"Mono/Dialogue"

  'Inner thoughts'

  Narration

  [Message/communication apparatus]

  Date: Winter 1919 NWC or 646 AU.

  Location: ???, Regalian Continent

  POV: Narrator

  Regalia is a nd of winter that seems to st forever the further south you go. Yet, those icy regions have started to melt, allowing long-dormant life forms to emerge from the frozen grip, despite what logic suggests. Logic that has been challenged repeatedly by SIEZ, but this time, it shattered apart.

  Long-dead flora and fauna thrive alongside the wonders of the New World. Redmane stags graze as their famed fur gives way to shiny red skin that looks like meat. Bluebeak ravens caw and preen in this strange, beautiful world. Even the well-known Edelweiss Goat needs to climb higher than ever to find the warm temperatures its coated body needs.

  Herbs and pnts, once thought lost to history, are now found in rge quantities. Seeds and fruits, once rare, are now as common as weeds—a small relief as the nation is still recovering its economy; otherwise, chaos looms with prices crashing.

  Beyond Regalia’s native creatures, the wonders of the New World are migrating as well. Wyverns, once aggressive, now settle and watch the locals with wide, curious eyes, mesmerized by these people wielding bck metal staffs. Beached whales and other mammals are a daily sight, seemingly because some of these aquatic creatures cannot understand sudden nd or the rge masses blocking their migratory paths.

  Soldiers and militias have had to triple their patrols because the Grand Autarch knows someone will do something foolish soon. Rumors include a growing resistance group turning fire-breathing nd drakes into makeshift fmethrower tanks, and an even more outndish report of a farmer breeding wyvern eggs for food.

  Wyvern eggs are a delicacy, besides their surprisingly tender meat beneath all that scale, with the protective hardness of Level III Kevr. So many things to discover, and so much more to understand. Which is why the nation can afford no time or moment of rest.

  Inside a discreet facility where RAIO toils, the world is seemingly moving into an ever-advancing state.

  Faster, more accurate, and unblinking to never sleep. Compounds and Bck Sites churning all over the continent to comprehend his maddening reality. While the Mad Dog of Elesian Front concocts and schemes to prepare a rightful king’s eventual arrival, it’s these men who handled the nitty-gritty side of intelligence gathering.

  RAIO had been closely linked with the R&D department, but they were given a bnk check to conduct essential internal research to make tasks easier for field operatives. There’s the newly established Occult Operation – Joint Pnning Center, modeled after the Regalian Anomaly and Disaster Management Department, but more eager to understand and utilize this world’s unique metaphysical aspects for the Autarchy’s benefit. Recently, they took the initiative to understand the differences between Regalian and New Worlders.

  It’s a grim subject, no doubt, but when a nation risks being blindsided… they take caution. They won’t be caught off guard again, even if it means sacrificing some of their conscience. To fully understand how this group functions, we must mention the security corps responsible solely for internal defense against external threats. They are armed and trained as mechanized infantry, equipped with expensive gear and capable weapon systems to ensure safety.

  The Security Corps is a colloquial term among employees and staff for the 1025th Light Mechanized Defense Regiment, part of the 999th Mobile Strategic Security Division, all false but also true. These men and women are the best the army has, with a more… flexible mindset. Their psychology is carefully monitored; if they fail to meet perimeter standards, they face reassignments to more conventional forces or are assigned to the Autarch’s retinue.

  As, nothing is invincible. One sign is that no two computers are linked internally; each terminal is isoted to an absurd degree. Multiple generators, a mini-nuclear reactor, and a standard armory with no single master key. Each section is an independent network—a stark form of adaptation the Autarchy learned from the death of Simon, the former Supreme Field Marshal.

  That incident left a permanent mark on the intelligence unit, with notes of rapid purges, as the system had been compromised—not by men, but by technology. The loss of lives and manpower was the worst blow they’d ever faced.

  It’s a miracle that Cylene Renoir didn’t destroy the entire organization; she’s done worse for what she saw as dereliction of duty. No one here ever spoke of the liquidation of the Regalian Internal Security Corps, which was disbanded without anyone ever hearing from its members again. Their predecessor failed to predict how VIpR was a bait that wiped out a rge portion of the Regalian navy.

  Losing a Supreme Field Marshal was a serious offense, regardless of how they are stretched to the limit ten times over. Many had come to accept what was about to happen once the war ended, if they were fortunate enough to survive that long. Then, the miracle occurred, and their Grand Autarch became much calmer without her brethren's interference.

  Perhaps the people working here should thank the anomaly that leaves them stranded, and with an emergency at hand, they are being silently pushed to the side. Not a complete pardon by any means, but by working hard, they can seek redemption, for the Grand Autarch is still famed for her swift and brutal mercy.

  That will be enough for the trivia and lesson on this group’s inception, however. The organized clicks of keyboards and buttons stay unceasing.

  Prime Director Joshua controlled this fortress of information for processing. He is currently speaking with his secretary through an internal telephone link.

  “I will need updates regarding that mage.”

  [It is proceeding as expected, Prime Director. Our research that had ruled out the possibility of a systematic ranking system. Right now, we are right on the hypothetical framework and application retive to that of native New Worlders.]

  “Good, you have my leave on mobilizing the resources. Keep it tight as always…” He closed the channel and leaned back on the chair. He has been in office ever since that bsted war started… and he is unsure whether it was a stroke of fortune or cruel jape that he is still alive.

  He is the highest authority when it comes to intelligence, second only to the Commander Regent himself, but there has been a rumor swirling about for an even deeper intelligence unit. Joshua understands that RAIO mainly functions as a general day-to-day apparatus to keep the information flow uninterrupted.

  They are the bread and butter of keeping this nation unharmed through the applications of cndestine operations. He had briefly worked with UFSNE’s Secret Service, and he marveled at how callous they are. Quality-wise, he is confident that RAIO is amongst the top when it comes to espionage and assassinations.

  However, the realization of deeper hands at py dampened his pride a lot. While he is acting like the most powerful person, questioned only by Commander Regent or the Grand Autarch, he feels no different than a boy scout once discrepancies on what unfolded on the ground transpired.

  Supply lines that remain uninterrupted deep behind enemy lines suddenly went up in smoke? Unnatural avanche that buried a lot of high-ranking officers? A series of deep raids that coincides with his own? Problem with missing supplies that were swapped abruptly? What’s more damning would be Simon’s death.

  ‘Where do I stand with my men in this?’ While it has been quietly ruled as a war uncertainty, he cannot be sure anymore. Politics is always ugly, and the Autarchs are known to never bring their grievances in front of her, only to start scheming on each other once her eyes leave them. It’s honestly a miracle that the nation hadn’t torn itself apart, almost as if there were more than two guiding hands while Cylene Renoir was distracted.

  ‘What’s their priority? Why are they so active?’ What their leader deemed important might be different than even RAIO’s most cssified documents. It is a fair theory, the Grasdivis exist, and they seemingly know where to strike and why. Her private army had been growing more notorious ever since the transfer. No rebels are being left off freely once the coast is clear.

  Gerrymandering on headache-inducing hypotheticals aside, he refocuses his attention on the monitor ahead.

  The continent of Helicar is quite a vast ground to cover, a good half the size of the Regalian Continent, but with a greater preference for ft terrains and forests. His eyes scan over the many ndmarks and report to form a rger picture. He takes particur interest in the transponders. These transponders were those embedded during Olga’s insane, controversial, and ethically heretical unconventional raid.

  Now he sees her practical result of that maddening breach of operational ethics. Lines upon lines of the st recorded ping from the transponders allowed them to maximize terrain mapping. Roads that were left hidden by the foliage can be uncovered by drone scouting to reconnect the dots whenever the signal was lost briefly.

  He can use his asset better, moving one satellite to cover an important position and affirming what can be seen. What was once theorized to be a cave had been scouted by a detached intelligence cell and confirmed as an underground weapons depot. The Empire they’re dealing with is not just a bunch of arquebus-wielding savages, but an organized and well-prepared invasion force.

  It is an astonishing revetion how technology has progressed in such haphazard manners. His boots on the ground had reported murder holes just rge enough for a single rifle, reminiscent of arrow slits, and that would have been the end of it. Simplicity of an idea that can be integrated by native reasoning and technological level.

  That is not, however, the end of it.

  This network of caves is an underground transportation link. Crisscrossing the continent of Helicar at breakneck speed. Their trains are not powered by coal or other fossil fuels, but by these enigmatic magic stones. Architecture that his men reported was also jarring. A method of building that would have colpsed the whole cavern, being held up by magic or a phenomenon of simir nature.

  This is the crucible.

  There’s a clear indication that a more modern and efficient construction method has been used. First-hand account from their colborator had painted how there were no arquebuses a few years ago, and it is fair to assume the Empire had been producing them recently, but not by a rge margin.

  Joshua had gotten the memo, and many things to consider on how to move. Information on otherworlders, people who came from a different world with knowledge, is a very tangible threat. It is possible that the Empire had a number of these otherworlders, whether willingly or not, being incorporated as the lifeblood of technological revolution.

  These people are his primary concern.

  ‘What if their world had an even more advanced technology? What if they bring not just themselves but a working object from their world? That possibility is the most terrifying factor. It will be very unamusing if one of the summoned otherworlders came with an atomic warhead if not worse…’ He grunted internally, already envisioning how to prevent such tantalizing and forbidden knowledge from spreading too far.

  Prime Directorship had been very harsh on him, but he compined not. These networks of information require constant readjustment and refinement to utmost accuracy, for each fgging progress or discrepancy could harm not just them, but Regalia itself.

  Location: Eastern’s Loyalist stronghold, Isle of Fallfiore.

  Raegova oversees the rounding up of defeated and captured soldiers, many of whom have eyes full of terror. He had witnessed the moment the strait was rent asunder by explosions; he had witnessed men and women drowned as cold water and heavy equipment dragged them under.

  The Imperial and Ionie-aligned Arganean had sounded a full retreat; they too were shocked seeing the unfolding catastrophe that cimed thousands in the blink of an eye. The loss of some of their cannons might be a fair reason why they retreat, on top of the harsh weather.

  “General…” His most trusted right hand, Nasza, spoke grimly. She crossed her arms and threw her gaze at the jagged column of ice and broken gcial sheets. Corpses littered the strait, be it floating or drowning. Such a view would have pleased her if only she knew why.

  “… Whatever had occurred, it was not natural. I checked with our remaining mages, and they found no mana traces or residue of incantation. Then…” She swallowed hard.

  “Those explosions have enough force to shatter our walls. It is unlike anything I had ever seen before, and I swear even a galleon or carrack full of bckpowder won’t explode in such a concentrated manner.”

  “Indeed. Someone or something is capable of directing where the force should go. This clues us in with either a group or faction bearing sophisticated weaponry, or an unknown concve of Archmages suddenly left their silent concve to aid us.” He chuckled at the absurd possibilities.

  “Neither is it possible. If the Archmages wish for our favor, they should have helped when we were retreating to the east. A lot of good men would have been saved.”

  “If it’s… the former?” Her fiery voice, which was once full of hate, is now pensive and unsure. Raegova clenched his teeth, his palm fiddling with the sword’s pommel behind him.

  “Then we'd best hope they are someone sensible. Any other alternatives mean we will face an even greater foe in a state where we are barely holding on. If there’s truly an enigmatic force wielding power we had never encountered… then praying is our only choice.” He turns his gaze far across the pond full of corpses, onto the capital where he had once served alongside Gallenor.

  He reaches into his neckce behind the breastpte, it’s a memento from his mother as she goes missing with the prince across the forgotten sea. He is hoping for her safety, but even hope can only st so long as reality keeps on showing the folly and futility of it all.

  His reminiscing and contempting were interrupted as a mage walked up to him. The mage bore a distinctive feature of green skin and pointed ears, a forest druid of old that had pledged his magical expertise to the Eastern Loyalist. The old forest dweller bowed.

  “Interrogation and questioning of the captured soldiers had ended just recently, Milord.” He raised his head, his tone resolute, which ran contradictory to his advanced or withered age.

  “Survivors spoke of the same horror, of beasts donning the skin of man or perhaps the long-lost fish people once thought extinct. These formidable monsters… I believe they exist.” He motioned to his apprentice he came to his side before presenting Raegova with an ultra-thin harpoon, needle, or perhaps a steel crossbow bolt.

  He takes it for inspection, and he traces just how impossibly smooth the surface is. The craftsmanship alone will put the entire continent of Helicar to shame.

  “How many more had you found?”

  “Hundreds, if not thousands, Milord. Every single one of them is indistinguishable. Every single one of these had punctured through the thin breastpte and chainmail.”

  “Even smith casting will bear minor defects… but these steels have no such telltale signs?”

  “No, Milord. We had compared many great samples on to the next, and there’s naught even a sliver of difference that wasn’t caused by battle. It is as if we are witnessing the work of World Crossing Heroes.”

  “World Crossing Heroes… indeed… Only an outndish idea such as so might allow us to comprehend this. However, the arts of Summoning had long since been lost, and if we did it, the Crown would shatter anew before re-forging. Last I recall, the Empire is not anywhere close to uncovering the eldest secrets.” He mused while stroking his jaw.

  Here he is, a man who was forced to consider that idea because it is the only one with any sembnce of crity. His mother is the greatest Fleshmancer of this era, but even her wellspring of arcane mana is one tempered in times where gods faded into history. Nasza interjects his musing.

  “It bears no weight who or what sent those underwater devils; it does bear weight how the Empire will pin the bme on us. Our kind had been suffering out there; this intense setback will put them back a few paces from being treated kindly. It will be wise for us to press the advantage.”

  “And what will we feed them with? Suffice, I say, how only a few of us hope daily to keep hunger at bay. Our granary could barely keep up, and there’s little we can spare.”

  “Then what’s the point of all this? Are you still thinking he will return? It is more probable that he becomes fish feed. Open your eyes and look around you.” She points out that a few had been paying attention, desperate or hopeful for recourse. Raegova does as told… and turns his view towards the Forgotten Ocean.

  “The Crown endures. Now we wait, and hope.” Predictably, that is far from an inspiring cim, but what other alternatives do they have? They could try to force something, to fight on for a glorious end that will not end with them in svery. Those who had little to lose are eager to fight to the bitter end… but will it satisfy those who have something to lose?

  It will truly be great tidings if such a convenient cause could be established. Desperation drives men and women wild. It is a sickness of the mind that cannot be remedied with pretty words and promises. It is simply the way of the world. Those at the top will fight on for their ideal, and those at the bottom will have to bear the weight of a fg held up high.

  For a better future, let the blood flow to nurture the nd so a better time may bloom.

  Location: Eastern Arganea, Galiend Bridge.

  The retreating force had just suffered a catastrophic setback against all odds. There will surely be a few heads rolling by the time they return to the friendly line. This st winter offensive had caused an uncharacteristically high damage.

  Nobility losses from that battle were retively light, be it the Imperial or Arganean, comparatively speaking. Halciadonish’s commanders will have plenty of scapegoats to use, convenient because most bore ambition. Ambitions that were encouraged to breed excellence are far from fwless. Unfortunately, no doubt those at the top can feel the Emperor’s displeasure or, worse still, his unbidden wrath.

  Losing the precious cannons and ice mages will hurt the commander’s prospects. They were given tactical freedom to do what was considered necessary, but the line where it becomes brilliance or madness is always blurry. This time it just happens to be the worst possible outcome.

  Culminating with survivors and contempting the magic and weapon lost from the sudden breaking of ice and whispers of a monster beneath the tide. Those horrific creatures with glowing eyes had picked the drowning men as if beckoning them to the depths of watery hell.

  Their armor and protection were proven useless against those beasts’ steel darts or harpoons. In hindsight, attacking during winter is sheer folly, but it can be traced back to their need to gain achievement. Such a daring and reckless move had ended in huge losses for both Arganean and Imperial. Rifts that were formed yawned rger with each ticking of the clock between the Arganean and the Imperial, on which the former had a far weaker footing.

  “Damn beast blood. It must have been them and their sorcery.” An angry muttering and bzing gaze full of hatred were thrown towards the equally incensed Arganean auxiliary. His comrade chimes in.

  “We should have destroyed them all. It has been proven how they cavort with unsavory power.” The intensifying hostility must have been a rather strange occurrence, but often, bming and pointing fingers were the only choices left.

  Of course, the Arganean are on the backfoot; many still have family on the Western side of the kingdom. Lashing out at this moment will do nothing but put them in danger. So all they did was pretend and pray to the gods for strength against the cascade of abuse thrown their way.

  It doesn’t stop them from inching for a bde, spear, or other weapon close at hand. The Arganean scarce handgunners, and the rarer arquebusiers, cshed eyes with the more advanced and better trained Halciadonish arquebusiers.

  As they toil to cross the bridge, there’s the matter of who shall cross first. Logical convention would argue to let the Arganean go first forward and take any possible fall. The battle was still fresh in everyone’s mind, however, and thus the Halciadonish will cross first. The Imperial army was divided into three: the first detachment to secure the other side, the second detachment to prepare and follow, and the third detachment that was made to face the battered Arganean.

  It would have been a magnificent boon if the river had solidified perfectly, but peering into the cold below shows nothing but thin ice and slow freezing death. Many aren’t trained to swim with such heavy armor if the worst comes to worst, of course, and even when that was taken into account, only those with proximity to rivers or rge bodies of water learned to swim.

  Most, no matter who, were essentially farmers drafted from their nds or dregs of society beaten and molded into weapons for war and plunder. These men are trained just enough to be useful, but not at all encompassing. Even the Imperial have limited an all-rounder force, and engineers are the real cream of the crop.

  The first detachment gradually made its way across, with the Imperial cuirassiers and dragoons leading the way. Procession of steel and cloth underneath a winter cloak, eyes peeled, and tension mounts. Their horses galloped full speed ahead, with dragoons soon dismounting to guard the mouth while cuirassiers fanned out in all directions.

  The winter weather made vision a real problem for everyone involved; even those of keen sight could not penetrate the thick winter fog and snowing wind. Whisper of wildlife had gone silent as they hibernate and flit through sleep. Wind howls sharply as trees slept, yearning for spring.

  These weary men, far from home, yearn for the same thing…

  Unfortunately, they walk in tight formation directly towards hidden muzzles, camoufged men, and death rolled into one. Men and women donning winter coats, thermal sights preciously pilfered from UFSNE and URoV’s stocks, and the distinct jingling of dog tags had been muffled by wind and snow.

  “Perfect,” Olga muttered as the cold wind turned her exhaled breath into vapor. Her eyes glinted the same hue as that time she had orchestrated a masterpiece of death zones from a time when she was at her strongest.

  ‘Shame I can barely muster a company, unlike me and my heyday.’ The Mad Dog chuckles away, uncaring that she is about to orchestra her specialty. For once, she has no shadow of military politics, Autarchs breathing down her neck, cries of men and women who had lost someone because of her decision.

  What made her eted was the bnk cheque granted by, allegedly, the Grand Autarch herself. She got some toys to py with, and it made her giddy like a child in a candy store. She ceases her thought when the radio turns on.

  [Banshee-One team in position.] A four-man team across the river, hidden by snow and a frozen mound of ice. They’re the closest to the bridge, armed with a subsonic rifle courtesy of the Maximian.

  [Banshee-Two team in position.] Located on the opposite side of the bridge, they trained their sights on the pikemen and arquebusiers crossing the bridge. Armed simirly and no less ready to commit to the operation.

  [Barghest-One team in position.] Two scoped rifles and two binocurs on a vantage point; the tree lines, 500 meters (550 yards) away. They are armed with bolt bolt-action rifle with a fsh hider attached. One might wonder if that’s enough because a gunshot is still very loud.

  [Barghest-Two team in position.] The rgest two consist of two machine gunners and two ammo carriers. They’re pced in a position overlooking the only road that will allow the Arganean and Imperial to retreat further west in an organized manner, which is doubtful if the pn worked.

  [Amber Squad on standby.] An augmented QRF squad is less than two kilometers away from the bridge. If need be, they can help the PMCs vacate the area while holding rearguard duty. These men are also in charge of keeping the snowmobiles and tractors safe. They are located on the east side of the bridge.

  [Topaz Squad on standby, waiting for tasking.] Simirly equipped and armed with those on the other end of the bridge. This unit will be the real blocking force should the situation escate beyond the pnned scenario.

  “Medusa here, let’s get this show on the road.” With a mischievous little sing-a-song in her voice, the operation starts not with gunfire… of the cssical era.

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  The cuirassiers and dragoons were armed when a loud bang of volley fire echoed from the front. Smokes and fshes rang as the winter snow gained a contender.

  Off few riders or their mounts bore fresh wounds of lead, puncturing their unprotected side and penetrating their armored ones. Horses reared up in a panic, clouds of dust mingled with snow as the world of cold serenity was torn asunder anew.

  “Ambush! Form-” An officer’s voice was banished once a bullet paid a courtesy visit to his throat. Crity of vision is sparse as panic spreads around them. The distinct sound of marching men and the clopping of warhorses further disoriented the others crowding over the bridgehead. Outlying scouts let out cries of death and horror as their voices were drowned by screaming and shouting.

  “Form up! Protect the bridgehead!” Officers immediately regain their bearings, voices mingling with the din of combat across this hazy battlefield. There will be no need for a runner as those crossing the bridge heard the cacophony ahead.

  “Double time it, ds! Move!” Trumpets and drums signal the army to march with utmost haste. Magician and mages redouble their chants to cast a detection magic through their arcane wisdom. One of them cried out in horror.

  “Hundreds, perhaps more arcane wisp are detected ahead!” He heaved with a wheeze, his arcane ndscape snakes into reality to paint the grim situation they are in. Hundreds of unknown signatures are moving in nigh-perfect unison.

  “Get the pikes upfront! Mages, enchant our arquebusiers with winter enchantment! Those bastards had likely done the same!”

  “Bst it all, what sort of sorcery does the lordless Crown have?!” As ripples of unease spread throughout the combined army. Those at the back began tensing at the suddenness and escation with no end in sight.

  The Arganean and Imperial on this side gripped their arms with increasing wariness. Eyes darting from the voices in combat ahead and the ambiguity of each other. Suspicion rose, and the officers tried to keep their men in line.

  Fruitless. A loud bellowing cry added more mayhem.

  “FOR ZORPHAL! FOR ARGANEA!” The bridge exploded, cutting the army apart and knocking those too close into the frozen river below. As if there’s not enough trouble…

  “Agh!?” Someone from the Imperial line had been shot from somewhere in the direction of the Arganean.

  “Gh!?” Someone from the Arganean line suffered the same fate.”

  “Amb-Akh!” The officers were silenced when poor fools began screaming in terror.

  “They’re here!”

  “Traitors! We have traitors!”

  “Agh! H-Help!”

  “KILL ALL ARGANEAN DOGS!” No one knew who said such words, but soon a few men at the front were dropping like flies, swatted without mercy. The officers of both sides fail to regain control. Both armies were frazzled by the suddenness of combat.

  If they had time to regain crity, the situation would have been easier, but the sight of Imperial Cuirassiers and Dragoons frayed their nerves. Forming up of men and formation had done little than to instill muscle memory as terror and horror of uncertainty pgued them all.

  From there? More madness.

  Arganean men-at-arms charged the Imperial pikemen, but the arquebusiers were not ready yet, as archers and crossbows peppered them. In the midst of these, those with voice and command were eliminated one by one, and the standards especially so.

  Imperial musicians and standard banners were killed by unseen bdes of shot; no one can see what is happening other than they’re ambushed… are they? The roars of combat around them had cracked the discipline, made worse as fireballs and fming rocks were hurled from god knows where.

  Most nded above the Imperial position, further destabilizing the situation. Suspicion turns to fear, fear becomes hate, and hate clouds judgment.

  “KILL THESE BEAST BLOODED VERMINS! CHARGE! IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR!” A bright helmeted noble astride their destrier rallied the Imperial Cuirassiers, scattering the Arganean spearmen that barely there and wholly out of position. The thin line of defense gave way to men being trampled underfoot, crying and baying for deliverance or cursing despite their irrelevance brought forth by the fog of war.

  Seeing their friends and comrades trampled roused blood to boil, snarls and anger subsided, and both fear and uncertainty let survival take center stage. Those with hesitation had their choices made for them, a terrible thing to do when men were reduced to beasts.

  “CHARGE! KILL THEM! KILL THESE SCUMS!”

  “RAGGGHHH!”

  “VANQUISH THEM! KNIGHTS, FORM UP AND CHARGE!”

  Mages from both sides tried to return some sembnce of control, but they too became victims and were forced to defend themselves. Fireball and bdes of wind charring or sshing mortals into pieces. Commanders from respective armies fail to rein in the chaos, with those of stout, hard, hard-made to buckle turns to flee.

  Carnage in this New Era bloom, and more people die, and even more shall suffer. Even more so shall pay the price…

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  POV: Olga “Mad Dog” Caligo

  [We got a few running through the blockade; they appear to be Imperial and galloping full speed west.] Peering through my binocurs, a small trick in the book happens way too easily. Back in the war, I need to set up a chain of events to recreate something like this… huh, the ethnic tension will be juicy.

  I can’t stop ughing in my mind seeing their arcane ‘radar’ got fooled by gutted hearts and stuff on a rope pulled by a small, remote-controlled mine cleaning vehicle. Always wanted to try many creative methods since then, but b b b, rules of war, b b b politics, are all getting in the way. Now? Bnk cheque~.

  [Let them go, the more slips through the better for us- hang on, and… that’s another banner down.] Still, though, having only those four and that surly woman being my only superior is nice. Neumann is technically running the whole show, technically, of course.

  [Banshe team here, some of the officers made it past the river… damn, aren’t they shivering?] I wonder if I can pull it off in the next phase, the Imperial rapid conquest should breed a hell lot of resentment. War is best if we bleed less.

  [This much is kiddy pool to us.] And I almost forgot about my job. Clearing my throat, I turn on my radio.

  “Stop talking over the net.” They immediately quieted down. Good. I do love obedient subordinates… I prefer mutts, though, but eh…

  [Wilco, ma’am.] The comms returns to its by-the-book protocol. I kinda feel bad to ruin their fun, but there’s a time and pce. Right now? Get ‘paid’, finish ‘contract’, and collect ‘bounty’. So many yers that could technically be ripped to shreds, but that’s the point of this confusing Grand Strategy, isn’t it?

  “Amber and Topaz, prepare for BDA and clean up, let the stragglers go as pnned.” I do love serving Regalia… her Autrachy… and my one true goddess…

  [END OF CHAPTER]

  Author’s Note:

  Yo there, this is me, myself, and I, the author who is getting busy irl.

  Sorry for the very te update. I have a day job now, and I often return home without the mood to write. I will try to update, somehow, but once again, no promises. As I was saying, expect a lot of morally reprehensible stuff, that’s just war from people who almost lost their homes. You pushed them far enough; see what happens.

  Update as uh… I don’t know.

  Ciao