Chapter 6: Over There

Chapter 6: Over There

CHAPTER 6

OVER THERE

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

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

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

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

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

What’s wrong?

Did something…happen to Eugene?

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

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

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

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

Frederica unsteadily rose to her feet.

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

“Don’t look.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Th-this is…”

“Frederica.”

“Kiri…did this…?”

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

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

“You’re…”

“…What?”

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

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

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

The commander’s office door swung open noisily.

“First Lieutenant Nouzen, are you okay?!”

“Yeah.”

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

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

“Roger that… But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crown prince smiled gracefully.

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

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

Lieutenant General Aegis scoffed.

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

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

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

He was most likely lying.

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

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

Lieutenant General Aegis wore a cold smile.

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

The prince responded with a smile of his own.

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

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

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

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

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

Lieutenant General Aegis sank into her seat, looking up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ernst spoke softly.

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

The analyst frowned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Though, first of all—”

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

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

“So in the end…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ones who would not be missed.

“The ones we would least regret losing.”

“Tch…”

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

“Is something wrong, First Lieutenant Nouzen?”

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

“First Lieutenant.”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Mm.”

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

Eugene’s little sister.

“What are you up to, munchkin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…They said Eugene came back.”

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

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

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

“Ngh…”

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

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

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

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

Even so…

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

Did you, Nouzen?

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

“…Eugene… Brother…”

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

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

It wasn’t me back then.

It was him.

He didn’t save him.

He didn’t protect him.

He was at his side, and he didn’t…

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

He abandoned Eugene.

Accuse him, not me.

He was the one who killed Eugene.

And it was then that Marcel finally understood.

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

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

…and make it someone else’s fault.

“Eugene was…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Theo.”

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

“What?”

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

Shin still looked puzzled, and Raiden sighed in exasperation.

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

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

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

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

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

“Shinei? Is something bothering you?”

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

“It’s nothing.”

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

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

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

“…”

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

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

“…You Resonated with me?”

“…You didn’t even notice…”

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

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

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

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

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

Kurena grimaced grumpily.

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

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

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

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

“Kurena,” said Raiden.

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

“…”

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

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

Raiden scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—Attention!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

…the Republic had already fallen.

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

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

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

But…

Maybe someone will come to help before the Republic falls.

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

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

Major. Could you please…never forget us?

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

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

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

Don’t leave me behind…

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

Why did even she leave him behind?

“…Hm?”

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

The envelope was still sealed.

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

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

“…”

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

Nina Rantz.

Rantz.

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

why did you kill my brother?

give him back

And then.

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