The sky was blue.
The clouds were white.
The fragrance of spring flowers blooming early wafted from somewhere in the distance.
Feodor absentmindedly gazed out the window at the sky, biting his lip melancholically as he ruminated on the incident that’d stolen Lakhesh and Apple from him.
The first suspect to come to mind was his sister. Even as a fellow imp, even as family, Feodor still couldn’t comprehend that twisted woman’s thinking. She was truly imp-like, in every sense of the word. He wouldn’t be surprised by what depths her plots or actions might sink to.
Still, this time it didn’t feel like she was involved. After asking about and looking over the particulars of what’d occurred, there were too many sloppy elements. It was too spur-of-the-moment and lacking in any perplexing ploys whatsoever—it wasn’t her style. Assuming his guess was correct, that meant someone else either sold the Bottle for profit or was using it as the seed for an even more sinister plot. Neither were pleasant thoughts, but he couldn’t disregard the possibility.
“…Even so…”
The problem was, investigation was turning out to be incredibly difficult. After all, the leprechauns and Bead Bottles were involved—both highly classified topics. It went without saying that information connected to the incident was accordingly limited. He’d gotten a report from Tiat’s team, supplemented by details from a certain well-acquainted information broker going by the name of Private First Class Nax Selzel. Oh, and nearly-blank testimonies from the orc trader and semifer guards they’d captured. That was all.
“They’ll be freed, huh…”
As the existence of the Bead Bottles couldn’t be publicly acknowledged, trying to buy one wouldn’t be considered a crime. The outward charges leveled against the trader and his guards were as such: unauthorized trespassing in a strictly forbidden area, intentional operation of machinery, destruction of a structure, public disturbance, and obstruction of military activity.
Additionally, the purview of the Winged Guard—an army formed strictly to combat external threats—didn’t include the maintenance of public order. They lacked both the authority to arrest petty criminals, and the ability to consider it “a soldier’s misconduct landing him in solitary confinement.” The public excuse was that several criminals had temporarily been entrusted to the Winged Guard due to the paralysis of Lyell’s detention facilities by frequent crimes, but that deception would only go so far. The group would likely soon pay their city-mandated bail and walk free.
Feodor was angry. Livid. If the law wouldn’t bring those bastards to justice, he wanted to tear their guts out himself.
But he had a goal. A vow. A plan he’d spent countless hours and days on. So he resisted the urge.
“If I could just get the identity of whoever they were trading with…”
“Fwedooooor!”
Something small and warm latched on to his leg with a thump. He looked down to see a young girl with hair blue as the sky clinging to the bottom of his military uniform.
“Marsh—” mallow, he was about to finish before swallowing his words. Instead, he used the name he’d learned just a few days ago. “…Ryehl.”
“Aiiie!” Ryehl looked up delightedly. Drool dampened the bottom of his uniform.
“Hey, get off.”
“Nuuuu…”
Feodor gently shook his leg, but her grip was stronger than he’d expected.
“Fwedor, play!”
“Sorry, I’m busy.”
“Always! Busy. Boring!”
They’d repeated this exchange many times in the ten days since that incident.
Ryehl—the girl previously known as Marshmallow—was still at the 5th Division for the time being. Eventually she’d be sent to the faerie warehouse on Island No. 68, but that wouldn’t happen for a few more days. It seemed she found the military base to be a terribly boring place, and took every opportunity she saw Feodor to try and amuse herself. Every time, he shooed her away with an excuse about being busy.
It wasn’t a lie. He had plenty of duties to look after. But that was all it was—his work wasn’t always so pressing it had to be done immediately, and he didn’t even need to do all of it himself. Nonetheless, he kept looking for work and using it as a way to ward off Ryehl.
Whenever she was around, he wouldn’t be able to forget. He became painfully aware.
Apple.
Lakhesh.
Of course, one couldn’t expect a young child to understand grief. Regardless of whether she was a faerie or some other race, that didn’t change. Because of that, he never felt that Ryehl was sad about their absence—she barely even seemed aware of it.
Even then, it was painful to see her innocently playing without a trace of sorrow. Painful enough for Feodor’s painstakingly-crafted mask to start cracking.
“Why don’t you go play with Pannibal?”
“Uug…” Ryehl didn’t seem enthused. The girl who expressed her feelings through her sword wasn’t well-liked. Feodor felt somewhat sorry for Pannibal, but it wasn’t as if she was blameless in that.
“Alright, how about Tiat?”
“Uuuug!” Ryehl’s expression turned even worse. The earnest, inflexible girl who acted like a perfect role model also wasn’t liked much. Serves her right. She gets what she deserves.
He almost asked about Collon before remembering where she was right now: nursing Lakhesh, who continued to not wake up—or rather, refusing to leave Lakhesh’s side as if she herself had fallen into a dazed stupor. At the least, she wasn’t in any condition to play around with kids. I suppose it’s better to leave her be.
Feodor tousled Ryehl’s bangs. She closed one eye, looking at him sulkily. “Don’t be too much trouble,” he said. “Go back to your room and play by yourself.”
“…Uuuugg…” She puffed her cheeks up petulantly but seemed to understand. Feodor silently watched her small figure run off, footsteps pitter-pattering into the distance.
On the first floor of the barracks, there’d been a spare reference room until a few days ago. The filing cabinets were carried out, the room was given a cursory cleaning, and a bed was hurriedly brought in. Now the refurbished room was home to Second Officer Ithea Myse Valgulious.
“What’ll happen to Lakhesh, eh…?”
Was she writing a letter? Whatever it was, Ithea laid down her pen and spun her wheelchair to face him. “Although it’ll take a while to lay everything out, you’ve got time to spare if you’re asking, right?”
“Yes.” Feodor nodded. “Thank you.”
The woman in front of him knew almost everything about the highly-classified existences known as faerie soldiers. She wasn’t just a faerie soldier herself—she understood what was going on even better than Tiat and the others.
He wanted to pull as much information out of her as possible.
“’Kay, so, let’s start with us faeries. We’re the remnants of souls of young children who died without understanding they were dead. Do you know that much?”
“Yes. I got a brief explanation from the girls.”
“And you accept it?”
“Not in the slightest. But I understand that’s how it is.”
“That’s a straightforward way to see things!” Ithea laughed. Feodor felt it ill-suited her. She had a slender, kindly appearance; although he’d made clear before his disinterest in featureless women, some of her more sorrowful expressions shook even his heart.
That was why the mismatch between her appearance and her personality, constantly talking and laughing, filled him with discomfort. It’s as if she’s playing the part of someone she isn’t. As if she’s hiding her real self behind a fake smile. He almost felt as if she was desperately trying to convince someone—not herself, but some other person grinning wickedly at her.
He couldn’t tell if she knew what he was thinking or not. Ithea continued talking, spinning her pen around two fingers. “To begin with, ‘soul’ is a big occulty word, but I’m gonna tell you up front to deal with it. Now, kids’ souls have bits of memories and emotions attached. In our regular life, the impact of that stuff’s tinier than specks of dust. Having it around doesn’t change anything for a while.”
She motioned to a nearby chair, and Feodor sat. “Regular life for a while, huh?”
“Yup. As time passes, and faster in certain circumstances, these bits and pieces of our previous lives start to, ah…consume our own memories and emotions.”
“C-consume?!” He didn’t attempt to hide the tremble in his voice or countenance.
Unphased, Ithea continued her explanation. “For adult faerie soldiers who’ve been tuned, the encroachment slows down a ton. Typically, it takes ’til we’re twenty years old for obvious effects to show up. ’Course, we don’t have many faeries who make it that long in the first place, so it’s not a big deal…well, there’s been a few more recently, though…”
Her speech turned vague, but Feodor could guess the reasons she’d mentioned. In the past five years, there were no more battles against Timere. With the absence of battlefields, there was no reason to use up disposable weapons.
Ithea shook her head quickly. “Anyway, the thing is, even after being tuned, there’s certain conditions that’d make encroachment speed up all at once. Stuff like, oh, igniting or contacting levels of venenum that’d be abnormal even for us leprechauns. But if a faerie was to amplify their venenum with a high-grade dug weapon and then ignite it at full power…I don’t need to explain what might happen, do I?”
“Dug weapons…” Feodor digested her words. “What about Tiat and the others?”
“…Those three are fine.” Three. Not four, but three. Lakhesh Nyx Seniorious wasn’t included. “Ignareo and Katena are lower-grade swords, no matter how you slice it. Collon’s Purgatorio is a teeny bit high-grade, but not enough to cause encroachment. Among the swords we have on hand, the only ones that’d fit the requirements are Seniorious…along with Valgulious and Mulsum Aurea, I guess.”
Ithea Myse Valgulious laughed again. They’d not talked much before, but Feodor could tell that laughter was just how she hid her true feelings. “So…what exactly does this ‘encroachment’ upon your personality entail?”
“Erm…destruction of the soul? I think that’d be a good way to put it?” Ithea scratched her head. “All cases are super different, plus there’s never been many of ’em to start off, so I’m afraid I can’t give ya a solid explanation. Let’s just say…our memories fade away one by one, doesn’t matter if they’re old or new. Our emotions turn stagnant. Memories and feelings that don’t belong to us start bleeding into our heads. Seems like if the condition’s especially bad, our eyes can turn red.”
Eyes. Feodor wondered what color Lakhesh’s eyes had been. He couldn’t remember. The only thing that remained in his mind’s eye was flaming red hair.
“As our memories and emotions are destroyed, it’s not long until our whole personalities just break down.” Feodor didn’t respond. “When even the minimum bits needed to survive are lost, we fall into a coma. After that, we’re no different from corpses. Body might look alive, but there’s nothing inside. If we’re left like that, after a while we eventually just melt into the air and disappear.”
“How do you cure it?”
This time it was Ithea’s turn to be silent. He saw her eyes moisten slightly.
On that day, Feodor had confided in Lakhesh something of great importance. In the end, he’d never heard her answer. He’d thought there’d be plenty of time to hear her answer, that he’d be able to ask about it whenever he wished. He’d thought…
He’d forgotten. They—they all—lived on thin ice.
No matter how much he regretted, no matter how much he grieved, he couldn’t turn back the clocks. His wish to meet again those he’d lost would never be granted.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Ithea’s voice had turned soft, consoling. For some reason, it grated on his nerves.
“Not my fault, huh. Not anyone’s fault. Is that right?” Instead of fighting it down, Feodor let his irritation show in his words. At times like these, an imp’s tongue was more effective than it had any right to be. He didn’t have control over what he might say—whether they were things he didn’t mean, or things hidden in the deep depths of his heart, he couldn’t tell. “But if you can put all the blame on someone, no one else needs to suffer. They can just give up and accept it. Everything was decided from the start, so nobody could’ve changed the result. Nobody could’ve changed their fate. All they can do is accept—”
“Feodor.”
His tongue stopped moving. The impulse that’d overtaken him, the heat rising through him, refused to fade. “What?”
“I won’t be impressed by your lies when you can’t even trick yourself.” Her voice was quiet and without warmth.
“Huh? What did I say that was a lie?”
“Everything, from beginning to end.” Ithea gazed at him. “I only heard this from Tiat, but you said something once before, right? You won’t forgive anyone for thinking or living in ways that only benefit other people? If that’s true—then you should already know that it isn’t the fate of faeries to die in battle.”
You’re wrong—
Words of rejection appeared in his mind, one after another. But like thorns, they caught in his throat and refused to come out.
“Even if something like fate was to exist, it’s flexible. In our fights, no matter what you might think, we always have an escape route.”
I know that.
“If we don’t want to fight, we don’t need to. If we don’t want to obey orders, we can go against them. The reason, Feodor, that there are still faeries who give their lives, is because we want to. Because there are things we want to protect even at the cost of our lives. In other words…if you ask why we decide to die in battle…I can only say that we do it willingly.”
I…I know that too.
“It’s not wrong to say faeries are by nature unafraid of death. But the longer we live, the more our souls imitate other living creatures. We become intensely anxious about how we have no future to grasp. It’s not easy to overcome that and accept death when it comes. I refuse to package all of that into something so convenient as fate.”
I know that too. I’ve seen those girls, seen their mindsets, heard their resolution. I’ve felt it.
“Lakhesh…and Apple entrusted their lives to you. I won’t allow you to run away with such a cheap excuse.”
Feodor was utterly cornered in the face of such criticism. A lie that doesn’t even fool myself. Aah, my imp ancestors are crying in shame. If my parents or my sister heard this conversation, they’d be dying of laughter.
“I…”
“…I’ll repeat myself. It wasn’t your fault.” He couldn’t decide whether Ithea’s voice was cold or warm. “To be quite blunt, it was their own fault. If you can’t accept that, I don’t care. But, if you can, please don’t blame them. I’ve said it already, but this is my personal request to you.”
“I…” With the heat still simmering in his head, Feodor tried his best to squeeze out something that sounded good. “I can’t promise that. No matter what, I can’t accept that way of living.”
Ithea sighed. A smile returned to her face, kind and yet lonely. Feodor was again reminded of his inability to deal with featureless.
To be specific, older featureless women were his weakness. He always felt as if it was useless for him to try pulling a fast one on them. Their attentive gazes always pinned him down, tightly wrapping—smothering—him in an atmosphere that warned no trickery would be tolerated. He always ended up losing his cool around them.
Now that he thought about it, Lakhesh had that quality as well. Of course, when one compared their ages, she was younger than him—but she had that sort of gently-smothering quality, the impression of someone older than her years. Besides, no matter how he framed it, his heart had been shaken up enough by her enough already.
“…I’m sorry. I’ll leave for today.” Unable to look her in the eyes any longer, Feodor stood up. He hadn’t meant to put any force into the movement, but the chair grated against the floor anyway.
“Yup, yup. Come again whenever!” Before he knew it, Ithea’s expression had returned to her usual amiable grin—that of a mischievous prankster, unbefitting of her age. She opened and closed her hand as she faced him, making him wonder what sort of gesture it was. What meaning was hidden behind that theatrical display?
He put his hand on the doorknob.
“Oh, right. This is about something else, but…”
Before leaving, he asked one last question as if he’d just remembered it. “What’s with the box that came with the resupply? You received it directly, didn’t you? I heard it was sent to Confidential Warehouse Zero for safekeeping?”
“Oh? Curious, aren’t ya?”
“Well, yes.” He kept his voice as casual as possible. It was supposed to be just idle gossip, after all. “Since it was addressed to you, it’s something related to the faerie soldiers, right? I’ve heard it was fairly big, and if Tiat and the others are going to use whatever’s inside, it might be those dug weapons you mentioned.”
He flashed his rank insignia. “Given my position, I’m not exactly unrelated, am I? I think I have a right to know.”
“That’d be the case, huh?” Ithea put her hand to her chin, looking as if she was in thought. “But nah, don’t worry ’bout it. That stuff isn’t connected to ya, Fourth Officer. It’s just your run-of-the-mill top-secret thingy.”
“Oh, is it?” he tried to laugh it off. “Then I won’t worry about it.”
“Oh? That’s a surprisingly boring reaction outta ya.”
“I shouldn’t stick my nose where it doesn’t belong just because I’m curious, right?” Feodor lied without a second thought. “I don’t want to know something I shouldn’t be knowing. If nothing else, I have that much sense.” He turned the doorknob, opened the door, and—
Thud.
A strange sound. Before his eyes, a butt rolled on the floor. It seemed to belong to some rascal who’d been eavesdropping on their conversation until just now, who’d hurriedly tried to leave before the door opened and proceeded to trip over their own feet to fall face-first onto the floor.
“Buyuuu…” Tiat’s (rather unladylike) whimper leaked out from underneath the butt he was staring at. Feodor sighed as he closed the door.
“U-um, er…top o’ the morning?” With one cheek and both knees on the floor, as well as her butt pointing directly upwards, Tiat strained to meet his eyes as she said something totally off-base.
“It’s almost dusk.”
“O-oh, yeah! Right! Good…night?”
“Dusk.” He shook his head. “Get up already. Lying down like that isn’t the best posture for a girl your age.”
“W-well, that’s, um…” Tiat hesitated for far too long. “Okay…”
“You heard what we were talking about, I suppose?”
“Yeah…” she nodded meekly as she slowly got up and brushed dirt off herself. “Sorry.”
Feodor glanced over his shoulder back into the room. Ithea flashed him a smirk that said “What a troublesome girl, am I right or what?” and shrugged. It seemed like what they’d talked about wasn’t anything the girl in question wasn’t allowed to hear. That went for him as well. “…Well, it’s not something we needed to hide anyway. I’ve said from the start that I’m not satisfied with the situation you girls are in. I wanted to try and do something to break through it. Just now, we were simply reaffirming that.”
“Break through? How?”
“Somehow…somehow, I’ll do something about your fate—no, that’s the wrong word—”
“No, no, I’m asking how—”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ll show you before long.” Not feeling like chatting with Tiat for too long, Feodor cut the conversation short, straightened his glasses, and walked briskly down the hallway. It seemed that she wasn’t interested in continuing to talk either; he didn’t hear her coming after him, and her presence gradually faded into the distance.
He did, however, hear the words she muttered as he was leaving: “Nobody ever asked to be saved by you.”
They were words not meant to reach anyone. In response, Feodor grumbled something not meant for anyone to hear.
“It’s such a pain that you guys don’t even ask.”
One day, Feodor intended to make an enemy out of Regule Aire.
In the near future, he’d need to set his plan in motion.
He’d hated all the people living in Regule Aire who’d forgotten about the approaching end. He’d hated those who forgot what a miracle it was simply to survive and the countless sacrifices that allowed for this future to exist.
And then he’d realized—he was no different from them.
Not too long ago, he’d had a terrible misunderstanding. He, like any other idiot, had assumed the destruction they faced was something far off in the future. Because of that, he’d indulged in everyday life, shamelessly thinking about how nice it’d be for those days to last forever.
He should’ve known that was impossible and would never be permitted.
Apple.
He remembered the heat of her tiny palm.
The pain when she pulled his hair.
The visceral anguish inflicted by her full-bodied tackles.
The burning hot despair when it all was taken away.
Marshma…Ryehl.
He remembered the figure of the small girl he’d sent off not long ago.
She was still a young faerie. In ten years, she’d reach maturity. After receiving the army’s tuning, she’d be sent off to the battlefield as an adult faerie soldier. Someday, like Lakhesh, she’d burn herself out and disappear. Or perhaps before that, like Apple, she’d burn up in a fiery inferno.
Someday, for certain. Perhaps not far into the future.
“…Ah.” Feodor looked up at the sky, at the blindingly bright sun. “So radiant.”
He shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted. Even then, the sun’s light was so dazzling he couldn’t look at it directly. He knew it was there, but he couldn’t see it for himself.
“…Yeah. That’s right.”
He wasn’t talking to anyone in particular. Nobody had asked any questions. He wasn’t even sure if he was talking to himself. Even so, without sparing any doubt, he nodded.
“I guess it’s about time to start.”
He slowly curled his fingers into a fist. He raised that fist higher and higher, as if declaring a challenge to the sky itself.
Feodor Jessman had put everything he had into his plan. Ever since five years ago, when the Elpis Collective met its end, untold caution had been devoted towards advancing the plan. At this point, there ought to be enough of a foothold to start. He had no more reason to remain attached to these peaceful days.
He should have started it a long time ago.
His first and last battle against the world.