It was said that the surface used to be fertile.
However, the emnetwiht who flourished back then had created and unleashed the Seventeen Beasts. Each possessing its own distinctive form, they were avatars of destruction that brought sudden ruin to their creators and the many other surface-dwelling races.
After many long days on the run, the survivors followed the one who would later be known as the Great Sage to the firmament. With nary a winged one among the seventeen, they were able to avoid direct assault from the Beasts.
Since then, over five hundred years had flown by. For half a millennium, there was a veneer of peace as fragile as a layer of thin ice. Many times the islanders had faced existential threats, and many times they had scraped through by the skin of their teeth. Consequently, the Regule Aire of today was built upon those accumulated miracles.
The day of reckoning approached.
The 5th Division of the Winged Guard had seen their workload balloon in recent days. Once a benign neighbor, Island No. 39 had been turned into a mass of Croyance, the Eleventh Beast Who Remains Rooted. With every passing moment it encroached upon them, leaving the Winged Guard scrambling for countermeasures.
Fundamentally, the Beasts were immortal and could not be destroyed with conventional weaponry, hence the Winged Guard’s primary strategy had always been to contain their movement with overwhelming firepower, then blast them off the floating islands. Their one common weakness (as far as anyone knew) was that none of them had wings, leaving them unable to access Regule Aire on their own. In any case, it was unnecessary to try killing that which was undying, so the best and only solution was to drive them from the skies.
However, with Croyance having assimilated the entirety of Island No. 39, that plan was no longer viable.
To send the Beast plunging back to the surface, reducing the beleaguered island to rubble was likely necessary—yet the 39th was considerably large and Croyance, wrapped around it, acted like a suit of armor for its rocky exterior. Without extraordinarily powerful weapons or unconventional tactics, they would be hard-pressed to even scratch the island’s surface.
To that end, the grounding of the colossal strategic battleship Utica was a devastating blow. It had been equipped with the Mountain Thrower, the strongest and most massive kinetic weapon that modern Regule Aire could hope to produce. With it, they could have broken through Croyance’s protection and smashed the island to bits. And even if that failed, the data gathered would have served as an important foothold for future offensives. In any case, the higher-ups in the Winged Guard had likely kept those considerations in mind.
But alas, the battleship was no more. It had been devoured by Croyance at someplace unrelated to Island No. 39, and was now lost on the surface. Being an experimental vessel built from the whims and fancies of its engineers, its exceptional development costs meant that it was almost impossible to have a replacement made.
Lately, the base had been livelier than usual, as their preparations for the approaching battle advanced at a steady pace. With supply vessels constantly docking to unload their cargo, the harbor district saw no rest. Former civilian munitions factories were bought over by the Winged Guard and retrofitted to produce new weapons.
Everyone, regardless of their race or even rank, was being run ragged as they carried various kinds of fixtures, equipment, or written orders to and fro. Bearing a shared sense of crisis toward the imminent battle, each and every individual worked side by side to complete the preparations. In some respects, it could be considered a fine example of fairness and equality.
After lugging another batch of heavy crates, the girl was given some time to rest.
Her whole body was feeling the heat. Despite igniting a small amount of venenum, it still didn’t change the fact that she needed to exert her muscles. It wouldn’t have surprised her one bit if those leaden arms and legs of hers started aching the next day.
After picking up some chilled water from the cafeteria, Tiat Siba Ignareo took shelter in the shade of a tree. Amidst the rustling foliage, she tipped her bottle and quenched her parched throat.
“Phew…” Just as she took a deep breath and relaxed, her cheeks suddenly began to burn.
“Ugh— ARRRGH!” Tiat suddenly remembered the dream she had in the morning.
How mortifying.
She’d definitely crossed swords with Lakhesh, who almost seemed like a different person altogether. She remembered being completely overwhelmed—she hadn’t been able to do a thing about the power difference between them. All of that was acceptable to her. However humiliating it was, the girl thought, it had all been a dream anyway.
The problem was everything else that happened afterward. The owner of that nostalgic voice, who had cheered her on, saved her and assisted her using some strange technique, was but a figment of her imagination. When faced with a harsh reality that she hadn’t wanted to accept, her mind had gone haywire appending what she “wished could have happened” to the truth. She had created a fantastical dreamworld out of her own desires, adding a large dose of childish what-ifs for good measure.
Willem Kmetsch… He had been like a father to everyone, yet her dream had warped him into a clown-like character. Although, the girl considered, that might’ve been how I saw him back then, when I was just a child. In reality, he couldn’t have been that deranged or incoherent, could he?
“Ugh…”
The gist of it, Tiat saw, was that she hadn’t grown up at all and was still begging to be spoiled by others.
Believing herself to be a proper soldier, she confronted Feodor and fought Lakhesh, yet she ended up suffering a miserable defeat. And, as if that hadn’t been enough, she’d relived those moments in a dream, with her former guardian even coming to the rescue. Didn’t it just go to show that nothing had changed, that she was still the helpless kid who wasn’t even aware she was being sheltered by others?
In the end, Tiat concluded, that was all she amounted to. She’d put in more effort than the rest in trying to become one of those grown-ups she always admired. She’d even managed to receive Ithea’s praise for being dependable, or something like that. But deep down, she still pushed all the things she couldn’t do to her admired predecessors, so much so that she had even dreamt about it.
“Gahhh!” Clutching her head, Tiat rocked from side to side.
“What’s wrong? You’re being a lot weirder than usual today,” a familiar voice ventured.
Coming back to her senses, Tiat hurriedly straightened her posture. Now, this isn’t the time to be wallowing in shame and regret. There are way too many things to do and think about. You can’t keep getting lost in the past when there’s so little time to go around. What you need to do is focus on the here and now, as well as what comes after.
A girl with faint purple hair—Pannibal Nox Katena—stood in front of Tiat with a look of exasperation on her face.
“Thinking about Feodor?”
“N-” Tiat stuttered, searching for what to say. “No, I’m not.” She wasn’t lying—it wasn’t him that she had been thinking about. As a matter of fact, Feodor had never appeared in the dream at all, even though he was an important character who stood as one of the reasons for her and Lakhesh’s confrontation.
“Then how ’bout you lend me a hand with this? Today’s been a real bad day for messenger work, they’ve got me delivering documents all over the place. I just can’t handle this all by myself,” Pannibal shook her shoulder-sling bag conspicuously.
“I’m taking a break, I finished some work just now.”
“Could’ve guessed that. But you should probably get your body moving so you can take your mind off whatever nonsense you’ve been thinking about.”
Gah. Tiat had no reply to that. As expected of her long-time friend, Pannibal read her like an open book. Then again, it might’ve been because of her tendency to wear her heart on her sleeve, but she preferred not to think about it that way.
“Here, take this and this. Express delivery to the division commander.”
“Ugh, you’re a shrewd one.” She took the thick bundle of files from Pannibal. “I really don’t want to see that First Officer right now.”
“Oh? Did something happen between you two? Were you trying to pull a fast one on him, and then you said something like ‘Next time we meet, I’ll bring you down for sure!’ when you failed?”
“Of course not. After all, that’s your line.”
“Whatever could you mean? I’d never do something that stupid.”
Then why’d you even bring it up in the first place? Swallowing the urge to retort, Tiat changed tack: “Oh, so it’s about that time I let Feodor slip away. I kept pressing the commander for permission to chase after him immediately. Needless to say, he refused all my pleas, so things have been a little awkward since then.”
That wasn’t untrue, but it wasn’t very accurate either. Now that some time had passed and she’d regained her composure, she understood that what she’d done during those few days was hardly just “pressing” for permission. It wouldn’t have been surprising if she was charged with insubordination and thrown into solitary confinement for that.
“You’re thinking too much. The commander’s a broad-minded kinda guy, he won’t fault you for that. Just treat it as water under the bridge.”
“Yeah, but-” Tiat wasn’t shameless enough to forget about it right away. She felt guilty for causing him no end of trouble, but more than anything, she was ashamed at having shown how fixated she was with Feodor.
“You’re not the only one who doesn’t want to meet him right now; I don’t either. And I’ve got fresher beef with him, by the way.”
“…What did you do?”
“Oh, nothing much. At the very least, I never tried pulling a fast one on anybody.” Pannibal shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “After all, when you challenge someone, you gotta face them head on. That’s one of my mottos, you know.”
What the heck did she do?
A great mass of steel lumbered along thick iron tracks, raising a racket as it went.
The massive armored railcar served as the platform for an extremely large cannon. In order to counteract the recoil when it fired, the railcar was equipped with a number of custom-made anchoring spades. Due to its excessive weight, it could not run on standard railway tracks, and so it was designed to operate upon specially-made iron rails.
Its name was Boar-class Bombardment Railcar Ingens Mareo. Boasting exceptional range and destructive power enough to even bring down large airships when fired from the ground, it was commonly regarded as one of Regule Aire’s greatest…white elephants.
After all, though it could shoot down large airships, that was all it was capable of. Besides, the need for its own railway system also limited use to areas where the Winged Guard’s combat engineers could operate freely. In other words, it was a decisive weapon which, in principle, could only be used against strategic aerial targets during sieges. And such specific circumstances almost never occurred—rather, it would have been quite problematic if they did.
“To think that we’d even need to bring this out…” An armado clad in an officer’s uniform muttered as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
“Sorry, what was that?” Next to him, a rabbitfolk military police officer shouted through the din, his long ears flattened to shut out the unpleasant noise.
“Never mind, just an old man grouching! Just saying how capable Fourth Officer Feodor was!” the First Officer shouted in reply. “It’s only when he ain’t here that you really appreciate having him around! No one told me my workload would increase so much with just one person gone! It’s almost enough to make a grown man cry!”
“This isn’t the time to be joking around!” The rabbitfolk pressed a hand to his forehead, as if he was trying to suppress a headache. “You haven’t forgotten what that ‘capable’ former Fourth Officer Feodor did, have you!?”
“Can’t say I have. After all, I was only able to dig up a tiny bit of what he was trying to do! And you guys are keeping everything else you know to yourselves!”
“We’re not hiding anything! Even now, we still don’t know the full extent of his plans!”
With the sound of screeching metal, the bombardment railcar grinded to a halt. A number of spades extended from the car and dug into the ground, affixing it to the spot. As the noise died down, the rabbitfolk lowered his voice and massaged his ears, seemingly able to relax a little.
“We’ve gone as far as pulling up the floorboards in his room, and even conducted a full investigation on his favorite bakery in addition to his other usual haunts. I wouldn’t say we learned nothing—we’ve uncovered much unknown to us previously—but it wasn’t enough for us to paint a complete picture of his plans and goals.”
“So you guys didn’t end up empty-handed, but were still off the mark, huh.” Shaken by the loud noise, the rabbit-eared officer lightly scratched the itch on his nose, while the armado continued: “He even accounted for the possibility that he’d make a fatal mistake, and redistributed the risk evenly so that his plan wouldn’t collapse completely in that case. Man, he really is capable in his own humble way.”
Feodor Jessman was exceptionally cautious, and it wasn’t just because of his imp heritage, blessed as they were with their natural aptitude for scheming. Neither fettered by the naïveté of youth nor the arrogance that so often came with talent, he possessed a strong sense of purpose that allowed him to remain level-headed in any situation and choose the best way forward.
That was how he had always lived his life—at least, up until a month ago. He had become much more unguarded after meeting the four first-class equivalent soldiers. Perhaps it was because he had been living in a state of constant tension that he looked somewhat bewildered when those girls unwittingly brought out his true nature. And thus, he hastened the plan which he had proceeded cautiously with up till that point, volunteering for a special mission that drew unwanted attention and committing a previously unthinkable blunder.
What had changed him so? In any case, the armado wasn’t tactless enough to probe. “…Once you’re drawn to a way of life that’s wholly different from what you were used to, I suppose there’s no way you’d continue martyring yourself. Oh well, it’s not my place to reason why.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing, just talking to myself.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a gaggle of technical officers raising a ruckus. Something about one of the spades being slightly bent, apparently by only the thickness of a fish scale.
“Who’s in charge of maintaining this?”
“Is the workshop still open?”
“Just use it as it is!”
“It’ll break in one shot if it’s this crooked, dumbass!”
“I didn’t know this steel was even more delicate than your bloody wife.”
“What was that!?”
“I gotta say, he’s pretty convincing.”
Though the heated exchange showed no signs of stopping, the armado first officer turned his back to the clamor. There were still several places he needed to inspect by the end of the day—no, while the sun was still high. This was no time to be loitering around.
“So that’s it? All you MPs working on this, and you couldn’t even trace his footsteps?”
“No. We found two leads, in fact.”
Hm? Not expecting that response, the First Officer stopped in his tracks.
“Firstly, he appears to have gained the cooperation of the orcs. Their numbers are many, and their network spans all of Regule Aire. As long as he has their backing, the chances of him still hiding in Lyell City are low. Slipping through the eyes of the Winged Guard to another island would be simple with their help.”
“…I wonder about that,” the armado murmured softly. “That kid seemed like he still had stuff to do here.”
Seemingly not hearing or perhaps ignoring him, the rabbitfolk continued speaking. “From there, we drew our second conclusion. Three days ago, several persons with suspected false identities boarded a Spessartine-affiliated merchant vessel and departed the island. Though we have no eyewitness reports, several pieces of evidence indicate that Feodor Jessman was one of those individuals.”
“Is that so.”
“Last night, that person transferred onto another merchant ship after arriving at Grimjarr City’s harbor district on Island No. 28. He was able to present a local trade permit so we couldn’t detain him for questioning, but we did manage to pin down his destination.”
“Huh. Nice going.”
Apart from the few races born with strong wings, travel between islands required the use of an airship, and the takeoff and landing of all airships could only happen in specially-equipped harbors. Therefore, the Winged Guard’s first move when it came to tracking criminals was to monitor all the harbors. Naturally, criminals were well aware of that and had developed their own ways to evade detection.
Island No. 28 was one of the most prosperous in the region, with a large harbor district to match. On top of that, its public security was lacking, and airship and passenger inspections were sloppy—in other words, there were plenty of loopholes.
“Exactly. So please retract your previous statement.”
“Ah, sure, sure. That part about you guys not being able to trace his footsteps? So that actually bothered you?”
As the mobility tests resumed, the bombardment railcar started to move again, accompanied by thunderous roars and vibrations. “Never thought you’d be so petty about small things like that,” muttered the armado, his voice disappearing into the cacophony.
“Did you say something?”
“No, nothing in particular. So? Where is that scheming former Fourth Officer now-”
“Hmm?” A girl’s voice interrupted their conversation, causing both men to turn around. “Are you perhaps First Officer Baroni Makish?”
One of the faerie soldiers, a featureless girl with bright green hair, ran up to them.
“Tiat Siba Ignareo, huh.” The rabbitfolk murmured her name.
“Ah, so it is you, Mr. Baroni Makish.” The girl hurried over. “Long time no see. Wait, it hasn’t been that long, but somehow it still feels like it’s been a while. What brings you all the way to a place like this?”
“What do you mean, a place like this?” The commander of “this place” grumbled under his breath.
“There were a few things I had to convey in person. However, I’ll be leaving for another floating island right after.”
“Wow, I see you’re as busy as ever.”
“Much to my regret.”
“Ahaha, my condolences.”
The Winged Guard held great power, whether it be in the form of military strength, monetary capital, or legal authority. And power corrupts, if not constantly held in check—sometimes, it still does even under strict scrutiny.
The rabbitfolk with them, Baroni Makish, was a high-ranking first officer in the Military Police. His primary duty was to inspect and oversee the internal workings of the Winged Guard to prevent such corruption of power. In other words, him being busy meant that the situation inside the organization was precarious.
“Oh right, this is for the commander. I have an express delivery for you, so please look it over right away.”
“Right, sure thing. This First Officer’s as busy as ever too, you know. Would sure be nice if someone could kindly sympathize with me as well…”
“If you’re still able to make witty remarks like that, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“I’m glad to hear my subordinates trust in me.” Laughing forlornly, the armado took the file from her.
“If you’ll excuse me, then.”
“Hold on a moment.”
Tiat stopped just as she was about to turn around. “Yes?”
“First-Class Equivalent Soldier Tiat, do stay for a bit and listen to what this rabbit has to say.”
“…Huh?”
“What?”
Baroni Makish and Tiat looked at each other.
“Is something the matter?”
“Are you sure about this? Our discussion from earlier involves a number of secret matters.” Their gazes shifted to the armado, and the rabbitfolk continued: “Not to mention, she isn’t entirely unrelated to the person in question. Is it not unwise to get someone with a personal connection involved?”
“That’s exactly why I’d like to involve her. We already know what’s going to happen if we engage in a battle of wits with that guy. That’s why we need to throw him off guard if we want to have a shot at cornering and apprehending him.”
The two of them were speaking in a roundabout manner, but with how blatant they were being, Tiat could take a guess at the subject. “Uh. Could you be talking about that?”
“Yep, we probably are.” Nodding readily, the armado turned to Baroni Makish.
“I have no choice then. If you’ve already guessed as much, there’s no point in continuing the charade. I’ll be borrowing dug weapon-compatible faerie soldier Tiat Siba Ignareo for a while.”
“Righto…You got someone you can use as a supervisor?”
“For better or worse, I do have someone in mind. They won’t like it, but I trust that they’ll oblige in the end.”
“Well, that’s great. Alright, let’s-”
Screeeee. The harsh grating sound of metal on metal assaulted their eardrums abruptly. Grimacing in unison, they waited for the unpleasant, tooth-rattling sound to recede.
“-Let’s continue our discussion from earlier.”
“Alright.” His ears still twitching restlessly, Baroni Makish cleared his throat and resumed his report. “The fugitive, former Fourth Officer Feodor Jessman, has already left this island with the aid of Spessartine Trading. We have confirmed that along with the fugitive First-Class Equivalent Soldier Lakhesh Nyx Seniorious, they have passed through Island No. 28 and are heading to a more distant city…”
“You’ve found him!?” Tiat inadvertently interjected, but Baroni Makish paid no heed to her.
“The veracity of this information aside, we of the military police are as yet unable to officially send pursuers against him.”
“Why… But then!”
“Relax, kiddo.” The armado casually silenced her. “Baro, my friend, you gotta stop teasing her and get to the point. This girl’s honest to a fault, a rare type you don’t find nowadays. She won’t get it if you keep beating around the bush.”
“Huh?” What’s that mean?
Baroni Makish straightened his glasses with a finger and continued: “…At present, we are unable to officially send pursuers. However, we can provide a different pretext. Incidentally, I’ve heard that a thorny issue has arisen over there. While they haven’t requested reinforcements, there shouldn’t be any problems with us preemptively offering them aid.”
Um, so, what does that mean?
Seeing the obvious look of puzzlement on Tiat’s face, he cast his eyes down in surrender. “We’ll be able to send you on site under the pretext of a separate mission. Naturally, your freedom to act will be greatly limited, but it should be much better than only being able to watch from afar.”
Tiat’s eyes widened.
“The location is Island No. 11’s first harbor district. I’m sure you know of the place too, but neither the military police nor the 5th Division will be able to lend you any help, so do conduct yourself appropriately.”
Her wide-open eyes blinked once. “The 11th… Huh? The first harbor district, isn’t that…?”
“Exactly. A place of much fame, with a deep connection to yourself. It is one of Regule Aire’s foremost historical cities, as well as ground zero of the Elpis Incident. And now, it’s the stage for yet another upheaval…” Pausing for a moment, he finally spoke its name: “It’s the city of Collina di Luce.”