86 - Volume 9 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

THE ASHEN BATTLEFIELD

Ash fell like snow.

Shin walked through the temporary hangar, putting on his gloves as the sound of the Noiryanarusean control officer’s announcement boomed through the structure. His accent was odd; it had an intonation that made everything he said sound like a prayer.

The hangar was full of Reginleifs standing side by side. These were all the 1st Armored Division’s units—or the advance battalion, as they were called in this operation. Their numbers had decreased in comparison to when the Strike Package had first been launched, and Stollenwurm and Alkonosts filled in for the missing manpower.

The Laughing Fox’s Personal Mark was nowhere to be seen.

…Theo.

The thought crossed Shin’s mind that he was probably being transferred to the Federacy’s hospital right around now. He then shook his head lightly. A new operation was about to begin. This was no time to be distracted.

One characteristic of the Holy Theocracy’s military facilities was that they were built to be completely isolated from the outside. A combination of outer walls and specially designed transparent shutters created an airtight seal around the temporary hangar Shin was in. Air was filtered in through vents.

Perhaps owing to that, this hangar lacked the usual scent of dust or the burning odor of metal, granting it the pure, clean atmosphere of a religious space. It didn’t feel the slightest bit like a military installation. The walls, floors, and ceiling were made of pearl-gray materials that had a certain sheen to them.

Standing in the midst of this scenery was a large, black shadow. It stood opposite the line of Reginleifs, its massive frame nearly brushing against the ceiling. Its gunmetal-colored plating was the shade of night, which beckoned all life into eternal slumber.

The Armée Furieuse. The Ghost Rider.

“Let us confirm the operation, then, Colonel Vladilena Milizé.”

Compared with the Federacy military’s unrefined design, the headquarters of the Holy Theocracy of Noiryanaruse’s 3rd Army Corps, Shiga Toura, looked like some kind of pagan sanctum sanctorum.

The length and width of the elliptical canopy was decorated by what looked to be silver leaf veins, with the ceiling itself being made of opaque glass. The floors and walls were polished like mirrors, painted a pearl-gray color that glinted like a splintered rainbow.

The interior of the glass hemisphere was composed of specially shaped holo-screens that displayed all sorts of footage. Glowing images were projected into thin air, producing touch-panel consoles. These were operated by hooded soldiers. This, coupled with their pearl-gray uniforms, gave the impression that they were monks.

The front half of the headquarters’ hemisphere had the operation map projected onto its holo-screen. As the commander of the 3rd Army Corps spoke, a spot on the map’s north quadrant, where the Legion’s territories were, began flickering.

“Our target lies within the blank sector. We are to destroy the new Legion unit that has advanced some seventy kilometers away from the front lines—the Offensive Factory type, designated Jiryal Cuckoo. The participating forces will be my 3rd Army Corps, Shiga Toura, and the 2nd Army Corps, I Thafaca. In addition, this time, we will be accompanied by the Federacy Expedition Brigade—the Strike Package’s 1st Armored Division and the two regiments that form the Myrmecoleo Free Regiment.”

The abstruse, gentle gravitas of this voice seemed to resound like the chiming of countless shards of glass clinking against one another. Its resonance echoed as if it were the soft patter of raindrops against clay. Lena couldn’t help but gaze back at the figure in confusion… In the two weeks since the 1st Armored Division had been dispatched to the Holy Theocracy, she couldn’t get used to this corps commander’s presence.

Feeling Lena’s gaze, the petite, delicate girl, with hair as golden as rays of sunlight, chuckled.

“It seems the commanders of the western nations have grown used to me by now, but when they first met me, they did gawk quite a bit. Seeing someone act so blatantly shocked is a pleasant surprise.”

She was the second holy general, Himmelnåde Rèze.

This girl was the corps commander of the Holy Theocracy’s 3rd Army Corps, which Lena and the Strike Package were to cooperate with during this expedition.

Yes, corps commander.

Depending on the country, the definition of corps might change, but typically, it was a large unit made up of several divisions and included about a hundred thousand soldiers. Grethe led a brigade and a regiment, which were smaller than a division, but the fact that she’d been given this authority while she was still in her twenties was an exception that was only enabled by the ongoing war. A girl in her teens serving as a corps commander went beyond being exceptional. It was bizarre.

True, her rank wasn’t as high as that of Vika, who commanded his motherland’s ground forces—which was made up of several corps. But the United Kingdom was a despotic monarchy where kings held supreme authority over the military, and Vika was a prince. It was only natural that the king’s child would be entrusted with some of his authorities.

“My apologies, Second General Rèze. I have heard that this isn’t considered unusual here in the Holy Theocracy, but…”

“Please call me Hilnå. You’re roughly the same age as my older sister, Colonel. I’d be happy if you could treat me as you might a younger sister.”

Lena was unable to hide her confusion, to which Hilnå reacted with a pleasant, high-pitched giggle. Her fine, flowing blond hair was as faint as the rays of the spring sun. Her eyes were the pale, sweet golden shade of early evening. Her shoulders, delicate as the wings of a swan, and her dainty arms were hidden behind a white garb. She held a command baton that was taller than she was; it was a glass tube with bells applied to it, which chimed each time it moved.

With her lovely smile unchanging, she spoke in a tone that was utterly devoid of malice.

“It is human nature to favor debauchery, and humanity is often taught to remain worldly and lowly. As such, I cannot fault foreigners for not abiding by the rigid precepts of our sacred faith of Noirya. I especially do not expect understanding from the profligates of the Republic, who refuse to devote themselves to the duties of the earth goddess. We’ve known as much for three centuries and do not mind.”

“…”

Before they departed, Grethe had warned her about this. She’d explained to her that the Holy Theocracy’s ways of thinking would likely confuse her, and so she’d told her about them ahead of time. Thinking back on it, Lena sighed internally. Each time she spoke to Hilnå or the Theocracy’s staff officers, it struck her just how different their core values were.

The far-west countries—with the Holy Theocracy as their center—practiced a religion called Noirya. They regarded the earth goddess and the fates she governed over as the absolute deity. The faith posited that the goddess bestowed onto people the roles they must fulfill and the fates they must abide by. All souls were born into their families for the sake of fulfilling these roles.

Noirya was the national religion of the Holy Theocracy, and its doctrine was strictly adhered to, regarded even more highly than the laws of the nation. In this country, one could not choose their own profession, and one’s household was seen as the most important factor in marriages. Individualism and freedom of choice simply did not exist.

A Theocracy military officer, who had been standing silently at attention by Hilnå’s side so far, cleared his throat loudly. Hilnå’s shoulders twitched, as if she’d just been chided.

“Ah… My apologies. Did I say something rude?”

Her golden eyes darted about nervously, like a scolded kitten. Yes, despite what she’d said, Hilnå didn’t mean anything by it. Her way of thinking was just slightly, if fundamentally, unlike Lena’s.

In addition, the Holy Theocracy’s language was different from the common tongue used by the Republic and the Federacy. Hilnå, however, had been speaking in the common tongue ever since Lena and the Strike Package had been dispatched to the Holy Theocracy, so as to accommodate them. She spoke so naturally that Lena sometimes forgot this wasn’t her first language.

“No, don’t let it bother you… Also, Hilnå, please feel free to call me Lena.”

Hilnå’s expression lit up. In that regard, she was very much a young girl who was three years Lena’s junior.

“Oh, thank you very much, sister Lena!”

The staff officer coughed dryly again. This time, Hilnå shrugged in an exaggerated fashion. The staff officer’s eyes remained fixed forward, but his gaze had the gentle affection one might direct at a younger sister and the deep reverence one showed toward their darling princess. It struck Lena as heartwarming. This petite corps commander must be quite beloved by her subordinates.

“In that case, Hilnå, there’s something I’d like to ask. How did you discover the Jiryal Cuckoo when it’s seventy kilometers away from the front lines?”

“The oracles in the forecast division detected it,” Hilnå replied.

Noticing the confusion in Lena’s eyes, the staff officer appended:

“Oracles are what we call those graced with the Heliodor’s psychic ability, Colonel. Perhaps, it could be best described as the ability to preemptively detect threats that approach oneself and one’s kin and comrades. Unlike the Pyropes’ clairvoyance and the Sapphira’s future sight, they cannot tangibly observe the threat, but in exchange, the effective radius of their detection is much wider. The oracle officers of our generation can detect the entire area around the far west’s friendly nations.

“The oracles are believed to be one major reason that our Holy Theocracy and the neighboring countries have managed to hold on to their land. It is said that in ancient times, long before the Holy Theocracy was established, there was an oracle whose range of detection spanned over a hundred thousand kilometers.”

It reminded Lena of Shin, whose ability was able to span the entirety of the Republic and the Federacy’s western front… Though a hundred thousand kilometers felt like an exaggerated figure.

Hilnå continued:

“As the staff officer here said, the oracles don’t have a tangible vision of the threats they perceive. We sent scouts deep into Legion territory, and that is how we discovered that behemoth, the Jiryal Cuckoo.”

“Based on the Holy Theocracy’s preliminary observations, the Halcyon is estimated to be an improved version of the Weisel. Fortunately, this also means it inherited the Weisel’s slow movement speed of a few kilometers per hour.”

Unlike the Federacy, the Republic, the Alliance, and the United Kingdom, which shared the same common language with different dialects, the Holy Theocracy and the far-western countries’ language gave its speakers a unique accent. As such, Shin and the Federacy officers struggled to pronounce their words.

To that end, when the Federacy military communicated among themselves, they used a different designation for the Offensive Factory type: Halcyon. Like the Holy Theocracy, it was based off the image of the bird of the underworld.

Halcyon. A legendary bird said to live in the northern seas.

Looking ahead, Frederica stepped forward and furrowed her brow.

“…Even so, this is quite bothersome. In short, this means that the Halcyon has combined with the Noctiluca. I believe we could very much continue referring to it as the Noctiluca all the same.”

“That’s just a theory, given the circumstances. We can’t verify that until we destroy and subsequently investigate it.”

Though in truth, Shin’s ability had pretty much confirmed that this was the case. Soon after arriving at the Holy Theocracy, he’d sensed the Noctiluca, and it didn’t take long for him to conclude that he’d heard its voice coming from what the Holy Theocracy’s military described as the Jiryal Cuckoo.

But on a surface level, they had to pretend it was nothing more than a hypothesis. They couldn’t disclose even the Para-RAID’s existence to the Holy Theocracy, and they’d been strictly ordered to only use the radio to communicate and to keep the existence of the RAID Device under wraps.

“Right you are… Then since this Legion could be the Noctiluca, why is it not shooting at us despite us being in its effective range?”

“It’s just barely outside the effective range, so it probably intends on bombarding the front lines and the back of the rear lines at once. We’ve predicted that much. With that size, it’s unlikely that it’d be able to fire and move at the same time.”

As wide as the enemy’s firing range was, its movement speed was exceptionally slow. It had to stop moving whenever it attacked, so its most optimal tactic would be to get as close as it could before it was fired at and sweep through the entirety of the enemy lines all at once.

With that said, Shin narrowed his eyes. It made perfect sense that the Theocracy would be in a panic.

“With the range of a Morpho or a Noctiluca, depending on where the enemy fires from, it could easily bombard the entirety of the Theocracy’s territory. At worst, this one Legion unit could end up decimating the entire nation.”

“So, um, our mission is to trash the Halcyon before it can get to its predicted firing position, right?”

Rito was leading the 2nd Battalion in Yuuto’s place, and Michihi had taken command over the 3rd Battalion. They were positioned fifteen kilometers ahead of the Armée Furieuse, close to the front lines.

They were in a camouflaged supply depot for ammunition and fuel. Even the prefab camouflaged storehouses were colored pearl-gray. A Theocracy interpreter had informed them that since these warehouses were only lightly airtight, they’d be better off sitting in their Feldreß. And so they’d boarded their units’ cockpits. Rito spoke as he called up the operation map onto his optical screen.

He sensed Michihi’s sarcastic smile through the Para-RAID and the radio, which were working in tandem.

“I’d say that’s skipping a whole lot of steps, Rito. You make it sound like we’re all just going to charge it.”

“I know, I know. First, the Theocracy’s military is going to launch an attack on the Legion directly in order to keep them pinned down. Meanwhile, Cap’n Nouzen’s advance battalion and those of us at the main force lie low, right? The Theocracy’s people are pretty strong. They’re totally fine with handling the diversion all on their own.”

Even from the perspective of a former child soldier like Rito, the Theocracy’s military came across as thorough, disciplined, and powerful. Their facilities and equipment were far more depleted in comparison to those of a large country like the Federacy, but their spirits were high, and both the units deployed on the front lines and the soldiers guarding the home front stood prepared.

It felt like they were worshipping the corps commander, though. They carried portraits of her, and they would pray to her image at every turn or chant her name. Flags depicting her were flapping around them, and the faceless soldiers’ chants could be heard everywhere. The religious fervor of the whole scene was off-putting, but above all else…

“…That’s easily the creepiest part.”

Rito quickly directed his gaze at the soldiers. The Theocracy soldiers walking outside the hangar were covered from head to toe in pearl-gray flight suits that completely covered their bodies, and they also wore masks and goggles that hid their faces from view. They piloted some oddly shaped Feldreß that were the same pearl-gray color as their uniforms.

The scene was like a row of resplendent horses, ridden by faceless cavaliers amid the ashen snow.

“I know what you mean, but they have no choice. The Theocracy’s battlefield… The blank sector is full of ash.”

The Severed Head peninsula, located at the end of the northwestern tip of the continent. Or as it was otherwise known—the blank sector. A wasteland shut off by volcanic ash that had rained upon it for several centuries. The volcano located at the center of the peninsula had become active, billowing large amounts of smoke and volcanic ash and rendering the land inhospitable to human life.

With entire countries of people and wildlife fleeing the area, the strip of land had been abandoned for hundreds of years. At present, the sun had been blocked off by the ash and smoke clouding the skies, and the surface had been covered by a thick layer of ash. The heavy metals scooped up with the magma had polluted the waters, creating a true no-man’s-land.

The bulk of the Legion offensive facing the Theocracy made the blank sector their primary sphere of influence. As such, the Theocracy’s battlefield was centered around this volcanic region.

This was the reason behind the Theocracy’s strange uniforms and unique Feldreß design.

The volcanic ash was the result of molten magma bursting from below the ground and up to the surface as solid particulates. They were essentially tiny shards of natural glass. Their edges were razor-sharp and easily capable of damaging the skin and eyeballs. Breathing them in for prolonged periods of time could cause serious damage to the lungs. Put simply, this was not a battlefield one could survive on with any part of their body needlessly exposed.

As such, the Theocracy’s soldiers all wore environmental suits, without exception, whenever they walked outside the hangars. That said, their military had no rank that corresponded to infantry soldiers. Rather than being attended by infantry, the Theocracy’s Feldreß instead used small, mobile extension units for covering fire on the battlefield.

Rito could hear Michihi giggle.

“But you got along with the pilots, didn’t you, Rito?”

“Well, yeah. I can’t understand what they’re saying, but playing with them was pretty fun.”

Said pilots were child soldiers, roughly the same age as the Processors. They were quite curious at the sight of the first foreigners they’d seen for as long as they could remember. Whenever they had the time, they came over to the Strike Package’s barracks to hang out. They would exchange sweets, play card games, or simply compete at the military’s favorite pastime, push-ups.

At the end of the day, they’d play chicken with cups of tea, hoping not to get the one with chili sauce and the Theocracy’s special spices mixed into it. At least they did until Shin and someone who looked like a senior Theocracy officer stepped in to scold them.

Incidentally, that was when they showed Rito the corps commander’s portrait. A Citrine girl with bright blond hair and golden eyes. They held these portraits up like precious treasures, as if presenting the image of some kind of fairy princess.

“Rema refoa, Himmelnåde. Tsuriji yuuna, Rèze.” It roughly means, “We honor you, Lady Himmelnåde. Rèze, our guiding star…”

The staff officer who had attended their briefing gave him the meaning behind those words. This officer understood the Federacy’s language, and when he recited the words, he placed a hand over his pearl-gray uniform’s breast pocket. There was probably a locket or something of the sort in it that contained her portrait, because he looked like a devout believer when he performed the gesture.

It was the very picture of worship; of zealotry; of…faith.

The Eighty-Six, who believed in neither God nor heaven, knew no one who had ever acted in such a way.

Outside the hangar, where the Reginleifs stood at the ready, Rito could hear the same chanting from all around the blank sector’s battlefield of ashen snow. This was what informed him that the operation had begun. The Theocracy’s faceless soldiers raised their voices in praise of their warrior princess.

Rema refoa, Himmelnåde!

Tsuriji yuuna, Rèze!

So began the operation’s first stage. The Theocracy military corps launched their attack, acting as a diversion.

As if to answer the jubilant chanting over the communications lines, Hilnå held up her command baton in one hand, shaking the top of its pearl-like head so as to jingle its bells. The glass bells chimed clearly and coldly.

“For the fate of the land and the pride of its people, Shiga Toura, march! The battle upon this land is our war. I pray you play your roles to perfection!”

Hilnå’s orders were crystal clear and traveled far, sweetly resounding across the ashen battlefield. But the next moment, the delicate echoes of her glittering, silica sand–like voice were replaced by the roars and battle cries of the soldiers.

The sight of it overwhelmed Lena. She’d never commanded an army this large.

“This is…amazing,” she said, marveling.

Hilnå was younger than Lena, but her leadership and command skills were overwhelming. Their reaction could only be described as fervent devotion—fanaticism, even. Hilnå’s gaze remained fixed on the front screen, and she didn’t spare a glance in Lena’s direction. Displayed on that screen was the unit emblem of her 3rd Army Corps, Shiga Toura: a swift, dapple-gray horse.

“All my corps’s children have had their parents and brethren slain by the Legion,” Hilnå said.

Lena widened her eyes in shock. Those born into the Theocracy had their professions decided by what family they were in. Soldiers were born into families of soldiers, which meant that all the soldiers who had perished in the last eleven years were the relatives of the soldiers standing upon it now.

The five divisions that made up this corps all looked up to the wavering symbol, pursing their crimson lips as if holding back tears.

“I am no different.”

This fifteen-year-old corps commander was part of a warrior family.

“I lost my own family to the Legion. House Rèze is a family of saints with a substantial amount of political influence. To honor that role, when the war broke out eleven years ago, those of House Rèze took to the battlefield as generals. And they all died. All of them…except for me.”

Saint was a title given to the highest clergy of the Noirya faith. Within the Theocracy, the clergy was seen as government officials, as well as military commanders.

But even if Hilnå was too young to stand on the battlefield during the outbreak of the war, the thought of her entire family dying… The fighting must have been fierce.

Hilnå’s eyes, gold as the setting sun, filled with a stern light for a moment. But when she turned back, her pale features had regained the gentle smile from before.

“It is because they know that everyone adores me so. We have lost our families, after all… All of us did.”

The Juggernauts stood near the Armée Furieuse in launch order. Piloting Wehrwolf, Raiden stood next to Shin in standby mode and activated the intercom with one hand. Shin turned to look in his direction.

“Shin, the Theocracy’s 2nd and 3rd Army Corps have moved in for the diversion. It’s underway right now. We should launch shortly, too, to remain on schedule.”

“Roger that. Frederica, get ready to move as well.”

As he looked to her with his bloodred eyes and spoke in a serene voice, Frederica nodded proudly. In this operation, Frederica wouldn’t remain in the command center with Lena but would join the battle as observation personnel, making use of her ability. She’d been deployed with the main force of the brigade in the back of the front lines, like Rito and Michihi, where she worked alongside the artillery battalion.

“While the Theocracy’s diversion unit draws the Legion away, your vanguard battalion will advance into the back of the front lines and hold the Halcyon’s operation range in check. As you do so, we at the main force will pass through the gap created by the diversion and advance sixty kilometers into Legion territory to destroy the Halcyon…correct? As you can see, I have a firm grasp of the situation. You can count on me.”

Shin nodded. But suddenly, Frederica looked up at him, the smile gone from her lips.

“Have you gathered the resolve to make use of me, Shinei?”

She wasn’t referring to her role as an observation aide in this operation. She meant using her authority as the Empire’s last empress to permanently shut down the Legion.

“…Honestly, I’d rather not,” Shin said with a sigh.

He was an Eighty-Six, and he took pride in fighting to his last breath. Placing the fate of humanity squarely on a young girl’s shoulders and sacrificing one child to end the war… Her kindness was something he could not accept…

But because of this insistence, one of his comrades could no longer fight on. As bitter as he was to admit that, he didn’t avert his gaze from the cruel reality that hung in the balance.

“But I want Theo’s sacrifice to be the last. I couldn’t do anything for him, but I can do something about this… I can’t afford not to.”

It wasn’t just for his fellow Eighty-Six or his comrades from the Strike Package. It was so the lives of countless soldiers across all the battlefields where the Legion were being fought wouldn’t have to be lost.

Frederica kept looking up at him and earnestly put her thoughts to words. So that he wouldn’t have to bear the burden of this decision on his own.

“I told you, didn’t I? Even I will not remain a child forever. Raiden and Vladilena have asked this of you, and so shall I. Relying on me, as you would rely on them, is the same as asking a comrade in battle for support… You need not feel reluctant to do so.”

“I won’t put it into action until preparations have been made. The fact that I’m not willing to sacrifice you isn’t going to change.”

“I am cursed to ever be in the company of an overprotective brother, it seems… But so be it. You would never allow yourself to act in the same manner as the Republic.”

She spoke with a hint of a wry smile, and then, as if having realized something, she appended:

“…However, with regard to that troublesome trump card they’ve drummed up this time. As overprotective as you may be, I must ask that you do not place me in that sort of thing ever again.”

“Yeah…”

The Halcyon’s design drew inspiration both from the Weisel and the Noctiluca—and it was appropriately humongous. A Reginleif’s 88 mm turret couldn’t hope to deal any significant damage to it. Even a Vánagandr’s 120 mm turret or a Barushka Matushka’s 125 mm one lacked the firepower to destroy it.

And that was why this new weapon was introduced. This was why they needed observation personnel. Because this new weapon was…

“…It’s just one life-threatening gamble after another with them, isn’t it?” Frederica asked coldly.

“The fact that they have some kind of countermeasure prepared this time is an improvement, though,” Shin replied.

Suddenly, a voice cut into their exchange.

“I’m sure that those who lack a weapon on the sheer scale and majesty of our black swan would speak out in jealousy. This is why I find lowly commoners to be so disagreeable. Much as the hackneyed anecdote of the fox crying sour grapes goes, the masses eye the aristocracy with petty envy.”

“…Excuse you?” Frederica raised her eyebrows.

Though the better question to ask was…

…Who is this?

Shin was taken aback by the condescending voice that had butted into their conversation. It was, far and away, not the kind of voice one might expect to hear in a military base.

“For starters, the fact that those brittle skeletons are the main force here instead of my older brother’s wonderful Vánagandr is upsurd! You should gaze upon this unit and know the true majesty of a proud knight!”

It was the high-pitched voice…of a young girl. Frederica unconsciously shifted her gaze over to the speaker, whose tuft of hair had just reached her field of vision. Looking farther down, she was met with a pair of golden eyes staring back at her.

It was a child, roughly ten years of age. Her crimson, almost rose-colored hair was coiled into two pigtails that hung down from her head like a pair of dog ears. Despite being on the front lines, she wore a scarlet silk dress and had a tiara inlaid with red gemstones.

She was, in the simplest terms, a very red girl.

Shin wasn’t familiar with her, but he’d grown used to seeing such things on this expedition; she was a Mascot. In order to ensure the Halcyon’s destruction and to gather necessary intelligence, Shin’s 1st Armored Division was joined by another unit from the Federacy.

Shin himself had entered the battlefield at about the same age as this girl was now, and he’d grown used to seeing Frederica here, too. But between the Federacy military’s Mascots, the United Kingdom’s Sirins, and the Theocracy’s young corps commander, the sight of young girls on the battlefield was becoming an all too common one. Though it had taken him longer than most people to come to this realization, the situation was no less apparent.

“Don’t you mean absurd?” Frederica asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Ah…!” The Mascot girl raised her voice in a surprisingly frank gesture of surprise.

Frederica burst into laughter rather unreservedly (likely as a means of getting back at the girl for her comment), and the girl glared at her, the corners of her eyes rising up indignantly.

“How dare you?! You brazen barbarian!”

“Excuse me?! If anyone here is brazen, I daresay it would be you!”

Shin let out a weary sigh.

She’d chided Rito about this, but Michihi herself found the Theocracy to be a bit eerie. Faceless soldiers clad in shining pearl-gray, unfamiliar Feldreß accompanied by countless small drones… But strangest of all was the way the Theocracy military conducted themselves. They were solemn, full of piety. Rather than seeming ruthless, they looked like they were marching on a pilgrimage.

Something about it struck Michihi as helpless and flimsy. Maybe it was because the Eighty-Six didn’t believe in God or heaven.

The intercom crackled to life, and she heard a voice that didn’t reach her through the Sensory Resonance.

“Are you nervous, miss? Not to worry, the Myrmecoleo Regiment will equally protect the weak Theocracy’s people as well as you helpless children of the Strike Package.”

The voice’s velvety caress carried the unpleasantly smooth intonation unique to old Giadian nobility. The Giadian Empire had been a nation with more nobles and princes than any other on the continent, and apparently, there were multiple noble dialects.

This particular dialect was different from the one used by Richard, who was technically Michihi’s adoptive parent, and that of the chief of staff, Willem. It was unfamiliar, which perhaps made it more unpleasant to the ear.

Michihi sighed quietly, in a manner that wouldn’t be picked up by this young man. She could tell that he was trying to be considerate of her in his own way. She glanced around, finding that aside from the white form of her Reginleif, Hualien, there was one more unit inside the hangar. It stood on eight powerful legs, its imposing frame covered with thick composite armor. It was equipped with two heavy machine guns and a 120 mm smoothbore gun capable of taking down even a Löwe or a Dinosauria.

Its coating wasn’t the steel-colored plating of the Federacy, but rather, a vivid cinnabar color.

This was the Federacy’s primary Feldreß—the M4A3 Vánagandr. A unit affiliated with the force that had been dispatched with them on this operation.

“The Myrmecoleo Free Armored Regiment…right?”

She wasn’t very curious about them, but Grethe did explain the circumstances ahead of time. They were once a private army under the command of a major noble, and now they had been integrated into the Federacy army. The cinnabar plating had been applied not only to their Vánagandrs, but also to the Úlfhéðnar—the exoskeletons worn by the armored infantry who served as their consorts.

Indeed, nobles seemed to have a tendency for theatrical pretense. This plating was a showy, vivid color that wouldn’t serve to camouflage their units in either the ashen battlefield of the Theocracy or the urban and forested terrains of the Federacy’s western front.

In fact, there was likely no battlefield at all where such a gaudy color would do anything but make these units stand out. Modern warfare was ruled by rationality. There was no place for anything as anachronistic as knights sauntering about in shiny armor.

The red armor keenly reflected the hangar’s faint light like a mirror. This was because the armor was completely untarnished. Perhaps, the coating had been reapplied and polished for its first true battle. It was a stark contrast to the Reginleif, which bore countless scars and scratches from its endless battles without so much as caring about it.

This Vánagandr was untouched because it had never known battle.

“I realize you spoke out of kindness, but I don’t need a rookie on his first battle to treat me like a child… I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t patronize me, please and thanks.”

The five divisions of the Theocracy’s 3rd Army Corps each launched and entered combat. Heaving a sigh, Hilnå looked up at Lena and cocked her head inquisitively.

“How would you describe the people of the Free Armored Regiment? I haven’t gotten much of a chance to speak with them…”

Had she spoken with the Eighty-Six, then? Lena wondered. The Expedition Brigade was given a separate barracks from the Theocracy military’s.

“The Eighty-Six were quite friendly when they greeted me in the hangar, the meeting rooms, or the corridors. We’ve played a bit, too,” Hilnå said.

So she had spoken with them.

Hilnå beamed as she boasted of her skill at the card-matching game.

“I’d heard they were elites who made the battlefield their home, but I was pleasantly surprised by their friendly demeanor. It seems the Eighty-Six get along quite well among themselves, too.”

“They are comrades who survived the Eighty-Sixth Sector’s battlefield, after all.” Lena smiled as she replied, a hint of pride in her voice. “But regarding your question… I’m sorry, but I’m a Republic officer. I’m not privy to matters pertaining to the Federacy military.”

A few of the staff officers urged Marcel to answer in her place, and he parted his lips to explain.

“They were originally the remains of the regiments that were set up to defend the territory of the old nobles…” Marcel’s gaze darted about, as if seeking refuge from the curious look in Hilnå’s large, clear, golden eyes. “Back in the days of the Empire, governors had their own regiments. When the Empire fell, most of them were integrated into the Federacy’s military, but some of the more influential nobles kept a few of those regiments as private armies. Most of them are made up of young nobles or the children of family branches that draw blood from those noble houses.”

In the Empire, the nobility had been those of the warrior class. Conscription wasn’t the duty of the commoners but a privilege afforded only to the ruling class.

“So the Myrmecoleo people are most likely the children of former nobles. Their lord is House Brantolote, a powerful Pyrope family, so I’d guess they’re probably young Pyrope nobles.”

“I see…,” Lena said pensively.

“Oh, is that so…?!” Hilnå reacted excitedly.

They both nodded, impressed with the fluid explanation. Indeed, the Myrmecoleo regimental commander and officers they’d seen in the briefing were all handsome and refined, as one might expect of young nobles. However, Marcel, who had offered the explanation, wore a rather dissatisfied expression.

“But… About that… They…”

Restlessly running through the pearl-gray temporary hangar was a small girl from the Theocracy. She was a six- to seven-year-old girl—young even by the standards of Bernholdt and the Vargus soldiers, who were used to seeing Mascots.

She carried on her a staff with an incense burner chiseled out of what looked like crystal pillars. Brandishing it over the Theocracy soldiers’ heads, she chanted some kind of prayer before the soldiers sortied. She then ran over to Bernholdt and his men. The incense burner at the tip of her staff swung about as she moved, so the Vargus had to duck their heads every now and then. A young Theocracy military interpreter hurried over to them, wearing a nervous expression.

“My deepest apologies, noncommissioned Federacy officer. It is customary in our country to receive these blessings before we depart to battle. I hope you did not find it unpleasant—”

“Ah, no, it’s all good. Thank you, miss.”

The girl couldn’t understand the Federacy’s language, so she timidly looked between the interpreter and Bernholdt. Bernholdt instead squatted down and spoke with her at eye level. Realizing he was thanking her, her eyes lit up, and she beamed back at him.

It was then that Bernholdt noticed a group clad in striking colors pass through the corridor connecting to the hangar. The Myrmecoleo Regiment.

“How about it?” he called out to them. “They could bless you before your first battle.”

But they didn’t so much as spare a glance in his direction, much less say anything. They simply passed by, their physiques as well-bred and developed as one might expect of a model officer. But the way they walked past Bernholdt and his fellow Vargus gave the impression that they were ignoring them as if they were stray dogs.

The Vargus soldiers scoffed.

“We’re used to them already. They’ve been that way ever since they were deployed here. Creepy guys, though.”

“Well, that’s nobles for you. Governors never treat anyone else with basic human decency.”

It wasn’t so much that they regarded the people of the combat territories like beasts, as the people of the Empire had done. It was more that Imperial nobles didn’t see anyone other than their fellow nobles as human. Be they former subjects of the Empire or animals, they were equally unworthy to even be looked upon by a noble, much less spoken to.

Because they treated everyone equally poorly to an extent, Bernholdt knew better than to take particular offense. Thankfully, the girl didn’t seem overly offended, either, instead running over to the Scythe squadron’s Processors to offer them a blessing.

“I don’t get it, though. Back when we served nobles, they always gave us a keg of ale whenever we got married, had a kid, or when one of our fathers died in battle,” one of the Vargus soldiers said.

“Yeah, ’cause we served an Onyx warrior,” Bernholdt said.

“Oh… Well, that’s probably it, then.”

Bernholdt and his fellow Vargus were born into an Onyx noble’s territory. Since they were once an Onyx’s soldiers, the Pyrope nobles’ children saw them as even more of an eyesore. The Pyrope officers continued to walk away silently, not turning their scarlet heads or sparing them a crimson glance.

The officer leading them was the very image of a noble female knight, her golden hair tightly done up into braids. The young male officers following her had perfectly combed hair and meticulously manicured fingernails, and they wore flight suits that fit their bodies perfectly.

They were shining examples of what one might expect nobles to look like.

But it was then that Bernholdt suddenly turned around.

Wait…

Something was off. These Pyropes had crimson hair or eyes. And they were led by a golden-haired officer.

“…Hmm.”

The two girls’ high-pitched squabbling dragged on, much to Shin’s distress.

“To begin with, your black swan? Whatever do you mean by that? That bird, the Trauerschwan, was developed by the research institute and entrusted to the Strike Package! Do not appropriate it as your own, you insolent girl.”

“But it was the brave soldiers of our Myrmecoleo Regiment who were entrusted with ferrying it to the Theocracy! You crude Eighty-Six could not handle transporting such a delicate weapon!”

“That much I will grant you, because acting as pack mules is the one job that fits your sluggish Vánagandrs.”

“Y-you say that when your cowardly Reginleifs are only good for skittering about…! And how dare you profess to be a Mascot, a goddess of victory, when you wear such a stuffy uniform!”

“I suppose a girl who views the battlefield as some sort of ballroom would say that. What do you hope to achieve with that gaudy, impractical dress of yours? Do you mean to entrance the Legion with song and dance?”

Deciding he had nothing to do with the current situation, Raiden hunkered down in Wehrwolf’s cockpit, while Shin remained caught in the cross fire of the two girls’ bickering. To be specific, Frederica had grabbed onto the sleeve of his flight suit, preventing his escape.

“Enough! This is shameful!” The girl in the dress stomped in frustration, her high heels clicking against the floor. “Hiding behind your brother’s back like, are you? Coward!”

“Green with envy, are you? Useless lout!”

“Y-you…you…washboard!”

“Pint-size pygmy!”

Shin couldn’t put up with it any longer.

“Cut it out. You’re being immature,” he said to Frederica.

“And this isn’t very ladylike of you, Princess,” another voice cut into the argument.

Both girls instantly clammed up. But even though they had gone quiet, they still glared at each other with visible enmity, like two kittens on the verge of hissing. Shin turned to face the person who had stopped the other girl.

This was a familiar voice, in fact. He’d met them before dispatching here and had seen them a few times in the Theocracy during meetings and joint training sessions.

“I apologize if our Mascot said anything rude, Captain. You too, little Mascot.”

The man had the slender physique and refined features characteristic of the Empire’s old nobility. His armored flight suit was identical in design to the Federacy military standard, but it had cinnabar colors applied to it. His unit medal was the symbol of a grotesque monster that was a cross between a lion and a gigantic ant.

The commander of the former Brantolote archduchess’s Free Armored Regiment—

“…Major Günter.”

“As I’ve told you countless times before, you may call me Gilwiese…,” the man said, approaching him with his shoulders dropped.

He looked to be as young as twenty years old. He had bright, scarlet hair and the crimson eyes of a Pyrope, just like Frederica and Shin. The girl turned around and ran over to Gilwiese in tears. He was far taller than she was, and he had to squat down to accept her embrace.

“Ah, Brother! This is unacceptable! We cannot let these vulgar Eighty-Six savages be the main force! Can we not reconsider?!”

“Again with this…?” he said, contorting his pleasant, handsome face into his best look of admonishment. “That’s beyond rude, Princess. It’s your first time meeting the captain and the Strike Package’s Mascot, isn’t it? You should give them a proper greeting.”

The girl he called “Princess” puffed up her cheeks in a pout, but he didn’t relent. Eventually, she pinched up the hem of her dress in a sullen curtsy.

“…The Myrmecoleo Free Regiment’s Goddess of Victory, Svenja Brantolote. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Shinei Nouzen, and his cheeky sycophant.”

She said Shin’s last name, Nouzen, with an odd sort of accent. House Brantolote were the masters of the Myrmecoleo Regiment and a Pyrope family that opposed House Nouzen, which was the pillar of the Onyx families in the Giadian Empire.

Frederica parted her lips to retort against this blatant provocation, but Shin silenced her by pulling her soldier’s cap down under her nose.

You’ll just complicate things. Keep quiet.

Incidentally…

“…I thought your people were stationed at the Expedition Brigade’s headquarters. Shouldn’t you be on the front lines with Second Lieutenant Michihi, Major?” Shin asked.

“Well, you see…” Gilwiese averted his gaze, awkwardly scratching his temple with a perfectly cut fingernail. “Ashamed as I am to admit it, the little princess here overslept. Pre-battle nerves kept her up.”

“Brother!” Svenja shouted, her cheeks red.

“And though waiting for a lady to finish dressing up is a knight’s duty, I couldn’t possibly prioritize that over an operation. So I left my vice commander to handle the main force and told him to go on ahead. It shouldn’t take long to catch up to a platoon of Vánagandrs, so I’ll regroup with them before it’s time to begin in earnest… And besides, I did want to exchange a few words with you before the operation starts, Captain Nouzen.”

Shin gazed fixedly at Gilwiese, who simply shrugged.

“The Reaper who leads the Eighty-Six, the mixed-blood Nouzen. I’ve always wondered what goes through your mind as you fight. Could he be the same as us? I thought.”

“…?”

It was then that Shin noticed. He had received the black Onyx hair from his father, but his brother, Rei, got their mother’s crimson Pyrope hair. Gilwiese’s red hair was a different shade compared with his brother’s and his mother’s, however. Having Svenja and her crimson hair, which was the natural shade for a Pyrope, to reference made clear the artificiality of Gilwiese’s particular shade of red.

His hair was dyed. And Svenja’s eyes were golden—likely the mark of one mixed with Heliodor blood. Shin hadn’t paid it much mind until now, but looking back, he’d gotten the impression that all the Myrmecoleo Regiment’s officers were Pyropes mixed with some other bloodline.

Imperial nobles abhorred the mixing of bloodlines. And in the ten years since the Empire became the Federacy, those values hadn’t faded away.

That explains it, Shin thought bitterly.

Their unit’s symbol was an antlion. A monster with a lion’s head and an ant’s body. Two separate species mixed into one. A unit made up by those noble children who, while drawing on the blood of the aristocracy, could not be fully accepted into it because of their mixed heritage.

“But I suppose I was wrong. Marquis Nouzen is a kind grandfather to you, is he not? Except… If that’s the case, why are you fighting?”

“…”

Shin heaved a brief sigh… Eugene had asked him the same question once upon a time.

“…Major Günter, the operation’s already underway. We don’t have much time to—”

Gilwiese regarded him with an awkward smile.

“Yes, that’s why that’s all I want to ask you… I’d appreciate it if you could answer.”

He wanted Shin, who was a child of mixed Imperial blood and, at the same time, who wasn’t being used as a pawn by the noble houses, to answer that question.

“…It’s because of the war.”

It’d taken away his family and so many of his brothers and sisters in arms. The Eighty-Sixth Sector deprived him of his future and freedom. It was sheer catastrophe. Just like the metallic maelstrom of violence that severed part of Theo’s arm and a portion of his future along with it.

“I want to end it. Though it might seem strange to you, Major.”

“It does. After all, once this war ends, no one will treat you and your friends like heroes anymore. You’ll go back to being children. You’re all skilled warriors, but you have nothing more than that. And even still, you want to end the war?”

“Because I don’t want to be a hero.”

Gilwiese cracked a faint, bitter smile.

“I see… I envy you. I… We can’t be that strong. I wish we would, if we only could. Even now.”

Become heroes.

The old nobility of the Empire held on to its pride as warriors. At being those who governed, by virtue of reigning supreme on the field of battle. And this regiment was made of those who couldn’t be accepted into those families, because of their mixed blood.

Perhaps, it was exactly because they wouldn’t be accepted that they were desperate to prove their status as nobles.

As Gilwiese spoke with such a solemn face, Svenja tugged on the sleeve of his cinnabar-colored flight suit in complaint.

“And that is precisely why I said that, Brother!”

“Princess, I already told you: It can’t be done.”

“Are you siblings?”

Their family names were different, but since their roots were supposedly similar, it was entirely possible that they really were siblings.

“That’s the first time you’ve actually asked me anything,” Gilwiese said, cocking an eyebrow impishly.

Shin looked a bit taken aback by this, to which Gilwiese laughed before continuing:

“Not siblings, but close enough. It’s not just the Princess here, but all of us at Myrmecoleo are comrades and brethren. Some of us are connected by blood, yes, but some aren’t. I’d imagine it’s much the same for you.”

The Strike Package. The Eighty-Six who lived and died together on the Eighty-Sixth Sector’s battlefield. After a moment’s thought, Shin nodded. In that regard, Gilwiese was right. The Myrmecoleo Regiment and the Eighty-Six were similar in that relationship. They weren’t bound by blood, but they were brethren by virtue of making the same battlefield their home and the same pride their bond.

“…Yes, it is,” Shin said. “In that case, I leave my ‘younger sister’ in your care, Major.”

“Second Lieutenant Kukumila, yes?” Gilwiese nodded firmly. “She’ll be safe with me, Captain.”

He then cracked a more relaxed, sarcastic smile.

“And so will that problematic black swan.”

“Yes.”

The Senior Research Institute’s 1,720th draft plan, the Black Swan of Death—Trauerschwan.

It’d been under development but hadn’t been completed in time to stop the Morpho during the large-scale offensive. Its introduction to the battlefield was decided due to the discovery of the Noctiluca and the Halcyon.

It was the Federacy’s own railgun.

The Halcyon was far too large to be challenged with only Feldreß. And so the Trauerschwan was their linchpin for destroying it in this operation. Michihi and Rito were deployed with the main force ahead of them. They were tasked with guarding it as they advanced into the Legion’s territories. It was, for all intents and purposes, the Federacy Expedition Brigade’s trump card.

The Legion’s railgun was developed to both attack and counterattack from an absurd range of four hundred kilometers, downing enemies with a single destructive shot. And now they had their own absurd long-range, high-caliber railgun to counter it.

But at present…

“I understand that it’s still an incomplete prototype, but I think it’s too soon to bring in that railgun.”

It was supposed to be an absurdly long-range, high-caliber railgun, except that it was still a prototype in development. Its initial velocity of two thousand three hundred meters per second exceeded the maximal velocity of an artillery cannon, but it was a far cry from the Morpho’s initial velocity of eight thousand meters per second.

The same applied for the weight of the warheads it could propel. It could destroy Löwe from hundreds of kilometers away, but the preliminary calculations indicated that to destroy the Halcyon reliably, it would need to fire from twelve kilometers away—a pitifully short range, unworthy of the title of long-distance cannon.

A group clad in cinnabar flight suits approached them, their military boots stomping over the floor. The blond female officer at the lead, a captain, saluted while noticeably regarding Shin and Frederica with the slightest of glances.

“Major, it’s nearly time to depart.”

“Understood, Tilda. Princess, let’s go. Thank you for the conversation, Captain Nouzen.”

“Yes, Brother.” Svenja nodded.

Not feeling the slightest bit interested about the female captain’s attitude, Shin felt something suspicious about Gilwiese and Svenja’s exchange.

“You take your Mascot to the front lines?”

Unlike the Reginleif, which was a one-seater, the Vánagandr featured a two-seater cockpit and was a Feldreß meant to be piloted by a pair. Both the gunner and pilot seat had controls for operating the Vánagandr single-handedly in case of emergencies, though.

As such, a Vánagandr could carry a Mascot—who shouldn’t have been capable of either piloting or shooting as a gunner—into the battlefield by having her occupy one of the seats, but…

Gilwiese’s nod was accompanied by an honest, amicable smile.

“Of course—she is our Goddess of Victory.”

Watching the cinnabar-clad group walk off, Frederica glanced up at Shin.

“You deployed me with the Trauerschwan and then delayed my departure for as long as possible so as to prevent them from seeing me, did you not, Shinei?”

“…Yeah.”

But that only ended up forcing the hand of fate. The fact that she’d asked him that question implied that Frederica understood. When Svenja introduced herself, Shin didn’t give Frederica a chance to announce her name, and the conversation with Gilwiese was to prevent her from getting a word in.

“I know not what the generals have told you about the Brantolotes, but you needn’t be so alarmed. The Günter family is a branch of the Brantolote family and rear vassals to the Imperial house. So much like wolves protecting their young, you shall be safe so long as you do not mean them any harm.”

“…They did warn me, yes.”

Before they dispatched, Major General Richard told Shin that while the Strike Package was allowed to speak with the Myrmecoleo’s people, he should be cautious around them. He’d informed him about the rivalry they had with the Pyrope nobles during the final days of the Empire—the rivalry between the Imperial faction, which abided by the Imperial house, and the New Dynasty faction, which sought to usurp the hegemony.

Archduchess Brantolote was the leader of the New Dynasty faction. This made her an enemy to the Giadian Empire’s final empress, Augusta—known to precious few as Frederica.

Even with the Empire having fallen and the Federacy rising in its place, that had not changed. And one of the usurpers’ methods of establishing their legitimacy for the throne would be by wedding a woman of the old Imperial house. That meant that with Frederica being the empress, the New Dynasty faction had value in stealing her away.

But that wasn’t the only reason Shin was so cautious around Gilwiese.

“His faction aside, I can’t bring myself to trust that man personally… I can’t really put my finger on it, but…”

Shin narrowed his eyes, thinking back on it. It’d happened during first meeting, back in the Federacy… He’d sensed something ominous from Gilwiese that dredged up undesired memories. It could perhaps be described as a sort of possession. As if the man moved in the name of his objective and nothing else, and so long as he could accomplish that, he wouldn’t mind dying.

“He reminds me of myself… Of the way I used to be in the Eighty-Sixth Sector…”

“Vanadis to all advance battalion units. Shifting to phase 2. Make preparations.”

“Roger that.”

As soon as it became apparent, Shiden approached Shin.

It was on their very first day in the Theocracy, the very day Shin heard it.

“Take me with you. It has to be me—I have to be the one to put her down.”

Shin’s ability had once been able to perceive every Legion unit across all battlefields of the Republic’s Eighty-Sixth Sector. His range was incredibly vast. Until they’d gone farther west from the Republic and reached the Theocracy’s land, he couldn’t hear the voices of the Legion here. But upon arriving, it became clear whether the Noctiluca had taken refuge from the Strike Package’s pursuit here or not.

“Shiden,” he said.

“Don’t bother hidin’ it from me. If that’s yer idea of being considerate, you should know it’s none of your business.”

Shiden was taller than most women, meaning her eyes met Shin’s on roughly the same level. She’d grabbed him by the collar and fixed him with a stern glare. His eyes were like frozen blood. During their first meeting, she’d found the apathy behind his expression irritating, but now she outright hated it.

“I ain’t letting anyone take away the right to put her to rest. Not even you—”

Her odd eyes tore into him with the indignant rage of an injured animal. Coolly returning her stare, Shin spoke again.

“Shiden.”

It was the voice of the warrior god who once reigned over the Eighty-Sixth Sector’s battlefield—a sonorous, commanding voice. Shiden fell silent, like a child who had just been scolded. Using that moment of surprise, Shin shook free from her grasp, catching her own necktie and pulling her closer to him.

“Calm down. You said it yourself. I can’t let you join the operation the way you are now.”

The way you are now, we can’t let you be part of the attack force in the next operation, Operations Commander.

Shiden had told Shin this before the Dragon Fang Mountain operation.

“You’ll defeat her, and then what? If you think you can just die after putting her to rest, I’m not taking you along. Because it’s not that you think it’s fine to die that way—you want to die that way. And I won’t bring someone with that kind of attitude along with me. All it takes is one idiot with a death wish to expose everyone else to danger.”

You’re a liability.

Shiden gritted her teeth. She understood what Shin was getting at. It frustrated her to admit it, but it was obvious. It was the right choice for a captain to make, for a commander. He couldn’t bring anyone whom he felt would jeopardize the mission. Any indignation or rage she might be feeling wasn’t something he could afford to take into consideration.

And it wasn’t because this operation in particular was some kind of difficult balancing act that bringing her along was a bad idea. Shin held the lives of everyone else in his hands no matter which battle they were headed for. He had to stay levelheaded.

But even if she realized it was the sensible choice, her feelings didn’t conform to that.

Who…the hell are you…to talk to me like you know anything about this…?

“Die while putting her to rest…? What the hell would you know about how that feels?!” she snarled at him.

“Everything,” Shin replied coldly. “I wanted to put my brother to rest during the Special Reconnaissance mission.”

Shiden widened her eyes in surprise. The Special Reconnaissance mission. An operation with a 0 percent survival rate, ordered by the Republic to ensure an Eighty-Six definitely died. A thinly veiled execution order that had been forced onto Shin two years ago.

The fact that he’d said he wanted to “put his brother to rest” meant that his brother, a fellow Eighty-Six, must have been assimilated by the Legion.

“I fought through the Eighty-Sixth Sector just to do that. And I intended to die as soon as I put him to rest… But I cheated death. I survived. And after that…well…you saw what I was like after the battle with the Morpho.”

A year ago, at dawn, after the battle where they hunted that gigantic dragon. He stood like a lost child in the midst of those azure metal butterflies, his pale-white Reginleif tattered and broken.

At the time, Shiden thought he looked unsightly.

“You called me pathetic. And if Lena hadn’t come to help, I’d have died a pitiful death back there. And that’s where you’re headed now… I’m not taking you with me. I won’t let someone like you march to your death.”

The moment this sort of person defeated their target, they would lose their reason to fight and their reason to live…and plummet to their deaths. He wouldn’t let that happen to her.

Shiden gritted her teeth. She then exhaled loudly, as if venting her emotions.

“…You love to talk shit even at times like these, don’t you? ‘Someone like me’? You coulda left that part out.”

Shin scoffed at her.

“The fact that it took you so long to mention that is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re not acting like yourself right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever you say. You’re always fucking right, aren’t you?”

She looked away from him with sarcasm in her eyes, scratching her head roughly. She’d gone back to being as thorny toward him as ever.

“…You’re right. I’m not myself right now. So I’ll fix that. I’ll go back to my usual self before the operation starts. So…”

She let the words out in a subdued voice, as if she was aware of the resentment billowing in the pit of her stomach, but she actively pushed it all away.

“…gimme a little more time before you decide to leave me behind, would ya?”

“Well, one way or another, I made it in time to join the advance battalion, but…”

Having lost her squadron, Shiden’s Cyclops was currently accompanying the Nordlicht squadron. She was with the first group to dispatch, along with Shin and half the Spearhead squadron. Receiving that unexpected call from Shiden, Shin regarded Cyclops with a glance from inside Undertaker’s cockpit. He was in the midst of having the Armée Furieuse attached to his unit. An announcement in the Federacy’s language and then in the Theocracy’s language informed them that the advance battalion was about to depart. The hangar’s shutter opened, and the Processors confirmed that their canopies were sealed. Personnel without protective clothing evacuated to safe rooms.

“But what about Kurena? You sure about leaving her behind?”

Her voice wasn’t teasing. It was concerned. Shin blinked. With a blaring buzz, the hangar’s frontal shutter opened sideways, and the ceiling folded back, revealing an ashen sky. Looking up at it through the optical screen, he replied:

“I’m not leaving her behind, and I don’t intend to, either. Kurena’s a sniper. She has a role to play elsewhere.”

Gunslinger’s familiar cockpit was full of console extensions and sub-windows. Conversion cords and nonstandard cables were roughly fixed into place with duct tape. But as cramped as the cockpit was, Kurena excitedly awaited the moment she’d set out.

As the Theocracy’s army carried out its diversion, the advance force was preparing to set out. Behind the advance force and further down the start-up order was the main force of the Federacy Expedition Brigade, lying hidden in a temporary hangar. There stood the familiar contours of the Reginleifs, as well as the crimson frames of the Free Myrmecoleo Regiment’s Vánagandrs.

Along with them was also the Federacy’s prototype railgun, the Trauerschwan. And fixed on the top of its frame was Gunslinger, with Kurena sitting inside it.

The Trauerschwan was built with the Morpho as its theoretical enemy, and so it was as massive as the Morpho itself, being over ten meters tall and with an overall length of over thirty meters. But unlike the Morpho and its resemblance to an evil dragon of legend, the Trauerschwan looked like a gigantic, crouching swan—if one were to look upon it so favorably.

It was, after all, a prototype pulled straight out of the lab. It wasn’t meant to be in real combat and was covered with dust shields that looked as if they’d been hurriedly applied to it. Its legs looked like a collection of random parts had been jumbled together, each with different coatings and degrees of discoloration. The control chambers for the legs stood asymmetrically on both parts, as if to show how hurriedly they’d been built after the fact. Multiple cords dangled out of them like blood vessels, which crawled up and connected into Gunslinger.

Since its combat-fire control system was incomplete, Gunslinger had to serve as its substitute.

It was even more unsightly than the Republic’s Juggernaut, which was often referred to as an aluminum coffin. But Kurena was satisfied at the prospect of handling this ugly weapon. She found herself humming a happy little tune. She dangled her legs cheerfully, like a small child excited to go out on a trip.

Because she was happy. Kurena was glad to have been entrusted with this.

“Kurena.”

When Shin handed her the manual for the Trauerschwan, Kurena felt as if he’d just given her an invitation to a fairy-tale ball. A charming evening party at a moonlit castle, magical enough to pull her out of her cinder-covered rags. An enchanted ball where, for one night, only she could wear a silver dress and glass slippers.

The manual was a bundle of files and had no binding; indeed, it was an impromptu manual made up on the spot. But it didn’t matter. Her heart leaped with joy as she accepted it.

“As discussed at the briefing, we’re letting you serve as the Trauerschwan’s gunner.”

“Yeah…!”

They were in the corridor of a residential block in the Theocracy; it had been assigned to the Strike Package and was located in an army base on the rear of the Theocracy’s northern front. The corridor was also a pearl-gray color. The passageways were octagonally shaped, and the fragrance of burned incense seemed to linger in the air. The smell of eaglewood filled the area, as if to drown out the stench of blood and steel.

The prototype railgun, Trauerschwan. The overall factors and unresolved problems surrounding its features were explored during the briefing. It was, when all was said and done, a prototype that wasn’t meant for live combat. It could fire, but its fire-control system was incomplete. It also lacked a cooling system, which was essential for enduring prolonged combat.

It did have an automatic-reload mechanism, but that was also a prototype and required two hundred seconds to successfully reload. As sluggish as the enemy’s movement speed was, the most the Trauerschwan could fire was one or two shots. And with a human handling the sight correction, it was absolutely necessary that the shots be accurate.

And he was leaving this crucial duty solely in her hands.

Shin still trusted her. Shin still needed her. This proved it, and it made her happy.

Her heart fluttered with excitement. She felt like right now, she could hit the smallest possible target at the longest possible distance right on the bull’s-eye.

But at the same time, though her heart was full to bursting, some icy corner of it warned her that she couldn’t afford to fail this time. This thought lurked in the back of her mind like an ominous glacier.

That glacier was her unease. In truth, she was incredibly anxious. After all, he trusted her to the point where he’d place this immense responsibility squarely on her shoulders. He believed she was good enough. She couldn’t let him down, no matter what.

She couldn’t betray his trust.

This time for sure, she would be useful to Shin and the others.

“I can do this.”

She said the words as if reaffirming her oath to fight to her last breath alongside everyone else. She hugged the manual, clutching it to her chest as if she feared someone might take it from her.

In a way, it was all she had. Other than her pride and the skills she’d honed for the sake of remaining by his side, she had nothing else.

“This time, I won’t miss, no matter what. So you can rest easy. I got this.”

Shin furrowed his brow, concerned.

“Don’t worry about it. I trust you… I won’t abandon you.”

Don’t abandon me.

Those words had left Kurena’s lips just as they retreated from the Fleet Countries. She had voiced her deep desire to cling to him.

“Yeah, I know that.” Kurena nodded with a smile, like she’d expected him to say that. “I really do. But I’m an Eighty-Six, too.”

She was someone who would fight to the very end.

“Fighting to the death is our pride, and I want to protect that pride, too.”

But when she said this, Shin’s expression became racked with pain. She had said those words to him when they left the Fleet Countries behind, and he had responded with a similar look. After a moment of contemplation, unsure of whether or not to speak his mind this time, he parted his lips.

“You said we didn’t have to change, right?”

“…Yeah.”

If it’s hard on you, you don’t have to force yourself to change.

“If you don’t want to change, you can stay the way you are. That’s fine. But if you think you can’t change… If you hold on to that pride like a curse—”

Shin’s eyes seemed to be more alive than they had been in the Eighty-Sixth Sector or on the United Kingdom’s battlefield. In the United Kingdom, it felt like he was spurred by fragile unease to walk on a tightrope, to teeter on the razor’s edge. And in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, his bloodred eyes were as cold as the surface of a frozen sea.

But at some point, that ice had thawed, and he’d become like the serene surface of a lake. Kurena could see herself reflected in those eyes. They looked upon her with concern, as if enduring a deep pain.

He was right in front of her, so why…why did he feel so far away?

“—then that’s a burden you don’t need to force yourself to carry.”

“Catapult-rail cooling complete. All joints confirmed locked. Final checklist complete.”

The legs let out a loud, metallic screech as they rotated. They carried the weight of two elongated, ninety-meter-long rails and their plow-shaped recoil absorbers.

Back in the hangar, the rails had been folded back like wings, but now they were deployed and thrust upward, like spearheads pointing at the heavens. Even without accounting for the rails, the machine’s overall length was forty meters, standing toe to toe with the Morpho’s impressive stature.

Its coating was neither the Federacy’s typical metallic coloring, nor the dark brown of its home nation, the Alliance. It was gunmetal black, the color of the Ghost Riders, the spectral soldiers who marched in the dead of night.

The Eighty-Six had seen similar sights several times before. This was like the mechanism that’d been used to launch the Federacy’s ground-effect winged vehicle, the Nachzehrer, during the Morpho pursuit operation, as well as the Legion support unit they’d pillaged during the United Kingdom operation, the Zentaurs. And finally, a similar mechanism was used in the catapult on the Stella Maris’s flight deck to launch shipborne planes.

“Mk. 1 Armée Furieuse launching preparations complete.”

The Reginleifs, resembling twenty-four pitch-black wyverns, stood slowly upon the rails.

“It might be a little too late in the game to ask this, but you were dispatched to the Strike Package as an instructor, right, Captain Olivia?”

Because Raiden had to take over the chain of command in case the captain was out of commission, he couldn’t launch at the same time as Shin. The latter led the 1st Platoon, while Raiden led the 2nd Platoon of the advance force.

The Juggernauts in Shin’s platoon sat upon the Armée Furieuse’s catapult, awaiting the order to deploy. They stood over ten meters above the ground, where Raiden was. As he looked up, he shifted his focus to the 3rd Platoon, where a single brown Stollenwurm stood among the white units.

Theo had served as the 3rd Platoon’s vanguard, and someone had to fill the void left in his absence. To that end, Olivia, who was a melee-combat specialist, joined the fold. It was a welcome contribution, but…

“Should you be part of a live combat unit? And the advance group, at that…”

“…Well, is there a rule that states that an instructor can’t fight on the front lines?”

Olivia replied while braiding up his hair inside Anna Maria. Raiden could hear the sound of his hair shuffling around as he tied it behind his head, and the sound of the string straining against his fingers. It sounded awfully close to the sound of an ancient swordsman unsheathing their blade or an archer pulling the string of their bow.

“This is the Armée Furieuse’s inaugural battle, and the advance unit will be the first to make use of the Mantle in live combat. As an experienced operator of the Mantle, as well as your instructor, it only makes sense that I join you.”

In the militaristic United Kingdom, martial prowess was the pride of royalty, and even princes piloted Feldreß. The same held true for Vika’s lieutenant and representative in this mission, Zashya. If need be, it was the duty of a noble daughter of Roa Gracia to protect her liege’s heir and territory. Learning how to pilot a Feldreß or wield a firearm in the same way as the most common foot soldier was not seen as shameful, but as a virtue to be praised.

“Ma’am. We’ve applied as much armor as weight limitations would allow, but Alkonosts are lightly armored units. Please keep that in mind as you fight.”

“I am aware. Thank you, Captain.”

Zashya had replied to her subordinate’s respectful warning from her position in the advance force. Her hair was tied into two braids, and her violet eyes were hidden behind a pair of glasses. She usually used her own unique Barushka Matushka, which was specialized for communication disruption and electronic warfare.

But a Barushka Matushka was too heavy a unit to be part of the advance force. So instead, she joined the front in an Alkonost that had electronic-warfare tools hurriedly applied to it. The advance force was a small-scale unit that would effectively be isolated within enemy territory. During that time, the Eintagsfliege’s electromagnetic interference would disrupt the airwaves, impeding the advance force from receiving information support from Vanadis.

Depending on the situation, the advance battalion’s internal data links could be severed. So in place of the main force, Zashya and her unit, Królik, would provide that support for the advance battalion. Normally, the Sirins would be the ones ordered to function as communications relays, but this was the first time the Strike Package would be using the Armée Furieuse. And instances where new weapons were used for the first time were situations that were prone to unexpected developments. The inflexible Sirins couldn’t be relied on to handle this. And so Zashya stepped up.

All in the name of her sovereign, for whom she would offer up her flesh and blood.

“We go forth in the name of Prince Viktor. Królik, deploying to achieve the mission. I leave command over the ground forces in your hands.”

Despite being part of the Strike Package, Dustin was the least proficient among the Processors. Rather than being stationed with the advance battalion, he was placed in the Expedition Brigade’s main force, which was to launch alongside the Trauerschwan.

His normal assignment had been temporarily changed, and he was stationed on the front lines—leaving the Spearhead squadron behind. But it was then that he heard a voice over the Para-RAID.

“Dustin.”

Anju?

He checked the Resonance setting and found that it had been set to be the only target of this exchange. Dustin sat up. Just like the rest of the Spearhead squadron members, she was part of the advance battalion. What would prompt her to contact him at a time like this?

“What’s wro—?”

“You said you wouldn’t die and leave me behind, right?”

Even as she spoke, Anju thought back to the past six months. To the days they’d spent in the Strike Package together and the countless conversations she’d had with Dustin. To the Fleet Countries’ people, who had been forced to discard their pride. To Theo, who had his path to purpose severed halfway through.

Just the other day, she’d passed Shin and Kurena and overheard their conversation. She had heard what Shin told Kurena upon entrusting her with the role of being the Trauerschwan’s gunner.

Turning one’s pride—which should have been a wish or a dream—into a curse.

It had been on Anju’s mind ever since. She couldn’t help but wonder if that applied to her, too.

I still have feelings for Daiya…

That wasn’t a lie. And yet—

I can’t think about you the same way I thought about him.

That was, in fact, a lie.

If she didn’t feel anything at all, she wouldn’t have taken his hand during that party. She wouldn’t have explored that cave with him… She wouldn’t have watched the sea, aglow with the phosphorescent light of the Noctiluca, with him. Not as friends, but as something…more?

Yet she still couldn’t answer his feelings, because doing so still felt like a betrayal. It would mean forgetting Daiya.

It felt like she was using the memory of Daiya as an excuse not to move forward…

Daiya…wouldn’t be happy with how cowardly I’m being, would he?

She took one long breath and exhaled silently, so Dustin wouldn’t hear. For some reason, she felt very…afraid. But she choked down the feeling and spoke.

“Can I trust in those words? Because I’ll be sure to return to your side, too.”

For a moment, Dustin widened his eyes. But then he nodded resolutely.

“Of course!”

“To the entirety of the Federacy Expedition Brigade, its Federacy soldiers, and the Eighty-Six. This is the Theocracy’s 3rd Army Corps commander, Himmelnåde Rèze, speaking. I will be counting on your aid in the annihilation of the Offensive Factory type, Halcyon.”

As the Federacy’s forces connected to their intended frequency, the voice of a girl spoke to them through the wireless communicator. Kurena raised her head in surprise.

It’s her, the petite Theocracy general. She was only two or three years older than Frederica and a few years younger than Kurena. She had appeared every now and then in the Strike Package’s barracks, so Kurena was familiar with her. They’d even spoken, albeit briefly. Just a few days ago… Yes, right around the time Shin told her to act as the Trauerschwan’s gunner.

…then that’s a burden you don’t need to force yourself to carry.

Their pride. Their way of being, to fight until their lives flickered out.

“That’s…!”

These were words Kurena couldn’t accept. She’d desperately thought to talk back and argue, but Shin raised a hand to cut her off. Sensing the sharpness in his gaze, she followed his line of sight while swallowing her indignation.

Around the corner was a pillar sculpture shaped after a goddess, made of pearly-white glass. The light shining through it refracted into a prismatic glow. It was a winged, headless goddess, said to respect the continent itself.

Standing in the shadow of that pillar was a short girl with long blond hair. She vaguely resembled a fay creature.

“I—I’m sorry…! I didn’t mean to interrupt, or rather, to peek or eavesdrop…!” she said in a flustered manner, going red up to her ears.

It was then that Kurena understood that the girl in front of them was misunderstanding what was going on between her and Shin.

“N-no! We’re not like that!” Kurena blurted out, but as soon as she realized what she’d just said, she only became all the more panicked.

She’d denied her feelings plenty of times, but never right in front of Shin. But while Kurena was visibly out of sorts, Shin looked at the girl, taken aback in another way.

“You’re the Theocracy’s corps commander, right? Second General Rèze… What are you doing here?”

“The corps commander?!” Kurena exclaimed.

“N-no, I simply adopted my parents’ role…,” Hilnå said nervously.

And then after seemingly calming down, she spoke again—her eyes sincere, and golden like the setting sun.

“I thought I would come and greet you, Eighty-Six. As you’ve said, I am the corps commander, and as such, I’ve come as a representative of my corps to welcome you as our saviors.”

A smile blossomed over her cherubic, pure face.

“…As those who, like me, have known war since infancy.”

It was the same voice, but somehow, it came across as sonorous and clear, even through the wireless communicator’s rough static noise.

“Save us from our plight, heroes of a foreign land… May the blessings of the earth goddess keep you safe. May the fangs of your steel mounts never dull, and may your shields stand firm.”

She’d probably strained her innocent face into her fiercest scowl and stood as straight and firm as she could.

Save us from our plight, she said.

“I will.”

She’d said these words before.

With her right hand, she unconsciously touched the handgun holstered on her thigh. It was a 9 mm automatic pistol with an internal firing pin. A gun supplied to her by the Federacy, like many of the Eighty-Six, to kill herself in the worst-case scenario and to end the life of her fallen comrades.

She’d never fired a gun for this purpose. Because ever since her time in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, someone else had always shouldered that burden for her.

“Captain Nouzen, the advance battalion is about to set out. This will be our first operational utilization of the Armée Furieuse. Please…remain cautious.”

The advance battalion would be encroaching deep into the Legion territory. There would be nowhere to run. A single mistake could result in Shin and his group being stranded in the middle of enemy territory. The fear of that happening had constantly, throughout the entirety of the operation, run cold through Lena’s heart.

Worse yet, there was the possibility of the Rabe or the Stachelschwein detecting them, and if that were to happen, the advance battalion would be defenseless. This operation was that much more dangerous than their previous excursions.

In the operation just before this one, Shin had fallen from the Mirage Spire and plummeted into the sea. What if he hadn’t come back from that? She shivered; it felt like an icicle had run down her spine. Lena couldn’t suppress her fear, despite her best attempt…

But Shin simply regarded her with a sardonic smile.

“I haven’t forgotten the order you gave me when we returned from the Fleet Countries, Lena… I don’t think I could forget it even if I wanted to.”

“Shin…!” Lena raised her voice at him, flustered by the teasing attitude in his voice.

Because at that moment, Shin had touched his lips. She could feel it through the Resonance. When they made that promise, he had kissed her… They had also kissed a few times before that, too. This was only acceptable because the two of them alone were Resonated, but…

No, the Reginleif’s mission recorder kept a note of everything the pilot said during an operation. Those recordings had resulted in Shin being embarrassed a few times, so he’d learned his lesson and kept his verbal expressions to things that wouldn’t be clear without proper context.

But Lena was privy to the context, and it still embarrassed her. What if Grethe asked her what he meant by that during the debriefing?

…Nothing will happen. I’ll just have Shin explain it.

“Is this your idea of getting back at me? Because if something happens, I’ll be taking you down with me.”

“Oh, so you’re aware you’ve done something that justifies retaliation. I’ve been wondering if I’m allowed to start sulking about that month you left me hanging before we went to the Fleet Countries.”

“Well, yes… But I mean… This’ll sound like an excuse, but there’s no physical communications line into the training center, and they didn’t allow us to send any mail. And the fact that I left this up in the air for a whole month made me feel awkward… Hmm…”

The more she spoke, the more she realized she was in the wrong.

“…I’m sorry.”

She heard him chuckle.

“I can’t die right after you finally gave me your answer, can I?”

So don’t worry. I’ll be fine.

Lena smiled at those implicit words. That was why Lena had made that oath back then, wishing for a miracle. It was then that she thought of a way to get back at him.

“Yes… Also, Shin? I actually still have your coat, for when I have to wear the Cicada… You usually put on cologne, right? It smells like you. Sometimes…putting your coat on calms me down.”

“—?!”

She could hear Shin suddenly break into a cough. Apparently, this had taken him by surprise. It was a bit indecent of her, but she did feel like he got what he deserved, and so she continued smoothly.

“I’ll probably borrow it for every operation from now on. I can hug it tight whenever I feel anxious.”

“…”

He fell silent, apparently imagining something… Lena decided to stop at that. She shouldn’t tease him any more before an operation.

“I’ll return it when the operation’s over… I’ll personally bring it back each time. So please…let me have the opportunity.”

Please…stay safe.

“Take care of yourself.”

“I—,” Shin said, trailed off, and then corrected himself. “See you then.”

Lena widened her eyes at those three short words. He didn’t say, I’m off. A smile played on her lips. As inappropriate as it may have been, he spoke to her not as a superior officer, but as a comrade. Or perhaps…as someone he’d sworn his life to. That turn of phrase made her happy.

“Yes—be careful!”

“Course clear! Armée Furieuse, commencing launch!”

Their course actually wasn’t clear in the slightest, what with the Eintagsfliege filling their path. On top of that, one wouldn’t normally fling a piloted Feldreß into the air. But in truth, no one was in the state of mind to make jokes.

A shuttle similar to a starting block towed the Reginleifs as they blitzed across the rails. The feeling of being launched was granted by the intense acceleration of an electromagnetic catapult. Shin had experienced it before in simulators and during the Nachzehrer’s launch, but he couldn’t get used to it. In the blink of an eye, the catapult had gone from one end of the rails to the other. It then broke at the end of the rails with a loud sound, and the lock was undone.

The Reginleif was a lightweight Feldreß, but it still weighed ten tonnes. And that weight was being thrown into the air at full force into the far reaches of the northern sky.

The Mk. 1 Armée Furieuse, produced by the Alliance of Wald.

An electromagnetic catapult meant for launching Feldreß into the sky, so that they could march across the heavens like the war maiden they were named after and descend upon the battlefield.

A system to allow the Reginleifs to take off, much like the Nachzehrer or a ship’s fighter jet, rendering them into airborne armaments.

Shaking off gravity’s hold, the Reginleifs gained altitude, their frames clad with yet another airborne armament—a propulsion device designated the Mantle of Frigga.

A mythical mantle that would turn any who wore it into a hawk. As its name implied, it allowed the Reginleifs to fly through the air while obfuscating their appearance.

Since surface weapons didn’t have an aerodynamic shape that would allow them to maintain balance and altitude, it enveloped them and gave them fairings. It was also equipped with two rocket boosters to lift its ten tonnes into the air. As soon as the fairings left the shuttle, the rockets ignited, and its stabilization wings deployed.

Upon achieving thrust, the Mantle of Frigga rushed up into the skies. True to its name as a mantle, it was covered by thin silver flakes the size of bird feathers, which deflected light and radio waves, flickering all the while.

Having gained wings of flame and hidden behind argent plumes, the Reginleifs soared.

As Gilwiese looked up from the front lines, he couldn’t properly see the Juggernauts as they sailed through the sky. They flew at altitudes and speeds that weren’t visible to people on the ground. He simply stared, knowing they must be up there in this cloudy sky of ash, and muttered to himself.

“An army of ghosts flying through the sky, led by a war deity, the god of death. These were the Ghost Riders.”

The warrior deity who led that army of ghosts also doubled as a soul reaper who governed over the souls of dead soldiers. The war dead gathered under that god, offering up their souls to march in glorious battle under his service forevermore.

But how did the warrior deity feel about that?

Shaking his head once, Gilwiese got his Vánagandr to rise to its feet. It was a unit dyed in the Myrmecoleo Regiment’s unique cinnabar coating, as opposed to the Federacy’s usual metallic color. The Personal Mark on its side was that of a sea turtle with the head of a calf—identifier: Mock Turtle.

“Mock Turtle to all units—we’re heading out, too.”

The silver flakes covering the Mantle of Frigga and the Juggernaut’s exterior were, in fact, Eintagsfliege wings. Or to be exact, they were imitations modeled after them. The Strike Package had successfully raided and conquered Legion production bases in the past. One among them was the Dragon Fang Mountain base, where they’d taken custody of Zelene. During that time, they’d also taken some samples, which then were used to create this device.

Metallic-foil hawk feathers that disturbed, refracted, and absorbed all manner of electromagnetic waves, including light. During their development in the Alliance, they were given the moniker Whitehawk Plumes.

The Mantle’s electromagnetic-disruption capabilities allowed it to hide the Reginleifs both from the Rabe, which flew high above them and was equipped with an antiair radar, and the earthbound Stachelschwein’s radar.

But an aircraft’s jet-engine intake would still suck up the feathers, which would destroy the engine much like the Eintagsfliege did. Instead, the Mantle used rocket boosters, which didn’t need to take in air for its combustion and could fly through these clouds of silver feathers. However, it was too ineffective to fill in for a jet engine. The only thing it could do was launch things that were lighter than a fighter jet, propelling them in a one-way trip.

As the Reginleifs soared through the air, the temperatures outside their units were low enough to freeze one’s lungs at this altitude. Shin inspected his altimeter. The rocket engine finished its combustion and, with its task done, was jettisoned from the Mantle.

In its place, a pair of wings and propellers meant for gliding unfolded and deployed. The rocket engine was highly inefficient for actual flight. Even the Federacy military rarely used it for its aircraft, only utilizing them to achieve the needed altitude and gather kinetic energy, which would be used for gliding down. And so the Reginleifs would descend from the air, like an army of ghosts.

The artificial wings caught the wind, turning the units’ trajectory from an ascent to a lax descent. Shin felt his blood and organs shift upward, which induced an odd, unfamiliar sense of floating. He tensed up—humans were flightless creatures, and being at such altitudes filled them with an instinctual fear of falling and crashing from a great height.

They swooped diagonally down the frigid sky. The airborne units began their rapid descent into the depths of enemy territory.

Even on this far-northern battlefield, reports from Legion patrol units that had engaged enemy forces were swiftly picked up by the Rabe soaring in the heavens. Upon receiving one such report from a Tausendfüßler moving swiftly through the front lines for resupplying purposes, the Rabe didn’t panic. It simply paused for a moment before deciding on a directive.

<<Remains of a unit not registered in the database detected. Presumed to be a rocket engine.>>

And yet there were no reports of any enemies infiltrating the relevant sector. Neither the Ameise keeping watch over the front lines nor the Stachelschwein watching over the skies of the rear areas noticed anything. And the Rabe’s own radar didn’t pick up anything, either.

But given the temperature of the discovered engine, it hadn’t been long since it’d been ignited and fell. It couldn’t have been an undiscovered engine belonging to some unknown, downed unit. Which meant it was likely discarded en route.

This came from an airborne attack that used some kind of electromagnetic-interference mechanism to deceive the radar.

It was likely similar to the Legion’s own tactic of attaching rocket boosters and gliders to the Ameise to allow them to soar in from above. In which case, the objective of the enemy unit would be…

<<Eagle Five to Plan Ferdinand. Enemy-unit infiltration confirmed.>>

The Rabe sent an alert to their trump card, which was positioned in the back of the Legion’s lines, rather than being on the offensive. This was an airborne advance on the depths of the Legion’s territories. It couldn’t have been done simply in the name of disturbing the front lines.

<<Enemy objective presumed to be the destruction or capture of Plan Ferdinand. Remain alert.>>

<<Plan Ferdinand to Eagle Five. Acknowledged.>>

<<Integrated features activated. Colare Synthesis, activation standby.>>

<<Melusine One, combat activation standby.>>

“They noticed us.”

Shin squinted as he heard the Halcyon’s howl, revealing that it was combat operational. Still, it didn’t appear that its optical sensors or indeed any antiair units seemed to have fixed on them. The Legion likely had found a jettisoned engine. The Whitehawk Plumes should have kept the Reginleifs concealed even at this short distance. Meanwhile, a large, metallic shadow was coming into view. They were above their planned landing position.

Of course, Shin’s ability to hear the ghosts had been faintly detecting the Halcyon’s howling for a good while now.

“…If I knew this was going to happen, I’d have mastered using this thing sooner,” Shin whispered. He spoke silently enough so that it wouldn’t be picked by the Para-RAID as he regarded Shiden’s Cyclops with a glance.

Their descent continued as the Halcyon’s massive frame grew closer beneath them. Much like how the Phönix used the Eintagsfliege for optical camouflage, the Mantle of Frigga deceived even the rays of visible light given off by radar. The Legion’s blue optical sensors still couldn’t detect the Reginleifs. Under the Mantle’s protection, the Feldreß veered toward the adjacent high-rise buildings.

Their touchdown point was the ruins of a former Theocracy military base, which had been built over what was once a city. The buildings were like gigantic grave markers, and they hid Undertaker and the other Reginleifs from the Halcyon’s sight. The ashen ground grew closer and closer. Coupled with Shin’s altimeter, a pair of deceleration wings flapped open, rapidly curbing the unit’s falling speed.

“Mantle of Frigga, disengaged.”

A holo-window’s display lit up, and the unit’s gliding wings and fairings closed. Immediately after, a powerful force shook the Reginleif. The intense impact of the landing ran through the fuselage as it kicked up a cloud of volcanic ash.

The snow-white Valkyries had descended upon the battlefield of ash and silver.