"Mono/Dialogue"

  'Inner thoughts'

  Narration

  [Message/communication apparatus]

  Date: Winter 1919 New World Calendar or 646 AU.

  Location: Southern Arganea

  POV: Olga Caligo

  [Entering insertion phase, entering comms silence.] The drone provides a live feed for the situation on the ground. PMCs ser pointers are illuminated by the night vision camera fixed underneath the drone. They sweep the vicinity with discipline and crity, avoiding fgging one another or passing over those deemed low threats on the mission.

  The camp’s yout is more or less on a level ground with the topmost side being a small hill dotted with gaudy tents enclosed by wooden palisade. There’s a wide pin and two moats separating it from the rest, most likely meant to deter unwanted intruders from even entertaining to infiltrate even deeper.

  Based on this continental standard, it is an impressive Forward Operation Base meant to be easily erected but cost pretty much nothing. To our standard, a simple artillery battery can ftten it in no time. Going further, I had seen what Grasdivis can do if they are not given a standing order to just annihite everything in their path and deviate from their standard functions like those rumors suggest. What cannot be denied would be a confirmed report of Grasdivi waging terror raids.

  Reports on the early days of that war were enough to chill me to the bone. She had coordinated rge-scale sabotage that paralyzed the Anthro Empire’s participation in the war effort, and reportedly 10% of their ballistic defense network was wiped out within the first week of open hostilities.

  Having their ballistic defense sufficiently weakened was enough for RAIO to para-drop operatives after preliminary missile saturation strikes. These brave men then sabotaged the communication network and that was soon followed by a suicidal but effective one-way bombing run before we lost the luxury of strategic bombing. None of the task force managed to return home, but that was a severe psychological wound being inflicted so quickly that the Empire’s newspaper was given a bckout order to prevent panic and hide their shameful failure.

  Such a thing keeps on happening until smaller nations stop trying to congregate with NIIO’s coalition. Larger nations can afford to take the beating, but it was still very ugly, so what a smaller one can do? Of course, not everyone joins those dogs. So I’m confident we can pull something that is child’s py for Lady Cylene.

  “Move drone feed to the center.” The drone operator nodded and gently guided the unmanned craft over the circur motte-and-bailey that was not armed with mere ballistic and crossbows but with archaic bronze cannons and arquebusiers. It feels no different than staring at a painting that comes alive.

  Activity around the nexus of this camp is noticeably stricter as well, but Visigoth One is far enough to slip past their watch unnoticed and smoothly blend with the wind while being further supported by the camp's festive mood.

  Thus begin the early phase of penetrating through the outer perimeter.

  One PMC snapped his rifle on a sentry zing off on the tower and approached it slowly. They were easily sent onto eternal sleep via subsonic rounds. They are equipped with a tranquilizing gun, but it has poor range and standing order to expedite their pace. Doesn’t help that most patrolling outside wear thicker yers of clothing on top of their armor, so lethal force was applied.

  Another PMC easily slipped past several patrolling crossbowmen who appeared engrossed in their conversation instead of duty. Once they passed them by, the team split into those who took point as executioners and those responsible for hiding the body.

  The coldness proves valuable as well, as soldiers choose to stay inside their retively warm tents. Either enjoying small banquets between themselves or finding warmth through the more physically attractive prisoners. The PMCs passed such pces, ignoring the cries and raucous ughter of these beasts ciming to be children of mankind.

  Lax patrolling soldiers, unfortunately for them, get in the way, and with snappy precision, they were silenced by my men. The bodies were rapidly dragged out of sight while the snow helped bury the blood but not for long before the smell of the corpse stung and provoked a response. Until then, the infiltration team makes quick work of those caught in their path.

  Muffled and subdued fshes were detected by the drone’s camera, but the camp didn’t stir awake whatsoever. The soft cracks of gunfire would have alerted the camp, but the battering of snow outside has been raging and muffling the sounds, subsonic nature of the weapon also made it clear they were not coming unprepared.

  Doesn’t help that our psychological conditioning days before had fooled the camp into negligence.

  What kind of conditioning? We merely snap random shots towards their periphery patrols and scavenging units, deliberately aimed sky high, and they reported back regarding strange noises. As more and more began to corroborate what was waved as hogwash, investigations ensued but they were left empty-handed with needless paranoia turned annoyance.

  I am confident with such a move because I had gambled that they don’t understand the nd well. Many problems that first impede an invading force are always nature’s capricious, well, nature. It is ughably easy to get lost in an enemy’s backyard, made worse when said enemy has been ostensibly subdued.

  The invasion force will always meet geographical issues in terms of practical knowledge and initiative in utilizing their immediate locale. The same can be applied to us, but many of my men were part of the SIEZ expeditionary force and armed with foreknowledge provided by colborators.

  Knowledge aside, where did such confidence come from? I had been there, searching and carving our banner deep into the previously unknown region tied to what astrologist. Astrology is a legitimate study in Regalia and they theorized how SIEZ is an unstable gaping wound in reality and melds with the fabrics of the Old World. How it exists is likened to the same way nebue pockmarked the stars (it might sound ludicrous, but I found that comparison appropriate) and the only way to peer inside is to do so manually. I verily envy the Hyperpowers and their celestial program, we are gging but I digress.

  Compared to that hell, where one wrong move can kill or worse flung you through an incomprehensible warp in time and space, scouting and cataloging this region is a walk in the park. Hell, a good majority had voiced either their confidence or even boredom regarding our tedious tasking.

  “What’s the status of Visigoth Two, Three, and Four?” My voice was directed to the communication officer, an old comrade who volunteered to continue serving under me despite the complicated stigma I carry with me until the day I die. I regret not the life that had been lost, I regretted how I failed to truly honor those sacrifices.

  “Two and Three are ready at their position, and the recoilless rifles are primed towards their pre-designated target. Four had set up an overwatch position in case the situation got dicey, but we are moving according to our timetable.” With a hum of acknowledgment, I stared back at the monitor.

  My vision just caught in time with the team suddenly getting separated by a marching cavalry column of cuirassiers. They immediately dropped to the ground, and the winter camoufge helped them stay hidden out of sight. The poor lighting allowed us to get away with this daring raid and maneuver.

  One of the riders stopped and looked around, their eyes scanning for anything out of the ordinary with a torch in hand. The rider is 5 meters away from one of the PMCs who is holding his subsonic rifle to the side. He was about to pull out his sidearm, but he refrained and waited patiently.

  Ultimately the rider was recalled by its team and galloped away. With the coast clear, the column of infiltrating force continues their trek deeper into the camp. Not to boast, but we have enough experience to wage sabotage and counter-espionage after 10 years of nonstop opportunity to perfect our craft.

  And yet apparently such a stunt was too close for comfort.

  “That was bad, they almost got caught.” A PMC mused while making inventory checks.

  “Yeah, could have gotten ugly too quickly. Then again…” Another answered his question, and this one didn’t bother hiding the bubbling disdain of me.

  “I suppose our dear Commanding Officer had her idea on how to push the limit… I never wish to question Her Grace’s choice, but… this is beyond reckless.” Her eyes meet mine, before looking back on her journal.

  If I recall correctly, her name is Enna Dona and was loaned away from the Reservist Corps, formally her commanding officer is Neumann. I heard she was not even supposed to be here, but circumstances pushed her on my responsibility.

  I have nothing to say other than her chain of command is special, she answered directly to the Grand Autarch and acted as our interpreter when the situation called for it. Miss Donna will surely report my brazenness, as she should. If she fgged on her duty, then I will make my displeasure known and I know what I am doing. At least that was the formality.

  Yes, formality.

  I am under a prime directive to keep Miss Dona alive. An order that I will satisfy even if it costs me my life. Her Grace was gracious enough to spare me this chance to make right, and I will never stop being grateful for her magnanimity.

  Other than her would be four Grasdivis staying silent since they linked up with us. They never speak, they never so much as try to socialize, and I doubt I can see the difference between them resting and standing by with that soulless gas mask on. These stately enforcers are rumored to be genetically altered, but I find comfort in being ignorant of the truth from falsehood regarding them.

  Aside from the communication officer, the loaned auxiliary officer who is possibly my minder and four Grasdivis, more than a dozen staff moving around this underground hideout we had carved beneath the earth are ordinary PMCs and veterans that have been vetted.

  “The next batch of PMCs had safely nded on the southern coast. They are preparing their hideout and FOB as we speak.”

  “Another shipment of supplies and ammo shall arrive in 3 hours, supply team is already en route.” I look to the side on another monitor, the drone is observing the sve’s quarter. Calling it quarter is generous though. As if sensing my gaze, the officer in charge of it turns to face me.

  “Something the matter, Ma’am?”

  “No, but I do find you intently looking over them… what is it that you have in mind?” He hesitates to answer, but it is not hard to give a guess. Appears some people can still hold onto their conscience, and I have no problem with that. It just means that I can have a variety of people to use.

  “What will happen to them after this raid is already a done deal, you will do well to keep your empathy in check.” My tone took a harsher turn.

  “Unless it is a form of protest on my autonomy and rights to conduct asymmetrical warfare, then it is better if you make a formal compint ter than wasting time on what if.”

  :… Understood, Ma’am. I shall keep your advice in mind.” He promptly returns to his task and controls the drone’s camera to provide better support.

  “We got a report that roaming teams had found more caves. It appears the intel is accurate about the old topography provided by our colborators.” The PMC in charge of making headway in scouting and mapping shared the test map with me.

  “Trails that can be used to cut through mountains… Interconnecting caves that look eerily simir to bunker complex…” I pore through the report on hand and it truly conforms to what the Commander Regent had informed me that day. He implied that my unit will encounter not just asymmetrical warfare, but also possible remnants of something much more advanced.

  Tales of people arriving or summoned from another world had been further enhanced by this finding. According to my memo, these people brought with them radical ideas or advancement piece by piece, with the Seven God’s Monarch being the most prominent for bringing in a calendar and unified financial system.

  Ostentatious title aside, I cannot dismiss the probability of them leaving something they should not. Worst case scenario, they might have even left behind anecdotes of strategic weapons equal to that of atomic, or god forbid thermonuclear, warhead… That technology could be somewhere in the local’s hands.

  I have my reservations about those alien colborators of ours… but I cannot deny that being a step ahead is more than enough to dissuade my distrust. An advantage, no matter how small, can make so much difference.

  ‘Speaking about advantage…’ My hand traced the scars on my face, shrapnel and steel marred it back in the war. It made me look fearsome and inhuman to those who witnessed me standing back up after the bomb struck my command center. People began calling me inhuman for surviving, and I have never been so grateful for it.

  I can never forget the 20th Global War that has been turning stranger the higher I climb. I fought over the jagged mountain in the east and even watched as jets dogfight above the sky darkening due to anomalous properties. I dragged my bleeding stomach through the trenches, and I even brushed with death when my command tank was struck by an ATGM merely five seconds after I dismounted.

  What’s more shocking is how the war has gotten uglier with technology.

  “It feels surreal, we were grappling through Morse code, then encrypted communication link that bounced back and forth with fragmented information, and finally… Wars are being directed with satellite surveilnce or unmanned weapons.” My lips uttered so to nobody in particur, and one of my more affable men chimed in.

  “A natural progression and simple straw man consequences of war. It would have been looking even stranger for our venerable Supreme Admiral.”

  “I hate how right you are… When I was just a small girl, he was there already when the 18th and 19th erupted. From big guns and might makes rights, to war where we can barely see our enemies with threats of Global erasure of mankind via thermonuclear slugging match…” Do I regret losing the race to become Sir Steel’s successor? A little, but what’s done is done and no matter how much I hate that woman, she’s good at what she does and I can attest to that.

  “Yeah. Wonder how he feels about it. I mean, he came of age as a destroyer crew and fought through wars. He had been witnessing weaponry that came out of Science Fiction becoming true with each war he participated in. From using primitive ranging equipment and radar, to having most of our equipment supported by computer.”

  “Say what you want about those damn Victorians, but they know how to advance technology or invent a newer iteration. Last I heard they got better in developing semiconductors that can give UFSNE’s capitalistic products a run for their money.”

  “Put it into perspective huh? This also means that if we aren’t expending our efforts to their utmost limit, these alien primitive can potentially catch up to us if recover slowly or dilly-dallying for too long.” Our conversation was cut short when the radio came back alive. It signaled that they had reached the destination of phase one.

  [This is Visigoth One, we reach the point.] Their voice brought me back prompt to turn my microphone as I pressed the button to transmit the continuation of operation.

  “The second phase of Operation Frost-Pike is a go. May Her Imperial Majesty grace us with victory, do not disappoint her.” A brazen way of addressing her.

  In between my subordinates trembling due to my reverential but unwise choice of words, and certain someone boring a hole behind my skull with her stare, no one voiced their admonition. Our Grand Autarch is not one anymore, at least to the other four, and perhaps I had indeed committed Iese Majeste, but her Grasdivis are as unmoving as ever.

  Despite that, the screen flickered akin to agreeing with my sentiment, or I am losing it. Icenders staunchly believe that even when she descended from the throne, she was still our Empress. Crownless she might be, but her majesty wasn’t diminished.

  Someone of her stature must not be tarnished by such flimsy symbols as crowns and the like. She might be gracious enough to stand on level ground with us, guiding us, helping us, and protecting us. She has stood tall as her people dwindle, she stood with us for millennia. She brought order when the Old Commonwealth created by the Council of Elders devolved into chaos.

  Her Imperial Majesty won’t abandon us the way she did. She is unlike Kassie Onezero, our grief-stricken mother who cast herself away as her siblings become more monstrous by the day that passed. Cylene Renoir had been here with us, all of us… She bled for us and led us away from the age of darkness.

  This world will be brought to heel, one way or another. Our Grand Autarch deserves peace after everything she sacrificed for us and our continued survival.

  Yes… Her Imperial Majesty Cylene Renoir… We shall pave the way forth for you.

  “I much prefer if the New Worlders learn to be welcoming and full of acceptance… otherwise…” I mused aloud, letting them in on my unspoken words. The people of this New World will thank us as liberators, and usher in a new era of prosperity with us in the lead… otherwise…

  ‘They will learn to respect us, battered and bruised if need be. As much as I hate to admit it, that insufferable, self-righteous, haughty whore is right… We cannot be meek, cannot be bullied anymore…’ Fortune tends to favor the bold and those who seize the initiative, and now it is our turn to grasp the chance of how to dictate a new, better, order.

  POV: Narrator

  Visigoth One and his team make swift insertion into the encampment through the cover of darkness and snow. The braziers and torches are limited in the middle of such weather, and appears patrols had gone x. He motioned his team to stop with his hand before making hand signs that read.

  [We reach the first point, and start the second phase.] Visigoth Team seamlessly detached into six pairs and delved deeper into the camp. These pairs are: 1 and 7, 2 and 8, 3 and 9, 4 and, 10, 5 and 11, and the st pair is 6 and 12. There’s a blinking strobe that can only be caught by satellite attached to their body armor, and it helps Medusa keep a close eye on them.

  They have 6 targets: The first is the smaller warehouse and not the quartermaster’s tent by the east-southeast side. Second is the armory on the north that coincidentally is close to the first exfiltration point. Third the stables which housed and stored beasts of burden or other pack animals by East. Fourth is the, more or less, open-air sve pens. Fifth is the officers’ quarter which has been retively deserted due to whatever pressing matter is occurring by the central wooden citadel.

  Lastly, the sixth is considered optional because it is too deep inside the camp.

  The first pair, Visigoth One-One and One-Seven, head for the warehouse by dodging patrols and hiding from sight. The rows upon rows of tents without lighting made it easier for this pair to approach undetected. Minimizing the sound of their breathing and footsteps are non-issue when the weather is on your side against x guards.

  They maintain silence and no one is communicating with the others through the radio, they must cause minimal ruckus inside the camp else it will turn into a nest full of angry hornets. One-Seven takes notes on the differing banners and the seemingly stratified or grouped nature of the tents.

  Banners from the most mundane blocky checkered pattern of bck and white to what appears to be a very distinctive shade of purple with a golden eagle on it make for valuable insight. What’s more intriguing is the distinct accents of their nguages. None of the operatives are capable of speaking the local nguage, but they know general words about commands.

  That being said, for every two operators spread across the entire Southern region, one of them is equipped with a listening and recording device. This will help for further operation and allow the linguists to draw a prolific variety of samples. They have so much of this equipment because NIIO’s intelligence network was so crowded and the transference left several of these sophisticated transponders up for grabs.

  At st, the pair reached their destination. The warehouse, a bare bone structure good enough to store supplies, is being guarded by armored soldiers with several arquebusiers atop the watch tower at each corner. Luckily, the guards are too busy drinking, ughing, and pying cards to notice them slipping through a small gap meant for drainage.

  It would have been problematic if it was filled with ice, but as luck would have it, the pair only needs to contend with freezing water. Their camoufge and combat fatigue have been enhanced to not absorb water and provide insution, so they sneak inside without alerting the guard.

  The warehouse is at least two stories high with terrific insution and protection from wind. Cold temperatures also provide support to keep the supplies from getting spoiled. The flooring is just mud, and it masks their footsteps better.

  They swept the building for anyone inside and found six guards busy pying chess while betting. Visigoth One-One shakes his head seeing the ckluster security, but it goes to his advantage. Deeming it too risky to shoot in such a confined space, and using tranquilizer on six people here might rouse suspicion, the pair press forth.

  Continuing with the search, they found another one checking for supplies in hand. The oblivious guard had left his single-shot handgun on the nearby table with his sword. Seizing the opportunity, one of the PMCs closed in and knocked the guard unconscious with fast fast-acting tranquilizer shot. Unlike the subsonic round of their rifle, which can still be very loud indoors, the tranquilizer barely emitted any noise. Laying the body slowly and dragging it to a loo nearby, they began pnting explosives.

  One might wonder why they didn’t just kill the man, but such an act can work as a decoy in case the timetable shifts too quickly. Besides, spilling blood here will alert the entire camp rapidly as the news spreads, and having the guard left unconscious can serve as a decoy.

  Leaving this pair to continue their work, another pair of PMCs, One-Two and One-Eight, are moving toward the second objective. They reached the pce after making more close calls compared to others, their destination being the reason. Hiding from view and peeking through a tarp, they deemed it impossible to break inside.

  Soldiers here are patrolling with greater zeal and unswerving discipline. It makes them wonder why, and promptly answer. A man in gaudy armor, young and hale, can be seen talking inside the objective with his fellow. His voice was drowned by the marching soldiers, but not like these two could understand him anyway.

  “We should confirm it’s not possible for infiltration,” One-Two whispered to One-Eight who grunted acknowledgment. “Change to pn B.” The pair quickly retreated after pnting C4 explosives hidden near one of the barrels near the tent. It is suboptimal, but they cannot risk it any further. Their foray might be cut short, but sometimes even fate can be capricious if it feels like it.

  One-Two has a hypothesis on why the objective is so densely protected. It being the armory is a given, there might even be siege engine-like cannons inside and they aren’t cheap which necessitates an increase in protection compared to other areas that fell into joyous revelry. This hypothesis is just one part; that noble-looking young man must have brought his entourage with him. Perhaps not all officers in this camp are lost in wine and comely locals.

  With the charge set, the pair began their extraction towards the designated point. Be careful to avoid alerting anyone on the way and make sure to erase their tracks.

  Moving onto the next pair, One-Three and One-Nine, they fared somewhat better. Several stables dotted the camps and they are chock full of whining horses and several flying reptiles currently categorized as wyverns. The sheer size of these aerial beasts is concerning, but their lethargic movement clued in a possibility. One-Nine shared her view.

  “Guess they’re warm-blooded like all lizards… This temperature upsets them, and even their evolution has its limit.”

  “… It’s hibernation then? Wait, can lizard hibernate?” One-Three replied as she trained her suppressed rifle at oblivious patrols walking while smoking pipes.

  “Pretty sure they don’t exactly hibernate but my biology was passing grade and my point is these beasts are for military use so we might need to take into account that they can be roused back expediently. This world is still unknown to us, and this can serve as practical field intel gathering.”

  “Intel gathering my ass… I guess our CO wasn’t a mad dog for nothing.” One-Three whispered through gritted teeth. She can hear the voice sobbing inside the tent across from her, and she doesn’t need a Ph.D. to know what is happening inside.

  “Proceed?” One-Nine queried as she watched the horses, especially those with more than four legs, begin to slumber. Stable hands are still moving about, but soon the traffic should be clear. “Affirm… we got 30 miles left.” One-Three spoke as checked her synchronized watch. The two stacked up close to creeping along the rows of tents, their backs turned on each other to watch their blind spot.

  The pair crawl underneath rows of supply wagons filled with feed and keep themselves out of view. After passing past the fifth wagon, they pivoted left and timed melt back into the darker side of tent rows. This painstaking act cost them much-needed time, but at least they made it onto the stable.

  The chatter inside has mostly died down as the st stable hands lock the doors and are on their way. They chatted briefly with the guards, and that small pse allowed them the time window to circle to the back of the stable. Entering it would be suicide in advance and neither were keen to meet a fate worse than death in case of capture.

  “Setting C4.” One-Nine echoed her action as One-Three kept a tight watch on their surroundings. The festive mood should continue for a few more hours, but no one realizes that a series of bombs are ticking underneath their nose.

  -

  -

  -

  “Curse that beast-blood of a false count! That wretched brat understand nothing!” A man in a loose robe and hood spat with anger evident in his voice. He cannot stand the meeting between Tenholt and the newcomer. The man also feels disappointed when he fails to convince Gadram to stay precisely because of this.

  “Conniving bastard, rat blood, and cur… all is Ivalo’s quality.” He flipped through his tome, poring through spells and arcane might, his thoughts drifted on and on.

  “He doesn’t understand that progress of such a thing can shake the foundational hierarchy. The peasants outnumber us 100-to-1 and he wishes to elevate them further?” Beside him is a young apprentice mage who can do nothing but listen in silence.

  “He should have understood such a simple thing, but he allowed that farcical council to be a jester’s den. He shames us all, shame I said!” He turned his sharp gaze at the apprentice who busied himself poring through another arcane tome.

  “Have you found the incantations?”

  “I-I have yet to find the passage that corresponds-”

  “Then try harder!” His magic bleed into his voice, and the young man cowered in fear. He nods desperately and redoubles his effort. The mage sighed wearily and continued his muttering.

  “These peasants should feel honored that His Imperial Majesty was magnanimous enough… Or perhaps that Kinsying Witch had bewitched him? No, no… that should not be possible… Unless we will need to visit the Royal Library.” His musing continues, but suddenly he feels uneasy.

  He doesn’t understand why every part of his body seems to be shivering for no reason. He looked outside his tent and found nothing of the ordinary, sounds of revelry can still be heard contending with snow and ice battering the encampment. The officers’ quarter is certainly quieter at the moment, but enough guards are moving about to keep him and his apprentice safe.

  The mage turned around when he heard a crash.

  “You insipid moron! I have had enough of your utter uselessness!” His apprentice can be seen lying down with his face ft on the ground, his magical essence is stable which means he probably tripped on himself (reasoned the mage). The mage's face is flushed red, he feels insulted by this brazen young man who made a pathetic attempt to knock himself unconscious.

  “How much longer are you going to face the dirt?! We have no time to-” His voice was cut off as he felt a sting by his neck. First, he loses control of his vision going blurry and darkening, second he cannot get a feel of his body, third he stumbled onto darkness, and fourth he loses sense of his hearing.

  His st dimmed view is a pair of unrecognizable silhouettes approaching his unresponsive body. These silhouettes are conversing in nguage or perhaps just white noise that he cannot fathom. Soon he drifted off into a deep sleep.

  -

  -

  -

  -

  “Clear.” Visigoth One-Five whispered after he and his battle buddy downed the mages with a tranquilizer. Before they came here, the pair had eliminated 5 guards and put 9 others to sleep. This is a deliberate move to sow confusion that shall soon happen. One-Eleven carefully closed in on the downed mages and collected the darts, they cannot leave physical proof of what is happening around here.

  “Pcing trackers.” They separate and procure some kinds of device no rger than a pinky nail and just as thin. They pced these devices on all sorts of things, be it books, swords, equipment, or even the mages themselves. The tranquilizer should knock them out for a few hours.

  “These people are idiots… how could they leave a pce like this so lightly defended? Are they having dick-waving contests inside their HQ?” One-Eleven tried to joke about this absurd development to One-Five who did not dignify with an answer. Seeing his partner's abject refusal to communicate, he wondered how does other team faired so far, but he shook it just a beat ter.

  “Should we take samples?” One-Eleven queried One-Five who shook his head.

  “Negative, Medusa wants confusion and these items will be our tunnel rats.” One-Five is hard at work as he tears through books and pces trackers in between the damaged items. He looks for what appears to be expensive and damages it, reasoning that someone will soon take it with them back for repair because books are expensive for these people.

  “Affirm…” One-Eleven pces his trackers as ordered. He also makes sure to further complicate the situation by ransacking the room by opening the cabinets haphazardly and throwing their contents out. Of course, anything that could make a noise was being thrown out gently to dampen out the noise.

  Magical tomes are being doused with ink, papers filled with nonsensical diagrams are vandalized, and quills and gemstones are thrown onto the bed. One-Eleven uses a small camera to snap several important-looking documents that might be looking useful, otherwise, everything they do is sabotage to a permissible extreme.

  “You think it will work?” One-Eleven spoke with skepticism as he colred the mage with a svery colr, or at least that was what the Arganean had informed. One-Five grunted a noncommittal answer as he too fastened a colr on the mage’s apprentice.

  It was a massive boon to capture two valuable sources of intel. The pair easily hefted up their unconscious quarry. Regalian had mutated for generations, and even Casherlish who are notably newer is much stronger than average human. It is just that this showcase of strength was rarely exhibited when wars were fought with guns, vehicles, CBRN weapons, and industrial warfare in mind.

  They make terrific agents, but in an honest conventional war, their only advantage is being able to carry more supplies. Individuals who can carry above 60-80 kilograms (132-176 lbs) of equipment, on average, are certainly great but they are red paste on the ground when artillery comes knocking. So in the grand scheme of things, Regalian mutations are treated as a non-issue, negligible addition for war of attrition where they can only consume supplies if any was even avaible, or as an abomination.

  To make it more convincing One-Five injures some of the unconscious guards had their wrists cut open so they would bleed slowly or just die as soon as a commotion erupted.

  Once the scene of the crime had been set up, the pair pnted several self-erasing smoke grenades randomly to further befuddle panicking soldiers on the upcoming chaos. Making sure that the coast was clear, the pair began walking towards the next point. On the way, they rendezvous with One-Four and One-Ten who had the unenviable task of objective four.

  Seeing that none of them are willing to so much as look at either One-Five or One-Eleven spoke volume.

  The st pair that had yet to finish their task would be One-Six and One-Twelve. They are a good 500 meters (550 yards) away from the optional objective with One-Six clicking her tongue.

  “Pce is a goddamn hornet nest.” The citadel is chock full of soldiers, officers, and nobles so full of themselves she can hear their bickering from this far away. Retinues and soldiers between differing factions are gring at each other, providing clear insight into the division between the Halciadonish* army.

  “What should we do?” One-Twelve already pulled out his recoilless rifle, confiscated from a Crusaderan Foreign Legion, and found itself in the use of E.I.R.I PMCs.

  “Our recoilless rifles won’t cut deep enough, and our drones are busy as is… Abort, we are ordered to try and take them out, but it won’t work.” One-Six wisely backed down and traced their exfil with due haste. Her watch shows they only had 5 minutes left before the party started. After casting one st gnce toward the boisterous citadel of wood, she smirked.

  “Nothing personal, just business.” Walking past patrol undetected, they move to rendezvous with the rest of the Visigoth team.

  [END OF CHAPTER]

  Author’s Note:

  Yo there, this is me, myself, and I, the author who is losing his mind.

  I’m really sorry for the te updates, but life is getting busier on my side.

  With that out of the way, I will implement gradual changes and retcons such as Halciadonian is too twisty and sounds strange. Now they will be referred to as Halciadonish and Acadionish.

  The tranquilizer gun was a modified welrod to load directly from the front. It is unavoidable because technological limitations have been pushed to the extreme to fit a dart capable of activating in less than five seconds with enough dosage.

  Let’s be real here, this level of infiltration is mind-bogglingly reckless, either I’m an idiot or it is my way to paint Medusa’s character is up to you.

  Ciao.