86 - Volume 9 - Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

AND THE PIPER ADVANCED, AND THE RATS AND THE CHILDREN FOLLOW’D

“No… It can’t be…!”

No one could blame Michihi as her unit, Hualien, took a stunned step back. At that moment, all the Juggernauts immediately ceased combat. The Reginleifs had a data link feature. So long as they remained within a short distance of one another, they could share data even when under electromagnetic interference. And so the members of her battalion, who were clumped up next to her, and Rito’s own battalion, who were fighting nearby, all received that footage.

The footage of a young girl’s corpse within the Lyano-Shu that Hualien had just destroyed.

They were under the impression that these were extension drones connected to the Theocracy’s primary Feldreß. They were so small that no one would have believed there could actually be living humans inside. But that girl was likely a pilot. They could hardly register that she was a person due to the terrible condition her body was now in. Atop her head, which had been partially severed, were two blond braids.

Of course, this gruesome sight wasn’t something they were wholly unfamiliar with. The Juggernauts they once used to fight the Legion were essentially walking coffins, so all the Eighty-Six had already seen their comrades’ bodies blown apart by tank shells, charred by anti-tank missiles, or decimated by heavy machine gunfire.

After witnessing such tragedy so frequently, it was a sight they would be glad to never see again.

So what made them all freeze up wasn’t the grisly state of the corpse. It was the fact that this young child’s body reminded them so much of themselves.

Even though they were the ones who had painted this picture, the Eighty-Six froze.

The data link had just barely managed to overcome the interference and transmit that footage over to Vanadis as well.

“…Oh my God.”

Lena was speechless. It was too much. It was precisely because this was the exact same way the Republic treated the Eighty-Six that she found it so hard to believe.

A weapon that was said to be an autonomous drone was, in fact, piloted by people. By children.

Could anything be more absurd?

The only ones to have successfully developed a fully autonomous combat machine were, as far as Lena knew, the late Giadian Empire. Even the United Kingdom—where the Mariana Model, the basis for the Legion’s artificial intelligence, was invented—used Barushka Matushkas.

The Theocracy was technologically inferior compared with those two countries, and so they couldn’t have possibly developed a functional drone within the last eleven years.

But still, the Lyano-Shu was a mere one hundred twenty centimeters long. It was even smaller than Frederica was. And so Lena had been convinced that no one could have been inside it.

But if the pilot was a child younger than Frederica, who was in her early teens, or even Svenja, who was approaching ten…

“…!”

The Lyano-Shu’s small size was owed to the fact that it was an impromptu, hastily cobbled-together Feldreß.

“They made them small because they were planning on putting children in them from the start…! It minimizes the unit’s surface area and saves on raw material! This is…awful! They’re using people—children—like drone parts…!”

Hilnå shrugged indifferently at Lena’s accusation.

“We never said the Lyano-Shu were unmanned drones. And a soldier of the Republic, you, who forced the Eighty-Six to be drone parts, have no right to criticize us.”

“So what?! That doesn’t mean you can just— You’re putting children into Feldreß, for heaven’s sake…!”

“We don’t have a choice… The Theocracy hardly has any adult soldiers left.”

Everyone who followed her. The corps’s staff officers. The commanders of the divisions, regiments, and battalions. And the pilots of what few units they had left of their legitimate Feldreß, the type 5 Fah-Maras. Everyone but them…

“The soldiers of our country—our spears of god, Teshat, as we call them—have all been driven to near extinction by these eleven years of war.”

Frederica furrowed her brow as she sat within the Trauerschwan’s cramped leg control chamber.

“I did not tell you because you did not ask, Vladilena. Nor did I tell the Eighty-Six, nor Bernholdt and the Vargus. I thought it would be a most unpleasant revelation for you all.”

Zashya shook her head bitterly, her Tyrian purple eyes clouded over with hatred. She was seated inside her Alkonost’s thinly armored cockpit, hidden in the spire of a religious structure in the city ruins.

“Yes… Prince Viktor firmly commanded me not to mention it so long as there wasn’t a need… In fact, it is because this country is so radically different that His Highness couldn’t come here.”

“Noirya forbids bloodshed,” Frederica said. “Raising a hand to your fellow human and shedding their blood is seen as a sin that can never be washed way. That applies not only to Shekha, the adherents of the Noirya faith, but also to Aurata and the people of the Theocracy. One must not spill the blood of pagans, of people of different ethnic groups, and of other nations. Anyone and everyone is under the sacred protection of Noirya. Even if someone—whoever they may be—were to raise their sword against the Holy Theocracy, a Shekha could never strike back in retaliation.

“But all countries need an army to keep their citizens safe. At first, they hired soldiers from the western nations, but even still, they were the people of another country. They prioritized their homelands over the Theocracy and weren’t seen as trustworthy.

“So the Theocracy realized it was necessary to organize an army from its people. And yet Noirya is the national religion. All its people abided by its precepts, and so none of the Theocracy’s citizens were allowed to spill the blood of another human being. And so to resolve this contradiction, they decided that the soldiers who will defend the Theocracy are not to be counted as its citizens. They are regarded as living, moving weapons sent by the faith’s earth goddess to defend the Shekha.”

Hence, the spears of God: the Teshat. They were regarded not as humans, but as divine armaments. And so even though they were born to the Theocracy, the precepts did not apply to them. They were not Shekha, and so they were allowed to violently oppose any invaders without tarnishing the Theocracy’s faith.

“The Theocracy considers itself to be a holy land. A land that cannot stain the hand of God with blood. That is why both the United Kingdom and the old Empire once called the Theocracy a mad country.”

“The Giadian Empire, the United Kingdom of Roa Gracia, and the other countries were all militaristic, holding up martial prowess as a symbol of pride. They likely found the Theocracy’s teachings, which saw sin in the possession of an army, to be unacceptable. The Republic of San Magnolia prided itself on democracy, where national defense was the duty of the people and regarded as a symbol of patriotism. They likely would have found the Theocracy’s practices unnatural as well. Our country does not share the same viewpoint on warfare, which makes us seem like outliers.”

The mad country, Noiryanaruse. Hilnå had only ever heard the rumors of how her country was perceived. For as long as she could remember, the far west was cut off from the other nations by the Legion’s ranks and the Eintagsfliege’s disruption. And because of that, it was the values of those other countries, and not the Theocracy’s, that struck Hilnå as strange.

“But for those of this land…these laws do not seem strange at all. In the Theocracy, the family you are born into decides your future profession, your marriage prospects, and the rest of your life. One’s fate is decided at birth. And that is why the children born to the Teshat workshops see it as their natural lot in life to serve as the goddess’s spears.”

The Theocracy’s regime tied bloodlines that had certain physical attributes to the professions they would be best suited to. And so to keep up the strength of their army, those with the traits and qualities that made them most suited to being soldiers were supplied periodically to “workshops,” where many Teshat women served as “weaponsmiths.” But otherwise, there was no difference between Shekha households and Teshat workshops. A rather distinct arrangement.

“We do not act like the Republic did when it branded the Eighty-Six as livestock in human form. The Teshat may not be seen as humans, but they are regarded as divine messengers. They are treated with respect and reverence in their daily lives. Those who become officers are to handle diplomacy and are provided the higher education needed to do so. The Shekha have no military power of their own, so had we Teshat been dissatisfied with how we were treated, we would have rebelled and toppled the Theocracy long ago… But neither we nor our ancestors were displeased. Not for centuries…”

The Theocracy didn’t enable one to freely pursue their profession. The very concept of it did not exist in this country. And so there was no practical difference between the citizens and the warrior class of the Teshat. For other countries, this came across as highly unusual, but the Shekha and the Teshat themselves didn’t regard the way they were treated as bad.

All things considered, this was the result of their education. And education could be seen as brainwashing in a way.

And so they weren’t discontent.

After ten years of fighting, most of the adult Shekha had perished in the Legion War, and even the elders, who were seen as the reserves, were wiped out. This brought the Theocracy to a state where they had no choice but to send Shekha who would normally still be in their combat training out to the front lines. And even now, the Shekha did not rue their lot in life.

“…until that doctrine was overturned.”

From the perspective of the 3rd Army Corps’s Shekha, Hilnå’s words and the fire burning within them came across as a denunciation. Especially to the control officers, the staff officers, and the Fah-Maras’s pilots, who were older than she was.

The majority of the Theocracy’s ranks were Lyano-Shu pilots, children younger than age ten. But those in command of them were all youths, at best in their midteens or around the age of twenty. Very few people within the entirety of the corps were older than that, and everyone else had died already. Eleven years of fighting the Legion had worn them thin to the point of nearly breaking.

And they were told it was their fate to do so. To protect the pure, unblemished chosen and to obey the saint who stood as their general. And so they lived their lives. Having been told that this was their fate, they obediently and reverently obeyed.

Alongside the young saint who led them, for it was her fate to do so.

And yet that doctrine…

“With last year’s large-scale offensive, the only surviving godsend were the infants. And this made it clear that the Theocracy’s days are numbered. The saints gathered to discuss a solution, and they chose to discard the doctrine. They decided to conscript the Shekha, who, until now, had never fought because of their faith.”

…was overturned by none other than the Theocracy itself.

Hilnå spoke, her golden eyes like stars, burning with celestial fury, and her gaze like incandescent flames. She’d swept her right arm through the air almost reflexively, making her command baton’s glass bell chime and the silk of her sleeve rustle.

“Insisting that this was the fate of the Teshat, they drove us to near extinction. But when it came time for others to step to the chopping block, they claimed it was not fate that brought them there. After saying that it was our goddess-given role to live upon the battlefield and using that as an excuse to steal everything away from us, they had the gall to take even that fate away! To spurn it!”

That fate took everything away from Hilnå. The writ of fate was what spurred generations of Shekha across centuries to taint themselves with blood and fall upon the swords of their enemies in place of their countrymen.

All they had left was the fate of life on the battlefield. And fate was a heavy word. It carried enough weight to make the fact that they essentially had everything else stolen from them seem trivial in comparison.

But the Theocracy overturned that fate. They scorned it, called it worthless, and treated it as something that could be taken away on a whim. They cherished their own lives so much that even after denying Hilnå and the Shekha anything else, they once again took everything from them.

“And that’s unforgivable. We won’t stand for it. Not us, who had everything stolen away in the name of war. Our fate, to fight until the very end, is the only thing we have left. Should they succeed in snatching even that from us…then we will have truly lost it all.”

And so, if the alternative was to lose everything they had…

“Let the Theocracy fall. Let everything be lost. If they hold their lives so dear to them, let them perish. Let the war rage on forever.”

Let any hope for survival crumble away.

Let the extended hand of salvation be severed.

Let everything and everyone be lost forever.

“This time, we shall be the ones to do the taking.”

To protect the one thing they had left—their duty as soldiers—even as it slipped from their collective grasp. This was their way of repaying the country that had raised them to live and breathe war and then discarded them.

A grand feat of mass suicide.

The mirror shattered.

A chill ran through Kurena.

“That’s not…”

The pride to fight on. The pride the Eighty-Six clung to even when they were deprived of everything else. The feeling was nearly identical.

They had lost everything on the field of battle, and the pride that kept them alive in that hellscape was all they had to give them form, purpose, and identity. In the end, they weren’t even allowed to wish for anything else.

It was identical right down to the dark, faint, and unspoken desire to see the war never end.

But as near identical as it was, it was still different.

“Letting everything and everyone die—that’s not what I…!”

It wasn’t what she wanted. But perhaps, there was a time when she did feel that way.

That young saint carried an obsessive delusion that was born of the pride of the battlefield, clinging to nothing else. Until in the end, she cast everything and anything away. It was what Kurena would have been had she truly wished for nothing but the battlefield.

In other words, Hilnå was who Kurena could have been. And that realization made Kurena shudder.

It made her aware of—and thus unable to deny—her own desire. To wish away the future, even if it shattered the future that he wished for.

“…No.”

She shook her head desperately. No. She didn’t want that. Even if she had wished for it at some point, right now, she didn’t want everything to be destroyed.

She didn’t want to wish for that.

“We…we wouldn’t want that ever…!”

“I won’t say I can’t sympathize with you, but what does that have to do with what you’re doing right now?” Gilwiese cut into Hilnå and Lena’s exchange with a sigh.

This was very much a level of selfishness he couldn’t stand listening to. If Hilnå hadn’t been a kid, he wouldn’t have even wanted to feel for her. She must have truly been a hurt, pitiful child. But what did screaming so theatrically about her scars and holding them up like justifications really achieve?

“To us, the Federacy military, everything you just said is honestly none of our business. If infighting within the Theocracy is what you want, then go ahead, tear each other apart. You said it yourself earlier. You could have gathered up the Teshat and led them in revolt against your country.”

If they were pressed for soldiers so badly that they had to resort to sending small children to the battlefield, the Theocracy would have been powerless to resist an army corps turning against them. In fact, they didn’t even have to actively revolt. All they needed was to allow the Legion through and let them reduce the Theocracy to ashes for them.

But Hilnå didn’t do any of that.

“Why are you involving the Federacy soldiers? Why involve the Eighty-Six—people who had been treated the same as you? Why throw that entire performance earlier, asking us to defect and making it look like the Theocracy betrayed us?”

Hilnå regarded him with curiosity. Major Günter, yes? Commander of the Myrmecoleo Free Regiment… How can a commander be so dense?

“I said everyone and everything, did I not?”

Everything. Surely, he didn’t think she only meant taking away the Theocracy’s life.

“If we were to drive our country to ruin for not wanting to have the war taken away from us…we would be seen as fools for such a reason. No one would weep for us. But everyone sympathizes with the Eighty-Six. Everyone pities them, and if they were to die, everyone would offer up their tears in tribute, wouldn’t they?”

She’d heard that was what happened in other countries when the atrocities of the Eighty-Sixth Sector came to light. The Republic that had forced that tragedy upon the Eighty-Six was branded with stigma that it might never clear itself from.

“They are the child soldiers who everyone pities so much and who went to help the Theocracy out of the kindness of their hearts. But that Theocracy betrayed them, putting them to the sword for fighting back. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, doesn’t it? It would make everyone burn with indignation, weep bitter tears, and blame the Theocracy to no end. A truly enjoyable, ideal tragedy, no?”

“So you did this to besmirch the Theocracy’s name.”

“Yes. And…”

Let the Theocracy be loathed by all.

Let their honor and dignity burn to ash.

Let them be branded traitors.

Let any trust and faith they have be lost.

May they never find aid.

May the Legion devour all that they are.

May everyone fear their betrayal.

And…may the Federacy lose the faith of its people.

“…if Federacy citizens were to blame the Federacy’s regime for the sacrifice of those child soldiers, your country’s government would grow wary of betrayal and hesitate to enact justice… All other countries would lose the power to defend themselves and fall one after another.”

Hilnå spoke those words almost hopefully. As if daydreaming. Like a girl trying to will her desired future into existence.

“And if that happens, it could all end… All humanity could be driven to extinction.”

After a long, stunned silence, Gilwiese sighed.

“—An immature prospect. Childish, even.”

“Well, since Lena figured it out, they could check the communication records later, which might absolve the Theocracy,” Hilnå admitted.

Speaking in a way that would allow the Federacy’s Reginleifs and Vánagandrs to record everything backfired on Hilnå. She did pretty much admit to trying to make it seem like the Theocracy was attempting to usurp the Federacy’s soldiers. If all she wanted was to maximize the number of losses, she shouldn’t have spared Lena and the control officers back in the command center.

“But either way, so long as someone is sacrificed, it’s all the same… If many Eighty-Six were to die, and the Federacy were to discover this record, you should very much hope they find it believable. Because to me…”

Hilnå chuckled.

“…it sounds like nothing more than a weak excuse.”

Hilnå’s wish was so utterly childish that Lena couldn’t help but scoff at it. Like a cruel, merciless goddess, wielding the sword of judgment and condemnation.

“Hilnå. All that is assuming that after you wipe out the Expedition Brigade, the Federacy will even listen to anything you have to say.”

Hilnå’s voice wavered in misunderstanding.

“Wireless communications in this battlefield are blocked by the jamming.”

“Yes. Just like the Republic was closed off from every direction.”

And having seen it, Frederica spoke. She, who utilized her ability to peer into the past and present of anyone she’d spoken to, had used her power to observe the Theocracy’s 2nd Army Corps in advance.

“It seems they’re coming, Vladilena. The cavalry you’ve been waiting for is almost here.”

A voice then echoed across the battlefield. It wasn’t through the radio, which was still jammed, but it came loudly from a speaker. It was littered with noise, with the speaker’s interior damaged from exposure to ash and dust, but it had a certain timbre to it. Like the sound of water dripping into an earthen pot.

“This is the corps commander for the 2nd Army Corps—I Thafaca—and the first holy general, Totoka, speaking.”

This group was still supposed to be far away. He was broadcasting through the scouting unit’s high-output speakers, which were meant for psychological warfare.

“We have heard and accepted the Federacy’s declaration. We view your quick-wittedness and goodwill favorably, wise queen of the Strike Package.”

Hilnå gasped in astonishment.

“Why…?! How could the Federacy react so quickly?!”

Hilnå had only jammed the radio communications. But the Federacy never told the Theocracy about that technology. And since the Federacy was so adamant and firm about keeping that information under wraps, Lena assumed they were being cautious of something. To that end, she didn’t tell Hilnå anything, even when she treated her with such kindness.

They were likewise forbidden from disclosing Shin’s ability and the Sirins’ existence. Vika, the prince of the United Kingdom, didn’t participate and instead sent Zashya in his place. And finally, Zelene, whom they didn’t shy away from carrying along to the Fleet Countries, wasn’t brought here to the Theocracy. Knowing all that made it perfectly clear that Lena wasn’t to trust this country’s commanders.

She knew Hilnå and the Teshat treated her with respect, but even so—Lena was, first and foremost, the Strike Package’s tactical commander. Their Bloodstained Queen. The Eighty-Six were her comrades and subordinates, and keeping them safe was her first priority.

“We have a technology we never told you about called the Para-RAID. A communication device capable of communicating even through the Eintagsfliege’s jamming. The Federacy has been keeping tabs on this entire situation from the start.”

And it proved useful in a way they didn’t anticipate; the Federacy was able to contact the Theocracy’s government and apply pressure on them, so as to keep the fighting from lingering and prevent any casualties. In addition, in order to keep the Federacy’s transmissions from going through the Legion’s territory, it had to be relayed through the United Kingdom. This meant Roa Gracia had received news of what happened here as well.

Diplomatically speaking, even if the fighting was to stop right there and then, the Theocracy would still be in a compromised position for allowing one of its generals to do something as scandalous as this. But since the Federacy was perfectly aware of the circumstances, the Theocracy likely wouldn’t have any sanctions placed against it.

“Your plot’s been completely undone, Hilnå. You’ve lost. The Theocracy won’t fall. You won’t use the Federacy as the vanguard for your childish ambitions.”

“…”

“Order your soldiers to surrender. Please. There’s no point to fighting any longer.”

The 2nd Army Corps’s commander continued. His voice also sounded terribly young.

“Surrender, Rèze. Do so now, and your punishment won’t be as severe… The Theocracy forbids spilling blood. We do not wish to see atrocities committed upon our countrymen.”

But Hilnå suddenly smiled with blatant scorn.

“You say that now, after everything that’s been done…? If you want this to stop, abandon your teachings here and now. They could very well be thrown away tomorrow anyway.”

A silence hung between them, before the 2nd Army Corps’s commander sighed once.

“Very well… Second Holy General Himmelnåde Rèze, commander of the 3rd Army Corps, Shiga Toura, and all your subordinates. The Noirya Faith and the Holy Theocracy of Noiryanaruse hereby acknowledge you as insurgents. We will henceforth deliver punishment for your crimes. You are hereby sentenced to death.”

“…!”

Lena gritted her teeth. The corps commander continued coldly, perhaps unaware of her feelings or maybe simply choosing to disregard them.

“All Federacy and Expedition Brigade units—you are free to open hostilities against them. The Federacy will not be held accountable for any casualties you may inflict upon the insurgents.”

Gilwiese’s response was chilling, as if to imply they didn’t need his approval to know they wouldn’t be blamed for this.

“Roger that. Allow us to show off by suppressing the insurgents before you even arrive.”

But Lena, in contrast, didn’t order the Eighty-Six to destroy them, even though the first holy general had given them permission to do so. Was it really the only way? They may have been their enemies, but they were still human beings. Children.

Even if they had to fight, if they could simply take Hilnå captive, maybe they could minimize casualties—

“Don’t bother,” Hilnå said with a sneer, as if seeing through her intent. “The Teshat only obey the voice of a saint.”

Hers was a desperate voice, like that of a defeated old woman. Even the reverberations of that laughter and voice felt unique, like the tinkling of water droplets. Not unlike the tone of the first holy general. That unique vocal quality that saints possessed must have been what the Teshat obeyed.

Lena clenched her fists. In that case, if they could regroup with the 2nd Army Corps and their general, his voice could bid them to stop. He didn’t give the order to cease fighting earlier, but it couldn’t be that he’d be the only one able to call things off.

Because if that was the case, if a corps commander were to die in battle, there’d be no one left to take over their position. With that in mind, Hilnå couldn’t be the sole survivor of her family. The Theocracy couldn’t have taken that risk. That the cease-fire order had not come yet could have simply been due to the transmission’s sound quality being poor because of the damaged speaker, to the point where his voice wouldn’t be clear enough to bid them to stop.

But maybe if they were to use the wireless communications systems that the Theocracy always used…

She would need to confirm this with the 2nd Army Corps, and to do that, they had to regroup.

“Vanadis to all units. Break the blockade. We need to cooperate with the 2nd Army Corps—”

But then suddenly, a voice spoke back to her. It was someone’s voice, reaching her through the Para-RAID. An Eighty-Six’s voice… No, perhaps it stood for all the Eighty-Six’s voices.

“No.”

It was a reckless, panicked, frightened…and childish voice.

“No. Don’t shoot me.”

As opposed to Don’t make me shoot them.

Lena gasped, and she then clenched her teeth hard.

That’s right. It would be Don’t shoot me. The Eighty-Six had been sent to the internment camps back when they were as young as the Lyano-Shu pilots, if not younger. At those tender ages, they were exposed to violence and verbal abuse and treated like prisoners or livestock. People in their homeland’s Prussian-blue uniforms thrust guns at them when they were that little.

Yes, the priest told her as much. Children, at ages seven or eight, were exposed to overwhelming violence that they were powerless to resist. It must have been a traumatic experience. Some of them had seen their family and friends slaughtered and borne witness to their parents dropping dead before their very eyes.

The Eighty-Six couldn’t help but overlap the image of themselves and the terror that had been etched onto their souls with the young soldiers in front of them. They couldn’t bring themselves to shoot them.

They couldn’t help hearing it. The weeping of their own younger selves, begging not to be shot.

“No…even if that wasn’t the case…”

Shin believed he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to shoot either way, be they an adult soldier or a child soldier his age. He could still maintain his composure, if only because he and the airborne battalion were fighting the Halcyon and weren’t facing any human opponents. But he’d never imagined it. Facing a human being on the battlefield—slaying a fellow human in war.

Shooting another person was not a foreign concept for Shin. He’d shot untold numbers of his comrades, who lay grievously injured but still alive. He granted them the release of death. There were times on the Eighty-Sixth Sector’s battlefield, and indeed, even in the Federacy, whenever it was necessary.

But he’d never killed a human out of malice—someone he saw as an enemy. Imagining it chilled him down to the pit of his stomach. The first time he had to shoot another Eighty-Six to death, he was frightened. The act of pointing a tool of murder on another person sickened him.

So having to do it, without the intention of giving someone the peace of death or to prevent them from being taken away by the Legion, was unthinkable.

Fighting to the very end. They had said those words so many times already, without so much as a hint of concern or guilt. But now Shin realized they could only do that because the whole time, they were up against the Legion—lifeless, mechanical ghosts.

“We can’t shoot them. We can’t fight…other people.”

As the Reginleifs stood stock still, the battle of the Myrmecoleo Regiment against the Theocracy’s 3rd Army Corps’s 8th Division and the ambush regiment was only intensifying. In fact, it seemed to be swinging in Myrmecoleo’s favor.

“Even after an ambush and a blockade, and even with Feldreß optimized for this ashen battlefield, this is all they can manage.”

The battle was so one-sided that Gilwiese couldn’t help but utter this exasperated remark. They were walking all over them. It was a massacre.

The Vánagandr couldn’t match the absurdly high fidelity of the Löwe or the Dinosauria, but it was still graced with the honor of being the primary armored weapon of the Federacy, an heir to a military power and a current world superpower.

It was equipped with a powerful 120 mm turret and thick 600 mm steel sheet plates. Its massive output allowed its full weight of fifty tonnes to move at velocities approaching a hundred kmh. In many ways, it was likely one of humanity’s most powerful armored weapons.

The Theocracy had an aversion to battle, and so they developed the Fah-Maras solely for self-defense purposes. Such defensive units and the impromptu weapons that were the Lyano-Shu were no match for the Vánagandrs.

In their attempt to find their bearings, the Fah-Maras floundered over the ash like fish washed ashore. The Vánagandrs closed in on them like hungry wolves, blowing them away with point-blank shots. Having depleted their barrels, the Lyano-Shu were powerless as they were exposed to the roars of 120 mm smoothbore guns, the screeching of 12.7 mm revolving machine guns, and the staccato of heavy assault rifles.

“Enemy suppressed. They’re so helpless that it’s almost a buzzkill, Mock Turtle.”

“They’ve got the environmental and numerical advantage, but they’re not using it. They’re uncoordinated, and their skill is lacking.”

“They’re like a bunch of toy rats. All they do is run around in circles, and they’re not thinking one bit.”

“Look down on rats, and they’ll bite you. Don’t be careless, especially around the Fah-Maras. Their main gun is strong enough to bust through a Vánagandr if it hits you in the flank or the back.”

There weren’t many Fah-Maras deployed, and so they weren’t much of a threat. Still, unlike the Lyano-Shu, which was so small that it could only be piloted by a child, the Fah-Maras was a bona fide armored weapon that had been in use since before the Legion War. They were piloted by the older Teshat—though, based on what Hilnå said, they would mostly be in their late teens. And since they were older, they had more combat experience, and they served both as the enemy’s armored forces’ strongest source of firepower and as their commanders.

Those points made the Vánagandrs single them out and focus fire on them. And indeed, Gilwiese spoke as Mock Turtle faced a Fah-Maras it had shot. It lay crumpled on the ground, black smoke rising from the blasted flank of its cockpit block.

A group of Lyano-Shu flocked around Mock Turtle as their formation fell apart. They weren’t rushing to deliver a swift counterattack, nor were they running for cover, fearing it would go after them next.

They were simply so overwhelmed that they stood rooted in place, or perhaps, they broke formation out of fear. Some Lyano-Shu even turned around carelessly, gawking at the enemy unit that had defeated their commander. Like young, doe-eyed children who looked around only to realize that their older sibling had just disappeared somewhere.

Oh, Gilwiese realized bitterly. That’s why.

This was part of the reason he and the Eighty-Six initially mistook the Lyano-Shu for drones. Not only were they too small for the average person to pilot, but each and every action they performed was also terribly slow and stiff. It felt like everything they did, from moving forward to firing their weapons, had a time lag to it. As if their every action required explicit instruction. It was a lack of flexibility one wouldn’t expect of a trained soldier.

Like spring-powered mechanical mice, incapable of thinking on their own.

Inside those unsightly anti-tank guns were nothing more than young children, infants—soldiers in name only.

“All units. The Fah-Maras are the brains of the enemy units, and the Lyano-Shu are nothing more than mice that follow the tune of their flute. They can’t move without anyone to issue them orders. Focus on taking out the Fah-Maras and then wipe out the Lyano-Shu.”

“Roger that.”

Before long, the cinnabar units gathered around the larger pearl-gray birds. As Gilwiese predicted, the Lyano-Shu fell into a state of stunned, flustered panic without their commanders. Screams erupted from their external speakers. The regiment couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it was clear from the young shouting that they’d regressed to being confused, bewildered, and terrified children.

Help me. Save me. Brother. Sister. Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.

For a second, Gilwiese gasped. Even without looking, he could feel Svenja curl up behind him. Stifling that emotion, he repeated his orders.

“Sweep them up.”

Said sweep developed into a competition for speed among the Myrmecoleo Regiment’s individual companies and battalions. They fought over who could advance and suppress their enemies faster. The battlefield became a hunting ground, where everyone vied over prey and glory. Cheers and laughter filled the ashen front.

A barrage of 120 mm APFSDS shells traveled through the air at 1,650 meters per second, capable of tearing through 600 mm armored steel sheet plates. They were effectively moving lumps of kinetic energy. Even if they failed to penetrate the Feldreß armor itself, the force behind them would still tear the frail human body inside to shreds. Not even a corpse would remain in the wake of the blast, sparing their attackers from having to bear witness to the children’s remains.

Seeing the Eighty-Six exhibit weakness and avoid fighting only served to stir the Myrmecoleo Regiment’s forces forward.

Do you see now? The Eighty-Six aren’t really warriors. They’re cowards without a shred of resolve. But we’re true warriors. True heirs to the Empire’s noble blood and pride, valiant heroes who bring honor to our pedigree.

They laughed aloud, competing for who could claim the most kills and declaring their names in shouts through their external speakers to the enemy leaders in the Fah-Maras.

Like nobles out on a sport hunt, or the knights of old rushing across the field of battle.

Maddened bloodlust descended upon the battlefield.

Seeing this, the Eighty-Six stood stock-still. Not out of fear of the carnage enacted by these knights, but out of terror toward the traumatic event taking place before them. This wasn’t battle anymore. It was a massacre. One-sided slaughter.

A vivid recreation of the moment their own scars were carved into their flesh and souls.

When the Eighty-Six were shipped to the internment camps, they had guns fixed on them in the exact same manner. They didn’t realize it at the time, but the ones doing it were the soldiers of their own country—the people who would normally be tasked with defending them.

Suddenly, those same soldiers rained physical and verbal abuse on them, pointing their weapons at them with scorn and malice.

They killed people to coerce and scare others into submission. Some saw them shoot living, breathing humans dead out of malicious amusement or a sick sense of humor. The victims could have been their parents or siblings, maybe friends or neighbors. And they were powerless to resist that absurd violence. All they could do was be violated and overwhelmed by it all.

“…No. Not this. No!”

They couldn’t fight them. Not humans—not children. They couldn’t kill their own past selves. And more importantly than that…

“…We need to stop this.”

They had to bring an end to this atrocity. They couldn’t stand to see these images of their past selves be trampled to death like this.

They had to stop it. This time, they had to stop it.

The cinnabar massacre continued. The Pyrope nobles cheered happily, avidly, intoxicated with excitement. Like boys running across the calm fields of spring. They had to, or else they wouldn’t be able to endure. They had to win. That was their role. The first role that useless mixed-blood failures like them had ever been given, and their final chance to redeem themselves.

For as long as they could remember, they had been considered worthless. They were all failures. Despite the vast effort put into their births, consisting of several generations’ worth of selective breeding, they were still half-breeds.

They were loathed and abused for rendering all those efforts fruitless. Their lot in life was to live under the Imperial nobility and their adherence to blood purity. To live under those who looked down on them and mocked them or their mixed blood. They called them worthless. Parasites. Human mongrels who were worth even less than hounds.

They had no dignity, no affection, and no future ahead of them. As children of mixed blood, their families would never acknowledge them, and no one would offer any help or protection to failures of selective breeding. They were seen as disgraces who weren’t to be shown in public and were forbidden from leaving their households, so as to never be exposed to the world.

All they had was that one half of Pyrope blood running through their veins and the reverie that they deserved that blood. That they were worthy heirs to the Pyrope warrior bloodline that once reigned over the continent. That they were daring, powerful, and noble warriors. The dream that their useless selves would someday be celebrated as heroes.

And then came the time when they were told they would be given the chance to make that happen. A final chance to show that they were proud Pyropes.

And that was the Myrmecoleo Free Regiment. The first and only chance they were given to validate their existence.

So they had to prove it. Prove that they were warriors worthy of the mantle of hero. They had to prove it to the world and, more importantly, to themselves.

They had to prove their reverie, their ideals, the thing that gave them purpose. They took pride in their warrior blood. Failing to become heroes would be a betrayal to that identity. They couldn’t afford to have that happen.

So they had to emerge victorious. And a simple triumph would not be enough. They had to win in such an overwhelming, impressive fashion that the whole world would have no choice but to take notice.

And so the knights raised their voices in chaotic laughter as they raced across the battlefield in search of prey.

Svenja sat in the midst of this gruesome battlefield, forbidden from pulling the trigger of the armored weapon she was in and, at the same time, unable to rejoice from the elation of battle. To her, it only seemed appalling. She sat pale and trembling, but unable to tear her eyes away. As a daughter to Archduchess Brantolote, she wasn’t allowed to turn from the battle.

“Princess! Are you seeing this, Princess?! How does our battle look to you?!”

“O-of course I am!” She nodded with tears in her eyes. “That first thrust of the javelin in that moat, yes? Tilda, Siegfried!”

She called out the name of the vice commander and her pilot as they cheered proudly. She watched as the fifty-tonne Vánagandr ruthlessly crushed a Lyano-Shu, easily rupturing its cockpit block. She saw the red ooze from the wreckage.

“Ambroise, Oscar, you’ve done well to slay them one after another. That makes for eight enemy commanders, yes? And you’re wonderful, too, Ludwig, Leonhart…”

“Princess, that’s enough.”

Seeing her brave attempts to praise her knights despite holding back tears and nausea, Gilwiese spoke up.

“Even if you don’t say anything, your heart is with them… You don’t have to force yourself to do more.”

“B-but, Brother, that’s the role ‘Father’ entrusted me with.”

He found himself clicking his tongue roughly.

“Why must you be so obsessed with your role…? It’s nothing more than a slave’s collar. They forced this wish to become heroes onto us, making it seem like it was something we wanted all along.”

The knights and heroes sung of in epic poems, holding up lofty ideals of nobility and justice. Ideals that had no place in the real world. They were raised to wish for that and nothing else… And indeed, it had become their sole aspiration.

A terrible silence descended upon the two of them, like the frightful moment before glass shattered. Gilwiese turned around in a start, gazing at Svenja with wide eyes. Her lovely features were bereft of expression, and the voice leaving her lips was like that of an old woman.

“…Why must you say that?”

Her golden eyes were blank, only capable of reflecting light, like mirrors displaying a full moon that wasn’t there.

“‘Father’ has spoken. And besides, this is our one and only role. If we can’t do this, we truly will be left with nothing else. It is such a crucial, important, and lofty role!”

“…Svenja.”

“The same should hold true for you, too, Brother! It should! All of us, every single one of us, must complete this role! That’s all we have. Me, you, everyone else—there’s nothing else to our names. Why must you say that we need to stop?!”

“Because—”

“Don’t take this away from me! And don’t discard your own role, Brother! Because to do that would be to abandon us. The only things that we have are this role and each other. That’s the reason we’re always together, isn’t it? You feel that way, too, don’t you, Brother? That’s all we are. Stray dogs with nothing to our names but the comrades who share our scars and live in the same kennels!”

“…”

Hearing her cries made him clench his teeth.

No, Svenja, she…she doesn’t have the power to oppose it anymore, either. It’s been beaten into her, into us, since we’ve been too small and young. We don’t have the strength anymore.

It was as she said. The only road available to them was the one in which they fulfilled their given roles. The Myrmecoleo Free Regiment was to be nothing more than a pawn in Archduchess Brantolote’s grab for power. And if they didn’t prove useful, they would once again be forced to live as useless strays.

So to keep Svenja and his comrades from being forced back into the pigsty, he would have to help them become a sword that would bring further glory to their family.

…You horrible vixen.

“In the end, our only path…is to let this curse bind us and spur us forward.”

“Umm, Major Günter…”

Kurena parted her lips timidly. The ones in charge of moving this gigantic, hastily built gun weren’t in a state of mind to listen to any transmissions not directed at them, but Kurena, the gunner, had little to do at the moment.

“I can hear her. The Mascot girl…Svenja, right? She left the radio on.”

Svenja had communicated a few times with Frederica and the Trauerschwan’s control team over the radio and had seemingly kept the radio’s settings on that frequency, having switched it on by mistake.

Kurena could hear that Gilwiese was at a loss for words. He hurriedly turned off the transmission and reconnected a moment later.

“Second Lieutenant Kukumila, I’m sorry, but could you please forget everything you just heard? If the others found out that I had a spat with the Princess in spite of my age or that I acted so weakly, it would reflect poorly upon me.”

“Yeah, I won’t tell anyone else…,” she said in an attempt to play it off, nodding as if to signal that this was inconsequential. “But…”

“But?”

“It’s just, hmm, I’m sorry.”

Gilwiese seemed taken aback.

“…What are you apologizing for, exactly?”

“If I was your subordinate and I heard you say that, I would apologize. And…there’s someone else I have to apologize to for that exact same reason.”

“…”

“I don’t want them to leave me. But I don’t want to shackle them to me, either. I don’t want to curse them like that. But…I’m pretty sure I acted the same way Svenja just did.”

It was as if Svenja had cast some kind of curse to bind Gilwiese to her, the same as how the Myrmecoleo’s soldiers had cursed Svenja so that she would remain bound to them. They were comrades, brethren carrying the same scars, so those scars had to have been their bond. A curse in the form of pride, of their common scars.

It’s just like…

Kurena told Shin he didn’t need to change, but in truth, all she did was beg him to stay the same. The Eighty-Six took pride in fighting to the end. But somewhere along the way, they had forgotten that this pride wasn’t the only thing to live for—that they had more to live for.

For the first time, she realized that she was bound in place by the curse known as pride. And not just that; at some point, she began trying to bind others with that curse. She would bind her comrades, and she would bind Shin, so they wouldn’t leave her behind in their pursuit of personal happiness.

“So I’m sorry… I’m sorry I tried to bind your feet so that you couldn’t walk away. And, Svenja?”

Kurena got no response, but assuming she was being heard, she continued, “I know it’s hard, but don’t use your scars to hold your big brother hostage… Please.”

Don’t hold on to him so tightly that he can’t escape… Even if it seems like he might try to leave you. Because that’s not what he’s trying to do.

Though she did feel a bit cowardly for doing so, she turned off the RAID Device before she got a response. Even as they spoke, Shin was fighting, and children were dying. She didn’t have the leisure of speaking to Gilwiese at a time like this. So she took one long breath.

Don’t change. Don’t leave me behind. Yeah, I did wish for that.

She was aware of the dark desire brewing in the back of her mind. It would probably never disappear. But…

I want to show you the sea.

He had found a wish for himself. And she was happy for him. Some part of her truly, honestly wanted to see it happen. Raising her head, she gritted her teeth, withstanding the sudden, fearful dizzy spell washing over her.

Moving forward still scared her. She had been afraid of moving on ever since her childhood. Because beyond that next step, the gun muzzle that took her parents and sister could be waiting for her, too. That moment when human malice would resurface could be lurking past that next step, ready to take everything from her again. And it could very well be that, once again, she would be denied, hurt, and powerless to do anything about it.

But even so.

“Let’s move forward.”

That voice traveled across the ashen battlefield through the Sensory Resonance. It was a voice thick with determination, even if there was a hint of fear in it. Michihi mouthed that person’s name in a daze. With a hint of disbelief. It was hard to believe this was the same girl who’d been so sunken and dejected after the last operation.

“Kurena.”

“Let’s move forward. We have to save Shin. We need to defeat Shana. And the Lyano-Shu… We have to save them, too.”

She thought she had regained her composure, but her voice still trembled. She was still scared. The fear was paralyzing. Making such an important decision was frightening. Everyone’s life was on the line, after all. What if she made a mistake? What if Shin and the airborne battalion, and Lena and Rito and Michihi, and the rest of the brigade’s main force—what if they all got killed because of her words?

That thought scared her to no end.

But still…

“If that saint or whatever talks to them, it should stop those kids, right? Then let’s get the 2nd Army Corps’s saint to come over. We’ll get to the Trauerschwan’s firing position, pick Shin up after they defeat Shana, and regroup with the 2nd Army Corps to lift the electronic interference. If we do that, the battle with those kids will end… We can stop this.”

We can end the bloody massacre of kids who are just like us.

“We…we can’t afford to kill ourselves anymore. We have to stop everything. Both this battle, and the stupid war holding us in place!”

Hearing her shout, someone whispered. It wasn’t so much an answer to her as it was a whisper they directed at themselves, as if to reconfirm something.

“…That’s right. Let’s go.”

Someone else then followed. Or maybe, it was everyone else.

“Let’s go.”

For their friends. For their comrades, as distant as they may be. For the Teshat, who couldn’t leave. And most importantly—for their own sakes. They might not have been able to save their own younger selves, but they could save the children right in front of them now.

If they could lend them a hand, meager though the assistance might be, even when no one was there to save them when they were little…then that would be salvation for themselves, too.

“Let’s go.”

To save our comrades. To save who we were in the past.

“Let’s go!”

At the sound of the Eighty-Six’s cries and cheers, Lena pursed her lips.

Let’s go.

In that case, it was her role to open the way forward.

“Major Günter. We’re heading for the Trauerschwan’s firing position. Help us break the blockade. I want you to widen the gap in your three o’clock direction, where the 3rd Army Corps’s 8th Division and the ambush regiment connect.”

If they were to resume their march, battle with the Teshat of the 3rd Army Corps’s units and the child soldiers was inevitable. Lena couldn’t condone the murder of children, and so it pained her to thrust the burden of their battle onto Gilwiese and the Myrmecoleo Regiment. But if the Eighty-Six felt that was a line they couldn’t cross, Lena would respect that.

She couldn’t place the lives of foreign child soldiers over those of a fellow Federacy unit, as well as her own subordinates—and comrades.

Gilwiese smiled bitterly, of course.

“So you’re politely asking us to do your dirty work, Bloody Reina?”

“Yes,” Lena said unflinchingly. “I recognize this, and my order remains, Major. As the Queen serving under them.”

Burden yourself with this sin, so the Eighty-Six will not have to. Carve it into your flesh, your very soul, so the Eighty-Six’s hearts will remain whole. I shall bear the cruelty of having to weigh the lives of my comrades against the lives of others. I won’t let the Eighty-Six make that choice, nor be tormented by it.

Because I am the Eighty-Six’s Queen—and their comrade in arms.

Gilwiese deepened his sarcastic smirk.

“That’s a problem, Colonel Milizé. It was I who said we’d do this to begin with. If you’re the Eighty-Six’s Queen, then I’m the older brother who leads the Myrmecoleo Regiment. Letting an outsider like you take the blame for my younger siblings would hurt our dignity… It would be quite the problem if we let you take the fall for this massacre just because you happened to order us to do it.”

“…”

“We accept, Silver Queen. Everyone, we have our orders, and so we go. Myrmecoleo, all units!”

“I’m counting on you, Captain of the Cinnabar Knights. All Strike Package units!”

They both gave their orders. The Captain of the Cinnabar Knights to his order of antlions, and the Silver Queen to her army of skeletons graced with a Valkyrie’s name.

“Carve these Valkyries a path through the clouds!”

“Resume your march at full speed and deliver the Trauerschwan to its firing position!”

It seemed the main force had broken through the 3rd Army Corps’s blockade and resumed its march. Shin noticed it from the Legion’s movements, even as far as he was from the Theocracy’s front lines, fighting against the Halcyon.

The Legion’s frontline forces broke off from their battle with the 3rd Army Corps’s divisions and made their way for the city ruins they were fighting in.

“Lena, there’s a Legion unit massing from the main force’s forward path.”

The Legion unit was smaller than predicted. Since the 3rd Army Corps had stopped their march, he’d assumed the Legion would send a considerably larger group to intercept the Strike Package’s main force. Perhaps, the 2nd Army Corps had sent a force that held the Legion in check, or maybe, the Legion’s battle with the 3rd Army Corps was still ongoing. Either way…

“And I think they won’t be able to avoid fighting three of them. Have the main force prepare for battle.”

Shin detected the Legion’s position with his ability, and based on that, Lena calculated the route that would result in them running into as few Legion units as possible. But even so, the Reginleif line protecting the Trauerschwan fell apart rather quickly.

They were fighting in the Legion’s territories, and even if there were fewer enemies than expected, the metallic-gray formation was still as large and menacing as the name of Legion would imply. Prioritizing maintaining the Trauerschwan’s speed, each Reginleif squadron broke off from the team to distract the Legion forces as they raced across the ashen battlefield.

They fought with greater fervor than before. Just a short while ago, many of the Eighty-Six had lost the courage or strength to move on, and the rest felt reservations toward those who did.

But now they had found their way. They had found their courage.

The inertial navigation system brought up an alert, informing all that the Trauerschwan had reached its firing position. At that very moment, Michihi’s Hualien crumpled, its front legs both giving way. It was battered and damaged all over. There weren’t any remaining Reginleifs around the unharmed Trauerschwan to make for a battalion. Everyone else was off, stalling for time or keeping the enemy in check. Based on how many were still connected to the Resonance, there hadn’t been too many casualties, but this was a battle deep within Legion territory. They wouldn’t last long.

“…That’s why we have to…stop this here…”

These battles. The fight against the Halcyon, and this pointless skirmish with the Theocracy’s 3rd Army Corps. Seeing children die before her, being reminded of the pain of seeing her family, friends, and comrades perish—it all made her feel so powerless. She hated it. It felt like it put her scars on display for the world to see. As if to say everyone and anyone could be hurt, and that was only natural. It was disgraceful and terrible.

Still breathing heavily, Michihi sharply exhaled once and took another breath, shouting out.

“Kurena, we’re counting on you!”

A thought idly crossed Michihi’s mind. If this war—this operation—could end, she wanted to visit her ancestors’ homeland someday. Of course, she didn’t have any relatives or acquaintances there. She didn’t know the place well enough to miss it.

But this was still her wish. One that she found and decided on for herself.

Back in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, they had no future, and so at the very least, they had to decide the way they’d live and the way they’d die for themselves. This was the same. She’d decided a wish for herself. Her own future, chosen by her hands.

By now, wishing for death at the end of her battles was something she could no longer do. Perhaps, even the name of the Eighty-Six would lose its meaning once all this fighting had come to an end.

But even so. Even if their pride, their sacrifices, and the scars they carried would be rendered meaningless… She didn’t want to become a pathetic person who couldn’t decide their own way to live. Their own wishes, or futures.

“Let’s end this battle!”

The Halcyon’s five railguns suddenly disregarded the airborne battalion and turned in an unexpected direction. The heavy turrets rotated, screeching loudly and raining sparks as they turned south. It was aiming in the direction of the Trauerschwan—it had detected its approach.

The Trauerschwan was massive, as large as the Morpho, and it was a prototype. It couldn’t possibly take evasive action. The Reginleifs began bombarding the Halcyon at once, intending to scatter its liquid metal and disrupt its firing.

It was a weapon that humanity introduced to the battlefield only after biding its time. A new weapon unregistered in the Legion’s database. But the railguns immediately recognized it as a more urgent threat than the Reginleifs and moved in to shoot it down. However, the high explosives repeatedly bombarding it decimated their electrodes, forcing the Halcyon to fall back.

Silver liquid was blown away by the explosions, shining in the flames as it danced through the air like blood splatter.

But the Reginleifs were running low on ammo. If the Trauerschwan were to be destroyed, there would be no way of ending this battle. And so the airborne battalion fired at it for dear life. Everyone kept their breaths held, thinking they might have made it. But as if seeing through that momentary pause, one railgun reared its head.

Johanna. The railgun that originally contained Shana. The Liquid Micromachines that splashed from all five turrets gathered between its rails. Using every bit of this liquid to regenerate a single railgun would be faster than each drop returning to its respective railgun and repairing the missing parts from within.

The Halcyon’s choice was correct. Using the one moment when the bombardment died down, Johanna had completed its preparations to fire again. Tendrils of electrical current danced with an earsplitting shriek as they ran over the spear-like barrel.

“I ain’t letting you!”

The next moment, Cyclops sprung in front of the barrel. She preferred to destroy the railgun that originally housed Shana again rather than let the Trauerschwan take it out. She climbed her way up, once again aiming at the tear in the turret.

She’d been entrusted with handling Johanna. She said she’d do it.

So this time, she kept her promise.

And so Shiden appeared in Johanna’s sights. Triggering and purging her pile drivers to kick herself up, she changed her posture in midair, fixing the sights of Cyclops’s main gun into the gaping depths of the 800 mm barrel.

So 800 mm caliber—a long distance cannon, eh? Sniping never was your forte.

You’re one to talk. You used a buckshot cannon, too. You weren’t a sniper, either.

She thought she could hear a chilly voice reply.

I’ve always hated you, since the first day we met.

It was Shana’s icy tone. The first thing she said when they met. They always bickered at the time. Even after everyone but them died in the first ward they were assigned to in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, they kept on arguing.

Next time, I’ll bury your body.

When that happens, I’ll dig your grave.

At the time, she didn’t like Shana much. Shana hated her, too. That was why they always butted heads. No matter what happened, they always competed.

But if one of them was to die, the other would dig her grave. That was the one thing they would do for each other, no matter what.

“The only one who gets to put you to rest…is me.”

Trigger.

Cyclops’s 88 mm gun turret roared a moment faster than Johanna could. The shot that it fired hit the electrode rampaging through the rails at that very moment, causing the circuits to go haywire.

Johanna’s turret, its thirty-meter-long barrel—and Cyclops, which was right in front of it—were all blown away in the 800 mm railgun’s fierce explosion.

“…You idiot.”

Shin saw it happen. Upon receiving word of the Trauerschwan’s approach, Shin had moved in to once again overheat the Halcyon. And he saw it happen. Shiden’s Para-RAID…turned off. Cyclops’s blip had vanished from the data link.

But they didn’t have the time to spend confirming her survival. The four remaining railguns could fire again if they were provided more Liquid Micromachines. And that would make Shiden’s sacrifice meaningless.

Using his high-frequency blades to tear through the Halcyon, he increased the aperture they’d carved into it. He didn’t know how long it would take for it to reactivate the railguns. The three surface-suppression units, Undertaker, Anna Maria, and the six units in their platoons all fired into the Halcyon at once.

A rain of fire, anti-light-armor missiles, and HEAT shells filled the belly of the beast. The steel behemoth once again fell to its knees.

“Kurena!”

Let’s finish this fight!

“Yeah, I know.” Kurena nodded briefly. “Michihi, everyone.”

From here on out, it was her time to shine.

“Trauerschwan, deploying to firing position!”

The thuds of several heavy locks being undone reached her ears as two plow-shaped recoil absorbers deployed on both sides of the turret like the wings of a bird. The massive frame dug into the ground, fixing itself in position and kicking up the dust around it in a large cloud. Spreading its four massive wings, it assumed the position of a waterfowl extending its neck.

A head-mount display automatically lowered in front of her. It was meant for accurate aiming and connected to the Trauerschwan’s fire-control system. The long, thin barrel—the water fowl’s proverbial neck—quivered as its angle of firing was carefully adjusted.

Kurena was used to the Reginleif’s immediate responsiveness, and so the rails’ horizontal and then vertical alignment felt terribly sluggish. Cooling system online. Capacitor connected. Chief and vice-chief circuits both operating normally.

<<Warning. Radar exposure from an unregistered heat signature detected fifteen kilometers, NNW.>>

“I know that,” she whispered hoarsely.

The Halcyon was a railgun-equipped Legion unit. In other words, the Morpho’s successor. Of course it had a radar system for self-defense—

<<Warning lifted. Radar waves terminated.>>

“—Kurena!”

As soon as she turned her attention to the warning, a voice called out to her. And she knew who it was immediately. She would never mistake his for anyone else’s.

Shin.

“The Halcyon’s railguns are all silenced, and we overheated it again, so it can’t move! The estimated time until it reactivates is one hundred seventy seconds… Sorry, but I’m counting on you to handle the rest.”

“Roger that—you can count on me.” She nodded, a hint of bashfulness to her voice.

One hundred seventy seconds. The Trauerschwan’s reload time was two hundred seconds, meaning she didn’t have time to fire a second shot. But that was fine. One shot was all she needed. By now, things like the question of what would happen if she failed, or the anxiety of realizing that she couldn’t afford to screw up this time—none of that was on her mind.

The airborne battalion had been forced into a longer battle than expected. But even so, they desperately put their lives on the line to buy her those hundred seventy seconds. With the 3rd Army Corps’s betrayal, the Expedition Brigade was the only remaining obstacle that stood in her way of defeating the Legion. But despite all those unexpected developments, her comrades still cleared a way for her to get to her planned position.

Everyone put their lives on the line to help Kurena get here—so now the only thing that was left was for her to gun the enemy down.

That was all.

Roger—you can count on me.

She realized, with a smile, that she’d said those same words to Shin countless times in the past. On the Eighty-Sixth Sector’s battlefield, she’d given that reply regularly. Countless times, he’d depended on her, relied on her, and she had lived up to his expectations.

She’d shot down Legion commander units. Observer Units. The remains of their comrades, who’d been forced into becoming mechanical ghosts.

In which case, at least on the battlefield, she’d been saving him the whole time, since back then. Or maybe she’d already been doing it from the very beginning, when she opened her heart to him and thanked him for taking on the pain of being their Reaper.

An electronic beep blared out. The fire-control system informed her that the projected trajectory of her shot was locked onto the target. But not yet. It was still slightly off.

Everything had been taken from her by this war. And that was why she couldn’t afford to lose anything else.

She realigned her sights and then whispered, as if praying.

“Let’s end this. Let’s end this war with our own two hands.”

She squeezed the trigger.

The Trauerschwan—the first railgun that humanity had ever introduced to the battlefield—roared. An absurd amount of electrical energy, capable of powering an entire city, propelled a shell that flew across the earth, aiming to shoot down the mechanical Goliath.

An arc discharge whited out the ashen land like a flash of lightning. The Trauerschwan’s furled wings and gigantic metallic frame reflected the light away, turning black. For a second, it became pure ebony—worthy of its name as the Black Swan of Death.

A deafening sound, like the shattering of countless panes of glass, tore across the sky.

Due to its frictional heat against the shell, which was propelled to a velocity of 2,300 meters per second in the space of a split second, the rails of the Trauerschwan began to fuse and melt, and the recoil of the shot broke them to bits. Countermass billowed from behind the Trauerschwan to offset the recoil, but the countermass failed to properly curb the mass and scattered to the ashen ground with the fragments of the rails.

It tore through the ashen sky, like the colorful flowers of flame she’d once seen in the battlefield’s night sky. The scattering fragments caught the rays of sunshine, reflecting a rainbow of prismatic light.

And before the final fragment could flutter to the ground, the thunderbolt arrow had gouged into the steel behemoth’s massive form in the distance.

“Impact confirmed,” Frederica said. “And a direct hit, at that. Impressive work…Kurena.”

“Yeah.”

The Halcyon lurched. Cracks ran across it, stemming from the gigantic hole that had been punched straight through it. Unable to support its own weight, it began to lose structural integrity. It was like seeing a large sculpture crumble away, having lost its dry bonds. It broke apart with the majesty of a mythical monster, and with the swiftness of having been struck down by the fury of a God.

As she watched it through the screen deployed over her optics, a thought crossed her mind. The truth was that it had been like this all along, but she hadn’t realized it until just now.

When she was a child sent to the internment camps, when her parents and sister died, she couldn’t fight back. She was too young, too powerless, and she was too weak to put up any resistance. Any absurdity that may have befallen her was one she was helpless to do anything about.

But things were different now.

Years had passed. She’d grown older, and she wasn’t a powerless child any longer. She had the strength, the means, and, most importantly, the will to fight back. To fight off the Legion and the despair they brought. Against any absurdity that may have tried to befall her.

If she wanted to end this massacre, she could end it.

If she wished to safeguard the future that he wanted—the future she wanted—she could defend them from any malice humanity might direct toward them.

People, and the world, were cruel and callous. Malicious and unreasonable. But even so, she would oppose them, come what may. She would protect even the future ahead of them.

You sat idly by and watched your parents get murdered.

Yeah. And it’s been tormenting me ever since. I’ve been…scared ever since.

But now I can protect them. Dad, and Mom, and my sister…and the me of the past.

The electromagnetic interference that had sealed off the battlefield was lifted. The Lyano-Shu that were equipped with jamming equipment were either destroyed or incapacitated. And without waiting an extra minute, the Federacy’s side began jamming the frequency that Hilnå used to send commands to the 3rd Army Corps.

Before long, the voice of another saint filled the battlefield, riding along the now-clear airwaves.

“I invoke the earth goddess’s true name of ‘ ’! All ye godless spears of the 3rd Army Corps, cease your liturgies!”

These words were instilled into all Teshat psyches during training, so as to prevent them from rebelling, and would force them to halt any combat regardless of their will. This was a safety measure that had never been used before, but at the very end, it had filled its role.

Following that, the commander of the two Federacy units spoke, delivering a message that would not have possibly reached the Strike Package had the 3rd Army Corps decided to reject the first holy general’s orders.

“Vanadis to all Strike Package units. Once the airborne battalion is safely retrieved, retreat back into Theocracy territories.”

“Mock Turtle to all Myrmecoleo Regiment units. Cease all hostilities with the 3rd Army Corps and assist with the retrieval of the airborne battalion. Cooperate with the 2nd Army Corps to eliminate the Legion, and—”

The tenor of Gilwiese’s voice contrasted with the silver chime of Lena’s. Hilnå was overcome with such despair that it made her sink to the floor.

O earth. Ye headless, winged goddess.

“Why have you abandoned me…?”

It was then that a communication from Lena reached her.

“Hilnå. You’ve lost… Please take this chance and surrender yourself.”

Hilnå couldn’t help but scoff scornfully at the clear, genuine concern in her voice. Just how compassionate could someone who professed herself to be the Bloodstained Queen pretend to be?

“Is that mercy, Queen? After I turned my sword on you and your knights?”

“No.” Lena’s tone was quiet and soft, but harsh nonetheless. “All I want is for you to not burden the Eighty-Six with the weight of your wish and the shadow of your death. They are not heroes. They’re children who’ve been scarred by this war… Who’ve their hands full just keeping themselves alive… Just like you.”

That’s true. I knew that. Yet still, I wanted us to go down together. I didn’t want redemption for either of us. If we could manage that, I…and the Teshat would prove that we couldn’t save ourselves. Our carelessness wasn’t our fault…

After pausing for a moment, Lena parted her lips again.

“I noticed a 3rd Army Corps division that was charged with keeping the Legion at bay while the Expedition Brigade’s main force was marching to the firing position. They stuck to their former duty, fighting the Legion off.”

“…? What do you me—?”

“They kept doing that even after your plot was exposed, Hilnå. Your subordinates kept most of the Legion forces at bay. And they probably did it to stop the Legion from getting in the main force’s way. So there wouldn’t be any more Eighty-Six casualties, and so the weight of your sin wouldn’t increase.”

“…?!” Hilnå widened her eyes at those unexpected words.

“You didn’t want to have anything else taken from you, right? Your soldiers love you so much, Hilnå. Don’t hate yourself when they care this much about you. Don’t deprive your soldiers, who hold you so dear, by letting yourself die. Let them feel rewarded in the fact that they managed to protect you.”

The transmission cut off. And as if that was their signal, some men in pearl-gray uniforms—soldiers who weren’t her subordinates—stormed into the command center. Their armbands bore the symbol of a bird of prey. The 2nd Army Corps’s Teshat. They all carried assault rifles, which they began to turn on her.

But before they could, Hilnå let go of her command baton and kneeled slowly.

Why have you abandoned me, earth goddess? Why have you abandoned my subordinates, my homeland? No matter…

“I cannot abandon my subordinates.”

They…they alone did not abandon me. Even when everyone and everything else did, when the rest of the world did turn its back on me, they remained.

“You’re a hard one to kill, you know that, Shiden? Anyone else would’ve died doing what you did.”

“That’s the first thing ya tell me? I’d rather not hear it from the guy who survived the Special—zero percent survival rate—Reconnaissance mission.”

Shiden’s tongue was as sharp as ever, despite the fact that she was covered in blood. She was still standing on her own two feet, though, so for a wounded person, she was relatively sprightly.

It’d taken a few people to pry Cyclops’s warped canopy open, but once they did, she stepped out no worse for the wear. Shin peered in, looking down on Shiden with his eyes narrowed. She did have the devil’s luck when it came to walking away from deadly situations. He almost felt irritated with himself for losing his composure when it seemed that Cyclops had been blown up alongside Shana. Not that he would ever voice how worried he was about her.

“So, Li’l Reaper, how goes the battle?”

“It’s over. We’re waiting for our retrieval unit.”

With the Halcyon destroyed, the Legion units that had previously been rushing over to the city ruins to offer assistance seemed to have decided to retreat into their territories. Any Legion units that were still left in the retrieval unit’s way were being mopped up by the Myrmecoleo Regiment and the 2nd Army Corps. They had also finished sweeping up any self-propelled mines left in the city ruins, and there were no more enemy units around Shin and the airborne battalion.

Shiden nodded, mouthing an oh yeah?, and stretched. Of course, since she was battered and bruised all over, she began yelping in pain halfway through and let out an energetic howl as she recovered from her awkward posture.

“Aaah, dammit! I’m never pullin’ that kind of stunt again!”

“Please don’t. I’ve gotten enough complaints about you from Bernholdt to last me a lifetime.”

She’d ended up going pretty crazy, after all. Shin then threw a fleeting glance in her direction.

“…You okay?”

She’d been forced to gun down someone who was dear enough to her that she had lost all sense of composure and inhibition. She gazed back into his earnest eyes.

“Are you okay, Li’l Reaper? Since when have you ever worried about me?”

“…Forget I said anything.”

Annoyed, Shin climbed down from Cyclops’s wreckage. Seeing him turn his back in blatant discomfort, Shiden called out after him.

“How do I put it? It was pleasant in its own way, I guess,”

Shin stopped, without turning back to look at her.

“The battlefield. There, I had a place I belonged, more or less. So I figured maybe I could just spend the rest of my life there. Be it the Eighty-Sixth Sector or the Federacy.”

The battlefield. The place they were determined to stay in, no matter what. They had come to embrace and even latch on to the deadly Eighty-Sixth Sector, the source of so much pain.

“…”

“But y’know? As long as we stay on the battlefield…this is gonna keep happening. Any one of our friends could end up dead.”

I’d rather not lose any more friends the way I lost Shana.

“I never wanna have to do anything like that again. I’m over this fucking war.”

And that’s why…

He turned his bloodred eyes to look at her, and she met them, cracking a jovial, relieved smile.

“Let’s end this damn war already… We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, right?”

Gilwiese was part of the airborne battalion’s retrieval unit. Some of it was because he wanted to see the Eighty-Six’s soldiers all returned to safety, of course, but more importantly, he had a goal to achieve.

The city ruins had been reduced to large stretches of empty land, which silently spoke of the intense fighting that took place there. It was as if a giant had rammed its fists into the ground nonstop. There, they regrouped with Shin and the airborne battalion.

Gilwiese waited until after his vice captain and the Vánagandrs under his command had been retrieved. Only once that was completed did he go to keep guard over the area, piloting his unit to the ruins’ northern tip.

The northern part of the Theocracy—the deepest point of the blank sector within the Legion territories. The farthest place a human body could exist without protective clothing. Svenja’s Esper ability was a far cry from the original’s, so her range was much smaller. If he didn’t bring her all the way here, she wouldn’t be able to detect it.

“I found it, Brother Gilwiese.”

Svenja’s golden eyes glowed as she gazed far, far into the north. Her Esper ability was the sole thing the selective breeding was able to reproduce, even if only partially. She was one of the few Heliodor oracles remaining in the Federacy and the Theocracy, capable of locating distant threats.

“It’s become quite faint, but there are traces of the color the Theocracy’s Espers left behind when they detected it. The threat their oracles found was not the Halcyon, after all.”

“…So it really isn’t. The Federacy’s staff officers definitely know how to do their jobs.”

The Halcyon’s actions and movements were, honestly speaking, quite unnatural. Even if it did notice the fact that the Theocracy’s recon had discovered it, that didn’t mean it had to go ahead and attack them. It came closer, as if showing itself off. As if beckoning them to open hostilities with it.

While it was there, the Theocracy’s attention had to remain focused on it. After all, the Legion’s territories were permanently blocked off by the Eintagsfliege, and the blank sector and its ashen menace rejected the entry of any and all life.

But they set it there to prevent humanity from drawing its attention to that area. The Halcyon was an imposing decoy meant to avert one’s gaze from the true threat lurking deep within the territories.

“We should share this with the Strike Package. Maybe they found something on their side.”

Zashya’s role within the airborne battalion was to act as a communication relay and offer advanced information analysis. And also…

“…You’ve done well, Sirins. Initiate self-destruct sequence.”

The Sirins had been deployed since the previous day. Not within Alkonosts, but simply in their humanoid forms. She had them investigate the area a hundred kilometers into the Legion’s territories. And now Zashya gave her messenger birds this order. It was regrettable, but they couldn’t afford to let the Theocracy, or worse, the Legion, lay their hands on them.

Any optical information that the Sirins perceived was relayed and stored within Królik. They’d only viewed things from a distance, since they couldn’t afford to be discovered and caught, but it was enough to use for analysis.

Staring at the image in her sub-window, she whispered:

“Impressive, Prince Viktor. I found it. It’s as you’ve expected.”

Before her was the image of the scaffolding of a looming tower…built in the shape of a hexagonal prism.

It seemed that Hilnå didn’t send her people after the maintenance crew who’d stayed behind in the base. Perhaps, she simply didn’t have enough men to do it. There was a bit of a struggle, but the maintenance crew successfully managed to keep the Armée Furieuse catapult safe.

By the time they regrouped with Lena and the control crew, the 2nd Army Corps had arrived to guard them and they carefully allowed Vanadis inside. Just as they finally felt safe enough to relax a little, they received word that the retrieval unit had regrouped with the airborne battalion. Soon after, Lena’s Para-RAID received a call from the airborne battalion’s commander, and before he could even say anything, Lena spoke.

“Shin. Good work out there.”

“Lena.”

It was Shin’s usual, serene tone. The battle with the Halcyon was quite severe, but thankfully, it seemed he wasn’t seriously injured. Lena sighed with relief. A moment later—

“Lena, could you send Fido over? We have something we need to collect.”

Really?

The first thing he told her, right out of the gate, was about Fido?

True, their retrieval work wasn’t complete yet, meaning they were still effectively in the middle of the operation. In that regard, Shin’s behavior was justifiable, but between that and all the other things that kept her tightly wound, Lena regarded his request sullenly.

After all, things were pretty difficult on her side, too. She’d worked herself ragged and had been quite worried about him.

Shin then snickered over the Resonance.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist… But I really do need you to send Fido over.”

“Sheesh…!”

“We’re fine on this end. Though I heard you had to pull some crazy stunts and escape the enemy’s HQ.”

His tone was clearly teasing. Lena pursed her lips.

“…Jerk.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who went and said such distracting things right before an operation.”

Apparently, their little spat from before the operation began had not yet concluded. Lena checked the clock on the optical screen, which showed that it had only been a few hours. But it felt like they had that silly argument days ago. She curled her lips up into a syrupy smile. And she said it again, this time in a more carefree fashion, her tone rich with happiness.

“You jerk.”

Shin said nothing in reply, but she could feel him smile over the Resonance.

“And it might be a little too soon to say it, but…welcome back.”

“Yeah… It’s good to be back.”

Perhaps noticing she was speaking to Shin, Fido wobbled over excitedly. Seeing it from the corner of her eye, Lena asked a question. She wished they could keep talking a little longer, but she couldn’t very well waste much more time on banter that was unrelated to the operation.

“So you said there was something you need to collect?”

“Right,” Shin said with a hint of hesitance, looking up at the Halcyon.

The Spearhead squadron had moved away from it so as to not get caught up in the Trauerschwan’s shot, and they regrouped around its wreckage after it had been eliminated. Through his ability to hear the voices of the Legion, he could still hear it was just barely functioning within the crumpled wreckage. His power allowed him to detect where the control core was.

“Some of them have been blown apart, but we need to collect the wreckage of the five railguns, and part of the Halcyon’s control core.”

To aid their return, the Theocracy prepared a special, extravagant train near the Theocracy’s border, which would ferry them back home. This was their country’s way of showing gratitude and good faith for having the Federacy’s forces caught up in their scandal.

The area was far from the front lines. Here, the volcanic ash could scarcely reach the blue sky. The cars of the locomotive moved slowly along the autumn plains of this foreign country. A flowery wind, carrying with it the scent of the shrubbery native to the region, wafted in through the open window. Those flowers were small, golden blossoms, often used as tea leaves in the Theocracy.

It was a tea that Lena had gotten used to drinking over the past month. During briefings, or during her daily meals in the base…and during a gathering the Theocracy had held to formally apologize for Hilnå’s incident.

The Teshat could perhaps not be seen as accountable, as they were only following orders. But Hilnå had rebelled against her country. Lena asked what would become of her after this…but the first holy general, Totoka, only said she would not be executed for it. The faith forbade bloodshed as an absolute evil, and it was the Theocracy that had forced the Teshat into military service. Even if she was a criminal, execution would be seen as murder and as a sin all the same. Because of this, the Theocracy didn’t allow for capital punishment.

Her familial and clan ties will be severed, and she will be confined to her home. That much is certain.

When the saints who handled government affairs came to visit the barracks that the Strike Package used during their expedition, she met the first holy general in the barracks’ hall. This was the answer he gave when she asked him.

Much like Hilnå, he was far younger than his rank would imply. He looked to be about twenty, and he had his long golden hair tied in a braid. His eyes were also a golden shade.

Personally, I would prefer if she could be pardoned of her house arrest once the war ends… But I shouldn’t be saying that in front of you. Not after she threatened your lives. However, you did refuse to kill her and the little ones. Should we not then abide by the earth goddess’s will and spare her life?

What about the Teshat? Lena had asked.

They truly are innocent. A saint ordered them, and they were compelled to obey. That’s all. They will be sent back to be reeducated once the army is properly reorganized… But the time may be right for us to reconsider these customs. Perhaps, the Legion are the earth goddess’s way of showing us that we can no longer continue like this.

Lena had completely understood the general’s feelings. He intended to fight the customs that had ruled over this land for centuries. Perhaps as a way of absolving Hilnå of her sins. She had her family stolen from her and the role of holy woman forced onto her by the war.

Still…while Lena did think this was the beginning of a change, the beginning of a step forward, she had been with the Eighty-Six this whole time. And some of them didn’t agree with the idea of turning their backs on the battlefield and living their lives in a gilded cage of peace. So perhaps, the same would hold true for the Teshat.

Perhaps, it would hold true for Hilnå, who wept and begged for nothing more to be taken away from her—so much so that she would cast her own homeland into the flames for the cause.

“Boo.”

“Eep!”

As she was gazing out the window, lost in the thoughts of things she had no power to change, she felt something cold touch the back of her neck. Lena turned around in surprise, only to find Kurena. She had two bottles of a carbonated drink in her hands and had apparently pressed the cold, dripping surface of one of them against Lena’s skin.

It was a drink flavored with honey and citrus, unique to the Theocracy. Handing one of the bottles to Lena, she took the seat opposite hers.

“You thinking about the kids from the Theocracy military?” she asked her.

“Yes…” Lena sighed, wrapping her hands around the cold bottle.

Kurena shrugged at her casually.

“See, you shouldn’t have to shoulder everything like that. It’ll just tire you out.”

Feeling the pair of argent eyes on her, Kurena intentionally focused on opening her bottle. Kurena certainly felt bad for them, too, of course. Hilnå and the Teshat had been forced to fight and had their futures taken away from them. They were like mirror images of the Eighty-Six. But…

“It might sound cold coming from me, but there isn’t anything you or I can do for them anymore. They’re the only ones who can decide their fates.”

Back when the Eighty-Six were first taken in by the Federacy, they were pitied and told to enter a cage of peace. The Federacy said it was for the sake of their happiness… But the Eighty-Six hated it. Kurena still hated this idea. Freedom was entirely about choice, after all—and that included what made one happy and how one wanted to lead their life.

If that was what freedom was, she wanted to choose for herself.

And if those children wouldn’t be allowed to choose their own fates themselves…they’d probably never be able to escape the memories of the countless things that had been taken from them.

“Besides, didn’t you say it yourself, Lena? You can’t focus on kids from another country. You’ve got someone you need to prioritize right next to you. So you better treat him like your number one, you got that?”

“Hmm… Do you mean…?”

It went without saying, of course.

Lena’s face flushed red, and her silver eyes darted around for a moment in a panic. Kurena wouldn’t overlook that, though. She glared at her menacingly with her large, golden eyes. She had the right to ask this question. She absolutely, definitely did.

“Did you…give him your answer?”

“I…I did…,” Lena replied, her face beet red and her voice almost inaudibly thin.

Her reaction made it clear she wasn’t lying. Incidentally, some other girls—Anju, Shiden, Michihi, Mika, and Zashya—were sitting nearby and turned to look at their exchange while pretending to be casual. Lena realized this, of course. Hence her bashfulness.

But either way, Kurena nodded. Good. Because if she didn’t give him an answer…Kurena would be hard-pressed to do what came next.

“Then the first thing you have to do when we get back home is invite Shin out on a date. It’s your first date as his girlfriend. You need to make it one to remember.”

Not that she really knew a whole lot about what boyfriends and girlfriends did, but apparently, that was the way of things.

Anju leaned in next. She placed both elbows on the backrest of the seat behind Lena and peered down.

“In that case…Lena, Lieutenant Esther gave us a farewell present before we left the Fleet Countries. It’s a unique perfume native to that region, made using something called ambergris. Apparently, they collect it from the leviathans? I got a little bit, but it smells really nice. She told us to hand it to you if you give Shin a clear answer.”

“…Why does Lieutenant Esther know about this, too…?!”

The answer was that Lena had been so busy running away from Shin that everyone felt too bad for him. So Marcel consulted Lieutenant Esther, Anju complained, and Rito accidentally let it slip. As such, Ishmael and a few of the other officers there heard or were consulted about it. Ishmael helped participate in getting the ambergris perfume for them.

But that aside, Anju grinned at her.

“Apparently, it’s some pheromone the leviathans give off during their mating season. So the Open Sea clans’ tradition is to put it on during courtship or on the night of a wedding.”

“Anju?!”

“Also, apparently, the king of the United Kingdom from three generations ago spread it around the room on their first night. It invoked the deep blue of the ocean floor and had the dignity of a dragon or something. Anyway, they say it’s a very distinguished, pleasant smell.”

“Huh, so it doesn’t actually get you in the mood? Boring,” Shiden said curtly.

“If you want something more romantic, how about a gardenia or jasmine perfume?” Michihi chimed in. “My clan’s family had a custom of applying it by spraying it in the air during the first night. It uses all these flowers that have this sweet, sexy aroma with an aphrodisiac effect!”

And as she laughed and smiled at this boisterous exchange, Kurena silently slipped away.

A few of the train’s compartments were occupied by the Myrmecoleo Regiment, with the rest being allotted to the Strike Package. One way or another, their compartments ended up being separated into ones for men and women.

Kurena opened the horizontal door leading to the adjacent compartment for the boys. She’d checked where he was ahead of time. The windows here were open, too, and so the faint aroma of flowers wafted in. Inside a four-person box seat, she found Shin dozing off, leaning against the backrest of his seat.

He’d been injured during the previous operation and was sent to command this airborne operation as soon as he’d recovered from his wounds. And this mission ran him pretty ragged in its own way. He was probably exhausted. The book he was in the middle of reading sat open on his hands, and he looked so defenseless that the absence of the black cat sitting on his lap felt almost unnatural.

She threw a gaze at Raiden, who was occupying the opposite seat and simply cocked an eyebrow in a teasing manner as he rose to stand. He left the compartment, tapping Rito and a few of the other Claymore squadron boys who peered inside curiously, and led them out along with him. He then nodded at a few of the other Spearhead squadron members sitting nearby, like Claude, Tohru, and Dustin, and gestured for them to get up, too.

Before long, it was just she and Shin in the compartment.

You didn’t have to do that.

She was only here so she could put her own feelings at ease. Shin himself didn’t need to hear it. She’d simply say her piece and be done with it. He could sleep through it for all she cared. He was tired, after all, so not waking him up would be better.

But then she shook her head. Her timidness was rearing its head even at this juncture, whispering those seductive words into her ears. But no. That wouldn’t be right. She had to put her feelings to rest. To face them head-on and settle everything. Running away would defeat the purpose.

“Shin,” she called out to him softly. “Shin, um… Do you have a minute?”

“…Mm.” A voice escaped his lips as she shook him a little.

He opened his eyelids and blinked a couple of times before looking up at Kurena.

His bloodred eyes. The sole color Kurena thought was the most beautiful one in the world. And before he could ask her What is it?, Kurena beat him to the punch.

“I loved you, Shin.”

His crimson eyes blinked once. And then they contorted bitterly, painfully. It was because he knew that he couldn’t and had no intention of answering Kurena’s words, her feelings.

…Yeah. I know. You wouldn’t dodge the question. You won’t evade or lie about the fact that you can’t answer. That’s the cruel part about you.

You’re honest to a cruel extent.

“I love you even now… I’ll probably always love you.”

Even if she’d come to love someone else later down the line, she would still love Shin. Even if that hypothetical person loved her back. And though she couldn’t even begin to imagine this, even if she were to start a family with that person…

…she would always, always love Shin.

He was a savior to her and her friends in the Eighty-Sixth Sector. A comrade. A brother in arms. And really, she would have wished he’d have picked her over anyone else. He was the one she held dearest, the one she depended on the most.

She loved him, like a brother.

My…kind, precious Reaper.

“So that’s why…”

She wanted the path of her comrade, her family, the person she cared about most in the world to be blessed. It was, perhaps, the single most natural, obvious wish one could harbor for another. Even with the world being what it was, wishing for this was to be expected.

“…you have to be happy. You have to find happiness,” Kurena told him with a smile.

Shin remained silent for a brief moment. He was torn between the answer he wanted to give her and the words he could direct at himself. And after remaining silent and coming to terms with those conflicting feelings, he eventually said one thing.

No matter what he wanted to tell her, he couldn’t answer Kurena’s feelings, so he said the one thing he was allowed to say.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. After all, up until now…”

And even now. And probably always.

“…I’ve never once regretted loving you.”