Unit’s commanding officer… Only you and the lieutenant colonel,” said Raiden, stifling his fear. 

Shin’s red eyes narrowed at the implication. 

It was immediately obvious that whatever orders they wanted to convey wouldn’t be good ones from the moment they summoned only the unit’s commanding officer and the squadron’s captain to the office for the briefing. But what they’d heard was so absurd that Grethe’s ruby lips quivered with rage. 

“The operation’s primary objective is infiltrating the old high-speed-railway terminal located one hundred and twenty kilometers northwest of the 177th Armored Division’s sector and eliminating the Morpho occupying it.” 

The scale of the map of the battlefield displayed on the holo-screen was one used by the corps and was significantly larger than the forty-kilometer map the division used. It included the entirety of the western front as well as the defensive lines of the United Kingdom of Roa Gracia and the Alliance of Wald. It wasn’t the kind of map that would usually be seen by a mere squadron, even if it did boast the highest loss-exchange ratio in the military and had stood head and shoulders above the rest during the recent large-scale offensive. 

“Our secondary objective is the recovery of the old western border zone, aka the Highway Corridor.” 

The aforementioned zone was illuminated on the map. It had the scope of a belt tracing the old western national border, located several dozen kilometers away from the western front. As its name implied, the Highway Corridor was built over a highway that connected the three countries, and the zone included the majority of the old high-speed-railway tracks. They employed this strategy as a measure to ensure the Legion wouldn’t be able to deploy the railway gun equipped with the Long-Range Artillery type again—to seal that deadly weapon away for good. 

There was the chance they could set rails somewhere else, but be it a highway or a railway line, it would in most cases be a place that was already accessible. Should they insist on building it over unfavorable terrain that had been passed on before, it would increase the burden on the Legion’s engineer units. 

“The forces participating in the operation will be the entire western front’s forces, all complying reserve forces, the United Kingdom’s southern front forces and royal guard corps, and the Alliance’s northern district defense forces and central response corps… Both countries currently have their secondary capitals in the Morpho’s range. It seems they’re not in a position to hide behind their shields any longer.” 

The United Kingdom and the Federacy were separated by natural defenses. The Dragon Corpse mountain range between the United Kingdom, and the Alliance was a collection of small nations based on a steep mountain district that had the holy mountain, Mount Wyrmnest, in its center. 

Both used their natural defenses to face off against the Legion and establish their national defensive lines. But those were useless against the Long-Range Artillery type’s bombardment, which soared straight past them. 

“The operation’s outline is rather simple. The combined armies of our three countries will advance into the Legion’s territory to deceive them into thinking they’re the main force meant to eliminate the Morpho. They’ll attract the attention of each sector’s main force and detain them. Using this distraction, we will airdrop a small strike force into the depths of the Legion’s territories, which will proceed to eliminate the Morpho.” 

It went beyond being simple; it was reckless. Shin’s ability to track the Legion’s movements made it clear just how great their numbers were. There were several hundred thousand in the western front alone, a number that equaled five corps. And the Legion didn’t have any noncombatant units except for their supply and communication units, which meant the Legion’s large numbers translated to pure military might. 

If the countries were to clash with them directly under such numerical inferiority, it would no doubt cost them dearly, and in all likelihood, the strike force wouldn’t survive. The major general was well aware of this but continued his explanation calmly. His single black eye contrasted with the purple eyes looking down at him. 

“After the Morpho is annihilated, the strike force is to defend the terminal until the main force arrives and then link up with them and return to base. We’ve decided the strike force…” 

He tore his single eye’s gaze from Grethe and instead fixed it on Shin, who stood behind her. 

*   *   * 

“…will be helmed by First Lieutenant Shinei Nouzen, along with fifteen units of the Nordlicht squadron.” 

Shin’s expression remained unchanged. The major general looked at those red eyes that refused to meet his gaze and said: 

“You will be the spearhead that breaks through the Legion’s defenses in the greatest joint operation in the history of humankind. Never forget that, and strive to fulfill your mission to the best of your ability.” 

When he considered what this strike force was established to do, the metaphor using his former squadron’s name rang like a very hollow joke in his ears. Or perhaps it was said on purpose… In which case, the irony was far too cruel. 

“May I ask a question, Major General?” Grethe asked in a raspy tone, visibly restraining her anger. 

“Yes, Lieutenant Colonel Wenzel?” 

“Why…? Why pick my Nordlicht squadron?” 

The major general scoffed, as if it were a foolish question. 

“Our criteria for the strike force were rather strict. Vánagandrs are too slow, and they’re also too heavy to carry by airplane. Armored infantry lack the firepower to pull it off. Heavy artillery isn’t flexible enough to be used here. We needed a unit with enough mobility and firepower that was also light enough to carry via aircraft. In addition, they’d have to be experienced with fighting under conditions where they’re cut off from communication with HQ and be skilled at fighting under numerical inferiority. Not to mention they’d have to be capable of tracking the Morpho’s position. The only ones who fill all these criteria, Lieutenant Colonel, are your Reginleifs and First Lieutenant Nouzen.” 

Grethe bit her red lip. 

“Have you no shame…?! You’re sending the Eighty-Six… You’re sending children to their deaths just because they don’t have families?! Because no one would complain if they were gone?! Like they’re dispensable pawns?!” 

“Watch your tone, Lieutenant Colonel.” 

“No, I will not. This is little more than a suicide squad! You’re thinking of using the first lieutenant to draw the attention of the Morpho and the rest of the Legion and advance the main force, because that would increase the chances of shooting it down with missiles. At worst, they’d at least help exhaust its antiair defenses. That was your idea, wasn’t it?!” 

The missiles may have had a wide circular error probability, but the closer their firing position was to the target, the more accurate they became. If they were to push into the Legion’s territories and fire a saturation attack of similar density to the last one, there was a better chance of a direct hit. 

“We are indeed preparing for a saturation attack, but only as insurance in case things go south. We’re not telling them not to return. We are not the Republic.” 

“But you’re doing the same thing! What is the likelihood of the Nordlicht squadron’s safe return from this operation…?!” 

When it came to low-altitude flight meant to avoid radar detection and antiaircraft fire, a transport helicopter would be more reliable, if slower and capable of carrying less weight. And while the Reginleif was relatively light, it still weighed over ten tons. The most a helicopter could carry was one—if they were to carry fifteen, they’d need to deploy a formation, and the roar of the rotors would surely be picked up by the Ameise’s highly efficient optical and audio sensors. 

And as was the case for most aerial weapons, transport helicopters weren’t heavily armored. Most would be shot down. And if their force of fifteen units was to challenge the Morpho with their numbers diminished, the end result would be obvious. 

And this operation—this suicide mission—was based around all those assumptions. 

The major general gave an irritated sigh. 

“Any continued protest will be seen as insubordination, unless you have any other proposals.” 

Grethe suddenly fell silent. The major general shrugged. 

“Someone has to do it. And in that regard…” 

The major general once again turned his gaze to Shin. His bloodred eyes were still narrowed, without so much as a hint, not even a ripple, of hesitation in them. Even as his life and the lives of his comrades were on the chopping block. 

Did he— Did the Eighty-Six understand that this was a sort of insanity? 

“You already have experience infiltrating Legion territory. You’ve done it once. Surely you’ll be able to do it a second time. And regardless of that, you Eighty-Six seem rather infatuated with combat.” 

How could one describe the emotion that filled the major general’s eye at that moment? It was deep pity and reckless fear, all at the same time. Like the irritation a person felt when a puppy they’d picked up had unexpectedly bitten their hand—or the guilt someone would feel when throwing their infant to the wolves in order to escape. 

And one-sided pity and fear were both tantamount to misunderstanding. Be it pity and loathing or fear tinged with awe, the emotions stemmed from not viewing the other as an equal, out of forfeiting any intention to ever understand them. And when the other acted differently than was expected of them, they received nothing but ire. It glossed over the guilt. Using the other’s foreign status—their otherness—as an excuse to treat them however they wanted was all too common. 

They were different, after all. They weren’t like us. 

“The Federacy saved you from the battlefield. We gave you a place to live and a home to return to. And if, in spite of that, you still chose to return to the battlefield, surely you’re prepared for this as well. Battle is a warrior’s duty. A soldier’s duty. And dying in battle is a part of that duty.” 

Shin left the office with Grethe, who slammed the door behind her in a show of irritation. And as she did, the adjacent office’s door opened. The western front’s chief of staff walked in. Even amid the dire conditions of the front lines, his suit was perfectly pressed and carried the scent of cologne. He was accompanied by a capable aide who briefed him on the severity of the situation, and he likely saw fit not to let his reaction show. But in truth, it must have been hard to sleep with the countless updates and new bits of information coming in around the clock. 

“My apologies, Major General. I forced an ugly task upon you.” 

“I don’t mind. This is part of my job as division commander.” 

It was a commander’s duty to order their subordinates—be they fathers, siblings, or children… Be they young men and women with futures ahead of them. It was a commander’s duty to order them to die. Or rather, to fight against the enemy even at the cost of their very lives. Even so, it wasn’t often that he had to give such an order. The major general sighed as his thoughts swam. 

“…Do you think they’ll return?” 

Would even one make it back? 

This man, with the black hair and black eyes of a pureblood Onyx, was yet another one of his younger associates from the military staff college, the same age as Grethe. Despite that, one went on to become the chief of staff for an entire sector, while the other became a trial unit’s commander and a field officer. That was because he was the heir of a powerful noble family that was heavily involved in the Empire’s politics at the time, while she was the daughter of a mere merchant—albeit the owner of a large company. 

And while their backgrounds put a considerable distance between them, there was also a difference in their values and dispositions. One had the coldhearted, calculating nature of a commander, willing and unafraid to see their subordinates served up as pawns to be sacrificed in order to complete an objective. Grethe lacked that trait: the one so readily possessed by the old nobles who had grown used to seeing the common folk not as people, but as property. 

“According to the general staff headquarters, the Nordlicht squadron’s odds of returning alive are roughly zero percent, which is to say it isn’t exactly zero… But that’s just sophistry.” 

Numerically speaking, a one appearing after a long sequence of zeros following a decimal point was enough to say that number wasn’t zero. And yet, one wouldn’t say “They have a chance of surviving” with those odds. Knowing this perfectly well, the chief of staff gave a thin smile. 

“Most soldiers would fly into a rage if you ordered them to send their comrades on that kind of mission, but I guess the Republic’s berserkers accept it without an argument. They’d say that’s a mission worthy of the Eighty-Six, with satisfied grins on their faces.” 

Many soldiers saw how the Eighty-Six fought the Legion in the large-scale offensive, which caused many groundless rumors to spread among the other soldiers on the western front. The fearless warriors who face an army worthy of the name Legion without flinching. Fighting with an almost intoxicated bloodlust even at the cost of their own lives, despite having nothing to protect. To those who stifled the fear of losing their own lives because they had families and loved ones to protect, this was insanity. 

“Whoever fights a monster should see to it that they do not become a monster in the process, eh…? True enough. Those who rival monsters have already become monsters in their own right. Doubly so when it’s a blasted child born from mixing the blood of the two greatest monsters the Imperial army has ever known—the “Crimson Witch” Maika and the “Ebony General” Nouzen. Siccing him on those mechanical demons is only fitting.” 

Shutting the heavy oak door behind her, Grethe sighed. 

“…Are you disillusioned, First Lieutenant? In the end, this is what your final destination—what the world—is like.” 

Because it’s necessary. Because you have no families. Because you’re foreigners. Their final destination, the world, was a place that could cite these reasons as justification for sending children to their deaths. 

“…I think it’s an appropriate decision, given the situation. If you don’t do everything in your power to destroy the Morpho, the Federacy won’t be able to hold the line any longer. And besides…” 

Looking at the office door with disinterest, Shin shrugged. 

“…the fact that they’re not turning tail and running away even when their frontline base is in the enemy’s sights is good enough for me. I have no complaints.” 

“Right… The Republic wouldn’t even do that…” 

A dry chuckle escaped Grethe’s lips. The Republic was just insane in the sense that even its soldiers, sworn protectors of their people, refused to face the enemy. And even though they managed to escape that insane world, they were still shackled by its inhumane values. 

Grethe turned around, her smile gone. 

“What they needed was the Reginleif’s mobility and your power. But that said, there’s no need for you yourself to go.” 

As a rule of thumb, the only absolute in the army was completing the objective. How that was accomplished was left up to the discretion of the person entrusted with the mission. Coercing soldiers to be selective about their methods in a place as volatile and filled with uncertainty as the battlefield would do nothing but hinder them. 

“I’ll only assign the Vargus to the strike force… The rest of you can stay behind.” 

Grethe, who was looking away, didn’t notice how Shin clenched his fists at that moment. 

“And once this is over, resign from the military. You’ve fought more than enough to defend your homeland, so now you can—” 

“So…” 

His interjection taking her by surprise, Grethe turned to look at Shin, her breath caught in her throat. 

“…you’re telling us to stop being who we are, just so you can satisfy your sense of justice and take pity on us?” 

The boy standing in front of her wore an expression she hadn’t seen cross his face in the six months since he’d been taken in by the Federacy, even during the large-scale offensive… An expression befitting a boy his age. The obstinate eyes of a child who had the one precious thing he carried with him mercilessly crushed right before his eyes. 

“We’re grateful that you saved us, but there’s no reason for you to pity us. No reason we should be told not to fight… Because fighting…” 

…is all we have…! 

Despite the fact that he swallowed those words… No, precisely because he did, his tone sounded as if he’d spat out those words along with his very lifeblood. 

Why do you fight? 

Why do you keep on fighting even when you have no reason to? 

There was no question more insulting to the Eighty-Six. Pride was all they had. They were robbed of everything save the pride they took in fighting for their lives until the very end. 

Any family they could have protected was long dead, and they had no place they could truly call home. History and tradition died with their relatives, and the culture they should have inherited was forgotten in their infancy, just like the pages of the picture books read to them every night. 

Their so-called homeland stripped away their dignity and expected nothing more from them than their sacrifice. They had no reason to go on, and yet, they clung to life. They shaped their lives around their shared sense of pride. In that battlefield of certain death, locked between mechanical ghosts on one end and their persecutors on the other, their pride—their drive to fight on—was the one thing keeping them from falling into despair. 

Even if one were to ask them why they fight, they would never answer. Why? Because they didn’t have an answer. They had nothing to fight for. Nothing to defend. They fought on because they found dignity in it. It was a source of pride they refused to relinquish. Even if it meant dying in the process. 

“If we ran away from the battlefield and left the fighting to someone else and simply sat back waiting for death to claim us, we’d be no different than the Republic. It’d be the same as pretending to be alive when you’re already dead. We’d never, ever reduce ourselves to that.” 

As Shin hissed these words in a manner so different from the children’s usual calm, it was clear just how strong their rejection was. Grethe bit down on her lip even harder. She realized what she had just lost. In trying to deprive them of the one thing they took pride in, she had shattered what little trust they had in her and the Federacy. 

They were the Eighty-Six. Children who were cast out into the battlefield, lived in the shadow of war, and fought through a world of pain and despair, with no home to return to, and with pride as their only weapon. 

The Federacy told them that they didn’t have to fight anymore, that they could leave the battlefield behind and live peacefully. But those words the Federacy carelessly spoke time and time again threatened to rob the citizens of their identities. 

Shin averted his bloodred gaze. His eyes would not meet hers again. 

“Giving orders from the rear would result in a potentially fatal time lag… I will lead the strike force directly.” 

Once all units were briefed on the assault operation, the room was blanketed by an oppressively grim tension. The objective was nothing short of reckless, and the road to its completion would be paved with the lives of each unit’s soldiers. But if they failed in destroying this tactical weapon with a firing range of four hundred kilometers, three countries, including the Federacy—no, perhaps humankind itself—would be wiped out. 

The entirety of the western front’s forces would charge one hundred kilometers straight into Legion territory. And the ones chosen to stand in the vanguard—were the Eighty-Six. The operation map was projected coldly onto the holo-screens of every unit’s briefing room. 

The briefing for the 1,028th Trial Unit—the Nordlicht squadron—was just as stressful. They were a strike force meant to infiltrate deep into enemy territory. The probability for their safe return would be the lowest out of all the western front’s forces. 

Having finished her rudimentary explanation of the situation, Grethe left the briefing room with the other required personnel following behind. The maintenance and research teams left after them, still discussing the operation. Lastly, the Vargus squad members stood up with stiff expressions. 

Bernholdt, the squadron’s most senior sergeant, turned to face the five Eighty-Six who stayed behind in the briefing room before leaving. 

“Captain.” 

This young sergeant, who served as Shin’s aide at all times, had, at this moment, looked at him not as he would at a superior but rather as a worried elder at a reckless child. 

“I won’t say we aren’t grateful that you’re not abandoning us, but… We won’t hold it against ya if you go back on your decision. You can order us to deploy without you, you know.” 

“…” 

His statement went unanswered, and Bernholdt left the briefing room without another word. Heaving a long sigh, Raiden slid back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. 

“…Not like they even have the privilege to say that with an operation as half-assed as this.” 

“They’re using the entire army to lure out the Legion so we can somehow reach a target one hundred kilometers away and destroy the Morpho.” 

“And our way back is dependent on regrouping with the main force. Who knows if they’ll even make it?” 

“That’s assuming we survive. We’ll be in the heart of enemy territory with no covering fire. It’s like the Republic all over again.” 

But even as they exchanged gripes, there were faint smiles on their lips. It was the kind of farsighted, philosophical view that made them realize that was just the way it was sometimes. 

And in truth, what other choice did they have? Their objective lay far behind enemy lines with no viable alternative methods of completion. And if they didn’t eliminate the enemy, their death was assured. The Federacy had to do this if they were to survive, even if it meant losing the majority of their soldiers. 

These conditions were identical to the battlefield of the Eighty-Sixth Sector. No battle was easy, and no victory was certain. The only difference was that now they were fighting because they chose to fight. They were able to go down this path of their own will. Being Eighty-Six, they knew that freedom was hard to come by, and so they would never willingly forfeit it. 

Even though he knew that, Shin spoke up. 

“For what it’s worth, the lieutenant colonel said we can forfeit the operation if we want.” 

“Are you kidding me? If we bailed now, we’d be the same as the white pigs.” 

Theo smiled even as he spat the words out. 

“Hell, you snapped at the lieutenant colonel yourself, didn’t you? We all feel the same way.” 

Throughout the briefing, Grethe hadn’t made eye contact with Shin once. So they were able to draw the conclusion that something must have happened between Shin and Grethe, who loathed the idea of sacrificing children, before the briefing began. 

“But you know, they gave us the most dangerous role just because we’re Eighty-Six. And that does…make me feel a little lonely.” 

The Federacy wasn’t a bad country by any means. If nothing else, it was a much nicer place than the Republic ever was. But being deemed the country’s most expendable pawns made them feel ostracized, to say the least. 

What are you fighting for? What do you have to defend? 

That question was asked under the assumption that people needed a reason to fight, and the Eighty-Six, who stood on the battlefield with no such reason to their name, were abnormal in the eyes of the Federacy. 

They had no homes to return to or families to defend, and if their final destination wasn’t a place where they could be true to themselves, the battlefield was all they had left. If no one wished for them to be there, either, they had no reason to be kept around like pets out of pity. 

Monsters. 

Yes, that was probably true. They would live on the battlefield, fight until their luck ran out, and die there. It wasn’t the kind of life any person should have had to live. And yet… 

Shin clenched his fists. 

Pride is all we have. 

“—It is for these reasons that we´ve chosen the Nordlicht squadron, including the five Eighty-Six, as the strike force to take down the Morpho.” 

The Federacy’s capital, Sankt Jeder, was built at a high altitude, and its sunset came late during the summer months. The afterglow of the setting sun bathed the president’s office in shades of scarlet. Ernst’s eyes were fixed on a wall that had a holo-screen projecting the image of the western front’s army’s commander in chief, who glanced back at him, looking stern. 

“This is a legitimate order passed down under my authority as the western front´s army´s commander in chief. They may be your adopted children, Your Excellency, but once they´ve enlisted in the army, we cannot give them any special treatment. I´m afraid to say that even you won´t be able to overturn this decision.” 

“I am aware. I was prepared for this from the moment they wished to enlist, and I gave them the go-ahead… It would be unacceptable for me to send my country’s soldiers to their deaths but spare my children the same fate.” 

Perhaps Ernst’s detached tone made the commander—a lieutenant general—feel pangs of guilt. He coughed dryly before continuing. 

“I do believe that as a campaign to raise morale, it´s hard to find a better story than this. Children we rescued from adversity at the hands of an enemy nation choosing to risk their lives in an operation that hangs the fate of the Federacy in the balance. And to have them volunteer to lead the charge in the riskiest unit… It´s a heart-wrenching tale, the kind the citizens would love. Depending on how we publicize it, it could have a very positive effect on our enlistment numbers, not to mention your approval rating.” 

“Cut the political drivel, Lieutenant General. It doesn’t suit you.” 

Ernst scoffed, looking at the lieutenant general’s rugged, rectangular face—the very image of a seasoned warrior. He then asked, his tone the same as before: 

“Lieutenant General, are you sure this operation isn’t a continuation of the disinfection you attempted a year ago?” 

A heavy silence fell between them for a moment. 

“When we first took them into our custody, you, along with several other officers, held that opinion—that mere children escaping the Legion’s territories was far too suspicious. You didn’t believe they actually slipped through their territories. You thought they were infected with something and that we should dispose of them for the good of the Federacy’s people.” 

Five child soldiers of tender age had been saved from the headhunt. Even the division that had saved them, and the corps commander in charge of them, couldn’t help but look at them with pity. The drone recovered with them, the piloting of which seemed akin to suicide; the way they would shy away from strangers; the countless battle scars on their bodies. These various elements together painted a clear picture of the persecution by their homeland and supported their testimonies. 

But every one of those elements could also be fabricated, if one had a mind to do so. There was no way of confirming that they weren’t spies sent by the Republic on some sort of secret mission. The fact that the Legion were forbidden—by programming—from employing biological weapons, and that the children went through the regulated inspections and isolation period, was not proof they weren’t infected by a bio-weapon or that they weren’t the bio-weapons themselves. 

There was no proof whatsoever that they were clean. 

Had they been Federacy citizens, the army would have accepted the risks. But they were foreigners. The Federacy had no obligation to defend them. And there were firm requests from some of the officers that they should be disposed of if need be. But Ernst’s insistence that the Federacy, which placed justice as its national policy, would never reduce itself to that made them step down. 

“I won’t condemn the requests and say they were heartless and cruel. Discrimination can stem from good intentions just as it can from ill will. It’s because people wish to defend what they hold dear that they can do away with what they don’t consider precious, and I don’t intend to deny that.” 

However mistaken an act that leads down the path to inhumane cruelty may be, wishing to defend those you hold dear is an honest manifestation of the human spirit. 

“But those who claim to be human and never use or rely on words, instead using violence to achieve their means, are wrong in every sense of the word. This isn’t you agreeing with me superficially and using this crisis as pretense to secretly overthrow my decision…correct?” 

“…Of course not.” 

Then why did he pause before he replied? 

“But do consider this. In practice, they aren´t pitiful children, but despicable, combat-crazed berserkers. Do you truly think these monsters would find a place in our Federacy? Is that really what we should aspire to?” 

It was admonition steeped with bitterness, but Ernst simply smiled. 

“Why of course, Lieutenant General.” 

If nothing else, this lieutenant general wasn’t some lunatic intent on slaughtering children. And knowing this, Ernst replied without a hint of hesitation. 

“Because that’s my ideal—and the ideal of the country I lead. I do, after all…” 

For ten years, the majority of the Federacy’s citizens had continually elected him. 

“…represent the opinions of the Federacy’s citizens.” 

Proud, noble, and just. 

Suddenly, the lieutenant general’s breath caught in his throat. The vision of an ominous, fire-breathing dragon intersected with the appearance of his president, passionately speaking these ideals from the bottom of his heart. 

It was the second time they had to tidy up their personal affairs before an operation with slim chances of returning alive, but just like last time, they didn’t have that many personal articles to sift through. But there was one piece of luggage Shin needed to send back to the rear, and he was currently knocking on her door. 

“Frederica.” 

“It’s open.” 

Opening the light plywood door, he stepped into the cramped room, its furnishings all set to one side in a flat line like a corridor. Frederica was sitting on her small bed, her chin sunk into the head of her stuffed animal. She turned her face away from him in a sulk. 

“The operation,” she murmured over her shoulder. 

Shin raised an eyebrow in response. 

“You’ve consented to undertake it, have you not? That reckless, suicidal operation from which there can be no return.” 

“I thought I took off my RAID Device… You were watching us?” 

The details of the operation were a military secret, and they were forbidden from carrying any communication devices—namely, the RAID Device—into briefing. Especially in the case of this operation, should any details leak out to the public, it would cause serious mayhem and upheaval. And if the Legion were to pick up on it and somehow decipher their intentions, the results would be catastrophic. 

But for Frederica, who had the ability to view the past and present of those close to her, seeing the operation-map projection on the holo-screen and its movements was child’s play. This allowed her to easily guess the objective of the operation. 

“That saves me time explaining things, then… Go back to the capital as soon as you can. Once the operation begins, there might not be a transport line to take you back.” 

“…A Mascot is held captive by her soldiers. I could not return even if I wanted to.” 

The Mascots were nothing more than a burden on the battlefield, but they still weren’t permitted to return. These girls were held hostage, to serve as daughters or little sisters for the soldiers as a means of preventing them from fleeing the warzone. 

They came from varied backgrounds. Some were orphans without relatives. Others were sold off by their parents to reduce the numbers of mouths they had to feed. And there were those who were illegitimate children of noble families, given up in favor of legitimate heirs under the guise of national loyalty. 

Now that the base was under constant threat of attack, the chances of soldiers deserting were higher than ever, so there was no way the Mascots could be relieved of their duty. And even if they were given permission, the Mascots would have nowhere to return to. The girls served their roles as Mascots until the age of twelve, and once they’d finished their service, they would go on to the training academies, aspiring to become military personnel. With no other place to call home, they would grow accustomed to the battlefield, eventually becoming unable to leave it for the rest of their lives. 

And so before that happened to Frederica… 

“You would be able to go back. Now’s not the time to be picky about your methods.” 

“If I use that petty paper pusher’s authority, I might be able to do so, yes… But why are you telling me to go back? Was it not you who said you did not wish for others to decide your way of life for you?” 

“I also said you’d be better off not getting needlessly involved with other people’s deaths.” 

His family going off to war and never returning. His consort units getting blown away on his Juggernaut’s main screen. His comrades begging him to put them out of their misery. Those who committed suicide, unable to endure the voices of the dead echoing from the Resonance… He would have been better off if he hadn’t had to witness these atrocities time and time again. 

The majority of the soldiers involved in the coming operation would likely die. And that wasn’t a hell Frederica, who could see the present of those she knew personally, needed to witness. 

“This wouldn’t normally be approved, but the odds are heavily stacked against us for this operation. We’d be lucky if we only got pushed back. At worst, we’ll get counterattacked, and the front lines will crumble. And if that happens, this base won’t be safe anymore.” 

Though, if that was to happen, the capital wouldn’t be any safer, either, but Shin left that unsaid. If one was to think of it like that, it didn’t matter where you ran. And he had no intention of letting the situation come to that. 

“I can recognize its voice… When we were in the first ward, it blew away four of our friends. So I don’t really need you to tell me where it is.” 

Kino and Chise, Touma and Kuroto. Four comrades who’d fought with them on their final battlefield in the Eighty-Sixth Sector and been bombarded from beyond the horizon. 

“But it’s the other way around! I am the one who shares a past with Kiriya, so why must you be the ones to go on a path of no return?!” 

Frederica ran up to him, clinging to his body. Her abandoned stuffed animal fell from the bed, tumbling down to the floor. Shin had bought her this toy because she’d insisted, but he’d never understood what she liked about it. It was an odd, creepily made, hand-sewn teddy bear. 

“I will speak to Grethe, so you lot ought to stay behind. Your ability to trace the movements of every Legion is priceless to the Federacy military. And you’ve finally escaped the Eighty-Sixth Sector, that battlefield of certain death. You mustn’t give up your life for such a reckless operation!” 

“You can only see your knight, but not the other Legion. You’ll never manage to break through their territories. Even if you infiltrate it, you’ll all die.” 

“…Why…? …Why are you consistently trying to push us back to the rear…?!” 

Her crimson eyes, so much like his own, widened with fear. But it wasn’t because Eugene’s death had awakened her to the reality of death on the battlefield. In the first place, Frederica had asked them to help her extinguish the ghost of her knight if they returned to her battlefield, but she never told them to fight in order to do so. 

“Didn’t you want us to gun down your knight? If you know the Federacy has to deal with the Morpho, even if that means losing every soldier they have, why are you trying to lower their chances…? I think the truth is that you don’t want it to be destroyed.” 

“…” 

In that moment, Frederica’s eyes were, without a doubt, swimming with terror. Shin looked down at her and sighed. He was right. 

“…That’s all the more reason for you to leave. And forget about all this. You don’t want to become like us, do you?” 

Frederica pushed Shin away with all her might and screamed. But even though he was a boy, he was approaching the end of his adolescence, and he’d spent so long on the battlefield. Frederica, with her young, childish physique, lacked the weight to budge him. She staggered two, three steps back but maintained her balance. 

“After you went into the battlefield with the goal of finishing off your brother’s ghost—and succeeded—why would you tell me to not do the same with my knight?! Why am I forbidden from accomplishing my goal…?! Surely you’ve begun to realize… That pitiful ghost has no goal to strive toward or land to return to. Pride is the only thing that urges it forward. Do you wish to become the same as him?!” 

Her slender fingertip pointed to the northwest. Shin, who could hear the cries of the dead, could tell she was pointing to where her knight was. But the sound of its voice wasn’t enough to tell him what it was feeling right now. 

“I’m not your knight.” 

She’s the same as I was back then. 

Is she? 

When did he and Raiden have that conversion? Thinking back on it, he realized that he and Frederica were indeed different. He had to take his brother out, no matter what he had to sacrifice to do so. He had to move onward, to atone. And that wasn’t a goal Shin would allow himself to give up on. 

“Feel free to see him in me all you want… But don’t foist your regrets and need for atonement onto me in the process. It’s annoying.” 

“…! You obstinate fool!” 

Frederica finally lost her temper and shouted. The girl’s high-pitched voice echoed around the small room. 

“I am telling you not to go, so obey me, you insufferable idiot!” 

Clenching her fists, she stomped the ground in a childish tantrum. Her red eyes filled with tears as she glared at him. 

“Surely you regret not having said these words to your brother, do you not?! You still regret saying nothing and watching him leave for the battlefield he would never return from, do you not?! Then why do you do the same thing your brother did?! Why must you force the same painful experience your brother put you through on me?!” 

Having screamed from the depths of her small body, Frederica panted heavily. With each heave of her chest, tears streamed down her cheeks, as if all the anger she held back broke the dam and gushed forward. 

“…Frederica.” 

“Don’t go.” 

Her voice was fleeting, fragile. 

“I do not wish to lose another brother. I do not want you to die as Kiri did.” 

“…” 

“I wish to never again see a brother of mine driven to the battlefield by my hand, only to die. I do not wish for anyone else to die. So please… Don’t go.” 

It was the dead of night and already lights-out for all bases in the western front. But the workday for field officers and commanding officers was far from over. The 177th Armored Division’s commander’s office was dark, but the major general continued his work under the light of the holo-screen projected onto his heavy desk. A modest knock on the door made him raise his head, and he furrowed his brow at the sight of his visitor. 

“I’m not listening if you’re intending to ask me to reconsider the operation.” 

“I know, which is why I’m here to offer my opinion.” 

Grethe approached the desk, her heels clicking against the floor, and she nodded as if pulling her chin back. Refusing orders was forbidden no matter what rank you were, but officers reserved the right to offer an alternative plan. Though, of course, whether that alternative would be accepted was up to the superior officer’s discretion. 

Standing in the dark of night, Grethe fixed her purple, almost luminescent eyes on the major general…and smiled. 

“You scattered the Nordlicht squadron to platoon-size units to avoid this situation, didn’t you, Richard?” 

The Processors may have had godlike combat abilities, but a platoon-size unit was limited in how much it could achieve, so it could accumulate only so much fame and infamy. It was only natural, given the small scope of enemies they had to face, and their allies’ numbers equaled their own, so word didn’t spread regarding their exceptional combat prowess. It would, at most, become a ghost story to pass the time on the battlefield, as many such rumors often became. 

But suddenly, those platoon-size units became a squadron and were placed in the center of such a delicate operation, to boot. 

“…Juggernaut, was it? When I saw the records on that defective weapon’s mission log, I couldn’t help but do so. And the records of their first campaign, too, where an entire company was destroyed, but only First Lieutenant Nouzen survived. The only things you cared about were their results and the data for their high-mobility fighting style, though.” 

The Juggernaut’s mission recorder stored all its data files from the moment of start-up in a condensed state, and the major general had already checked it. It contained an extraordinary number of combat logs and an equally impressive number of enemy casualties. According to the testimonies the Eighty-Six gave them when they were questioned upon being rescued, it was only one of three spare units Shin used in circulation whenever one was seriously damaged, so it wasn’t deployed all that long…as hard to believe as that was. 

The major general knew that sending him out to battle wouldn’t result in anything good. Compared to the common Federacy soldier, Shin was like a far-too-sharp, overly whetted cursed sword. Recklessly making a display out of him would result in either his being loathed or his breaking from overuse. But as it turns out, he was actually a mad sword that spilled even more blood than ever anticipated. 

“…Don’t get too attached to him. He’s certainly a pitiable child, but once he had been made into what he is, he was beyond saving. He had grown into someone who makes the battlefield his roost and lives between one skirmish and the next. It’s seeped so deeply into him that there’s no removing it by now. You can try to protect him as kindly as you wish… But war is all he knows.” 

“No.” 

The major general raised his one-eyed gaze at this stern denial. Her violet eyes glared at him in the darkness. 

“He’s not pitiful, and that’s not for us to decide. The only thing we can do for these children is make sure they’re given the time they need to make a decision.” 

They were so used to combat, so much more dependable than any other soldier, it was easy to forget. These child soldiers felt so much like veterans, with so much more experience than anyone else, that even Grethe had managed to forget. 

But they were only children, barely past their midteens. 

It hadn’t even been a year since they came to the Federacy, and it would take anyone time to get used to a new environment. That was doubly true when the environment they came from was a radically different place where they could trust no one. They hadn’t yet adapted enough to the Federacy to consider reaching out for something they had never known. In this rapidly changing environment, they struggled just to scrape together a semblance of a daily life, unable to consider anything more. 

They might know how to survive, but they didn’t know how to live, because they were still treating every day like it might be their last. So even if all they had was their pride, that was enough for the time being. They had no one to protect and nowhere to return to, so that would have to do. 

But someday, once everything settled down, they might wish to regain what was stolen from them. And even if they chose to live on the battlefield despite everything they’d been through, that choice should be theirs to make—and no one else’s. And one mustn’t choose for them on the assumption they wouldn’t make the choice themselves. 

There was no telling how many years it might take. But someday… 

“They may be citizens of the Federacy right now, but they originally came from another country. Do we really have any obligation to do this much for them?” 

“Of course we do. It’s our duty. That is, unless we intend to be arrogant enough to treat living, breathing humans like drowning puppies we’ve picked up from the side of the road.” 

Giving them food, a roof over their heads, and a kind owner—it may have been done with good intentions, but they treated them the same as pets and never took their dignity or individual wills into account. And in that regard, what they were doing to the Eighty-Six wasn’t significantly different from what the Republic’s citizens did. 

Perhaps the overwhelming “benevolence” of it all served only to make their behavior that much more vicious. They saw the people standing in front of them not as fellow human beings, but as characters from a drama or a movie, consuming them as a means to experience a cheap sense of justice and piety. 

“You really think a blood-soaked sword that’s been forged in the flames of war and sharpened on the souls of the fallen will be able to understand human compassion?” 

“Once upon a time, we made that same gamble, Richard. And back then, I won… Even if the Legion took everything from us soon after.” 

“…” 

The major general sighed heavily. 

“I’ll say it again. Don’t grow overly attached to that thing, Grethe. You’re just seeing the image of someone else in him… Someone you’ve lost. Someone you’ll never be able to get back.” 

“Yes, I am. But…what’s so wrong with that?” 

Showing no concern for how undignified it may be, she placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. She approached him with a faint smile. 

“If everyone who knows what I lost is jumping to conclusions like that, that’s all the more convenient for me. I’ll say it as many times as it takes. I will not watch children die on the battlefield… And I’ll do anything to stop it from happening.” 

With that said, Grethe’s smile turned ghastly. Her red lips were cut from having been bitten too much lately, yet still they curled into a sweet smile in the darkness. 

“Measly transport helicopters aren’t worthy of carrying my cute Valkyries to their big performance. Give me permission to deploy her.” 

The major general placed his elbows on the table, the shadow of his clasped hands obscuring his mouth as he sighed. 

“…Her, huh?” 

“That’s right.” 

Grethe gave a small nod. On the left breast of her uniform shone the winged emblem of a pilot, and she wouldn’t remove it even if the very fabric was torn off. 

“The Nachzehrer.”