INTERLUDE FIVE

In the end, it was just one stupid thing after another.

It hadn’t been one specific, unique moment. The rails heading toward the worst possible conclusion were something she’d been getting glimpses of for a long time now.

“By majority vote, we hereby forbid the usage of the aforementioned weapons.”

It wasn’t just the bunker clusters.

The Roman Orthodox Church now had the EU assembly under its thumb. They had been approving one prohibition treaty after another, pinpointing only the weapons that the United Kingdom was currently developing. It was a clear message the UK was being dismissed as an outdated fossil of a nation and there was no fear of retaliation no matter what they did.

However.

The beginning of this decision had come before Carissa had taken over as the head of military affairs, during the time of her mother, Elizard. In those days, only the UK’s nuclear weapons had been prohibited—France’s had not. What separated the two was supposedly the difference in their explosives’ destructive power, but after that, the UK was prevented from even developing specifically less-powerful nuclear weapons. Ultimately, they’d decided that all UK-made nuclear weapons should be handed over to France. The apparent excuse was that France, now the only nuclear power in the EU, had the technology to safely dismantle them, but the real reason was obvious:

The attack had started.

Carissa was now witnessing the tragic result of the escalation of those attacks.

In the shadows, the EU member nations were probably whispering things like We have no problems as long as we have the Roman Orthodox Church’s support, and The United Kingdom can criticize all it wants—but it would never challenge an organization two billion people strong in a straight fight.

A once great but obsolete nation.

Your prosperity ended at the beginning of the twentieth century.

In other words: Our value as a nation has fallen, Carissa thought.

Her mother, leader of the nation, had said they didn’t need to respond to these clear provocations. But as a result, the neighboring nations had begun treating the UK with contempt, steadily building an environment where they could do anything to the UK without any repercussions. If this state of affairs continued, eventually the United Kingdom would lose even its status as a sovereign state, and the citizenry would be mocked and ridiculed simply for being British, ushering in an age where their people had to conceal who they were just to make a living.

She needed to stop that from happening.

She could not lose this age, in which her nation’s people could live with smiling faces.

Carissa had been preparing for it for many years now. There were probably several different methods, but she’d naturally gravitated toward one of them from the beginning. After all, she’d never excelled at anything but military matters—she knew nothing but how to stand on a battlefield, covered in mud, sword in hand. The only option that seemed realistic for her to succeed was to stage a coup d’état.

But these had been preparations, and that was all.

Without several conditions having been met, she would never have had to execute them.

Perhaps if their leader, her mother, could have restored their national pride by wielding her diplomatic skills, it wouldn’t have been a problem. If their neighbor countries had withdrawn from Roman Orthodox support—if they’d led their nations each on their own intentions—then this crisis in which she had no choice but to act might have vanished naturally.

However.

The Eurotunnel connecting the UK and France had been bombed.

Then, as if timed, a hijacking incident had occurred, closing routes into the UK.

The checkpoints and border lines she’d set as strategic points beforehand had all been crossed in the worst way possible.

Carissa had decided that there wasn’t any more time to spare.

The princess had decided that if she didn’t act now, the value of the UK citizenry would fall to a level worse than slaves.

As a result, Carissa had taken up the Curtana Original.

It was a kingmaker that she detested.

But the princess had quietly resolved to become a tyrant.

For a woman who was only ever talented when it came to military affairs, one who knew nothing but how to fight with a sword in her hand, there was but one way to change the nation and the world.

Carissa decided this for herself, without telling a soul.

She had resolved: When the war was over, she and the two Curtanas would disappear into the annals of history. She would hide deep in a crypt she’d created herself and sleep there until the end, unbeknownst to anyone.