The president, Ernst Zimmerman, returned to his estate for recuperation, with his vice president taking over his duties, finally making the decision to approve forced conscription. Starting with evacuees from the territories; minorities and serfs who didn’t know how to write their names; people from extremely poor territories; the lower classes of the capital region; and finally, even the wealthy, educated citizens of the capital, who’d been idly watching by while thinking themselves exempt from this duty.
When the first group got drafted, the group after that didn’t act against the law, instead agreeing with it, thinking they themselves were a capable part of the population and different from the weaker, good-for-nothing groups.
And because of this, when it was their turn to be drafted, the group that was conscripted before them and were by now trained soldiers ruthlessly rounded them up, burning with revenge. The new recruits were looked down upon, treated roughly—the ones who were drafted first and the ones who got drafted later held a deep, reciprocal loathing for each other.
Not for the Senate, which decided the drafting; nor the major nobles standing at the top brass of the military. It was the same method the Imperial nobles once used to keep the people under control.
And Ernst couldn’t stop their scheming. His position as president remained unchanged, along with all the responsibilities that came and would come with it, but all the power and authority had been transferred to the vice president, without reverting back to him.
“…That, on its own, is the result of my conduct thus far, so I can understand that.”
Confined to his home under the pretense of recovery, Ernst smiled in his living room, now clean from bloodstains. But despite his house arrest, his maid, Teresa, was allowed to return and was by now the only person to listen to him.
She stood stock-still, her lips pursed, the identical twin sister of his late wife. Looking away from her, Ernst leaned deep into his armchair, sighing. His wasn’t the face of a firedrake that had grown weary of the world, but simply that of a powerless father.
“It may be too late to say it now, but I really don’t think it was necessary. The draft and isolation of the Republic people are unavoidable by now, and I frankly don’t care about it, so let them do that if they must—but I wanted to at least keep my children safe.”
The scales that had once been balanced because nothing was placed on them now held a weight called familial piety, tilting it firmly to one side.
✦ ✦ ✦
The 1st Armored Division, which was once composed of seven battalions, took losses that required it to be restructured into four battalions. Among the battalion captains, Mitsuda, who led the 5th Artillery-Configuration Battalion, died in battle. And—
“The investigation into the soldier who shot Rito is underway on the back lines.”
Raiden spoke, trying to keep his voice even, and Shin nodded wordlessly. He looked unaffected, but he was actually keeping his lips pursed. Raiden himself had to suppress his own grief and anger, too.
Rito had been like a little brother to them. They never thought he could possibly die, and yet he met a tragic, violent end.
Yes, a gruesome death. Rito did not die in combat. Of all things, it was a human—a Federacy soldier—who killed him. The culprit was one of the survivors of the units that fled during the battle. The woman who’d carried Rito’s body said soldiers from his own unit were the ones who caught the soldier, and they tried to resuscitate Rito but ended up just standing there as it was clear he was beyond saving.
Grethe said that the soldier would be held accountable and punished for his actions. Likely to be executed by firing squad. A Federacy soldier may have killed Rito, but the Federacy military itself did not condone his death.
That was a small comfort for Raiden—Shin likely felt the same way.
“The soldier’s commanding officer sent us an apology letter. Colonel Grethe said we don’t have to force ourselves to read it—”
“An apology, right? I’ll look over it, then.”
Grethe must have read it first, so it probably contained an honest apology and not just excuses, and Shin didn’t feel inclined to coldly turn that down. He didn’t want to use Rito’s death as a reason to treat all Federacy soldiers as a heartless evil. Picking up on Shin’s implicit intentions, Raiden closed his eyes.
“…Right. Let me read it later, too.”
Because honestly, if he was to read it now, he’d just feel hatred toward them. He sighed, trying to vent out the indignation filling his heart, and resumed the briefing.
“The 2nd and 4th Armored Divisions need to have their battalions restructured, too. The 3rd Armored Division will have to be disbanded, and its remaining troops will be organized into the other three divisions.”
The 3rd Armored Division had been hit directly by the first Morpho barrage. What’s more, their division leader, Canaan, was MIA, alongside his Longbow squadron, meaning it was this armored division that took the biggest losses out of the four. Its numbers had been reduced to the point where it couldn’t function as an armored division, and as such, its survivors would have to be used to recover the losses the other divisions took.
However.
“But about the 3rd Armored Division…the survivors from Canaan’s missing group just returned.”
✦ ✦ ✦
“—I thought this time, I was going to die for sure.”
Canaan returned with the survivors from his squadron—overall, there weren’t enough of them to make up a single squadron. Canaan spoke, his expression exhausted, as the last few soldiers dragged themselves into base. Apparently, they were the final.
As he sat next to his Reginleif, which was so badly beaten that even Shin was shocked he actually made it back like this, he gave a thumbs-up and pointed.
“Plus… I think he was a battalion captain sent over to your group, right? I don’t know what he was doing so close to the front or why he was all alone.”
✦ ✦ ✦
“Jaeger.”
Turning around, Dustin smiled faintly when he saw the golden-haired and red-eyed boy who’d disappeared with Citri. He’d escaped the Legion territories all on his own, without so much as a pistol. What’s more, he had to trudge through the snowy northern battlefield, needing to avoid his own army’s soldiers since he was considered a deserter. After such a difficult journey, even Yuuto was visibly haggard and exhausted.
And though Yuuto himself probably wasn’t aware of it, his eyes were warped with anger so intense, it couldn’t be translated into clear emotion—it couldn’t even become tears.
“I’m sorry. I got your message, but I couldn’t go.”
“That’s fine.” Yuuto shook his head. “She knew she was making an unreasonable request.”
Dustin nodded in silent understanding. Now he saw that she hadn’t been pointing out or blaming him for his helplessness. She knew it was unreasonable, but she still wanted to meet him—to see him one more time. Even on the brink of death, Citri was still kind and sweet.
“May I…? Should I ask how it went?”
“She went out with a smile. She cried and got scared along the way, but at the very end, she smiled.”
“Really? Then that’s…a good thing, right?”
If, at the very end, she felt like she could punctuate her life with a smile… Dustin couldn’t tell if that was true yet. Perhaps he’d never find the answer for as long as he lived.
Yuuto watched his vague nod with the discerning eyes of a crow before saying, “She left me with a memento.”
But contrary to his words, he didn’t take it out of his breast pocket—a light-violet hair ribbon, same as the color of her eyes. He’d realized that a strand of her long flaxen hair was coiled around it and carefully folded the ribbon up, so it wouldn’t drop.
Dustin looked back at him. Yuuto unconsciously clenched his right hand, the same hand that held on to her one last time, and flashed a slightly provocative smile.
“You can’t have it. I’ll be the one who takes her along.”
✦ ✦ ✦
I will be your curse, then.
✦ ✦ ✦
Yuuto did feel he’d be better off with a curse cast on him. Maybe he was wrong to feel this way—and maybe he was right. He couldn’t really tell. And when that curse was placed on him, it was incredibly painful.
But he didn’t want to have that curse lifted.
He’d probably never forget her, for as long as he lived. The girl he didn’t save—and yet who smiled at him at the very end.