86 - Volume 8 - Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3 

INTO THE STORM 

Since he was used to a small barracks room and the supercarrier’s cramped beds, this room struck him as spacious. Being on land left him restless, even, and unable to fall asleep. As the son of the Open Sea clans’ leader—the fleet commander’s “child,” Ishmael had spent his life aboard the deck of a ship since his youth. Standing on solid ground that didn’t waver under his feet felt outright strange to him. 

So when his communication terminal’s alarm rang before it was even morning, he’d responded to it groggily, half-awake. 

“…Yeah,” he answered the call with a hoarse voice. 

“Brother. My apologies for calling you so early in the morning.” 

“Esther.” 

In the Orphan Fleet, the fleet commander was seen as a mother or father to the rest of the fleet. The ship captains saw one another as siblings, and the several thousand crew members saw one another as younger siblings. 

In the Open Sea clans, everyone viewed the seniors of the family as parents of sorts, with the newborn children as the collective children of the clan. Each family, each city had its own ship, forming one clan in the Open Sea fleet. That custom had passed down to the Orphan Fleet, forming this peculiar and distinctive way of referring to the officers. 

Ishmael came from a different Open Sea clan than Esther, so strictly speaking, they weren’t “siblings.” But since they’d each lost the clans they belonged to and chosen to organize the patchwork Orphan Fleet, she could still call him her brother. 

A captain who had lost his entire clan except for the supercarrier, and a lieutenant who had lost her vessel and the majority of her clan. 

Many of the “younger siblings” serving under them had much the same circumstances. The Orphan Fleet consisted of the last survivors of the eleven Open Sea clans, made up of a hodgepodge of birthplaces, clans, and even vessels. They each carried loss and grief, and so they nestled and clung together. 

A patchwork, orphaned fleet. 

The fleet commander shared his fate with each and every crew member. And perhaps, as a father might, he sacrificed his life to allow his subordinates to escape. That was why the Orphan Fleet didn’t have a fleet commander. The captain of the flagship and supercarrier was seen as the eldest sibling and the fleet commander’s last remaining heir. It was his right to inherit the role of fleet commander. 

But that didn’t sit well with Ishmael, for whatever reason. 

“The storm approaches. At long last.” 

“Yes.” 

At long last, indeed. 

In the dead of night, the supercarrier Stella Maris left its port. 

Thankfully, it was a new moon, and with nothing to illuminate the night save the starlight, the darkness was all-encompassing. And so it set sail, hidden within the storm. A covert departure. Radio silence was in place, and the ship’s lights were out. 

Despite the darkness, some of the Eighty-Six still rose to the deck to look around. The Stella Maris’s crew was all busy, fulfilling their appointed roles now that the ship had left the port. As such, the Processors—who could, if one were to take logic far enough, be seen as baggage being delivered—were left with nothing to do. 

They weren’t allowed to bring any lights, and they were warned by the crew to stay away from the side of the ship, as they might fall overboard. A few of the Eighty-Six put distance between them and the deck, looking back at the shore as it grew distant. 

A late-night departure, at a time when people would usually be asleep. But as the rocky shoreline faded away, the people of the port town stood gathered there. They didn’t have any lights on them so as to avoid detection. And it wasn’t just adults; children were there, held by the hand or carried in the arms of their parents. They said nothing, simply waving at them. 

A covert departure. The Stella Maris’s horn did not blare out. But even so, the people gathered, waving their hands as they looked on. 

The sight of it left an odd, yet vivid impression. 

Since nights were short in high-latitude regions during the summer, the Orphan Fleet’s vessels had to depart their respective ports the night prior if they were to approach the target under the cover of darkness. 

They weren’t heading northwest, toward the Mirage Spire, but rather to a gathering spot in the Flightfeather archipelago, which was directly north of them. It was a collection of small, rocky islands that only the seabirds could live in. They hid among the jagged rocks, which had been eaten away at by the seawater, for a day as they waited for the operation to begin. 

Standing at the top floor of the Stella Maris’s bridge, which was called the signal bridge, Lena looked around curiously. They were about to begin a day of waiting. They had to remain as silent as possible so as to avoid detection, but she was used to that, so that wasn’t a problem. 

The supercarrier was built for voyages that could last as long as six months, and so it had a chapel and a library. Ishmael said they were free to make use of them while waiting, as well as look around the signal bridge. 

Hearing a pair of legs nimbly climbing the stairs, Lena turned around, only to find Esther peering at her. 

“Colonel Milizé, would you like to go down to the deck? You’ll be able to see something quite interesting there.” 

“The deck? No, I…” 

She felt uncomfortable refusing Esther’s and the other crew’s offers, but she’d decided not to see the sea until the war ended. But as she looked down, she suddenly came to a realization as she noticed a dark, blue light. She wanted to see the sea after all. Her curiosity was tugging at her heart. 

Forcibly turning away, she lifted her head. After all, they had promised they would see it together once the war ended. 

At the crew’s beckoning, Anju and Dustin came up to the deck, but after laying eyes on it, they gasped in disbelief. The dark sea shone like starlight, as if reflecting the black sky above. 

“Wow…” 

“The waves are…glistening…” 

The dark velvety waters let out faint, blue specks of illusory light, as if stardust or a flock of fireflies had been scattered over the sea. Especially the silently undulating, crashing waves. Each time the waves broke against the rocks or the ship’s broadside, they left behind a faint, blue, glowing trail. 

The crew members who brought them over said this was the work of noctilucas—phosphorescent animalcules. The two of them wordlessly watched the blue, heatless rays of light. There were other figures walking among the flight deck. Apparently, the ship’s crew had called over some of the other Processors. 

“It’s pretty… So pretty, I almost feel bad I can’t raise my voice to praise it.” 

“We are on the battlefield here, after all… I’d love to come and see this again once the war ends.” 

At those words, Anju stiffened. Dustin didn’t know about the information Zelene gave them, of course. He simply said this as part of a groundless, vague wish. A desire for the war to end, so they could live in peace. 

“Dustin, will…?” 

She still couldn’t quite imagine what that would be like. But what about Dustin? Filled with indignation at the Republic’s actions, he’d left the Republic to atone for its sins. What would he do if that battlefield were to disappear? 

“Will you go back to the Republic once the war ends?” 

“…Probably. They need people to help with the reconstruction efforts. Except…” 

Anju watched his conflicted face. If you’re against it, I won’t go back. Dustin wasn’t sure if he should finish that sentence. And she wasn’t sure if pointing out that she realized his uncertainty was the right thing to do, either. She wasn’t sure how she’d answer if he’d ask her, but was this something she could poke fun at him over…? 

She was standing at Dustin’s side. Not as close as she’d stood with Daiya, but…certainly closer than she’d stood next to Dustin at first. And so Anju was overcome by an odd sense of distance—the kind that was awkward, and yet somehow comforting in its own way. 

The flight deck, meant for the takeoff and landing of the ship’s planes, wasn’t set with a railing or a fence. Seated at that sector of the ship, which had nothing to obstruct his field of vision, was Theo. Next to him was Kurena, who was leaning forward like a curious kitten. 

“…Well, I guess that’s a blue sea in its own way.” 

“Yeah…!” 

The southern sea. Let’s go there together when the war ends. 

A year ago, the first time they went charging through enemy lines in pursuit of the Morpho, Kurena had said those words. And now her eyes were glittering as she beheld the blue glow on the water. 

Like the stardust above them, it was dazzling but didn’t really pierce the darkness. It was just an illusory blue radiance. Like bubbles of faint light, barely beneath the undulating waves. The darkness of the night didn’t obscure it, instead making it more conspicuous. 

Looking at the water filled Theo with a sense of dread, like something might rise from those dark depths, and the words escaped his lips before he could stop himself. 

“We really ended up making it…to the ocean.” 

“Ended up making it?” Kurena said with a smile. “You make it sound like you didn’t want to come.” 

“Mm… It feels…too soon.” 

He didn’t want to tell Shin, Raiden, or Lena. This was something he could only say because he was speaking to Kurena. 

“I thought we’d come see it after everything was settled,” Theo continued. “When I figured out what I wanna be…where I wanna go…” 

“…There’s no rush to figure those things out. Don’t force yourself,” Kurena said. 

Contrary to her words, she hugged her knees like a lonely child. 

“We’re friends. We’re comrades. And that’s never gonna change… Lieutenant Esther told me that. So we’ll be fine.” 

No matter what happened, the bond of the Eighty-Six’s shared way of life would never break. 

“You think?” 

Esther, Ishmael…the descendants of the Open Sea clans they met in this land. They were similar to them. They’d lost their homelands and families to the ravages of war but still chose to live their lives with pride. 

“…Yeah. Maybe that’s right.” 

He was happy he got to meet them. He was glad he came to this country. He was able to meet people who had lost everything and, when left with naught but their pride, chose to face each new day with a smile. As long as they had solidarity, they would always find a reason to live on. 

And if they could do it, then so could the Eighty-Six. 

“I think I was a little stressed out about all sorts of things, but… Yeah, you’re right. We’ll be okay.” 

Above him was a night sky, lined with stardust. Just like the Eighty-Sixth Sector, with its nights bereft of artificial light. And beneath him was the sea, filled with transient blue fireflies. 

Back in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, he’d look up at those stars without a hint of emotion. But now, two years later, they made him feel a bit forlorn. Both the Eighty-Sixth Sector and this vast ocean, detached as it was from land, weren’t part of the human world. And oddly enough, that sense of desolation presently weighed on his heart. 

He couldn’t see a glimpse of Lena’s long, silver hair on this vast, three-hundred-meter-long flight deck. He’d considered inviting her, but Vika told him she’d decided not to see the ocean until the war ended. In a way, it was her answer to his own offer to show her the sea. 

He wasn’t unhappy about that… But he was dying to know her other answer. 

Just then, he’d caught a glimpse of Ishmael’s back near the ship’s bow. He was kneeling on the deck, apparently not having noticed Shin. He seemed to be…kissing the flight deck, with the dignity and gratitude of kissing one’s aged mother. 

“…?” 

A small sense of curiosity, akin to doubt, washed over Shin. What was Ishmael doing? 

But upon hearing Frederica call his name, Shin turned around and promptly forgot about it. 

“9th Mishia Fleet to 8th Arche Fleet. Confirming arrival at operation start line. Commencing attack.” 

The following day. Two diversion fleets departed their home fleet, sailing in a straight line directly into the Legion territories’ shores before changing course. Each fleet drew an arc, making way toward the Mirage Spire base, and were now on the verge of entering the enemy’s bombardment range. 

“Roger that. Saint Elmo’s blessing be upon you.” 

The Orphan Fleet entered radio silence. Esther silently returned that prayer, knowing it wouldn’t reach them. 

Outside was their second night at sea, with only a few faint specks of starlight glittering through the curtain of storm clouds. The captain, her “older brother,” was presently resting in preparation for the start of the operation. She was currently standing in for him on the integrated bridge. 

“A directive to all ships in the Orphan Fleet. Prepare to sally forth. As soon as either diversion fleet enters combat, we set sail for the Mirage Spire.” 

“Aye, ma’am. What about Brother?” 

“He can still rest. He must be in prime condition for when the fleet enters combat so that he can see it through to its conclusion.” 

“8th Arche Fleet to 9th Mishia Fleet. Decoy No. 5 confirmed lost— Opening combat.” 

The two decoy fleets entered combat, and under the veil of their distraction, the Orphan Fleet sailed in the darkness of the night. In its residential block, Lena had changed in preparation for their arrival in the operation zone within a few hours. She peeked out of her room’s entrance, confirming no one else was in the corridor outside her cabin… 

…because she had changed out of her normal outfit and into the Cicada. 

It was her third time having it on, but that didn’t mean she was used to wearing it. And while she’d had a…less formfitting uniform prepared for her after she returned from the United Kingdom, she had forgotten to take it along. 

So she was quite unwilling to stand in front of the Stella Maris’s crew in this outfit, which outlined every curve and contour of her body. There was a briefing with the captain ahead of her, and Shin was going to be there. 

Perhaps she could borrow some work clothes from Anju or Shana…? 

With that thought in mind, Lena peered around the empty corridor. Those girls were taller than her, so she could probably wear their clothes over the Cicada. Shiden also fit that description, but something stopped Lena from borrowing clothes from her. 

She couldn’t put her finger on why, but she felt that asking Shiden wasn’t in her best interest. 

She poked her head out the door, but upon looking in the other direction, she found Shin standing there. Lena stiffened immediately. Shin was rooted in place with his eyes widened slightly upon seeing Lena wearing nothing but the Cicada. 

The purplish-silver quasi–nerve fibers formed a pseudo-brain that coated her body. And since it was skintight, it showed off her curves in a way that left little to the imagination. On top of that, certain parts of her body that had nothing to support them jiggled and swayed with her every move. 

And Shin was looking right at her. 

Come to think of it…Shin did walk in on Anju and Dustin during a mildly intimate moment without them noticing him. His footsteps were eerily silent. 

What followed was a long, long, awkward silence. 

“I heard Vika supplied you with something called the Cicada back in the United Kingdom,” Shin said, breaking that silence. 

He had a cold, murderous gaze in his eyes. As if he was holding back a seething, bubbling rage rising within him. 

“I did think it was strange I didn’t get any information about it… I can see why no one answered when I asked, and Lerche kept apologizing to me when we were in the Revich Base.” 

Yes, it did make sense. Lena didn’t want to wear this thing and didn’t feel inclined to explain what it was, either. 

“When I asked Marcel, he ran away, saying he didn’t want to die yet… Guess I should have taken matters into my own hands and questioned him right then and there.” 

“Y-your own hands…? Weren’t you two together in the special officer academy? You shouldn’t torment him…” 

“Don’t change the subject, Lena. This isn’t about Marcel.” 

Oh. I think Shin might be really angry. 

He drew close to her, so close that their noses were almost touching, which startled her and prompted her to lean back. A thought crossed Lena’s mind as she frantically sought refuge from reality. It was the first time she’d seen him in such an openly foul mood. It was new, and it made her slightly happy. 

“No, er, I wasn’t trying to particularly hide it, but…i-it is helpful. But it’s just a little… It’s…very…embarrassing.” 

She heaved a single breath, as if letting out some kind of internal pressure. Shin silently turned around. 

“Understood. I’ll go kill Vika and toss his body overboard.” 

“Shin…?! Wh-what are you saying?!” 

“I left my pistol in the hangar, but I can make do with a sharpened shovel. The priest told me he used those to kill enemy soldiers in his youth.” 

“What was that priest thinking, telling children about something like that?! No, I mean, why would there be a shovel on a supercarrier?!” 

One couldn’t even hope to beat a self-propelled mine with a shovel (the explosives that antipersonnel self-propelled mines contained were directional buckshot mines with an effective range of fifty meters), and Shin never learned how to use a shovel in combat since he specialized in fighting the Legion. 

Lena couldn’t help but quip at him, but it was off the mark in another way. 

“Fine, I’ll just kick him overboard instead. That should do it. Captain Ishmael said most people who fall into the open sea end up sinking, and it’s perfect for concealing corpses anyway—” 

“Shin!” 

“Mm.” Vika felt a shiver run through his body. 

He was in the flight deck control room, which was located on the first floor of the bridge. It had been made into a temporary conference room in preparation for the final briefing. 

“That was an odd chill just now…,” he muttered to himself. 

“Perhaps you’re seasick, Your Highness?” Lerche asked, tilting her head quizzically. 

“If I had to say, it feels like someone’s digging my grave. A rather dark premonition.” 

“It’s probably residual guilt from that porn outfit you had me, Anju, and Lena wear in the United Kingdom,” Kurena chimed in. 

Vika knitted his well-shaped brows. 

“You mean the Cicada.” 

“I’m sure it might have been a joke to you, Your Highness, but it wasn’t for us,” Anju appended. “From where we’re standing, it’s pretty much sexual harassment.” 

“…I suppose that is one bit of slander I can’t hope to avoid. Fine, I’ll grant you that. Carry on.” 

“Owning up to it is nice, but it doesn’t make things better,” Shiden said, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. “Was that suit design your personal kink or something? Gross.” 

Ignoring the frown on Vika’s face from the merciless assault, Kurena continued: 

“Shin probably found out. Finally.” 

“Oh…” Vika shook his head grandiosely, not seeming the slightest bit perturbed. “That’s bad, yes. Who leaked the information?” 

He glanced at Marcel, who waved his hands in denial. 

“Hey, I wouldn’t blab, would I?!” Marcel exclaimed. “If I said anything, Nouzen would’ve killed me. And then you would’ve fed what’s left to the dogs!” 

“Well said, Marcel. If you’d have exposed it to him, Nouzen would have indeed killed you. Though personally, I would have raised you from the dead and then flayed the flesh from your bones in a manner most gruesome.” 

“…?!” 

“Your Highness… That does not come across as a joke when the designer of the Sirins says it. I urge you to refrain…,” Lerche said, looking at Marcel’s pale, horrified face with pity in her eyes. 

Watching this master-servant pair perform their usual comedy routine—this time including Marcel—Kurena spoke with the demeanor of a grumpy cat. 

“So I’m guessing Shin’s either going to throw you overboard or find an ax to split your skull open, Your Highness. What’re you gonna do?” 

“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure a saint like Milizé would defend even a serpent like me. Nouzen would stop if Milizé were to ask him to.” 

“…” 

Lena probably would do that, and Shin would likely listen to her. 

“Your Highness, would you mind if I intentionally misfired in your direction during the next operation?” Kurena asked. 

Dying once might do him some good, Kurena thought. Just a little. 

Seeing him try to walk away quickly, Lena grabbed one of his arms with both hands and braced herself, somehow successfully stopping him in place. With only the thin filament of the Cicada covering her bare feet, the warship’s metallic floor was chipping away at her toenails. Shin was forced to stop, out of concern for her. 

“…Then at least put this on. Go ahead and keep it until you can take this thing off.” 

He roughly—almost violently—removed his work top and placed it over her head. As she fixed it so it rested over her shoulders, Lena looked up at Shin, her eyes meeting his bloodred gaze. 

“…” 

What followed was an odd silence. Not quite awkward, but there was something hesitant about them. Shin was the first to break that pause. 

“…It’s a shame the first time we see the ocean has to be on the battlefield.” 

Those words gave Lena a start. 

I want to show you the sea… I want to see the sea, with you… 

One month ago, on the night of the ball, beneath the fireworks. He entrusted her with his wish, and she still hadn’t given him a clear answer. 

“Er… Well…” 

In other words…it’d been a month, and there was an operation ahead of them. The awkwardness had worn off enough to the point where they could hold a conversation. Shin was implying that it was about time she gave her answer. Noticing this, Lena became self-aware, which made the words become stuck in her throat. 

“B-but it was still very pretty! It was the first time I’ve seen anything like it.” 

And what she said was extremely, exceedingly, and monumentally inconsequential. He heaved a small sigh. As if to say he expected this. This only made Lena all the more flustered. 

“Oh, er… Speaking of, Shin, I heard you got an offer from the Federacy to learn how to control your ability, and you accepted. They said your mother’s family was willing to help. How’s that going?” 

“…It’s just interviews for the time being. They said we need to build up trust first.” 

“I see… But I hope you learn how to control it soon. I’m sure it’d be easier on you that way. I’ve been worried about you the whole time, you know.” 

“…” 

“Er, ah… Huh?!” 

But while she was stumbling over her words, he suddenly pulled her into an embrace. And as she widened her eyes in shock, their lips locked. Unlike that night one month ago, this time, Shin initiated. A biting sort of kiss. Of yearning, of impulse, of hunger. It was a kiss with a ferocity she wasn’t familiar with. 

Her heart throbbed with excitement, as if time had rewound, placing her right back in that night. Blood rushed to her head, leaving her confused and dizzy. It was a masculine sort of ferocity, the kind that was utterly foreign to her. It scared her a little. But more than the fear, the heat and sweetness of the kiss left her helplessly intoxicated. 

She sought him out desperately, intensely. She felt the warmth of one bloodstream circulating between two bodies. She felt them melting into each other. 

How much time had passed? Their lips finally parted, and they naturally exhaled, their breaths mingling. Lena stiffened, red up to her ears. She hadn’t expected the surprise kiss, and it left her flustered and unsure of what to do. 

“You attacked me out of nowhere last month, and it caught me off guard. So consider this payback.” 

She met Shin’s eyes to see him looking down at her with a sulking, almost childish expression. 

“Whenever you’re ready to give me your answer…just let me know.” 

With two scout vessels leading the charge, the Stella Maris’s circular formation cut through the tall waves, eventually entering the storm’s radius. Ominous dark clouds hung heftily over the sky as heavy rain bombarded the vessels, obscuring their field of vision. Each time the crewmembers blinked, the wind changed directions, whipping the curtain of raindrops in erratic directions as it beat against the ships’ armored flight decks. 

The waves swirling around the vessel smashed against it in acute angles. The hull creaked as the seawater rattled the ship. 

Remaining distance to the Mirage Spire: one hundred forty kilometers. 

The supercarrier’s integrated bridge, meant for both steering the ship itself and commanding the entire fleet, was divided into two interconnected levels. One housed the personnel who steered the ship as well as those who commanded and offered support to other ships. The other housed the Strike Package’s commander, Lena, and her control personnel. 

The integrated bridge was full of people who had been at the helm ever since the battle for the Cleo Fleet Country five years ago, and standing at its farthest position was Ishmael. In anticipation of battle, the bridge’s windows were closed up with armor plates. There were countless holo-screens deployed in their place, displaying footage of the outside. 

Outside the bridge, wind, rain, and savage waves rampaged about. It was gradually turning from extreme wind to an outright storm zone. The wind was raging at thirty-three meters per second, the highest wind speed possible. A hurricane by definition. It was becoming a swirl of destructive proportions. 

Hearing the sound of the compressed air door behind him opening, Ishmael turned to see Lena entering. For some reason, she was wearing the steel-blue men’s uniform of the Federacy, which was too large for her. She walked forward with unsteady pauses. She’d likely moved rapidly outside the bridge, battered by a wind stronger than anything she’d experienced before. She was holding her breath. But she came to her senses soon, and her argent eyes soon became racked with tension. 

“Captain, it’s time for the final briefing,” she said. 

“Oh, roger that. Esther, I leave command in your ha—” 

“Brother.” A communications officer with a vine tattoo cut into his words. 

He regarded him with a sharp, frigid gaze, his eyes the golden hue of a Topaz. 

“It’s from the 9th Mishia Fleet.” 

“…Already?” he asked, his tone a great deal harsher than before. “It’s sooner than I thought.” 

Lena looked up at him. His cold, green eyes didn’t turn to meet her gaze. 

“…Patch it through.” 

“Roger that,” the communications officer said, operating his console. 

The Mishia Fleet’s transmission echoed throughout the integrated bridge. The Federacy had provided them with RAID Devices, yet despite this, the communication was done through radio instead. 

“—8th Arche Fleet, we know you’re on your verge of collapse! Answer us!” 

Lena’s eyes widened in shock. In order to prevent needless misunderstandings, wireless communication in the military used standardized language. No matter how chaotic the state of battle might be, no one would send a transmission using such casual language. In other words, this wasn’t a transmission directed at the 8th Arche Fleet. It was a transmission aimed at the Orphan Fleet. 

A faux transmission, so that even if the Legion were tapping into the airwaves, it wouldn’t disclose the existence of a third possible fleet. 

“This is the 9th Mishia Fleet high-speed cruiser, the Astra, transmitting in place of the flagship Europa! The Europa has been sunk by the Morpho’s fire. The fleet only had three remaining high-speed cruisers! You only have two frigates and one high-speed cruiser, correct?!” 

A flagship, sunk. And not just that; the diversion fleets were supposed to be composed of seven and eight vessels respectively, and by now, they had both been reduced to less than half their numbers. 

Lena couldn’t help but swallow nervously. But she was surprised by how calm and collected Ishmael and the other members of the Open Sea clans on the bridge were. It was then that she realized. 

“Due to insufficient forces, we have no choice but to abandon the mission of sweeping up the advance-recon-unit mother ships. We will continue our top-priority objective. The enemy’s remaining ammunition is estimated at sixty-five…make that sixty-four shots. We’ll try to diminish as much of its ammo as possible!” 

Their top-priority objective… In other words, buying time to allow the Orphan Fleet to reach the Mirage Spire. No matter how many ships might sink, even if their entire fleet had to be sacrificed to do so, they would draw away the Morpho’s fire. 

“May Saint Elmo’s blessing be upon you, 8th Arche Fleet! May we meet under the star of voyage!” 

“—This is the 8th Arche Fleet. Roger that. Same on our side as well. May Saint Elmo’s blessing be upon you. Let us meet again under the star of voyage.” 

The transmission cut off. Lena looked up at Ishmael, dumbfounded. They did say they were a diversion. They did, but… 

“You intended to discard the diversion fleet from the very beginning?” 

“…I didn’t want you to hear that, though,” Ishmael said with a sigh, the tattoo of the firebird burning along the edge of his left eye. “This is our problem… The Fleet Countries’ navy’s problem. It’s got nothing to do with your Strike Package. But yes, that’s right. They were suicide units from the start. We only had practice vessels and damaged crafts set sail, and the crew consisted of old soldiers who were on the verge of retirement. The survival rate of this operation is too low. Our fleet couldn’t spare anything or anyone else for this.” 

And that explained why, despite the navy having been given RAID Devices, those fleets weren’t supplied with them… 

“If the Fleet Countries are to have any hope of survival, we have to destroy the Morpho. The Stella Maris has to get there, no matter the cost. And if we have to make sacrifices to achieve that end, we will… Once the diversion fleets are sunk, the Orphan Fleet’s anti-leviathan ships—our younger brothers—will become decoys.” 

While Lena was shocked speechless, Ishmael spoke in a composed, matter-of-fact tone, his firebird tattoo fiercely punctuating his resolve. A tattoo that stood for the fleet he belonged to, the ship he manned, and his parents’ bloodline. This tattoo was etched all over his body, as was the case for all the Open Sea clans’ members. 

When one died at sea, the marine life and the ferocity of the ocean current sometimes mangled the corpses’ faces beyond recognition. So since time immemorial, those who lived on the sea marked their bodies and clothing with native tattoos and striking patterns so they could be identified—not just at any one spot, but all over their bodies. 

But this didn’t just stand for one’s face being mangled. Fighting the leviathans meant that oftentimes, there was no body left behind. Battles so intense as to leave no remains were too often taken for granted. Ishmael’s face gave the impression that he’d accepted that chilling fate. 

“…This is war. One way or another, sacrifices will be made. Especially now when we let those scrap monstrosities bring out a long-distance cannon that can easily rip us apart.” 

One year ago, during the large-scale offensive, the Federacy was bombarded by a large number of cruise missiles in a saturation attack, causing serious damage to the Morpho. They then deployed a ground-effect winged vehicle moving at a hundred kilometers per hour to send a single squadron straight to the enemy’s underbelly. 

A small country that lacked such expensive cruise missiles and the technological prowess to develop a ground-effect winged vehicle on its own was now under the menace of the same four-hundred-kilometer bombardment. And left with no choice but to launch a charge through the enemy’s bombardment range, they were forced to compensate for those deficiencies with the blood of their people. 

Denouncing this as a vile, atrocious act would be easy. But… 

“…I’m sorry.” Lena hung her head. 

“What’re you apologizing for?” Ishmael smiled and shook his head. 

The heavy shower that felt as if the heavens were pouring every drop of water at their disposal washed over the vessel, and the holo-screens showing the view of the ship’s exterior were dyed white by the curtain of rain. A rainstorm that invoked an intense pressure. It almost felt like it was maliciously plotting to throttle and crush the ships. 

“But well, since you already heard that… You may as well learn something else.” 

Something about us. 

The Orphan Fleet did bring the RAID Devices they had been given. Turning his RAID Device on, he picked up the ship’s broadcast microphone. Any announcement spoken into it would reach every corner of the three-hundred-meter ship. The Sensory Resonance’s targets were set to all the Orphan Fleet’s vessels’ captains, vice captains, and communications officers. 

“All units. This is the captain of the Stella Maris, Ishmael Ahab.” 

He got no response. But the crew who formed the lifeblood operating this fleet’s ships all tensed up in attention. 

“Our fleet is currently positioned one hundred eighty kilometers away from the enemy base. The two diversion fleets are currently engaging the enemy’s artillery cannon, but they are unfortunately on the verge of annihilation. It is projected that the Orphan Fleet will need to open hostilities with the enemy sooner than expected.” 

While trusting them, he first called out to the Eighty-Six, who were neither his subordinates nor part of the Open Sea clans. 

“To our allies, the Eighty-Six. Once we reach the Mirage Spire, it will be time to show your worth. The voyage may become much rockier soon, but you needn’t have fear. If anything, I advise you to think of this as an attraction and relish the experience. Because I promise you, this supercarrier, the Stella Maris, shall not sink.” 

He’d said those words time and again. As the captain of the flagship and de facto commander of the fleet, his mission was to deliver them to their destination. Despite being a defender of his country, he needed to rely on the strength of a foreign country. And of child soldiers, at that. Of course, the Federacy didn’t deploy them here out of the kindness of their heart. Even still, these children were caught up in the Fleet Countries’ failings. 

And so he swore he would return them home alive, no matter the cost. He would deliver them safely back to land. Even if it would mean exposing himself and the Stella Maris to terrible shame and disgrace… 

“All crew members. Last survivors of the eleven Open Sea clans, my younger sisters and brothers. Allow me to first express my gratitude as your sibling for your loyal service thus far. Thank you. And let me express my deepest respects for your choice to die in your homeland’s name, for setting sail on this voyage with me.” 

In order to enable the Stella Maris alone to reach the enemy’s base, the eleven ships of the Orphan Fleet’s navy would act as bait. They had some rescue boats following them, but the sea was stormy, and they were in the presence of a 300 mm cannon capable of toppling entire fortresses. There was no guarantee they’d be able to rescue anyone. And this far out at sea, corpses rarely ever washed up on the port. 

And yet fighting to the death in the unexplored expanses of the ocean was the pride of the Open Sea clans. 

“Our final enemies will not be the leviathans, but those damnable metal monsters. However, our deaths will be honorable all the same. Let us make this a voyage that will make the late fleet commander weep with envy. One that will be lauded by future generations. Let us go out in a blaze of glory and determination that will be remembered for millennia… This will be…” 

One thousand years down the line, their progeny would sing their stories. Long after the Stella Maris and the Orphan Fleet’s visage and courage had faded away, their memories would persist. 

“…the final open-sea voyage of the Orphan Fleet that our Fleet Countries once had.” 

Lena gasped in shock. Before her eyes, Ishmael thrust his fist into the air, and the Fleet Countries’ navy officers around him did the same. Lena watched them in disbelief. “Final voyage”? The fleet they “once had”? That sounded as if…as if admitting this Orphan Fleet, the last remaining military force they still had, was going to be lost forever in this operation…! 

Vika spoke from the other side of the Resonance. He waited on the bridge’s first-floor flight deck control room, which had been converted to a temporary meeting room since the ship’s planes weren’t planned to be utilized in this operation. 

“Aircraft carriers…” 

The marine aircraft platform that was the basis of this supercarrier… 

“…have the highest firepower projection of all battleships. But on its own, an aircraft carrier is actually extremely fragile. It needs a convoy to remain vigilant around it, complete with destroyers and cruisers to handle air defense. Only then can an aircraft carrier focus on maintaining aerial superiority in combat. Without a convoy, it would be sunk easily. That’s probably the same for a supercarrier.” 

Even if the supercarrier were to survive this, without its consort ships, the Orphan Fleet would be done for. The war had dwindled their numbers. And with the Fleet Countries’ meager financial and national power, they wouldn’t be able to build any more expensive long-voyage or anti-leviathan vessels. 

Without the Orphan Fleet, the Regicide Fleet Countries would lose their symbol and honor—the ability to sail into the open sea. They really did discard everything, even their pride, in order to allow their country to survive. A powerless atrocity for such a small country. 

And as if not feeling the slightest bit bothered by it, Ishmael spoke. Like an older brother taking his siblings on a hiking trip they’d been looking forward to. 

Like the Spearhead squadron once did, as they vanished into the Legion’s territories on their last reconnaissance mission. 

“I shall ascertain your battles and deaths with my own eyes. I and the Stella Maris shall be your storytellers. Even in one hundred years’ time, when I am old and decrepit, I will speak of your bravery with my dying breath. And even a thousand years later, the Stella Maris shall remain as a monument to the existence of our fleet, our country, and the Open Sea clans. And so, my crew, go forth and perform the flashiest, most impressive, proudest…death you can muster.” 

“…So that was a farewell.” 

In the adjacent briefing room, with a command table set up at its center to survey the ship’s aircraft, Shin whispered those words with a heavy heart. The townsfolk had stood at the port despite the fleet departing in the middle of the night. They waved at the ship, paying it one final farewell. 

They…and perhaps all the Fleet Countries’ citizens knew. This operation would be their remaining fleet’s last voyage. The pride of the open-sea voyages was the national symbol and motto of the Fleet Countries, and today, it would be lost forever. 

The Orphan Fleet was currently in a state of radio silence, but the captain, vice captains, and intelligence officers used the RAID Devices provided to them by the Federacy to transmit messages instantaneously through Sensory Resonance. Captain Ishmael’s words reached the surrounding three long-distance cruisers, the six smaller anti-leviathan vessels, and the two scout vessels. 

From beyond the curtain of the dark night and the stormy rain, the silhouette of the bridge on the front portside section of the long-distance cruiser Benetnasch was visibly moving. With only the soft glow of its gauges as a source of light, Kurena could see the captain and the vice captain giving each other a high five from the fifth floor of the Stella Maris’s bridge’s—the flag bridge. 

Some part of her mind vaguely wondered why. Why? They were letting go of their pride. The last fragments of what gave them form. The people who said they were just like them. So why were they laughing like this? They said their bonds with their comrades would never change. 

Did Esther say that because she meant that even if all else was lost, one’s comrades remained? 

“That’s so…” 

All Navigatoria-class supercarriers, including the Stella Maris, had airtight enclosed ship bows. Both the hangar and the adjacent standby room were safe from the rain and the wind, but their sounds still echoed just the same, albeit slightly muffled. 

It sounded less like raindrops pattering and more like pebbles pelting the deck. The wind howled in high and low screeches, like a thousand flutes being blown at once, or the war cries of some ancient savage tribe. The air was warm and insulated, but it was disturbed by sudden flashes of blinding lightning and the loud rumbling of thunder. 

The sound of primal brutality that had been etched into the human psyche as a symbol of unconditional fear. The raging of the heavens. The booming reverberations that people had for many generations believed to be the roaring of angry gods and monsters. 

The Processors, who had finished their preparations and waited in the standby room, looked up to the sky with their breaths held. They’d all experienced a storm before, but they were now in the heart of the sea, with nothing to impede the raging rainstorm. 

And between that and what they’d heard in the ship’s transmission, the anxieties and doubts they would have usually pushed to the bottom of their hearts were rising to the surface. 

The pride to fight to the bitter end… The Eighty-Six were those who took to the battlefield while seeking nothing else. So in their eyes, the Fleet Countries’ resolve to fight on even after throwing that away was hard to believe. How could they continue to battle after discarding even the pride that defined them? 

How could they…live on? 

This wasn’t something they could hope to imitate. Everything else had been taken from them, so if their pride was the next to go, they would have nothing left to give them shape. Even if it was all they had left…their pride could not be taken away so easily… 

As they weren’t used to sea voyages, the lurching sensation of the ship rocking beneath their feet kept them alert. A stormy ocean. The force of the waves lifted the vessel and then dropped it back down, shaking it up incessantly. They were used to the intense mobility of the Juggernauts, so the rocking didn’t make them seasick. But the realization that a single layer of iron plating was all that separated them from a vast, boundless abyss did leave them shaken in another way. 

That realization instilled a great deal of anxiety in them. There was no true, everlasting support for them anywhere in sight. The footing they were standing on was, in fact, unreliable and fragile. 

This was something they’d thought they knew before. In the Eighty-Sixth Sector’s battlefield, in the snowy fortress, and now in this vast blue sea. 

They’d realized this so many times already—that pride was such an uncertain, brittle thing to cling to. Nothing was truly unbreakable. There was nothing in the world…one could be sure they’d never lose. 

As experienced and seasoned as they were, that fear took away their words. Like terrified children, they all looked up at the storming sky with their breaths held as it screeched out its mad, tempestuous howls. 

Putting the microphone away, Captain Ishmael took a deep breath and settled into his seat. 

“Esther, I relinquish command to you for the duration of the briefing… I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Colonel Milizé.” 

“Understood, Brother.” 

“No… Um, Captain Ishmael.” 

He turned around, only to find Lena with tears in her eyes. Ishmael regarded her with a bothered smile. 

“I told you, you don’t have to look at me like that… So long as you think back on our country every now and then, we’ll be satisfied.” 

This wasn’t something to discuss on the integrated bridge. There were people waiting for the briefing, and so they went out to the corridor, where they continued the conversation. 

“We were always a small country without any large industries to speak of, and we supported this large, exaggerated fleet with money we didn’t have. The longer the war lasted, the harder it became to live. It was only a matter of time before we wouldn’t be able to keep it up anymore.” 

They went down the battleship’s cramped staircase, reaching the first floor of the bridge. As they did, passing crewmembers cleared a way for them with a salute. 

“Today just happens to be that day. It might be the end, but we will do what we set out to do, so it’s a fine way to go.” 

“It’s not fine at all.” 

Just as they were about to open the door to the flight deck control room, they heard a voice behind them. Ishmael turned around with a raised eyebrow, finding a young man in the peak of his adolescence standing at the top of the stairs. He was wearing a steel-blue uniform that didn’t seem to fit his growing physique, and he was breathing heavily. 

Theo. 

“Second Lieutenant Rikka.” 

Lena parted her lips to scold him, but Ishmael faced him directly. He told her to go ahead, pushing her small back toward the room almost forcibly and closing the door behind her. 

Theo then spoke, as if paying no mind to Ishmael’s implicit act of consideration. 

“They took away your homeland, and you lost your real family, right? And now you’re throwing away your pride, too… How can you accept that?!” 

If nothing else, Theo wouldn’t be able to do that. There were likely few Eighty-Six who could. They had no homeland to return to, no family to protect, no culture to inherit. So letting someone take away their pride—the will of their comrades, living and dead—scared them more than anything. 

So how could Ishmael and the other crew members, who had their homes and families taken away by the war, see it come to claim their pride next…and simply accept it? And with a smile, at that. 

“…Well, you see.” 

Ishmael nodded, as if accepting Theo’s desperate shout head-on. He pondered something for a moment, then parted his lips to speak. 

“You see, ‘Nicole’…the leviathan skeleton you saw. She was originally up for display in my hometown’s governor’s palace.” 

Theo eyed him suspiciously, as if unsure what he was talking about all of a sudden. Nicole. The leviathan skeleton up on display in the base’s hall. 

“When the war began and we had to abandon our territory, the fleet commander loaded all the refugees he could onto the ships and, somehow, found a place for her before leaving the fort. He knew the war probably wasn’t going to end anytime soon. That we wouldn’t go back there for a long while. So he brought Nicole along… He thought that by taking her as a symbol of our homeland, she would help support our spirits.” 

The fleet commander knew, even back then, that the Cleo Fleet Country’s navy likely wouldn’t remain to serve as a symbol of the country. Neither would the Stella Maris, or the descendants of the Open Sea clans who served as the fleet’s crew. 

And sadly enough, his assumption proved true. The Legion War raged for ten years, and the fleet commander sunk to the bottom of the sea with the Cleo Country’s vessels. The Stella Maris’s crew went to fight on land to close a hole in the defensive formation during last year’s large-scale offensive. Forced to battle in an environment they weren’t used to, they died there. 

By now, the only remnants of the Cleo Fleet Country were Nicole, the Stella Maris, and Ishmael himself. And as proof that their country once existed, Ishmael and the Stella Maris would end their service in this operation. However, in spite of the pain… 

“The hall that Nicole’s in right now was never meant for her. Originally, the last keel of the torpedo boat passed down in this town was on display there.” 

…there were people who honored their sacrifice. 

“For our sake, for the sake of all the people who lost their homes across the Fleet Countries, they spared us a place to keep our pride safe. That city is our hometown, too. Right now, at present, that city is my hometown. See, you can always find something new. Even if you lose everything. For as long as you live, you can always find something that’s just as precious. Even if that place is a lie, it can become real.” 

Contrary to his words, Ishmael regarded Theo with a fickle, fading smile. So faint that it felt like it could easily melt away and disappear in the boundless waters of the ocean. 

“The Fleet Countries’ history is one of defeat. And I’m not only talking about our age-old struggle against the leviathans. We have two major powers as our neighbors, who always looked down on us, made light of us, and snatched all our proper territory. We had to toady up to them to retain what land we did have and maintain the fleet, so we could survive… We lived through centuries of defeats and countless acts of pillaging. But even when we lost, even when we were robbed and left to go without, we had to live on. The people of the Fleet Countries realized this… So that’s how I know. We can just find something new to aspire to.” 

“But what if dying doesn’t earn you anything in the end?” 

Theo shook his head in denial like a child throwing a tantrum. His voice had risen to a shout, but he didn’t stop himself. 

“You kept losing things, being denied and stolen from… And then you died, practically for nothing… What’s the point of dying without regaining what you’ve lost?!” 

It was just like with his old captain. He’d cast aside his future, his family, and then died in battle. His homeland mocked him, calling him a fool. His son had to live in doubt of the validity and dignity of his death… And at the last moment, his final words were a plea to never be forgiven. 

He’d fought in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, same as Theo, but never found a single friend or ally until the very end. The captain was always alone. 

“Why did you persist…on that kind of battlefield?” 

“Well…” Ishmael smiled. “So long as I don’t bring shame to myself, I’m satisfied. That’s all I need.” 

He had the same expression as the captain did. Jovial to the point of stupidity. Strong to the point of foolishness. 

“If I don’t, I’d never be able to look the fleet commander in the eye. He might be dead, but he lost his life defending my clan… So if I live my life with my head hung in shame, he will have died for naught.” 

“Brother, I return command rights to you… We lost contact with both diversion fleets fifteen minutes ago. Their last transmission was ‘forty-five shots remaining. May fortune be on your side.’” 

“Roger that… Now it’s our turn.” 

The enemy’s remaining ammunition: forty-five shots. Remaining distance: one hundred forty kilometers. 

In order to share the situation for as long as possible with their operations commander, the unit’s operations commander and his deputy—Shin and Raiden—as well as Yuuto and his lieutenant remained on standby at the flag bridge on the fifth floor. 

The rain was still beating mercilessly against the thick anti-blast glass windowpane, the water splashes making it impossible to see through the window. The room was dark, its lights off so as to avoid detection by the enemy. 

The window itself then lit up as a bright bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, momentarily painting the horizon white. Not a few seconds later, they heard the intense rumbling of thunder nearby, so thick and heavy it sounded like the crumbling of an iceberg. Purple lightning danced through the gap between the clouds, flashing across the leaden skies and sea that were otherwise indiscernible under the tyrannical curtain of the storm. 

For many ages, people had likened lightning to a dragon, owing to its fluid, almost organic streak’s similarity to the flight of a mythical creature. It was like a fissure running through the dark, cloudy air above them. 

“…Hey.” 

Unable to discern if he was really calling out to another or simply uttering the word, Shin only realized which it was when he turned his gaze in the direction of Raiden’s dazed voice. Even with the lightning gone, it was still bright outside. There was no moon—to say nothing of a sun—to dispel the darkness. Something like starlight, like the brightness of snow, like the pale-blue glow of the noctilucas. A faint glow that had melted into the darkness. 

Shin knew that even if the lightning were to hit the ship directly, it wouldn’t tear through the windowpane. Even still, he approached the window with instinctive caution. Looking outside, he felt his breath catch in his throat. 

The source of the light was the Stella Maris itself. 

At the edge of the hull, just below the flight deck, the two 40 cm gun mounts and their muzzles were alight. The bridge itself as well. Despite the darkness blotting out the ship’s bow, the electrocution forced them to light up. A blue, heatless light, like a will-o’-the-wisp. 

This mystifying light gave the ship the illusory appearance of a ghost ship, sailing the sea forevermore with its sails torn and its mast broken. 

Perhaps the whole world was a sort of illusion. Human history, its pride. The very fact that people ever lived. The value of humanity, all the things they cherished and held up as dear, were all but a meaningless illusion. 

Shin clenched his fist tightly. The emptiness that crossed his mind stopped that train of thought in its tracks. 

…That isn’t true. 

That can’t be true. 

The door to the room swung open wildly, and a crew member peeked inside. 

“Lads! We’re almost to the Mirage Spire’s region! Get ready!” 

“Roger.” 

Shin was the first to leave, with Raiden and the others hurrying after him. Another loud roar of thunder echoed in their wake, as if seeing them off. 

Lena saw it from her spot on the integrated bridge. 

“That’s…” 

A blue light, as if left behind by the lightning that struck down from the heavens. Like a heatless flame flickering. She had to wonder if this was some unusual phenomenon, but Ishmael and the crew were too occupied with steering the ship across the storm to pay it any mind. 

A constant siren wailed, and alert lights lit up. Shouted instructions flew across the bridge. With the two diversion fleets wiped out, they would have to charge in, despite them failing to eliminate the advance-recon-unit mother ships. The Orphan Fleet intentionally chose to cross a region where the waves were exceptionally rough—a region the Clans usually chose to avoid. 

The advance-recon-unit mother ships were originally reappropriated merchant and fishing ships taken from some other, fallen country. They weren’t built to sail through such rough seas and, as such, couldn’t brave this part of the ocean. And since this region was only a short distance away from the leviathans’ territory, the Rabe couldn’t fly in the high altitudes above this region for fear of being shut down. 

The risk of them being detected here was low. But it was only a matter of time until they’d leave the cover of this region. 

Remaining distance: one hundred ten kilometers. 

On the outer circumference of the fleet’s formation, the six anti-leviathan vessels turned rudder, increasing the size of the circle. The two scout ships leading the formation widened the width of their line to increase the range of their detection. They deployed sonobuoys. Opting not to use their antiair radar, as it would make them easier for the enemy to detect, they braced for the advance-recon-unit mother ships’ approach. 

Shin, who had moved into the hangar, reported that there were Legion approaching in low altitude—the recon units had deployed. 

A transmission through the Para-RAID arrived from the anti-leviathan vessel on the furthest side of outer circumference—the Hokurakushimon. 

“Brother. Everyone aboard the Stella Maris. It is time we depart. May you live long, healthy lives.” 

The captain of the Hokurakushimon was a woman. A relatively young woman, at that. Leaving behind her two children and husband—who wasn’t born into an Open Sea clan—behind on land, she regarded the future ahead of her with a smile. 

“And may fortune shine upon you, Eighty-Six. Come spend some time here in the future, when peace is upon us.” 

The Hokurakushimon changed course. It turned its starboard side away from the fleet heading east, instead sailing south. The ship’s contours vanished behind the waves, and once it had gained enough distance from the fleet, it turned on its antiair radar, breaking the radio silence. 

The air became flooded with upbeat music. Apparently, the whole crew beneath the captain began singing as they moved. A song of adventurous sailors, sailing south into the azure seas. A song of an unachievable dream. 

Both the radar and the radio transmission released electromagnetic waves in all directions. They had maintained radio silence for fear of having their position traced, discovered by the Legion. And they willingly lifted that radio silence. 

Before long, beyond the great barrier of the waves, with the contours of the ship’s hull all but gone from sight, the sound of multiple-rocket launchers unleashing their payload filled the air, their firing lines filling the skies with smoke and flame. 

A recon unit detected the newly approaching vessel’s radar waves. At the top of the naval base the Fleet Countries called the Mirage Spire, the Morpho received this report and swerved its massive 800 mm cannon. 

<<Colare One, acknowledged. Opening fi—>> 

As it fixed its sights on the enemy vessel’s—or perhaps enemy fleet’s—estimated position, it noticed it. Being the Legion unit that boasted the highest firepower and range, the Morpho had its own antiair radar. And this radar system was now… 

<<Canceling main turret’s firing sequence. Switching to antiair defenses.>> 

…detecting multiple flying objects. 

Eight antiair revolving autocannons moved in tandem. Fixing their sights on the flying objects and opening fire, they shot down the majority of the rocket shells. 

<<Interception of target deemed impossible.>> 

A single rocket slipped through the Morpho’s fire. The canister shot triggered in close range, dropping the bombs it contained like rain over the Morpho. The Fleet Countries’ rocket cannons had incredibly low accuracy, and so they compensated for it by employing multi-rocket launchers and firing volleys through several cannons at once. 

The explosion-reactive armor triggered, blocking the missiles from penetrating, but if the same spot were to be hit a second time, the Morpho wouldn’t get away unscathed. 

The enemy would have to be promptly removed. 

<<Colare One to advance-recon-unit mother ships. Move to designated coordinates.>> 

By reverse-calculating the missiles’ trajectories, it deciphered the location of the vessel carrying the multitarget rocket launcher that fired at it. The main turret cut through the wind as it turned in its direction, locking onto its target. 

<<Requesting ballistic measurement. Opening fire.>> 

“—Communications with the Hokurakushimon and the Albireo, lost. Estimate is that they’ve been sunk.” 

While the anti-leviathan ships drew out the enemy’s fire, the Orphan Fleet’s main force continued speeding toward its target. Seeing its sister ships complete their duties by throwing themselves literally into the line of fire, transmissions came in this time from two other anti-leviathan ships that had been on the Stella Maris’s starboard side. 

“The Altair and the Mira here. We’re setting off.” 

“We’re going ahead, Stella Maris!” 

After that, once again, they got another transmission. This time from the two scout ships, which broke away from the main fleet. By now, only the Stella Maris, three long-distance cruisers, and two anti-leviathan ships remained. The remaining distance was forty kilometers. 

They avoided the massive waves that rose up like ramparts impeding their way, but as their field of vision cleared, they were met with a wall of white mist. Dawn was just breaking, but in this region of the ocean, morning mist was an uncommon occurrence. As they approached the mist, they realized it wafted up endlessly—water vapor resulting from the rising water temperature. 

The Mirage Spire stood isolated in the middle of the sea, and this was probably its power source. The source of the heat was the underwater volcano. The vapor was created from its heat leaking out into the ocean. The cold northern wind then chilled the water in turn, resulting in white vapor, which whirled up into the air. 

The Stella Maris’s bow pierced the white veil as it approached its target. When it broke through the curtain of fog, the ship was a mere thirty kilometers away from the base—within the firing range of the ships’ guns. 

“All long-distance cruisers and anti-leviathan ships, align your sights. Shoot it down from here if you must. Fire!” 

The five remaining ships opened fire. Every gun and rocket cannon spewed flame, intending to force the Morpho to pull back, as well as draw its attention away from the Stella Maris. The guns rumbled, as if roaring out in indignation at this one-sided assault and in grief of their fallen comrades on the sunken diversion fleets and ships. 

Before long, the gun smoke rose, coiling up throughout the region regardless of the raging winds. 

And then, blitzing through the ashen mist of gunfire, there came a thunderclap. An 800 mm shell crashed down diagonally, accompanied by massive shock waves. The anti-leviathan vessel Tycho, which filled a scout ship’s spot at the head of the formation, was hit by the shell. 

The shell penetrated its top deck, several levels of its service deck, and its residential block, reaching as deep as the heart of the ship before piercing the engine, where the thicker armor plats at the bottom of the ship finally stopped its advance. Finally, the shell triggered and exploded. 

The massive kinetic energy resulting from the missile’s ramming and the blast of the explosives split the Tycho in two. The ship’s bow and stern tilted skyward, as if letting out a final dying scream, only to be knocked down into the water by a side wave. The billowing wave engulfed the rest of the ship, and the sea swallowed it. 

On the other side of the pitch-black waters, beyond the veil of fog and the curtain of wind and rain, and at the very tip of the heavens was a gray form, blending into the leaden skies. They could finally see it. 

“Target sighted! It’s time, lads! Get ready!” 

An officer burst into the hangar, finally barking that order at them. The deck crew operated an elevator, moving the first group that would invade the enemy base into the flight deck. A force of six units, their legs folded, climbed up at once. 

Among them was Undertaker, and sitting within it, Shin looked up. The intense roaring of the wind and the incessant howling of the Shepherds in his ears. The voice of the Morpho’s Shepherd alone was a cacophony, letting out battle cries loud enough to sound like an entire army as it repeatedly fired at its targets. 

Since it was a deck for launching aircraft and not people, the elevator lacked walls or a ceiling that would block the wind. As they left the hangar, an intense, sidelong wind filled with raindrops began blowing on the Juggernauts. While the elevator rose one level after another on the way up, the wind grew stronger. There were no objects or masses on the sea to stop the wind. The wind blew so hard that Shin couldn’t shake the fear that even a Reginleif, with its weight exceeding ten tonnes, might be blown away. 

If the lightweight Reginleifs were to try to carelessly stand tall on the windswept flight deck, they ran the risk of being overturned. Shin carefully undid the lock on his unit’s legs, effectively prowling in a crawl as he stepped off the elevator and onto the battleship’s bow, crossing the runway that spanned the ship’s hull in the direction it was sailing in. Having reached the end of the highway, he crouched in front of the ship’s bow and remained on standby. 

A flash of lightning lit up the clouds as the rain battered down upon them, the light reflecting off the raindrops and momentarily filling Shin’s field of vision with white. The gloom and the rumbling of thunder filled him with a sense of dread and suffocation, as if he’d sunk into the cold depths of the dark sea stretching before his eyes. The black clouds brewing in the sky above were the water’s surface, and the rain-battered flight deck was the ocean floor. 

Storm clouds blanketed the sky and cast the world into darkness. Countless droplets of water lashed against the deck, creating an incessant, rattling din. The sheer volume of water felt as if the sky had fallen on them, exposing them to a suffocating, awe-inspiring pressure. 

Indeed, had he left the Juggernaut and exposed his body to the elements, he likely wouldn’t have been able to breathe. The wind and water beating against the one layer of armor covering him were that intense. 

And far ahead, a tower of steel lorded above him, its peak hazy in the distance. Even with the backdrop of the stormy sky covered in dark clouds, the shadow was still noticeably black as it raised its body. 

This was likely some defense set up to guard the enemy gun. A large canopy, as hard as a shell, had been placed above it, held up by metal pylons bent into the shape of talons. It crept out from outside the canopy, its blue optical sensor lit up like a will-o’-the-wisp. Its barrel, shaped like a pair of spears, had faint tendrils of electricity dancing around it. 

It was gazing back at them. Coldly. Haughtily. 

With a loud thud, its two glowing, silver wings stretched out to the heavens. 

The Morpho. 

“Remaining distance: five kilometers. Remaining estimated ammunition: one shot!” 

“Bring it, you big metal bastard!” 

The artillery battle was ongoing. The last remaining anti-leviathan vessel blitzed through the final five thousand meters, while the three long-distance cruisers were still intact as well. One of the cruisers, the Basilicus, sped toward the Mirage Spire, breaking away from the rest of the ships, its two 40 cm cannons alight in rapid fire. 

As it fired, its search lights were lit up, and its radar and radio were both transmitting in full force, its crew barking commands to keep shooting so as to attract the enemy sights to itself. And just as it wanted, the Morpho’s muzzle turned in the direction of its reckless charge. 

The top of the pylon gleamed as the Morpho unleashed an arc discharge that flashed like lightning. The Morpho’s railgun boasted an initial velocity of eight thousand meters per second; as soon as the muzzle roared, the shell had already impacted its target. But despite that, the Basilicus surprisingly avoided its exceedingly quick line of fire by turning portside hard. Throughout this battle, they’d observed the particularities of the way the ghost inhabiting the Morpho tended to aim, allowing them to pull off this astounding evasive maneuver. 

The Morpho’s last remaining 800 mm shell gouged into the waves, forming a concentric tidal wave that passed over not only the Basilicus, but the lines of fire of the other long-distance cruisers, the Benetnasch and the Denebola. Their shots, launched in case the Morpho still had ammunition left, created explosions and shock waves that blinded the Morpho’s sensors and forced it to momentarily retreat under the canopy. 

Beneath the tower, the Stella Maris continued to hurdle toward it at maximum combat speed. The Mirage Spire was approaching. By now, it was so close that their field of vision couldn’t grasp its full size, its sheer majesty visible from the integrated bridge. Pillars of concrete extended perpendicularly from below the water, each one as wide as several buildings stacked together. Six such pillars formed a hexagonal shape, and on top of it was a six-pointed, prism-shaped fortress that towered into the sky. 

Half-transparent solar panels coated the outer circumference of the structure like scales, now dyed white with the raindrops. The structure’s interior wasn’t visible through them. Its full length stood a hundred twenty meters tall. Its shape was like the roost of some mythical dragon living in the sea. It stacked on and on; the mere thought of climbing up it felt like an endless nightmare. 

The Stella Maris approached the foundation of the fortress, one of the six concrete pillars. The helmsman was probably incredibly fearless, since he didn’t slow down, nearly ramming into the pillar with the ship’s broadside. And yet he did this with extreme precision. The metal didn’t so much as screech as the ship stopped alongside the towering concrete palisade. 

Shin and his group watched from the flight deck. It looked essentially like an act of suicide. As the ship sped toward the concrete cliff, they all held their breaths, their eyes wide as they braced for impact. But right in front of the collision, the supercarrier suddenly turned its rudder, the broadside’s bow stopping alongside the fortress. 

From this position, the pillar’s base was in the enemy’s way, meaning the strike force could climb up without being exposed to enemy fire. 

The operation had commenced. 

Shin’s thoughts shifted, like a switch had been flipped in his brain. He had almost unconsciously brought Undertaker, which sat crouched as if beaten down by the rain, to a standing position. His consciousness, which had been honed and optimized for battle, had drowned out any concept of fear or pressure from the dangers of nature. 

Lena’s order reached his ears. 

“Artillery unit, open fire! Spearhead squadron, advance!”