#shuumatsu nani shitemasu ka mou ichido dake aemasu ka

[orlandri-tl]

[Sukamoka Vol. 1] Chapter 3 Part 1: Disposable Weapons

It was the Utica, a tactical airship boasting the greatest energy output and loading capacity of all the ships owned by the Winged Guard.

Before now it had never been in actual combat, in large part due to its invisible costs. Not only did it reputedly have an overly large heavy-cyclical enchanted furnace that, by itself, was insufficiently powerful to feed the ship’s outrageous fuel consumption, it also had no less than four pairs of auxiliary wings built at – of all places – the bottom of its base! The hull was roughly hewn from red steel so that it might not deform from the ship’s monstrous bulk, aided by sixteen rotors that were each four times larger than they would have been on a regular airship. Its main gun, as suited a ship of this magnitude, was of the highest physical power imaginable. Even then, the engineers had at one point tried to install the “Mountain Thrower” urban-defense weapon into the ship.

To sum it up, the Utica was the ultimate airship. A crystallization of arrogance built with the most powerful of the most powerful mechanical gadgets, constructed while ignoring all concerns of fuel consumption, maintenance costs, spell burn injuries, and so on, it could be called the greatest piece of artwork ever created.

“Hey, you,” the Division Chief asked Feodor, “what do you think of that airship?”

Feodor contemplated his question, then replied honestly. “...The people who designed it probably had a lot of fun.”

It was nothing more than a toy that had been designed, manufactured, and somehow made operational. He thought that everyone involved with the project would probably say, “How badly drunk was I when I made this piece of junk?!”

“This thing’s supposed to be our ace in the hole for the next strike. We were handed down the order from the General.”

“Is that right.” Feodor reexamined the airship. By his reckoning, it was capable of destroying everyone equally, whether they were friend or foe. One shot of the main gun could blow away a small city - and would likely cost enough to starve out another small city. It was an utterly ridiculous weapon, even without taking into account the matter of having to transport it to the battlefield.

There was only one thing he could say about such a monstrosity.

“Sounds like it’s gonna be a pain.”

“It is a pain.”

To begin with, it was common knowledge that conventional weaponry that weren’t infused with Venom were weak against the Beasts. It wasn’t that they were completely invulnerable to those weapons, but at the same time they simply didn’t have enough decisive power to deal a finishing blow. In the battles against the Teimerre and the Aurora, records of which the Winged Guard had plenty left over, conventional artillery had only been used to keep them in check and to buy time.

Any normal person would have thought to search for some other method. And perhaps, just perhaps, an abnormal person would have thought along these lines:

“Since it’s not effective, let’s put aside the simple problem of firepower for later. If our artillery only produces so much results, wouldn’t it be better for us to strike with an item that has a hundred times that power?”

Needless to say, the kind of factory floor where such things might have been discussed concerned Feodor a hundredfold.

In many ways, Venom was something akin to fire. One reason for that was that it couldn’t maintain itself. If one desired to use their Venom, it had to be ignited on the spot at a specific time. Furthermore, Venom ignited within the body could only exert its effects on outside forces if they made contact with that body.

In other words, it couldn’t be used for risky stunts such as charging and then releasing it like an arrow or shell. If one wanted to unleash a Venom-infused attack on an Beast in any kind of circumstance, it had to be in direct close-quarter combat.

“...Ah, wait. I see… there is just one other method we can use.”

At present, Feodor too knew about the existence of that method.

If a spirit with the ability to ignite their Venom was used, rather than an artillery, shell, then effective attacks without approaching the Beasts were possible.

I don’t know who thought of it, but it’s a logical method. As far as anti-Beast combat goes, it would be a shining ray of hope through the clouds of unreasonable demands.

“First Officer,” Feodor said abruptly. “I wish to ask you an unrelated question.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s about those First-class equivalent officers, sir. I believe you should’ve received three signatures from ranked officers who are higher than First Officer, correct? May I ask who those three might have been?”

The Division Chief paused momentarily. “First Officer Limeskin of the Second Division. First Officer Baroni Makish of the Military Police Division. Myself of the Fifth Division. What of it?”

At the least, those three should be aware of them. Of the people who, though they might live in this base and be treated as equivalent soldiers, could never become soldiers. The reason for their existence, and their true identities.

“Well then, First Officer, perhaps–”

Feodor snapped his mouth shut. It wasn’t something he could ask about. He hadn’t yet been informed about their identities. I mustn’t ask questions based on knowledge which I shouldn’t know about. “No, it’s nothing. Thank you.”

“Is that so?” The Division Chief tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn’t pursue the issue. “...All right.”

* * *

Tiat was there atop the abandoned theatre again, sitting with her arms around her knees.

Feodor had thought that she would’ve learned her lesson after two falls. At the very least, she was keeping her distance from the steam ventilation port. She seemed to have recognized him by the sound of the door opening, as she was giving him fleeting sidelong glances as he walked closer.

“Donuts,” he said in greeting. She nodded, beckoning him closer with little gimmie, gimmie gestures. “...Just what do you think I am?”

“Someone who’s somehow always eating delicious food.”

Gah. It stung, but he couldn’t really deny it.

“Oh, I know!” Tiat smiled. “Why don’t you tell me where you get them?”

“What are you going to do if I tell you that?”

“I thought I should buy something good for Collon and the others, but there’s only lots and lots of flavorless food on this island…” she paused. “Wait, is it bad for me to always think about delicious things?”

“That’s why you left the base without permission?” Feodor tsked. “You know by now that’s against regulations, don’t you?”

“Yep,” Tiat replied brightly. “Our superior officers are way too serious to ask about this stuff.”

“Oh?” He raised one eyebrow. “So really, just what do you think I am?”

“My not-so-serious superior officer.”

...Oh, damn it. He wasn’t going to admit it, but he couldn’t beat her in smack talk. Feodor sighed. “Since you’ve gone on walks so much already, why don’t you try using your feet some more and find it yourself?”

“Hmm… oh, but I don’t have enough pocket money to use for tasting and comparing food at random...”

It wasn’t like soldiers in the Winged Guard weren’t paid cheaply. Ranked officers could provide for a large family with a bit left over to indulge themselves. With that kind of money, they could easily walk around the city spending, unlike university students pinching coins.

She only had to be considered a soldier to be granted that much.

“You’re always here, but why’re you so interested in this place?” Feodor eventually asked. “It’s not all that different than other places you could find around town.”

“Hmm, I don’t know if I’m interested, but…” He tilted his head as Tiat started mumbling to herself. “...No, wait, am I really?”

He waited, and eventually she volunteered another sentence. “I think this one probably feels the saddest. The wind’s strong, but quiet, and there’s no one here – except for when a certain someone drops by.”

Her logic made sense. “It’s the best place to be when there’s something on your mind,” Feodor agreed, sitting on a spot of the roof near Tiat. From his vantage point, Lyell City spread out below him as it always did.

“I wonder…” Unbidden, the words left his lips. “Is there any meaning in protecting this world?”

“Huh?” Tiat sidled up to him, her outstretched hands not matching her expression. “What kind of question is that? If you’re a Winged Guard officer, shouldn’t you already know the answer?”

“It’s not about me, but rather you.” He dropped another donut into her hands. “Not you as in the First-class equivalent soldier you claim to be, either. I heard about how you’re a Spirit, tuned to some kind of Dug Weapon thing.”

Tiat popped the donut into her mouth. One bite, two bites, and then three bites came before she answered. “How’d you know about that? It’s supposed to be super classified.”

“Well…” It’s because I secretly investigated you using an information broker! Like hell could he say that. No, wait, it was illegal to begin with, so why did I just tell her I know everything?!

What in the world am I doing?

“It’s because I’m your supervisor, and even if it’s just for now, also your superior officer,” Feodor said, feeding her a fake reason. “I need to know what I can do for you, that’s all.”

Tiat snorted, then burst into laughter.

“Why’re you laughing?”

“Ah, sorry, I just got a bit nostalgic.” Tiat patted her chest, small tears welling up in her eyes. He wondered if perhaps some donut pieces had gotten caught in her throat. “You see, someone told us something like that once before. He was a big show-off, but clumsy at heart. Acting so cool really didn’t suit him.”

A name floated to the forefront of Feodor’s mind. The name Tiat had given him before while making the same face he saw now, belonging to the person Lakish and Collon spoke of, the one who had been their previous caretaker. “Is it…. that Willem guy? The one you mentioned?”

“Yep, that’s right.” Tiat giggled fondly. “Our no-good father.”

He couldn’t tell if she respected him or not, but… at the least, that man seemed to have been both a close friend and someone she loved dearly. I don’t know whether it’s because of our ranks or because we might have been similar in age, but it’s honestly unpleasant to be compared to someone I don’t know a thing about.

“I’d protect it,” Tiat said abruptly. Feodor gave her a questioning glance, and she went on. “What you said before, about if this world is worth protecting? There’s no way I’d know something like that. It’s not like I’ve seen enough to think about it for myself, and I don’t have many people I know either. So I don’t think about complicated stuff like that.”

She took a breath. “But I decided that I’d protect my friends, the world, and a bunch of other stuff. I don’t need to wonder about if it has meaning or not. It’s what I’ve decided to do, so I can’t afford to back down. That’s all there is to it.”

“That...” Feodor searched for the right words. “That sounds almost like you want to be a hero.”

“Hmm, I think it’s a bit different from that, but maybe that’s close enough. It’s cool to fight and throw away your life, right?” Tiat chuckled a little. “Any boy or girl my age would worship people who did that.”

“I–”

“There must be a person more precious than your own life, right?”

“That’s why the one who discovers that person is so very happy, and so very fortunate.”

“...I disagree.” Feodor shook his head. “My own life’s more important than some stranger’s.”

“Whaaaat? Geez, boys like you have no sense of romance…”

“It’s exactly because I think that way and only try to satisfy myself that I’m alive now.” He put down the bag of donuts besides him and looked out across the town again.

It might have been because of his perspective or because of the distribution of districts, but in the part of Lyell he could see, there were almost no visible people living or even just moving around. It was impossible to tell if that was because the number of citizens here had shrunken so much, or because they were already gone. The line between a world that had ended and a world still ending grew vague here.

“That might be true for you,” Tiat said in a quiet voice, the last pieces of her donut swallowed. “But, you know, we aren’t exactly alive.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means what I mean. Um, how much do you know? About us?”

“Not much.” He crossed his arms. “You’re naturally occuring spirits that become assets to us by being tuned with dug weapons, and you’re gonna be disposed of after performing this Fairy Gate thing.”

Tiat scratched her head. “Oh, that’s all? Alright, then I’ll just have to fire up my wonderful memory to tell you the rest! Now let’s see, should I give you the rough explanation first...?”

After counting details off her fingers, she began, “Well, first of all, we’re a natural phenomenon called Leprechauns. We can move, talk, and think, but we’re not technically living beings…”

* * *

Tiat told him everything.

According to her, Leprechauns were a variety of ghosts and, strictly speaking, couldn’t be considered truly living.

Fairies were originally nothing more than whispered self-assertions, psychic phenomena whose existence were fragile at best. Chuckling laughs heard from within the forest; milk that decreased a tiny bit overnight; flying around and teasing cattle, and all of it invisible to the naked eye.

Leprechauns, a subspecies of fairies, couldn’t change their nature. They appeared near Emnetwyte habitats and disappeared without being noticed by anyone. But if they happened to be found prior to vanishing, then they would settle into the existence of a single markless child and begin as a counterfeit living being.

Joy, laughter, pain, sorrow, longing, grief…

Until they died, they would act as if they were truly alive.

* * *

“...Well, to put it another way, it’s like playing the leading role in a ghost story,” Tiat concluded. “We’re like ghosts who don’t know they’re dead, or something like that. Although we don’t have regular physical bodies, our high-density souls organize pseudo-matter into a form that imitates them…. or something like that.”

“You don’t have... physical bodies?” Narrowing his eyes into something like a glare, Feodor scrutinized the girl next to him. Short bright green hair swaying in the breeze. The hem of her skirt fluttering majestically in the wind blowing in from the direction of the town. Donut crumbs clinging to her mouth.

No matter how I look at her, she only seems like an energetic, slightly underdeveloped, teenage girl.

“Don’t stare at me. Pervert.”

Feodor rolled his eyes. “I don’t want a markless kid for a partner. Anyway–”

“Hey, don’t call me a kid! Just so that you know, even these–” Tiat made a few gestures, “–have gotten a bit bigger recently!”

“I don’t care.”

“Huh? That’s no good, you know.”

“Oh, give me a break,” he shook his head. “Anyway, I can’t understand what you mean about having no physical body.”

“Hmph…” Tiat pouted. “Just so that you’re aware, we Leprechauns have an unbelievable amount of energy packed inside of us. That’s one of the reasons we’re so highly classified. If we sever our souls from our physical bodies, we can make a massive explosion!” She opened her clenched fists with a “Kaboom!” sound. “Of course, we can’t do that so easily. If that was possible, it probably wouldn’t be so good if you were right next to us.”

Letting her arms fall back to her lap, Tiat continued, “It’s because we can unleash those big explosions that the Winged Guard calls us their final secret weapon. Since it’s naturally connected to our Venom, our results even against a Beast are exceptional. And because it’s something that they kept using in battles against the Teimerre, its practicality has been fully demonstrated by the great fairies that came before us!”

She gave Feodor a snappy thumbs-up, grinning a radiant smile. “We don’t know for sure if it’ll work on the Croyance, but...”

“The strike operation scheduled three months from now,” Feodor replied flatly. “You know, we have an information-gathering unit that can find out just how much of a threat the Croyance is by attacking it to a certain degree, withdrawing, and revising strategies with our newly obtained information. So even if you’re that kind of superweapon, there’s no reason to go about using that power in a hurry.”

“That’s wrong, isn’t it?” Tiat asked him. “You won’t know for certain until we hit it once just how well us bombs can match up against the Croyance. It would be more helpful to you all if we moved first.”

Feodor could feel frustration boiling up inside of him. “How have you guys protected this world from the Sixth Beast’s attacks up to now? You should be getting praise heaped on you! To accept this disposable-weapon treatment… don’t tell me you actually agree with it?!”

“Oh well, I guess it can’t be helped.”

“Don’t you ever think ‘I don’t want to die’!?”

Tiat smiled.

It was a chilling, unfeeling mask of a honest and cheery smile.

“There’s no way I’d think that. After all, from the beginning, we were never alive.”

“...Are you telling me it’s hard for you to be afraid?”

“Even if I feel scared, the facts about us won’t change.” Tiat grew quiet, mumbling to herself, until her eyes widened as if she’d just come up with something, and she punched her fist into a nearby metal wall.

That wall was part of a large-scale mechanism that formed part of the city itself, and as such had many moving parts and edges just below surface level. Specifically, the area Tiat punched had a narrow slit carved into it for heat exhaust ventilation with an eave hanging on its upper edge. Depending on how one touched it, it could act as a sort of dull knife.

The skin on her knuckles tore, red blood spraying onto the wall and floor.

“Wha–” Feodor froze, not understanding any possible reason for her self-harming action. “What the – what the hell are you doing?!”

“Proving what I said before,” Tiat said calmly, blood still seeping from her fist. “As you can see, I’m not afraid of getting hurt or dying.”

“D-doesn’t it… hurt?”

“Oh, yes, it hurts. I can definitely feel pain. But it’s just that.”

Living beings were afraid of getting hurt because it moved them closer to death, but if a being didn’t fear death, they would be unable to avoid harming themselves. Here that logic was at play.

“I’m not afraid of artillery shells,” Tiat said pleasantly. “As a weapon who’s used for do-or-die fights, doesn’t this ability come in handy?”

Feodor felt cold sweat running down his forehead. According to what she’d said before, she must have felt at least some pain. Yet she still smiled, even while saying so many outrageous things.

I can’t bear to see this any longer. “...Okay, I get it.” Feodor looked away from her as he stood. “I’ve decided that I don’t know anything about this. So you’ll have to do your duty. If you want to save Regul Aire so badly that you’re going to throw away your life, then do as you please. I won’t get in your way anymore.”

He opened the collar of his uniform as if to rip it off, tore out a simple first-aid kit that had been sewn into its inside section, and tossed it towards Tiat. “If you’re going to call yourself a weapon, you should know that it’s bad if you don’t maintain your own performance ‘til you’re on the battlefield. And as your superior, I order you: meaningless acts of self-harm are forbidden from now on. Understood?”

“‘Kaaay!” Tiat replied flippantly, opening the kit and taking out some gauze soaked in liquid medicine.

[shazzeaslightnovels]

Tsuki to Layka to Nosferatu 4 Review

Author: Keisuke Makino

Illustrator: Karei

Label: Gagaga Bunko

Release Date: 28 September 2018

Well, this was a timely review given that it was the 50th anniversary of the moon landing a couple of days ago. Another amazing volume. This one also features the pair of Burt and Kaiye but this time Liev and Irina are actually present. There were some really cute scenes and the volume was as interesting as the last two were. There was one scene in particular that made my heart squee so much that I had to bookmark it so I could read it over and over. I love this series!

Interesting bit of trivia from the afterword: Kaiye is based off Joan of Arc and Irina is based off Ham the chimpanzee.

The BookWalker version of this volume comes with a bonus colour illustration by Karei featuring Kaiye and Irina with a VTuber. I don’t know enough about VTubers to say much but the VTuber character appears to be named Uni and the channel for that VTUber seems to be UNIchannel. The illustration is nice, even if I am unfamiliar with the character.

Story:

The events of this volume take place about a year after the last one and focus on Burt and Kaiye as they go to meet up with Liev and Irina and continue on their journey to acheive their shared dream. As usual, the plot was interesting but what I really enjoyed about this volume was the huge amount fluff and adorableness of everyone. There were just a lot of cute scenes that made me incredinbly happy. The two protagonist pairs meeting up was also immensely satisfying. The story is progressing, slowly but surely and I like that the author is taking their time with it.

Character:

All of these characters are so damn charming that I can’t help but enjoy every second that their on screen. Kaiye in particular is so appealing to me due to all the little aspects of her personality and I loved seeing her interact with Irina at last and her scenes with Burt were so cute. Burt and Kaiye are definitely heading towards a romantic relationship but they’re not quite there yet. Still, their scenes are so adorable and I also enjoyed the scenes with Liev and Irina, who still don’t seem to be romantic either yet.

The next volume comes out next month and I’ll be getting it as soon as it’s available! I’m betting that it’ll focus on Irina and Liev, unless the author decides to introduce a new pair but I really wouldn’t mind more Burt and Kaiye. I can’t wait!

Next, I’ll be starting Shuumatsu Nani Shitemasu ka? Mou Ichido dake, Aemasu ka? with volume 1.

[orlandri-tl]

[Sukamoka Vol. 1] Chapter 2 Part 4: Rumors of the Four

Feodor tracked down Nax, who had skipped training again to nap in the canopy of a rustling tree. “Hey, you up there! I wondered if you could help me with a bit of a job.”

“Haaah?” came a lazy yawn. “Can’t I catch a Z or two?

Rubbing his eyes, Nax sat up on his tree limb. “Falcon muscles ain’t good for marathon training, y’know? I’m so bad at running it only takes a little sprint to tire me out.” He gave his legs a little shake, wincing. “Go on, check ‘em out – all crampy ‘n whatnot.”

Normally, it would have been entirely within reason for Feodor’s character to be outraged by such disrespect shown to a ranked officer, but Nax was one of his few friends – and besides, alone as they were, he didn’t have to worry about such petty things.

“I’m in the middle of getting some sweet beauty sleep so I can survive afternoon training.” Nax stretched his arms, yawning again. “If you’ve got any business with me then do drop by later, mister Fourth Officer.”

“No, not official business.” Feodor checked that they were alone, then lowered his voice. “I want your skills as an underground information broker.”

“...Oho?” Nax’s bored expression instantly twisted into a smirk. “It’s been a while since you’ve been a client of mine, Feo. Alright.” He leaned forward, all tiredness gone from his frame. “So whaddya want to know? The Division Chief’s vault combination number? Third Officer Hartynaccio’s favorite hair products? The desserts for tomorrow’s mess hall menu? Or maybe, just maybe… the underwear color of them girls you fancy?”

“Wrong, wrong, and wrong again. I want you to look into the background of those four girls we talked about before.”

“What, their underwear after all?”

“No. They’re my subordinates. I don’t want to see them that way.”

“Well, I expected you’d say something boring,” Nax sighed heartily. “Okay, be that way. What, then?”

“As I said, their backgrounds,” Feodor rubbed his head. “Just before the battle with a Beast, they’re sent from the 2nd Division – people who’ve dealt with the Beasts in the past. They seem like ordinary girls at first, but their combat abilities are unexpectedly high-level. If our division is to work with them in battle, we’ll make a powerful attack force… that’s what I thought, anyway, but for some reason I haven’t been able to work out, the higher-ups have been going to a lot of trouble to obscure their talents.”

He paused, and Nax prompted him to continue. “To begin with, why am I – somebody who’s supposedly their direct superior – only being ordered to supervise them on a simplistic, superficial level? That suggests they’re not likely to operate under my command during the actual battle, so are they going to move under some other commander, or on their own judgment? Either could be the case.”

“Uh huh…”

“Even if it’s not, we’re still about to end up in a very important battle. To do so with an unknown factor?” Feodor shook his head. “It’s irritating. I just want to be sure I can rely on them.”

“Alright, got it,” Nax replied briskly, spreading his wings. “I’ve some contacts from the 2nd, so I’ll give it a try.”

The leaves around him danced in the wind as he flapped his wings, preparing for takeoff. “Say, all this stuff you’re talking about – ya sniffing ‘round the military police by chance?”

“Hmm?”

“It doesn’t really matter if you are or aren’t, I guess, but even if there’s no proof, you probably won’t find anything good. I can sort of feel the wind, and there’s definitely something there in the backwinds. It ain’t a big threat or nothing, but be careful not to get found out. Since you’re a valued client, I’ll get ya something just this once – as a special service to ya, y’know.”

“Sure…” Feodor nodded, vaguely lost in thought. “Thanks. I’ll be careful.”

“Feodooooooooor!”

While walking back through the barracks, Feodor heard his name be called as a warm, soft body wrapped around him.

Then in the next moment something gouged into his pressure points, twisted his joints into unnatural positions, wrapped around his neck – in the split-second it’d taken to realize he was attacked, he’d somehow been put into a joint lock, something that had never happened to him before, as well as a stranglehold combined with other painful techniques.

“Owowowowowowowow?! W-wait a minute – ow, OW!”

Regardless of how much he tried to struggle, his body wouldn’t move. More than a simple matter of force, it was as if he’d been impaled by sharpened stakes and tied down to the ground.

However impressed I might be at their great technique, though – it hurts! Hurts! More and more – hurts, really, seriously, hurtshurtshurts!

“How’s that! Give up yet, d’ya?!” Collon’s voice shouted from somewhere behind his neck, close enough for her breath to warm his ear.

“I give up, I give up already! But why – argh – why the surprise attack?!”

“Combat readiness at all times is the warrior’s law! It’s bad not to keep your guard up!”

“I-I can’t agree with that kind of logic! Ngh...” He tried to twist his arm and shift his ligaments back into position, but soon regretted it. “Ow, ow! That hurts!” Crap, it’s no good! I can’t move my shoulders! Can I fall and slam her into the floor? No, that’s no good either, my ligaments might snap if I put too much force on them!

Then he heard a high-pitched scream, accompanied by the pitter-patter of quick footsteps, and looked up to see Lakhesh. A gust followed her as she ran, peeling off a nearby flyer warning Do not run in the hallways. “Collon! What on earth do you think you’re doing?!”

“Lakhesh, you got here just in time!” Feodor coughed out. “Hurry and get her to stop! I don’t think I can bear this for much longer!”

“Aw, it’s fine,” Collon giggled. “It took more than just this to take down Willem, after all!”

Eh? That name aga – OW! OW! OOOOOW!

“He’s not Willem, Collon!”

“Ugh, fine…” the girl on his back relaxed her right arm slightly, loosening her grip on Feodor’s shoulders. His arms spun back to their regular position. Slowly, bit by bit, all the points in his body that’d been immobilized by Collon’s limbs were released until the overwhelming pain vanished like it’d never been there and his body was back under his control.

In the absence of pain, Feodor suddenly became aware of Collon’s body, soft and warm as it was. If we remain in this compromising position, that’d be more than enough time for ridiculous thoughts to start forming in my head.

Before any weird ideas could appear, he shook himself and untangled Collon from his back. “Get off already!” She slid down to the ground with a surprised yelp.

“I-I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” Instead of Collon, it was Lakhesh apologizing and bowing her head at high speeds reminiscent of a bird drinking. “Y-you see, Collon, she’s always been like this! She’s not mean-spirited or anything, she just jumps on people she gets along with like that – ah! B-but she’s not a bad girl, honest! She’s a really, really good girl, it’s true, it’s true!”

“I get it,” Feodor said, rubbing his aching shoulders. If she’d had just a tiny amount of bloodlust or bad intentions about him, his arms would’ve already been snapped. “It’s fine, it’s fine.”

“I… I see. I’m glad.” Lakhesh smiled wanly, placing a hand on her chest.

“Me too!” Collon added.

“And you! Don’t say that like it’s someone else’s problem entirely!” Lakhesh turned on her wayward comrade, whacking Collon with her tiny fists as the other girl chortled. “Just who do you think we’re talking about?!”

“Hey, Lakhesh,” Collon got out between giggles, “You think of me as your friend, right?”

“Eh?” Lakhesh paused in her assault.

“That’s good. With someone like you, we can all be happy.”

“N-no way, but… to say that kind of thing about me, um…”

“Woohoo!” Collon smiled and laughed. “I’m so happy, so happy!”

“I-I’m happy too, but can’t you be serious for once?!”

...How charming.

Though markless weren’t his type, Feodor couldn’t help but feel soothed whenever he saw little kids getting along. It always created an inexplicably warm sensation in his chest, something like what one might feel from seeing a puppy playing in its cage.

He observed Collon again, the girl giggling and beaming without a care in the world. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t see her physique as anything other than delicate – or rather, normal for the girl she appeared to be. Her arms and legs were relatively thin without much muscle. Beastfolk aside, being a man alone should give Feodor greater muscular strength than her. Yet, on top of having his movements sealed off in an instant, he had been literally unable to free his limbs for the duration of her time on his back.

“Hey, Feodor,” Collon suddenly said, meeting his eyes. “Would you show me how serious you are in battle, if I fought you?”

“Huh?”

“Portrick said you’re super strong, but you didn’t seem like that at all just now.”

“...Ah, I see.” So that’s what’s going on. “It’s not like I’m acting weak. I’m really not very strong at all. How should I put it…?” Feodor thought a moment. “I use an unique kind of fighting style, one that’s only possible against strong opponents like First Officer Portrick.”

Technically speaking, he was half-lying. He did have confidence in his own strength. More than just my deception skills, but explosive power, tactics and judgment, keeping in shape, among other things – I’ve trained myself in the abilities necessary for battle.

He didn’t intend to reveal that fact, of course. He planned to keep his cards hidden as much as possible.

“No, no, wait!” Collon threw up the palm of her hand, as if telling him to stop. “Isn’t that kinda weird logic? I’m strong enough to not lose to Portrick, so if he’s good enough for you, why not me?!”

Feodor hesitated. “...You have a different kind of strength. That goes for me too, though I can’t explain too well.”

“Uh huh…” She hummed, not looking convinced.

“...Oh, by the way.” Though he was still cracking and loosening his muscles, Feodor tried to pose the question he was about to ask naturally. “About that Willem person you mentioned before, who is he?” The name had appeared often enough, but it was a topic that probably wouldn’t be confidential… probably.

Sure enough, Lakhesh was quick to start filling him in. “Um… you see… I think you already know this, but we must always be under the control of distinguished military personnel.” It was the first time he’d heard the always part, but that wasn’t an unexpected surprise. “It’s a story that’s okay for anyone to listen to if they’re more than a ranked officer, I guess.”

She took a breath, then continued. “There aren’t many soldiers who’d be glad to go and babysit children like us. Everyone else immediately resigned and left. Willem was sent to our warehouse like the other soldiers, five years ago. He was an incredibly admirable Technical Officer… and… he was… like a father to all of us.”

Oh… I see. He felt a plunging sensation in his gut. The person Collon and Tiat both talked about had the same position I do now. In other words, they’re comparing me, Feodor Jessman, to their beloved father?

“Do I look old enough to be your father?”

“I-it’s not like that, but – well–” Lakhesh fidgeted and glanced at his face. “Your age m-might not be so different than Willem’s at the time.”

Seriously?! He felt aghast. He wasn’t much younger or older than me, 17 years old as I am, and yet he’s loved as a father by these nearly 15-year-old girls? Just how much willpower does one need to visit them so often as they’re growing up?

For Feodor, so very aware of his youth, it was impossible to imagine. He felt deep respect for the Technical Officer Willem, whose face remained shadowy and unknown.

Some time after that incident, after the day’s training concluded, Feodor sat down to eat in the tumultuous mess hall.

“Thossse new recruitsss of yoursss, they are a group of good girlsss.” One of his fellow Fourth Officers – he couldn’t recall his name, but his hissing accent and body shape gave away that he was a Findantropos – sat down next to him. “Essspecially that Lakhesh. Here in the military, with the sssortie nearing, everyone isss becoming worked up, yesss? If there isss a girl like her presssent, who treatsss everyone kindly, then her presssence must be quite healing for you.”

“No way, not a chance,” the Third Officer seated across from Feodor – a Scarsalantropos with the black shell signature of his race, but whose name he also failed to recall – opened his big mouth. “If it’s one of little Feo’s new recruits, then Collon won’t lose so easily. That one has the overwhelming courage to blow through all her fears. Her bottomless cheerfulness would revive the willpower of the most cowardly soldier. I’d gladly snatch her away for my squad if she wasn’t here as a guest soldier.”

“Mm…” The Findantropos murmured. “But Lakhesh isss the cuter one, isss she not?”

“Hmph. You need courage to survive in battle ‘til the end, not cuteness.”

“Tsssk! Courage, courage – if you love it ssso, why not marry it?”

“That’s what my wife told me too, before she left me.”

“...Ah, I apologize. That wasss inconsssiderate of me.”

The atmosphere became ever-so-slightly awkward.

They’re looking at me, Feodor noticed perfunctorily. As the direct superior of the two in question, it seemed that they expected him to somehow have some comment to add. “Er–”

In the first place, the meals in the 5th Division were never exceptionally tasty. In order to provide food that could be eaten by soldiers of various races – and various tastes – it was intentionally given a flat flavor with no texture or taste to it. Large condiment bottles placed on each table suggested their use to tune the meal to one’s liking, but there were only so much you could dump on to affect how it tasted, and many tired of either option.

Now, in such a gray mealtime, Feodor was expected to offer up his opinion on an equally dull topic. Give me a break.

“...Speaking of those girls, they’re all markless, aren’t they?” he eventually said, allowing roughly half of what he thought on the subject to show on his face.

The Findantropos and Scarsalantropos exchanged blank glances, before the former hissed softly, “Ah, yesss… I heard that Fourth Officer Jessssman hatesss the marklessss.”

“Mm-hmm, that’s right. Since you’re usually so friendly to everyone around you, I’d completely forgotten.”

They said it as if it was a big surprise. Everyone around me, he says? I know that’s how I act, but…

“Still, I didn’t take him to be so foolish as to let prejudices cloud his eyes. The girls are excellent personnel. You can’t deny that, can you?”

“Yesss. You are willing to confessss they are good girlsss, are you not?”

Asking me that, pressing me from both sides for answers? The nerve of these two...

Even for someone as prejudiced as Feodor, however, there was one thing he could grudgingly say about the four girls.

They lived every day to its fullest, recklessly racing through the passing hours. Before a battle where they might die, they had enough strength of mind, enough emotional control, that they wouldn’t crack under the strain of mortality. Whether that was bravery or ignorance, he couldn’t say, but all the same, that singular quality was visible to even his markless-hating eyes. And so…

“...I suppose… I can admit to that much,” he grumbled in a low voice, accepting his loss.

Triumphant smiles, identical after a fashion, appeared on the faces of the pair to his left and right. “And now I asssk,” the Findantropos said, “boy who sharesss their race, which do you favor? Perhapsss, the modessst type?”

“Indeed!” the Scarsalantropos added. “What a man truly desires to have at his side is a comrade in arms, one who will dash through the battlefield named life with him!”

This is bad. Even though they know I hate all markless, how did the conversation turn out like this again?

“Hmmm…” the Armado First Officer that he’d spoken with before, eating at a nearby table, suddenly looked over. “Well, it’s fine to answer that honestly,” he said in his usual disinterested tone. “I know you hate markless, and don’t care to blame you for it.”

“But,” he continued, suddenly appearing almost like the adult his age suggested him to be, “if I may add this much, I trust you’re not a narcissist who just enjoys saying ‘I hate myself’ or some sort of nonsense. So rather than getting some weird fixation on hating them, it’s fine to have opinions like ‘I like them when I like them.’ You’re still young, after all.”

“I completely agree!” Private First Class Portrick added, baring his fangs in a joyful grin. “As expected of the Fourth Officer, I knew we were kindred spirits! Well then, for the sake of those innocent children, let’s be people who’d willingly march to our deaths to protect their happiness!”

I wouldn’t go that far. Although he did feel lonely on occasion, he was committed enough to his role as the explementary role model to hide whatever growing desperation he might feel. And as for Portrick’s remark – if the teen girls were children, then as somebody who only had two or three years on them, Feodor himself shouldn’t be considered so different. In which case, how does Portrick classify them…? Well, I don’t think I want to know his reasoning, so I won’t ask.

“A good markless doesn’t exist.” He was snapped out of his train of thought by Private First Class Talmareet’s blunt statement. The old Ayrantropos walked over. “But you must agree, those youngsters are growing the soul of a tail.”

Is that the punchline? You share my hatred on markless, and yet you have a fondness for those girls too? “Well, I don’t see any tails sprouting from their buttocks.”

He gave him a flat, irritated glare. Feodor returned a snide half-grin, behind which the meaning of “it’s the truth” laid.

Ultimately, Feodor was just too different from them. He wasn’t honest, nor did he live life to the fullest. He was a devious Imp, sneaking around in inconspicuous places and deceiving everybody around him. He wasn’t worthy of their favor.

“...Hmm.”

Feodor glanced at Nax, hearing the Falcon’s noncommittal noise. For some reason, he hadn’t risen to any of the bait being laid down, and had instead nodded along to everybody else’s comments. Usually, he would blather on and on about him, along the lines of “Well, well, well! So Feo’s finally gonna wake up and discover women exist, ain’t he?! My lucky day! Don’t ya worry, fellas, I’ll teach this useless guy everything about women from now on. Seeing as there’s four of ‘em, I reckon he’ll be able to blow it with up to three,” wearing a stupid smirk the whole time. Seeing his lack of interest now was… unexpected.

“Yo. That investigation ya got me for. I’ve found something.”

“Already? Even by your standards, that’s fast.”

“Eh, no biggie. Just ‘cause it’s called classified don’t mean the info itself is handled all that strictly.” Nax lightly waved around an envelope with some papers poking out of it. “Cases like this one, there’s something they really want to hide, so most of the stuff up-front are just dummies, but… well, this time my intuition told me it wasn’t like that. Most likely this is what ya want. Honest evidence. The real deal.”

“...You know, the way you’re talking is a bit odd. You wouldn’t happen to be overexaggerating it, would you?”

“Nah. Even for me, it was intriguing stuff.” Nax’s eyes flicked to the folder, and his lip curled. “Normally, I’d feel bad taking a peek.”

Heh?

Feodor considered it. Nax was, to speak of him generously, easygoing. Speaking badly, he was an irresponsible slacker. His insincere attitude never broke, he didn’t reveal his real feelings, and he acted like he was teasing someone or enjoying himself all the time. It was bizarre to see such seriousness on his face, to hear the heavy disgust in his voice. “Going on about it like you are… are they the bastard children of some important family? Some story like that?”

“You’ll understand once ya read it. After that? Burn it.”

So cold. That’s… really odd.

Nax shoved the envelope into Feodor’s chest and turned on his heel. “Honestly, I didn’t care what ya were planning to do with it, but I think I get it now.”

His back to Feodor, the Falcon spoke with frustration floating through his words.

“Regul Aire may be about to fall.”

Bing bong.

The lodge’s front entrance grandfather clock chimed as Feodor returned to his room, the consecutive tones telling him it was 7 in the evening.

Once he was inside, he opened the envelope and removed its contents. It wasn’t very thick, but if there was anything to Nax’s words, then it had significantly more information than it seemed.

...Muster up your courage and read it quickly. With that running through his mind, Feodor turned the pages.

427/6/15: Spirit Va captured on Floating Island 23.

“...Huh?”

It wasn’t informative at all. Rather, it was a type of document that had been cleaned up into a report format. A familiar format.

These are… management documents of disposable weapons in the Winged Guard. They’re used to confirm the stockpile of one-shot ships and rare, unique munitions.

I get it – I get that much, but I don’t understand anything beyond that.

What is this meant to be? I asked for an investigation into those four girls, so what’s with this stuff? That ass, Nax… did he make a mistake and throw the wrong documents into the envelope?

Putting aside his concerns, Feodor continued to read.

427/6/16: Spirit Ur opens Fairy Gate during battle on Floating Island 72. Disposed of.

427/6/19: Spirit Ro reaches maturity.

427/7/08: Spirit We is tuned to Dug Weapon Insania.

427/7/11: Spirit We opens Fairy Gate during battle on Floating Island 14. Disposed of.

427/8/15: Spirit Ro is tuned to Dug Weapon Insania.

427/8/22: Spirit Ti is captured on Floating Island 47.

Although the information’s origin was unknown, if he could assemble the numbers with some hypotheses, the meaning would emerge.

First of all, what’s recorded here is a material situation designated with the title of “Spirit.”

When they use the word in this context, it indicates a whole spirit body with an concrete anchor which I don’t know of yet. It might be something that inhabits an container, or perhaps something that inhabits a place… or if it’s a different species altogether, does it dwell in a faith or contract? No, wait, not all of those possibilities are usable in military terms, so is it better to assume it indicates a specific race among us?

By the way “spirits” are mentioned here, I can tell they form all over Regul Aire and have been captured regularly. It takes a reasonable amount of time for them to mature. After that, they perform a “tuning” with another part called a “Dug Weapon” and head into a battle. There, they activate a phenomenon called a “Fairy Gate” and are afterwards disposed of.

The battles occur quite often. The only enemy the Winged Guard wars with that much would be the Teimerre. That means these items are, most likely, high-powered explosive bullets that are utilized for enemies such as the Beasts, said to be otherwise invincible against conventional weaponry.

437/12/16: Spirit Ti is tuned to Dug Weapon Ignareo.

A familiar proper noun caught his eye.

438/3/30: Spirit La is tuned to Dug Weapon Seniolis.

438/6/05: Spirit Pa is tuned to Dug Weapon Katena.

438/7/20: Spirit Co is tuned to Dug Weapon Purgatorio.

Names he knew, lining up one by one.

Their ridiculously long names floated into his mind as if by random chance. Tiat Shiba Ignareo. Collon Rin Purgatorio. Panival Nox Katena. Lakhesh Nyx Seniolis. Damn it. Damn it to hell. It’s the beginnings of their names – and the names of their Dug Weapons? It’s completely consistent.

“...What the hell… is going on here…?”

Feodor double-checked it. Indeed, what he was holding was management documents of disposable weapons. Items used to manage a number of disposable small airships or munitions.

So why, why were their names in that list?

“.........”

He understood. Thinking about it logically, there was only one conclusion that could be made. To approach it from any other direction, try to see it any other way, was simply impossible.

“You should be happy,” someone’s insidious whisper slipped into his ear.

Why did Feodor Jessman place himself in danger, put his body on the line, in some place like the Winged Guard? Was it to protect the world? No. To get a good career and become rich? No.

It must have been to search for this.

The Winged Guard and the Orlandri General Trading Company had been wielding secret anti-Beast combat weapons. It was never determined what sort of thing had prevented the Teimerre’s invasions countless times. Until now. That goal had been achieved. It’s done.

But joy didn’t erupt within Feodor. Instead, something like frustration or anger, something not dissimilar to both feelings, did. Pitch-black emotions distorted, coiled, twisted into a whirling vortex in his chest.

Choked with emotion and unable to be rid of it, Feodor hurled the papers in his hand at the wall. They hit with a thud and scattered upon impact, dancing and spinning across the room.

One such paper fell on the floor at his feet. It was a page of the previously-tightened document, with writing on it he had not yet read.

443/5/11: Spirit Ti to open Fairy Gate during battle on Floating Island 39. Disposal planned.

443/5/11: Spirit Co to open Fairy Gate during battle on Floating Island 39. Disposal planned.

443/5/11: Spirit Pa to open Fairy Gate during battle on Floating Island 39. Disposal planned.

[orlandri-tl]

[Sukamoka Vol. 1] Chapter 2 Part 2: The Winged Guard’s 5th Division

Feodor Jessman disliked his appearance.

His wavy and dull silver colored hair was difficult to comb. His deep purple eyes glittered with natural menace, and had to be hidden by black-rimmed fake glasses. As expected of an Imp, his unblemished skin was pale white.

He had no horns, fangs, or scales – the clear, unavoidable appearance of a markless.

A hated kind, the markless whose numbers included Feodor were looked down upon by most of Regul Aire’s inhabitants. The whole bunch were rotten to the core, and Feodor had on several occasions mused to himself half-seriously that it’d be considered a favor to the world if every last one of them were to disappear.

Like many of those living in the cramped environment of Regal Aire, Feodor’s own race was mixed. His father’s great grandmother was a troll, and far up his mother’s side were ancestors who had been fox-beastmen. However, Feodor’s blood didn’t appear to have done anything for him; his appearance and traits, like the majority of the Jessman family, were that of a typical Imp.

The Imps were a subspecies of Ogres, the descendants of a demonic race that arose within Emnetwyte civilization long ago. Lurking in the shadows of the Emnetwyte, they had lived a most misguided existence, leading individuals towards debauchery and ruin with their cursed eyes and dark whispers.

The Emnetwyte were long extinct now. For no apparent reason, their shadows lived on.

Imp eyes were once said to hold an outrageous power capable of confusing and manipulating others. When their activity was at its height, one great individual supposedly drowned a small country in revelry and depravity with their eyes alone. However, through the passage of time and mixing of species, the Imps no longer possessed such splendid power. They were now just another typical markless race, perhaps slightly better with words and lies than most.

Feodor Jessman was but one of the many sorry descendants produced by that pitiful race.

Boom! An explosion-like sound rang out. Slamming his feet into the bronze-paneled floor, the wolf-headed beastman launched into the air. He violently twisted his large body forward and swung his arm down. The mass of conditioned muscle arced, whiplike, and down from the sky came roaring a mighty punch that could split someone from skull to groin.

It was a cleanly executed fist technique with graceful form in every seemingly-brash movement. One might call it refined brute force; believing in one’s strength, obeying that strength, and ultimately relying on it. The idea was to entrust everything to one’s own muscles and power, one’s greatest weapon. It was a state only attainable through solely pursuing the concept of “crushing,” something that the beast races born with “rending” claws could not easily reach.

Well, I doubt I can stop that.

His opponent was just too ridiculously strong. Even if he were to try and push that incoming arm, its trajectory likely wouldn’t budge an inch. He could go for a leg sweep, but the foot his opponent pivoted on was currently midair. Before any of that, considering his opponent’s momentum, it was obvious that he would be sent flying no matter where he made contact.

He dropped into a low crouch, his right hand hidden in the shadow of his body. The beastman’s eyes reflexively darted there as Feodor shifted his center of mass onto his left foot, then made a sharp sliding motion with his still-hidden hand. The almost magician-like flourish imitated the moves of a dagger-wielder; it hid the user’s intent, the blade’s shape, and all other information from the enemy until it struck.

If one thought it through, of course, that was an impossible scenario. They were in a training arena, sparring with bare hands. There was no way for a fighter to bring in a real weapon. Still, the beastman flinched, his inborn instincts and hard-won warrior experience instantly perceiving the most dangerous attack Feodor’s actions could result in, and he twisted his body to avoid a fatal blow. His head – having eyes, nose, and ears, all areas impossible to toughen no matter how strong one might be, all weak points through which his skull could be pierced – jerked back and out of the way of any angle Feodor’s attack might come from.

The graceful sequence of movements faltered, a fatal error introduced into it.

No matter how rapidly a top spins, it will lose control and motion if its axis is shifted. Every ounce of momentum that had served to support the beastman’s landing instead became exhausted by his hasty dodge. By the time the first inklings of regret surfaced in the beastman’s eyes, everything was over.

Bam! Wham! Whaaam!

The beastman tumbled, flipped upwards, and rolled through two nearby sparring soldiers, sounding much like someone pulverizing a barrel with an axe, until he came to a stop against the wall.

A few seconds passed as everyone present turned their eyes to the fallen beastman, their own matches long forgotten. An uneasy silence filled the training field.

“...Gahahahaha! Oh, that was great stuff. You’re good, you know!”

The beastman raised his head good-naturedly. “To think you got the better of me with that sneaky trick of yours! If it weren’t for that little counter move, I would’ve pummeled you flat!”

Feodor shook his empty hands. Of course, he wasn’t holding any real dagger. He had merely made a suggestive movement in front of a master, which had caused his opponent to reflexively dodge and lose balance.

One by one, the questions rose among the people surrounding them: What happens now? Why is this giant beastman so happily declaring his defeat? Only the two involved could understand the situation.

Feodor fixed his misaligned glasses back into position. “Your assessment boosts my confidence, Portrick.” He went over to the toppled beastman, took his extended arm with his own hand, and pulled him up with all his strength. “Though, you don’t need to praise me. After all, I cheated rather than used my own power. It’s something that could only work against an overly strong person like you.”

Imps were a deceitful race. The affinity for deceiving others was rooted within his species. It was only natural that the methods of his fighting style would reflect that wicked nature.

"What strange humility! Still, that’s not a bad way to put it.” Portrick slapped Feodor’s shoulder with explosive bams until it hurt. His words aside, his body language was like that of a pleasant old man towards the neighborhood troublemaker. A lycanthropos known in the division as “Bruiser,” Private First Class Portrick was the strongest, perhaps the second strongest, of the soldiers belonging to the Winged Guard’s 5th Division.

"It hurts."

"Ah, my bad." He withdrew his hand with a half-baked apology, laughing heartily.

Just then, the flighty voice of Private First Class Nax came floating in from a nearby doorway. “Oh, hey – hey, Fourth Officer Jessman. The Division Chief’s calling for ya. Didya get up to anything you shouldn’t have?”

"Hmm? The First Officer wants to see me?”

I wonder what it is.

Feodor wasn’t sure why he was being summoned. As Fourth Officer, he had irreproachable conduct and was an exemplary soldier. His actual personality and behavior aside, he should at least have that much of a general record.

On the other hand, if any of his past misdeeds turned up in his records… That would be unpleasant. But if he was summoned for that reason, there would’ve been some forewarning. Probably.

"Could it be? A talk about promotion?"

Feodor vaguely smiled at Portrick’s wildly positive guess. “If that's the case, I'll be happy.”

As he started towards the corridor that went to the general headquarters, his thoughts went back to the earlier physical training.

How idiotic.

In the first place, the army was formed to battle the 17 Beasts, destruction itself given form. All it took was witnessing the Beasts for one to lose the will to live. Punching or kicking them was unlikely to be of much use.

Our training is meaningless. It's nothing more than the excuse that ‘we’re doing as much as we can’. Supposedly it’s intended to keep us ready to go, but it just exposes how much we’ve become complacent in peace.

“Absolutely idiotic.”

After making sure nobody else was in the corridor to hear him, Feodor vented.

The Winged Guard was the sword and shield of Regul Aire. For better or worse, that was what their entire existence hinged on; their greatest strength and weakness.

To begin with, Regul Aire was not a monolith. Countless races called it home, numerous communities flourished within it, and endlessly differing values clashed. No single system of morality, no single definition of good and evil intentions, could be shared by all who dwelt upon the floating islands.

And this unnatural state of existence was born of the Winged Guard’s creation.

Roughly four hundred years ago, a Teimerre had drifted up from the gray plains below and come to rest onto the 27th Floating Island. Because of the great threat to all other islands presented by the Teimerre, it was then suggested that all those who inhabited the islands should band together to battle it.

What had happened next could only be called comedy.

First, goodwill groups obstructed military operations one by one, insisting that attempts at communicating with the Beast should be made.

Next, a fleet was unable to even leave its port because it was swarmed by civilians demanding that they should also be allowed to fight.

Another incident came about when soldiers were detained and prevented from fighting by groups who waxed philosophically on the evil of life-or-death battles.

Again and again, emergent governments competing among themselves subverted one another’s plans of attack. An army appeared one day, pretending to work in concert with the Beast. Conspiracies that the Beast’s entire invasion was nothing but a false flag were thrown around. The value of the silver coin was rewritten almost every day, certain people becoming extremely rich while others lost out. Groups that were disliked from the start were blamed for the arrival of the Beast and wiped out one after another.

Around that time had been the birth of the “Heaven’s Arrival” cult, who claimed, among other things: The Beast is a messenger of death sent by the Visitors; for those of us who dwell in sin, we must accept our deaths joyfully and without resistance... The cultists, believing in their righteousness that everybody should be sacrificed to the Beast, worked in unyielding conviction towards their goals.

Throughout all this time, though not a single ship reached the 27th Floating Island and not a single shell was fired at the Beast, dozens of airships crashed and tens of thousands of lives were lost.

A decade or so after the disaster, the Winged Guard was established.

Regardless of what those on the islands might believe, the Winged Guard existed only to protect Regul Aire, obeying the Constitution of Regul Aire alone and disregarding any other laws or customs. It was only dispatched to go against confirmed invasions of the Beasts and defeat them. Furthermore, any military power aside from the Winged Guard was strictly prohibited from participating in these battles. By single-handedly assuming the responsibility to deal with internal and external threats, further problems were therefore prevented from occurring.

The Winged Guard was founded under that principle, and uphold it to this day.

"Of course, I don't intend to talk about any minor wrongdoings,” the First Officer said. The smoke from his cigarette wafted through the general headquarters office of the Winged Guard’s 5th Division. "Though, I suppose something like, say... a military officer slipping out a hole in the chain-link fence to buy and eat donuts... would go against regulations."

Feodor winced. That’s one crime exposed.

"If you do sneak out and buy something, you should get something forbidden like alcohol. That way you’d gain prestige even if it was found out, right?”

No, wait a minute, what’s he going on about now?

"Ah, well,” the Armado sighed. “Now, about what I actually called you in here to talk about..."

"...what you said just now wasn't the main topic?"

"Nope, just a little chitchat. There’s a matter I want to put you in charge of.”

Among the military officers belonging to the 5th Division, Feodor was particularly outstanding. Individual martial arts, knowledge of tactics through the ages, battlefield artillery operations… he was more proficient than anyone else in pretty much in every skill required for military officers. That was why, despite being an Imp with poor physique, he’d been able to rise up to the position of a ranking officer.

If there was any obstacle to his success, it would be that he was still quite young and hadn’t yet been blessed with the opportunity to distinguish himself in actual combat. That was a problem that would in time be resolved, however. There were whispers that he’d soon be charging up the ranks to 3rd and 2nd – and he intended to do just that.

The First Officer nominating him for the upcoming duty meant it should be an opportunity to rack up achievements. It seemed like a good chance.

"I'm glad to receive your assessment, but it's a bit intimidating to be selected as the person in charge,” Feodor said. “Have we even discovered the plans those Heaven’s Arrival fanatics have in mind for causing mass destruction?”

"No, but fortunately that won't be your mission. It's a bit more of the peaceful variety."

Huh? That was strange. If it was that kind of thing, it didn’t seem like Feodor’s talents would be needed.

"I understand what you want to say, but I'm certain that you’re the most qualified individual." Finished speaking, the First Officer glanced at the wall clock tiredly. "They're late."

"Sir?"

"Your duty will be the supervision of four first-class equivalent soldiers dispatched from the 11th Floating Island by the Winged Guard’s 2nd Division.”

"...Huh." The First Officer was moving at his own pace, forcing Feodor to rapidly digest what he was saying in order to keep up with the conversation. Because of that, his responses were delayed. “They’re equivalent soldiers?”

Although the term was unfamiliar to him, he had memorized the Winged Guard’s military regulations, and thought he recalled a description about such a rank.

As it went, the rank of “equivalent soldier” was special, temporarily issued when it became necessary for someone to have the same authority as a regular soldier over a period of time. By itself, it seemed like a convenient framework; scattered among the various races of Regul Aire were individuals whose raw strength equalled a trained soldier, and to obtain their cooperation without creating confusion in the chain of command was attractive.

In reality, however, it was impossible to put into action and had never been done before.

That was because the requirements were strict to the point of being unrealistic – specifically, a line stated ‘The signatures of three ranking officials of first rank or higher are required’. The Winged Guard currently possessed within its ranks thirteen First Officers and 16 First Technicians, and above them only seven generals. Obtaining approval from three of those thirty-six people was a request on the same level of uniting the entire army in agreement. Consequently, it was pretty much impossible to utilize in response to the immediate needs of a combat site.

If you wanted to treat an ordinary civilian as a soldier, it was much quicker to give them an actual military title rather than the troublesome position of equivalent soldier. As a matter of fact, there were positions such an event: purely decorational officer ranks like that of Third Patrol Officer and Second Enchanted Weapons Technician, for example. The fact that someone on the 11th Floating Island didn’t do just that meant that there was some reason to not do so. In other words…

“Infamous criminals, I'm guessing..?”

As he muttered, the thought seemed plausible. They need to be used as military personnel, but can’t actually be given military status. If there’s some politically delicate situation, it makes sense to jump through all those hoops.

He sketched out his mental picture of one possible first-class equivalent soldier. The fierce, hardened criminal is known to everyone on the 11th Island. His physique is the same as or larger than Private First Class Portrick. Perhaps he could be a member of the Giant tribe. His hands dyed red from the countless people he murdered, his prominent blood vessels pulsing along his bald head, his eyes constantly bloodshot, his mouth distorted into a heinous grin.

I understand. I definitely wouldn’t give somebody like him a regular military rank. The decision to treat him as an equivalent soldier is understandable.

The Armado nodded, as if he had read Feodor’s mind. “If nothing else, they’re certainly a troublesome group to deal with.”

“But why now?” Feodor questioned. “We still have time before the day comes to make an attack on the Croyance, but there’s not much time left either. The 5th Division already has its hands full.”

"That's true."

"Right. Which means there’s no time to deal with some outsiders who have their own problems–”

"That's why I asked for you."

"...What does that mean, if I may ask?"

Knock-knock-knock.

A steady tapping came from the door of the general headquarters. A young woman’s voice, sounding very much lost, spoke. “Um, sorry for being late. We’ve arrived.”

"Please come in," the First Officer said.

"Excuse me…"

The knob turned. The door slowly opened–

"Sorry to keep you waiting!”

The door vigorously banged open and a girl with orange hair came tumbling forward into the room, accompanied by a slight shriek. She had probably been the one knocking.

A girl around the same age with cherry blossom-colored hair energetically strode into the room next. "Is this the general headquarters?"

She was followed by a quieter young girl with purple hair, who bowed. “Pardon the disruption.”

All three of them possessed no fangs, horns, or any other extraneous features. They were markless.

Feodor was silent for a long second, then looked back over his shoulder. "…Um, First Officer?"

Three girls in front of him. First-class equivalent soldiers visiting from the 11th Island. His wordless gaze asked, Surely not?

“They are the soldiers.” The Armado’s answer was straight and to the point. It was also exactly what he’d hoped to not hear.

Feodor looked back at the girls. By their appearances, they were only fifteen years old. "Question. When did the Winged Guard start training children?" He himself was seventeen, not actually that much older than them, but that was of course an entirely separate matter altogether.

"As I said, they are the soldiers.”

Annoyance was clearly present in the First Officer’s voice, but Feodor persisted regardless. “No matter how you slice it, they’re delicate ladies. To put it mildly, our division is a den of vulgarity, isn't it? Is this really a good idea?”

"Hey now, are you calling this place a den of vulgarity in front of the officer responsible?"

"Are you going to deny it?"

Just then, Private First Class Talmareet’s angry shouts could be heard from the training grounds; a morally questionable tirade of words whose utterance outside the military base would have vigilante groups dogpiling the speaker. The orange-haired girl blushed and looked downward, while the cherry blossom-haired girl tilted her head, looking puzzled, and the purple-haired girl chuckled strangely.

"...See? Isn't this place a vulgar den?" Feodor’s lip curled; he was beginning to feel a sinking sensation. "Whatever, I don't care anymore."

“Be that as it may, Fourth Officer Jessman,” the First Officer waved his hand, “I wasn’t asking for your personal opinion on this assignment. Your orders are to supervise these first-class equivalent soldiers, and I won’t permit any objection.”

Well, that’s that. This was the army. Whether or not the explanation was to your taste, you couldn’t choose what you wanted to do.

"I have no particular objections. I am honored that you entrust important tasks to an inexperienced person like me,” Feodor replied grudgingly. “But at the very least, let me ask something. I’m a military officer, this is the armed forces, and we're in an emergency situation. Our capabilities are limited. What in the world am I supposed to do to supervise these children?"

"Nothing."

"...What?"

"These first-class equivalent soldiers will be stationed here. As far as peacetime training and duties are concerned, treat them the same as any other soldier. They've passed the basic training curriculum on the 11th Island, so you won’t need to worry about their ability at that level."

The cherry blossom-haired girl added a cheerful “Yep, yep!” in agreement.

"However, they’re still our precious guests. As much as I’d like to allow them to run freely without restraint, that’s impossible under the circumstances. These girls must always be under the supervision of the military, and their overseer must be of the officer rank or higher. A superior officer in name is necessary. And furthermore–”

His stumpy finger jabbed in Feodor’s direction. "Just as you’ve said, the 5th Division is a vulgar place, and one would be reluctant to simply throw these girls out into that chaos. So in short, they need a chaperone. That person needs to be somebody who’s glad to help others, understands the 5th Division well, doesn’t have prejudices against markless, and has a logical mind. It just so happens that, in this entire division, there is exactly one ideal Fourth Officer who satisfies all of these conditions. Any questions so far?”

“...None, sir.” It was a reasonable evaluation of him. Feodor Jessman was a good person. He was calm and conscientious, kind to everyone and yet strict. He excelled at many things, but didn’t lord his superiority above others. He always remained positive, had grand goals, and never slacked off.

At least, others looking at him would assume so. That was the image he’d carefully cultivated.

"Of course, I don’t make the decision without any concerns. Your races are similar and you’re close to them in age, not to mention you’re male and they’re female – so that makes me slightly uneasy. Say, you’re an Imp, aren’t you? When exactly is your mating season again?”

"I don't have... that kind of thing." Why is this old man talking about dirty things in front of girls?

"Uh huh. Well, whatever, as long as there’s consent involved I don’t care what you do. It’s a delicate time for all of us though, so don’t do anything untoward or else the whole division’s morale will be damaged–”

"I won't,” Feodor interrupted heatedly. Feeling the girls’ gazes on him, he reconsidered. Maybe immediately rejecting the idea was a bit too much. I don’t want them to think badly of me. “Er, that is to say, while I do think they’re pretty enough, I’m devoted to my fiance. I’m not about to drift away to other women.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie. His family had once chosen a fiance for him.

But I’ll never be able to see her again. He hid his innermost thoughts behind his smile.

"That so? First I’ve heard of it."

"Yes, well, it's not something I spread around too much. By the way, First Officer..."

"What?"

"Earlier, didn't you say ‘four first-class equivalent soldiers'?"

"I did," the Armado nodded.

Feodor turned to the girls and did a head count. The orange-haired one was blushing bashfully, the cherry blossom-haired one had boldly puffed her chest up for some reason, and the purple-haired girl just stared back amusedly.

"...I seem to count only three present.”

The orange-haired girl seemingly mustered up some courage and raised her hand. "Ah, um, may I speak?!" she asked a little too eagerly.

"Oh, what is it?”

"Erm… First-Class Equivalent Soldier Tiat Shiba Ignareo isn’t here."

That’s an overly long name.

"S-she's not feeling well. She might be a little late, b-but she'll be right here..." Going off her attempts to stand still and the cracks in her voice, the girl was desperately trying to cover for her missing companion.

“Ah, I see.” In contrast, the First Officer’s reply was delivered with almost breezy nonchalance. “That’s fine.”

Out of the six divisions of the Winged Guard, the 5th Division is said to possess the highest grade of laziness and irresponsibility among its troops. Whether or not that reputation is caused by the people in charge having the personality to match, or else those leaders are chosen by the top brass due to the notoriety of the division itself, remains a mystery.

"It’s not like you girls have a schedule to follow yet, anyway,” the First Officer was saying, “so as long as you’re not late for something important it’s not a probl–”

The door, still half-closed, suddenly burst all the way open as if kicked.

"E-excuse me for being late! First-Class Equivalent Soldier Tiat, reporting in!"

This one has poor timing, Feodor mused. As he’d expected, the newest girl was the same age as the other three, with grass-colored hair. She’d probably run here as fast as she could; her face was flushed and she was out of breath.

She was the girl he’d met atop the abandoned theater the other day.

Ah… Feodor found that he wasn’t entirely surprised by this new development. Somehow, I had a feeling it’d be like this.

The girl swiveled her head around, taking in everything her wide eyes could see in the room as she rushed and tried to catch up with the situation. Once her gaze landed on Feodor’s figure in front of her, she froze.

"...Wait, y-y-you?! Wh-why are you here?!”

"Er…” He wasn’t sure if he was still supposed to have forgotten about her. Nevertheless, Feodor took the first move, acting in accordance to what she’d wanted from him back then. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ladies. Apologies for the late introduction, but I am Fourth Officer Feodor Jessman. Just now, I’ve accepted the duty of being your supervisor and guide to our humble 5th Division.”

He placed his hand on his chest in salute and flashed them his best smile. "You may already be aware of this much, but the 5th Division is currently engaged in battle preparations. I believe this can be confusing even for the 2nd Division’s elite members, so if you have any questions please come talk with me. As your superior, I shall try my best to be of assistance.”

"Y-y-yes s-sir – ow!" The orange-haired girl had bitten her tongue. "It’ll be… pleashure worhking... with you!”

"Oooh!" The cherry blossom-haired girl exclaimed, oddly impressed. "The smiling face of a womanizer!"

"Nice to meet ya, Fourth Officer." The purple-haired girl grinned at him. "I'm sure we’ll get along. Hopefully it won’t be too brief.”

Feodor turned to the girl with green hair, the one he’d seen slip and fall into the water tank yesterday.

"Nnh… Nice to meet you..." Her eyes flickered back and forth nervously, the situation having passed her by long ago, but she managed to keep up with his act. “I-it’s my… pleasure to work with you…”

[orlandri-tl]

[Sukamoka Vol. 1] Chapter 1: Chasing After That Back

His brother-in-law opposed it until the very end.

However, his parents and grandparents were all too eager, and so his brother-in-law had to give in. “Refuse immediately if you don’t want this,” he said, and then stepped back with regret. That was because it was to be a marriage of convenience.

The boy was ten years old; his partner rumored to be seven. He was led to a deep green park, rented by both families. Somewhere in the park would be his partner, a girl. He would, as if guided by fate, encounter her, and their relationship would begin. It would deepen as they grew closer to each other, and eventually a most natural marriage would come about.

How stupid.

Going to such great lengths to set up this charade, calling it a work of fate – a work of farce, more like! Every part of the script, from beginning to ending, was unnatural.

He’d heard that the setup was created by some famous matchmaker, who’d already arranged about a hundred marriages in his career. For his part, the boy was already fed up with the matter. Two hundred men and women were brought together by this incomprehensible method? Allow me to express my sincerest condolences. Please wish me luck, for it is my turn to undergo the trial.

Those thoughts running through his head, the boy stepped off his carriage and entered the park.

Within the park grounds was a small lake, a sidewalk running around it. He also noticed a flower field, along with a dense grove that gave just enough convenient cover from peeping eyes. Nausea churned inside him. What transparent attempts to create a romantic atmosphere.

“...Let’s just get this over with.”

The boy felt sorry for his brother-in-law who’d gone through the trouble of transporting him here, but in truth he felt quite indifferent about the matter. He came from a family where boys his age were tools for these kinds of marriages. From the very beginning, he’d understood that love and romance were fleeting dreams.

Then there was the other matter to consider – the age of his fiancee. Seriously, seven years old? Three years younger than me?

“They’re both children, so it’s not a problem,” the one who’d proposed this marriage had said. That person probably didn’t understand a thing. It was a typical mistake for grown-ups to make, being so oblivious of the enormous gap in three years’ worth of life experience for children. They were children once, too – how can grown-ups forget about such elementary things?

...Well, it doesn’t matter. Where is this seven-year-old, anyway? I’ll just check all the romantic spots one by one.

Flower field? Nope.

Gazebo on the hilltop? No sign of her.

Windswept sidewalk around the lake? He walked around the lake as much as he could, but still couldn’t spot her.

If that’s the case, then…

She was only seven years old, after all. Just a kid. What if she didn’t understand the meaning of this melodramatic farce? Could she be thinking they were playing a game of hide-and-seek?

If that was the case, then the situation suddenly became troublesome. Perhaps in order to heighten the illusion of having stumbled into an once-in-a-lifetime experience, he hadn’t been informed of his partner’s appearance.

Maybe I should check the other places again?

“What a pain…” As he turned around, annoyed, his eyes met with those of a little girl not too far away from him.

“Ah...”

“Oh…”

Thinking about it, it made sense. On one hand, a boy who’d already submitted to the bothersome world of adults; on the other, a girl three years younger. Their views on the situation would naturally not be the same. Of course the girl, forced to marry an unknown man, would be wary about her soon-to-be partner.

And of course she would try to delay their fateful encounter as long as possible, in the meanwhile trying to observe her partner even if only a little, to get a better idea of him.

The girl let out a soft scream, turned on her heels, and made to flee… but instead stepped on the hem of her long, expensive-looking dress and came crashing down magnificently. The dress, heavily decorated with light-blue lace, was instantly stained with dirt.

To her credit, she tried her best. She was able to hold back her tears for a few seconds, but then it all came pouring out in a wail.

The boy went to her side, holding a handkerchief wet with lakewater, and wiped the dirt from her face and dress as much as possible.

Her expression remained scrunched up and her mood dark, however, so – reluctant though he was – the boy threw himself onto the ground too and rolled around until his own suit was as stained as hers had been. This turn of events seemed to have been quite a surprise for the girl, who stared at him blankly before bursting into joyful laughter.

“Well?” he asked. “Now even if they get angry at us, we’ll be scolded together.”

“Yeah!” she replied happily. There was a rustling sound, and then from under her dress a hairy black tail popped out.

The girl had animal features.

As she took off her dirty gloves and started brushing off her dress, it became obvious. Although she was born into a family of markless, she must’ve had beast blood somewhere in her lineage that’d manifested in her generation.

Fur, covering both her hands and feet. A black tail. Small kitten-like ears hidden under her hat. Taking a closer look at her, the boy saw that her irises were catlike too, and six thin whiskers protruded from her cheeks.

“Good-fer-nothing, meself.” She spoke with a slight accent too – perhaps because of her different throat. “Good match fer you, they sey.”

“A-ah, I see.”

She probably belonged to a typically proud family, who would have viewed a beast-like child as a disgrace. Now he finally understood why their marriage had been pushed so strongly. Her family could rid themselves of what they saw as trouble while strengthening their ties with another respectable family. It must have seemed like a masterful plan to them.

“Are you a normal markless?” she asked.

“Well, more or less. But I’d rather not call my marklessness normal, you see.”

“Eh? But if yer markless, then yer like all’o the rest. Yer living a normal life, right?”

“That would be a… di-ver-gence… of opinions, I guess. There are many people in this world who differ greatly from your mother and father.”

“I… don’t get it. Can’tcha say it better?”

“You’re just seven, after all. I’m ten, so you wouldn’t understand compared to me.”

“Not fair! I’ll become ten too, very soon!”

“And I’ll be thirteen. I’ll study more and know more than you.”

“U-urk!”

The sight of her childishly puffing up her cheeks was rather cute. Of course, she was still far too young for a serious marriage. But he had to admit it – she was pretty.

They’d had a sort of dramatic encounter, and the distance between them certainly had narrowed. All that was left was for the flow of events to naturally lead into marriage.

This can’t possibly have been calculated by those organizers, but to think that the outcome might still end up being the same… The idea irritated him.

“Um…” The girl, looking apologetic, was pulling on the muddy sleeve of his suit. Did I let my irritation show? “I… haffa go home now.”

“Oh, really?” He glanced at the big clock erected near the lake. Indeed, a long time had already passed since the beginning of their meeting. No more than ten minutes left. “Well, it was fun,” he said, stretching.

By playing along with the farce to this point, he had probably more or less fulfilled the expectations of his family already. His grandfather had demanded him to “Accomplish this even if you must use your Eyes!” However, he personally couldn’t bring himself to do it – or rather, there was no need for it.

So then, let’s divert from the plan. Let’s not transform this little girl and myself into tools for our families. I won’t let things go the way they want.

“You know, it might be good for you to find a way to escape from your house after you grow up,” he said. “Definitely better than remaining locked up at home like are now.”

She tugged at his sleeve.

“What?”

“Is this goodbye?”

He didn’t answer.

“I wanna talk to you more.”

If she says it like that...

“I don’t have anything to talk about.”

The grip of the small hand on his sleeve grew tighter. The girl probably had never been allowed to have this kind of free conversation with anybody before now. If she had talked to somebody and learned of the world, she’d stop feeling ashamed of not being a markless. That wouldn’t sit well with her family, and doubtless was why she had been raised so sheltered.

If he shook her hand off now, it’d be over. He would return to his regular life as before. And she would return to her regular life, just as before.

“Please…”

She’d probably mustered all the little courage she had. Her breathing grew rough as she pleaded. “Can we meet again once more?”

It can’t be helped. How can I refuse if she says it like that?

I suppose I have no choice but to applaud the ability of a certain person who brought together almost a hundred pairs.

“Okay, okay. I’ll agree to meet with you again, you hear? So stop making such a teary face,” he said, waving his hand and admitting his defeat. “But I’ll warn you – this relationship may continue for a long time, so be prepared for that, you understand?”

“Long… something like three yers?”

“People wouldn’t talk about marriage like this if three years was enough…”

He tried to imagine the girl three years from now. How would she look after she’d grown up a little more? And even further – how would she look when she was a woman?

To his horror, he realized he was actually anticipating such a future.

“If we can meet lots more, that would be so nice!”

“I see, I see… as long as you’re happy, I’m glad.”

Although he said it flippantly, those words had reflected his true emotions hidden deep inside his heart.

But the girl, probably completely ignorant to the intricate nuance of his statement, took his words literally. “Yes!”

He had to turn away to hide his expression from the radiant, dazzling smile that surfaced on her face.

His parents were delighted, as were his grandparents.

Only his brother-in-law wore a complicated look on his face. But after he explained that “She was just an ordinary, good, girl, so I became friends with her,” his brother-in-law had replied “I see,” nodding doubtfully.

After this, the boy and the girl occasionally received a chance to meet with each other.

Every time they met, the girl would press him for new stories. In order to meet her expectations, he was forced into increasingly diligent studies.

Of course, that didn’t bother him – though the actions of her family created more than enough irritation regardless.

That aside, those were fun and happy days.

So much that, from the bottom of his heart, he wished that those bright days could continue forever and ever.

[orlandri-tl]

[Sukamoka Vol. 1] Chapter 2 Part 3: The Girls

As the day of battle drew near, tension slowly crept into the 5th Division.

According to a report from the observation team, the Croyance on the 39th Floating Island showed no signs of movement. Therefore, there would be no change to the plan. The first combat operations began three months from now.

As the days passed, everyone spoke less and less, morale dropping like a stone. The negative, frightened atmosphere clung to the soldiers like a disease.

The enemy they were preparing to fight was a Beast which, until five years ago, had only been sighted on the surface. There were no combat records to read. Likewise, data such as the most effective methods of attack, the Beast’s radius of action, or its range of attack were completely unknown.

Moreover, although the Winged Guard’s mission objective was to fight and repel Beasts, very few of the soldiers had any actual combat experience in that regard.

Those who fought the Materno and the Croyance five years ago had all died. What remained of them were chaotic and disorderly battle records which, no matter how much they were analyzed, only produced one coherent piece of information: We couldn’t do anything to it.

The records from the time period before five years ago, when only the Teimerre drifted through the sky, were rife with issues as well. The Teimerre battles had been fought by the 2nd Division, an artillery team comprised of bulky Reptrace who utilized mysterious secret weapons. Only that division could claim to have “real combat experience” against the Beasts, and the nature of the weapons they had used remained classified.

Consequently, the soldiers of the 5th Division continued to worry. Their minds remained solidly fixated on the inevitable destruction gradually approaching, and as their hopes waned it became increasingly difficult to go about one’s everyday business.

What is the Croyance, Restraining and Imprisoning Eleventh Beast?

Little is known about its true appearance or how to destroy it. However, when it comes to its outward appearance or threat, plenty of material can be found on the subject.

The Croyance is a clear black crystal.

Of course, it is no normal crystal. There are two points regarding its nature that stand out. First, it assimilates whatever it touches and grows larger in the process. Second, any impact causes the assimilation to quicken.

Speaking relatively, it is not a threat unless you touch it. If you encounter it, it is harmless as long as you maintain your distance.

The trouble is that there is no means of destroying the Croyance. Even if it starts as a tiny black chunk, it will continuously keep growing while absorbing its surroundings. The bigger it becomes, the more it can touch and slowly consume. If you strike it with a sword or shoot it with a bullet, it will assimilate the weapon and grow again. The only thing it is unable to assimilate is sand and rock, which could be considered its only known weakness.

The initial assimilation process is slow. For example, it may take slightly more than 24 hours to absorb the whole body of a beast-person in contact with the crystal. If he chops off his arm, he can possibly escape and survive. However, if in his panic he struggles against the crystal too much, the assimilation will progress rapidly and instantly transform him into a silent crystal statue.

...They sure are carefree.

While he was careful to not let it show on his face or in his voice, Feodor despised his comrades.

They had not known anything so frightening before now. Until seeing the Croyance with their own eyes, they must never have imagined they might be confronted with the day of reckoning.

This world has always been on the brink of destruction. When we constantly live on thin ice, it’s not so unusual to come face-to-face with death.

For Feodor, it wasn’t just idle talk; it was a reality he had personally experienced. After that day, nothing remained that could make him afraid anymore.

Several days had now passed since the four girls arrived.

Feodor was acting as their superior officer, but he honestly had nothing to do. On the first day he had given them a brief tour of the grounds and introduced them to some important people, but that was all. He wasn’t an instructor, and had no particular need to attend their training. Moreover, the girls willingly became familiar with the 5th Division without his help.

“Well, I’m not complaining about how easy it is, but…”

Feodor was absentmindedly gazing at the scenery from the barracks rooftop.

As a general rule, military bases, are designed to have a bad view. Being surrounded by terrain that’s easy to appreciate and understand in a single glance is disadvantageous in battle. Because of that, however, they also tended to be fairly unpleasant as living spaces.

He had just taken a bite out of some sugarcoated fried bread when a voice suddenly piped up from behind him. “So, I heard. You have a fiancé, don’t you?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Huh? Didn’t ya say as much in front of the First Officer?”

In front of the First Officer? Oh, from that day.

“And here I thought we were friends, but now’s the first I’ve heard of it! Do I know her already?”

The flapping sound of wings filled the sky, as Private First Class Nax Selzel landed just behind Feodor.  As they were different ranks, Nax usually spoke politely to him in public (as much as the Falcon soldier could manage to), but in this place with nobody around they spoke familiarly as soldiers who used to be former roommates tended to.

“Well, I was engaged. My hometown vanished a long time ago, and the engagement with it.” After making sure they were alone, Feodor removed his glasses. He kept them on mainly to conceal his twisted glare; as to not reveal any of his faults while acting like a perfect role model, he’d developed the habit of only speaking frankly without his glasses on.

"Vanished?"

He ignored the question. “I only brought it up as an excuse. You’ve seen those four markless kids? We’re close in age, and I didn’t want the First Officer to worry too much. He wondered if my relationship with them might get out of hand.”

"Hmm… yeah, that’s true,” Nax conceded. “I’m sure for you it’s an unavoidable problem.”

The problems of races with mating seasons were hard to understand for races without them, and vice versa. The same might be said of anything else between the two varieties of races, but this fact in particular was especially troublesome. Many beastfolk with mating seasons had strong notions of virtue and it was deeply rooted within their cultures to prohibit approaching or touching those of the opposite sex who were of marriageable age. With good reason, as several times a year the delicate balance between reason and instinct collapsed on a grand scale.

Being far more numerous than markless, the beastfolk were consequently used as the point of reference for most of society’s laws.

"If you’re not lying about that, then you can even keep up that honest appearance of yours. As expected of an Imp, you’re good at small tricks.”

“Don’t talk bad about my character. It’s more like…” Feodor smirked, shrugging his shoulders. “A little maneuver, to make the conversation go smoother.”

“So, anyway, what is it actually like?” Nax rubbed his chin. “I get the impression that they’re all sorta kiddy, but someday it might be the female subordinate scenario everybody dreams about. Gonna sneak off somewhere, make a move on ‘em?”

“Not a chance,” Feodor brushed off his teasing remark. “They’re markless, aren’t they? That’s not my preference.”

“Hello, Feo?” Nax asked disbelievingly. “Taken a look in the mirror recently?”

“I don’t care about my own race. I like fluffy white-haired cat features. Ears like these,” Feodor made a gesture, “standing up straight. Furless girls… well, they’re a bit cute, but that’s about it.”

“This guy’s seriously sick,” Nax mumbled, looking up at the sky. “Okay, well… that’s boring, but I get what ya mean.”

“What do you mean, boring?!”

“Your whole honor student deal means ya can’t have any fun. If ya get caught up in a scandal, folks’d get a kick and some out of it. That’s why I keep telling ya, drop that guy already! Get some new material!”

“I’m not going to mix my work and pleasure.”

“Fine, fine! The killjoy routine works on our brainless comrades anyway, so I’ll drop it for now. More importantly…”

His flighty tone suddenly gone, Nax lowered his voice, “How’s the main act going? Looking after these kids gonna make it harder to get around?”

“It’s fine, it’s hardly gotten in the way. It might make it a bit of a squeeze, but I can still take my time. If some problem does happen, then I’ll contact you again.”

“Roger that. Don't overwork yourself, kay? Even if it’s not needed, you try too hard to please others."

"Sure. Take care.”

Whoosh. Nax was gone, only feathers left in his wake.

Now then, what was the daily life of Feodor’s four charges like?

The one most familiar with her surrounding environment was the excessively energetic girl with cherry blossom-colored hair.

“Hiii-yah!”

Her overly long name seemed to be Collon Rin Purgatorio, and she rushed over to the sparring room every day whenever she had free time. According to her, in the place she usually lived there weren’t any opponents who could keep up with her.

Perplexed, Feodor had asked her, “Aren’t you a member of the 2nd Division’s veteran unit, with their group of tough guys?”

“Nope, not at all,” she had replied cheerfully. “I live in a house with a warm atmosphere!”

He didn’t understand that at all.

That aside, her arrival had turned out to be especially enjoyable for two of the officers superior to him, Portrick and Talmareet. Both of them were gigantic beastfolk obsessed with unarmed fighting, and even though they were on bad terms and constantly quarreling, they could only use their full strength on each other. Feodor might have combat prowess of his own, but his underhanded style didn’t suit those two, who preferred to fight with honor.

Collon jumped in between the two giants, declaring fearlessly “Let’s be friends with fists!” As it turned out, she was able to put up an equal fight for both men.

“Even with how much smaller she is, she locked up my joints and jabbed at my pressure points very beautifully,” Portrick had said later of the first match. “That said, even when it come to bare fists, both of us together were outmatched. I’d bet she used a magical technique of some kind… to master your limbs that way is difficult, so that’s worth praising. If you instead used such a powerful technique to sacrifice skill in exchange for force, that way of fighting wouldn’t be a fine art anymore!”

Then he added, in a weirdly fervent tone, “I can’t believe I’m being charmed by a girl young enough to be my daughter of a different race.” Through the bristles on his face, the lycanthropos’ face was tinged a little red. “How did something like that happen?”

“Oh, really?” Feodor managed a casual response. Even though the other party is markless? Such absolutely putrid taste.

The next one he was growing familiar with was the perpetually nervous orange-haired girl.

“Amazing! The oven here – it’s really amazing!”

Her name was Lakish Nyx Seniolis – unsurprisingly, another long name – and she frequently appeared in the dining hall to help the kitchen staff. Lyell’s uniquely-crafted cooking utensils seemed to be her favorite, and every time they met she would breathlessly tell Feodor all about a new recipe she’d memorized and how much she wished she could have the equipment here inside ‘the warehouse’, which seemed to be what the place they’d lived before was named.

That girl isn’t much like a soldier.

Of course, if he thought about it, none of them were strictly soldiers. First-class equivalent soldiers. Their rank was the same as a Private First Class, but they weren’t actually part of the army.

“She’s really a good girl, so honest and hardworking!”

“If she had small horns or fangs, I’d ask my son to marry her!”

Her achievements seemed to be popular with the kitchen ladies, for them to say stupid things of that sort. Geez, even though she’s markless? For the sake of your son’s feelings, think before you speak.

As for the purple-haired girl, the one who might be named… Panival Nox Katena?

“Hm…”

Feodor wasn’t sure what to make of her. Every time there was free time, she disappeared without a trace, then was nonchalantly back among the soldiers when roll-call came around. The very picture of a phantom. It’s almost like she’s a fairy.

What’s more, because there were multiple eyewitness reports of her presence within the base’s premises, it didn’t seem like she was leaving without permission.

He had tried to tell her off once for wandering off all the time, and she had replied, “You didn’t lose sight of me, did you?” With a cheeky grin on her face, she had gone on, “To begin with, can you say your eyes are really looking at me? Do you trust your own eyes to that extent?”

I don’t get what she’s talking about. Why do girls choose to be difficult at that age?

Oh, right, she’s markless. If it’s like that, then it’s normal for me to have no clue about her. As far as Panival was concerned, he could rest assured that way.

As for the last of the four, Tiat Shiba Ignareo…

One day in the city of Lyell, the door to a certain abandoned theatre’s rooftop was pushed open.

Stepping out onto the roof, Feodor spied a familiar person he had once before spoken to in this very place. Carrying a fresh bag of donuts under his arm, he sat next to his guest. “You show be aware that it’s a violation of military regulations for a soldier under supervision to leave without permission.”

As was usual when he went out and about, Feodor wasn’t wearing his glasses and, as he wasn’t currently acting the model soldier, didn’t see any need to be polite. Ordinarily that would mean making the effort to not make conversation with anybody he met – but in this instance, the young woman sitting next to him was now a fellow soldier, and so it would be pointless to try and hide his true face from her.

“I don’t suppose you could pretend I was never here?”

"As if.” Feodor scoffed. “That became impossible as soon as I found you.”

“So you won’t overlook it?” Tiat sighed. “How stingy.”

“I’m fine with being stingy. Society’s maintained by people who single-mindedly focus on rules and moved by people who openly break rules. What’s important is for both roles to be divided evenly and maintain balanced.”

“Feodor, I’ve thought this ever since we met, but even though you seem like a good person at first, aren’t you actually pretty mean?”

“I’ll accept your compliment.”

“...That part of you…” she mumbled. “...It’s almost like Willem, but you’re the exact opposite of him.”

“Hmm?” The name wasn’t familiar to him. “Who’s that?”

“I was just talking to myself, don’t worry about it. Ah, can I have one of those?” Tiat reached out her left hand, wiggling her fingers as if begging for something.

“You do realize I’m in the middle of telling you off?”

“Kind of. But you’re right next to me and you’re eating something delicious-looking, so it’s only natural for me to want some.”

“Well, I understand that…” Feodor sighed. “I don’t know if you’ll enjoy it, though.” Taste was invariably one of the differences between races. Even if two people were markless, the same food wasn’t guaranteed to be good-tasting for both of them.

“I won’t know until I try it, right?”

Giving up, Feodor handed her a donut. “Here.”

“Okay!”

Together, both of them bit into the freshly-fried food.

"...It’s good!”

"Oh!" Surprised, Feodor leaned forward. Until now, there had never been anybody else who shared his tastes. “This shop doesn’t vary much in product, but just deep-frying is plenty delicious, don’t you think? It’s not like just upping the sugar for different races... I dunno how to put it, but I think it’s making the best use of the flavor?”

With his glasses off, he couldn’t find the specific words and skillful phrases he wanted to express himself with. Fortunately, Tiat seemed to have understood the gist of it, and was nodding rapidly.

“By the way,” Feodor added, his mood increasingly improving, “when you dip it in milk, it’s so good it’ll make your mind go blank!”

“Urf–” Tiat’s excited gasp became gagging as she choked on her donut, pounding her chest several times and gasping for air until she finally caught her breath again. “D-did you bring any?!”

“Bring what?”

“Milk!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s tough enough just getting up here with this bag.”

“Struggling is just an unavoidable part of enjoying delicious food.”

“Don’t say such a selfish thing and disguise it as a good argument.”

“So it’s no good, then?” Tiat lowered her head, crestfallen. Feodor took the opportunity to start stuffing himself with the remaining food.

And then the girl’s hand reached out once again, requesting a second donut.

There were many clouds today, blotting out even the dark shadow of the 39th Floating Island from view. For all intents and purposes, the sky was calm and peaceful.

“Who are you girls?” Feodor asked abruptly.

“Hmm? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean exactly what I said. You’re too secretive about yourselves,” Feodor said. “I don’t know why they dug through the rulebook to make you equivalent soldiers, but it’s plain to see that none of you are really soldiers. Going off appearance alone, you’re just young girls and your only distinguishing feature is being markless.”

He shook his head. “Even so, you’ve all completed the training course as if it’s second nature and started to mix in with the real soldiers. It’s expected that new recruits end up huddled over in a vomiting mess for the first two months of service, but you girls have been composed from day one. And if you’re about to tell me you were trained by the 2nd Division, that’s clearly not the case.”

“Ah…” Tiat scratched her cheek, evidentially bothered by what he was saying.

“What’s more, just from looking at Collon, it’s obvious something absurd is going on,” Feodor went on. “Handling magical techniques at your age – what’s more, mastering it to the extent of being able to use it in combat whenever you like – just isn’t natural.”

What exactly Venenum was had been recorded in the textbook he’d thoroughly read in preparation for the rank advancement exam. Therefore, while he couldn’t handle it himself, Feodor understood the gist of it.

Venenum was the power to forcibly distort the fabric of the world. Those who were detached from the world or deliberately weakened their own lifeforce were able to summon stronger power and exert greater force from their innate Venenum, but for that same reason, continuing to use Venuneum meant burning up one’s own life.

Yet, regardless of the harsh requirements and consequences, these young girls were already masters of Venenum to the extent where they could wield it freely on the battlefield?

“Not natural, huh?” Tiat asked quietly.

“That’s right!”

“So then, what do you think is normal? Somebody like you?”

That’s – crap, that’s not what I meant. “No, not like me. I mean, nobody joins the military because they’re normal. Don’t you have anyone else at home – anybody to teach you?”

“Ah, well… right now, it’s just us, and one troll–”

“What?! That’s amazing!”

A troll. They live with a literal man-eating demon?!

As legend  had it, trolls once considered the Emnetwyte their staple food, but now that that accursed species was thankfully eradicated, the man-eaters had no choice but to remedy their lifestyle and become less picky about their food. Now they simply devoured anything and anyone.

Though the race was in smaller numbers as far as markless went, one of Feodor’s acquaintances was a troll. He was morally bankrupt to the core – in other words, an explementary markless. I couldn’t imagine living with somebody like him. That’s like raising a wolf and sheep in the same pen.

“Living together with a troll… more and more mysteries are piling up…”

“You don’t know anything about us!” Tiat snapped, as if her situation wasn’t unusual at all. “W-Well, I do know our situation is strange, I’m not unaware of that, but… but everyone has special circumstances of their own, so doesn’t that make us actually very ordinary?”

“Saying that like you’ve only just realized how it might look to others… that shows just how abnormal you are.”

“R-really?”

Feodor rubbed his neck. “When I asked the First Officer, he wouldn’t say anything about your background even though I’m supposedly your direct superior. Geez, it’s as if your existence itself is being treated as classified–”

“–If that’s the case, wouldn’t that be the answer you’re looking for?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Something cold pricked Feodor’s cheek, intruding into his train of thought. He wiped it off with a finger and looked at it. Water. The faint echo of rolling thunder rumbled in the distance.

“...It looks like it’s going to rain,” Tiat said. “We should get back home now.”

Feodor thought about it, then nodded. Setting aside the question of if her existence really was classified or not, she clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk about herself anymore. Trying to force details out of her wouldn’t lead the conversation in a good direction. If I want to learn more, I’ll have to rethink the way I do it next time.

“We can meet up here another time and talk again?”

He shook his head at her suggestion. “It would violate military regulations, so I won’t make that promise.”

“What’s with that? So boring…”

In just the span of their idle conversation, the rain had started falling in earnest. “Really though, we need to get back soon before we get completely soaked,” Tiat said. Wearing the charming smile one would expect of a mysterious woman holding her secrets close to her heart, she made to stand up.

Then her butt happened to slip off the roof’s edge.

“Ah…”

“Huh?”

Thuuunk!

Whoooooooooosh!

The sound of a mighty impact exploded, followed by a column of water no less magnificent.