At the beginning of the second month of the Central Calendar, a crowd had gathered in the broad pza that stretched out before the gates of the Imperial Pace in Leiforia, capital of Leifor. Banners fluttered in the chilly wind—some bearing the sigils of trade guilds, others more provocative: the sky-blue field and nine-tailed comet of the Holy Milishial Empire’s August Star of Heaven and pcards with pro-Runepolis messages.

  Chants rose in waves, directed at the head of state residing beyond the barrier.

  “Our sailors deserve protection too!” the field coordinator cried. “Why reject the safety proposal!?”

  Pcards decried the Leiforian government’s refusal of the Holy Milishial Empire’s maritime safety proposal put forward some time ago. Dockworkers, merchants, and even retired sailors questioned why the technologically advanced and mighty Holy Empire’s offer to guard trade routes—including Leifor’s own—had been turned down.

  Inside the pace, behind thick paneled doors and the fogged windows of drawing rooms, however, Leiforian officials were less than composed.

  “Damned fools with foreign fgs,” grumbled one of the ministers. “How in all the skies did they even get permits for a public gathering in the Central Precinct?”

  “Probably they didn’t,” came the sneering reply from another official. “Those Middle Landers must be behind all this.”

  “Bah. Don’t just spout nonsense without evidence,” an older minister chided the two men. However, his expression made it clear that he too wasn’t really happy with this whole situation.

  Unbeknownst to Leifor, all of this unfolded as the Holy Empire quietly escated its defensive posture against the Annonrial Empire through diplomatic channels since the tter half of st year, other than their cat-and-mouse games at sea. Yet, unable to disclose this cssified intelligence to foreign powers without risking mass panic or geopolitical turmoil, the Holy Empire concealed its strategic preparations behind the guise of counter-piracy cooperation.

  Thus, in a typical Milishian manner of diplomacy—with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer—the Holy Empire proposed strengthening trade ne protections under the guise of escorting convoys and combating piracy and sea monsters. This seemingly generous offer had already met with measured success among the smaller kingdoms. These nations, reliant on primitive navies or mercantile alliances, were easily swayed by the Holy Empire’s promises of security and patronage. But when they turned to nations with established navies, the reception soured. Foreign courts accused them of running nothing more than a maritime protection racket.

  Especially Leifor, with a bigger navy and stronger maritime tradition than Parpaldia due to its suzerainty over archipegic vassal states, compared to the Dragon of Phides’ ndlocked colonies. In addition, Leifor was already chafing under the established world order, and perhaps resentful of its status as the “weakest” superpower. Negotiations with them dragged on, as politely worded communiques masked their suspicion. Neither side budged.

  Then, as abruptly as it had proposed the pn, the Holy Empire withdrew its offer gracefully, with an air of wounded magnanimity. In a public broadcast through World News, a Milishian Foreign Ministry official praised Leifor’s “steadfast spirit of self-determination” and solemnly decred that the Holy Empire would honor its sovereignty with understanding. To the world, it appeared a benevolent giant stepping back with dignity. To Leifor, it was a thinly veiled insult, but now it was left to expin to its citizens why it had spurned aid that others—even Mu, though under far more equitable terms—were positively considering.

  And behind it all, the Order of the Ancients and the White Lotus’ colborators had already sown the seeds. Their quiet machinations had nurtured a narrative among the popuce that “the Holy Empire cares more about Leiforian sailors than their own government does.”

  This moment had been engineered.

  …………

  Later that month, the uproar in the streets showed no signs of fading. News of Mu’s tentative acceptance of the Holy Milishial Empire’s approach by the announcement of a triteral naval exercise alongside the Emor Kingdom in the Minerva Ocean called “Timeless Azure” spread like wildfire. Editorials questioned Leifor’s diplomatic decision. Analysts on state-funded local broadcasts grew evasive when asked about the long-term viability of rejecting the Holy Empire’s offer when cases of maritime accidents were on the rise.

  Eventually, the Emperor decided that the mounting public discontent was not worth it and ordered the dispatch of diplomats to reopen talks with the Holy Milishial Empire.

  What awaited them was a shock to the point that they almost did a double take.

  The new proposal from the Holy Empire was not only less restrictive, it was generous. In pce of mere escort services, the revised terms included a tantalizing offer of technological uplift and other means of strengthening their national power. Some of the incentives weren’t even directly reted to maritime security. Not only were the new terms favorable, it was also fttering to Leiforian national pride.

  A High Charity.

  When the Leiforian popuce learned of this, their sentiment against the Leiforian government’s previous stance intensified. The original rejection, already seen as stubborn and shortsighted, now seemed not just unwise but borderline negligent.

  Thus, with little room to maneuver, Leifor had no choice but to accept the proposal, and pirates and ‘sea monsters’ were starting to be driven off western maritime routes frequented by Leiforian ships.

  “—To summarize the progress of the auxiliary prong of the World’s Defense Line Pn, current trajectories are behind schedule. This is rgely due to the residual effects of our decades-long Operation GAZER, which undermined both regions’ societal and technological foundations to prevent escation in dynamics between them and our country. Although necessary at the time, this action has significantly deyed their potential utility in the coming Final War. At best, their contribution will be symbolic.”

  …………

  “………”

  Lucius of the Morning Star, the Eighth Milishial Emperor, paused as he came across a particur paragraph, while Princess Lugiel who authored the document remained silent across from him, watching her ancestor’s expression morphing into a somber grimace. The silence stretched, and then the Emperor slowly set the report aside, steepling his fingers beneath his chin and pondering to himself.

  “So it would seem… that I have made a grave mistake this entire time,” Milishial VIII murmured in a contemptive baritone at the end of his reflection.

  Lugiel flinched. It was barely perceptible, but the Emperor noticed it all the same. The flicker of hesitation in her eyes spoke volumes, even before she opened her mouth.

  “Your Majesty, it might have been the correct decision at the time,” she said carefully. “But with the recent breakthroughs, perhaps such measures will no longer be necessary in the future.”

  “Is that so?”

  At his prompting, the princess steadied herself and nodded before continuing.

  “…Operation GAZER was conceived based on our own projections. Scenarios in which, if left unchecked, certain nations could eventually develop the national power to rival the Holy Empire. At the time, the risk of allowing them to advance unhindered was deemed too much of a risk to the world order. The potential to create rivaling power blocs, or worse, causing wars that could only destabilize the world, necessitated… such measures.”

  True to her nature, Lugiel argued her case with characteristic audacity, even as flickers of apprehension often crossed her face.

  The Emperor hummed thoughtfully, grasping her perspective. The situation had shifted dramatically since High Charity began tapping into the Hollow Pnet region’s mana, leading to revolutionary advances in magical technology that resulted in a net positive effect on the Holy Empire’s power. Even if they were to cease all sabotage tomorrow, letting their potential rivals progress unimpeded, they could never bridge the divide now that the Holy Empire’s lead had become too vast to overcome.

  The Holy Milishial Empire had become an unstoppable anomaly among nations—a sleeping giant none should awaken, and the status quo endured.

  “Still, High Charity has only existed for a few months, Lugiel.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. It’s a policy ingrained in the bedrock of our foreign strategy for centuries,” Lugiel replied reluctantly. “I understand that abolishing it without sufficient preparations would be reckless.”

  She already knew that even if the Emperor agreed to her suggestion, it wouldn’t be out of some newfound altruism. That’s immature thinking. No, it would simply be because the Holy Empire’s lead had grown so insurmountable that keeping others’ heads down was no longer necessary. A bitter realization, but one she had long since accepted.

  The Holy Milishial Empire, the only nation other than the Dragonoids’ Emor that took the impending revival of the Ravernal Empire seriously, had always walked a razor’s edge between its idealistic mantle as the self-procimed defender of mankind and the ruthless pragmatism demanded by realpolitik. For centuries since its first interaction with overseas political entities, the Holy Empire had ensured its unrivaled dominance not merely through superior might and carrot-and-stick approach but also through cndestine machinations that kept potential rivals—nations like Mu, Parpaldia, and Leifor—perpetually stunted. Based on those foundations, Operation GAZER was a decades-long campaign of subtle sabotage in the modern era, aimed to erode the hypothetical enemies’ societal cohesion and technological progress, ensuring they could never rise as peers to challenge the Holy Empire’s supremacy.

  The Parpaldia Empire’s fragile grip on its colonies and society forced it to sustain itself through harsh, inept self-destructive tyranny, and the Kingdom of Mu’s almost nonexistent economic revival were all rooted in the same dark side of the August Star of Heaven. This was the true nature of the current world order, where another beacon of righteousness was not needed.

  Having grown up and lost the people he cared about during the brutal Warring Kingdoms Period, Lucius of the Morning Star witnessed firsthand the horrors of living among those in power—men who, convinced of their own righteousness and strength, constantly waged war against others. This bitter experience left him bitter and distrustful of people’s violent nature, even when faced with a common enemy, leading him to enshrine this hypocrisy as his nation’s guiding principle. Milishial VIII had long since given up any hope that other nations would understand his vision, focusing solely on the well-being of his own people to the point of selfishness.

  His line of thinking might’ve been wrong all this time, but sadly time and time again his point just gets proven by people.

  A peer nation might dismiss the looming specter of the Ravernal Empire’s return as mere myths disseminated by the Holy Empire to justify their national strengthening, sowing discord and forming rival power blocs that will end up in rge-scale wars—wars that might engulf the very world itself. Even in the current world order where the Holy Empire reigned supreme, it was already bad enough that localized conflicts cannot be completely prevented. An even clearer division would only weaken humanity further, squandering precious time on internecine conflicts when unity was paramount.

  …Unity which was still far from realization, but one the Holy Empire was striving for at all costs.

  Thus, though morally fraught, the Holy Milishial Empire deemed its own actions a lesser evil in a world where even the mightiest could not wholly prevent wars from happening. The result was an international hierarchy where even the so-called “Superpowers” were but shadows of their potential, easily cowed by the Holy Empire’s might and pliable to its will.

  However, with the revetion about the Annonrial Empire, it would seem that they were culling the wrong threat this whole time in hindsight.

  Milishial VIII studied Lugiel’s face, noting the tension in her features. This descendant of his was a paradox—a woman who carried out his will efficiently, yet whose heart still clung to the ideals he had long since buried beneath the weight of necessity. He had always known this about her, and in truth, it was why he valued her counsel so highly. She tempered his cynicism, even if she could never fully dispel it.

  And now, she was offering him a chance. Not quite a redemption, for a ruler could never truly be redeemed, but perhaps something resembling absolution.

  ‘This is why she wants to take advantage of High Charity,’ he mused. ‘To advocate for a ‘nobler’ Holy Empire.’

  The thought was almost amusing. Did Lugiel truly believe he could still be salvaged?

  Yet, he found himself considering it.

  “Lugiel,” the Emperor called out. “If we were to inform the other heads of state about the truth of the Annonrial Empire, do you believe they would stand with us?”

  Lugiel’s lips thinned. “No, Your Majesty. It is too soon.”

  “I see.”

  For all her idealism, her answer was immediate. So, even she found it was a risky decision.

  A faint smirk tugged at the Emperor’s lips. “You don’t believe in their better natures?”

  “I believe in their self-interest. Unless they are puppets of the Holy Empire, they cannot be relied upon with this knowledge… at least immediately.”

  “Puppets? That’s rather extreme,” the Emperor commented with a raised eyebrow.

  But puppets. Might be too ugly a word, but it lingered in the air.

  Unbeknownst to the Emperor, Lugiel’s thoughts drifted to Mu—its government had already quietly turned into White Lotus colborators by Amon’s operations two months ago. The irony was not lost on her. Even as she argued against trusting others, her ally already ensured that at least one “Superpower” danced to their tune.

  Hypocritical? Perhaps. But in her mind, it was a controlled variable—one less rogue element in the coming storm.

  The princess looked despondent as she answered.

  “As much as I hated it, it is what it is, Your Majesty…”

  “So once again, it comes down to sufficient preparations on our end. Benedict estimated that we will need five to ten years in order to maintain stability while we are pushing with the changes,” the Emperor grumbled. “…Hmph, how vexing. The enemy does not care about our readiness. But I suppose it can’t be helped.”

  The Emperor gnced at Lugiel for a long moment before nodding to himself, a glint of pride in his aged eyes.

  “…Very well, Lugiel. Proceed with your drafting of the ‘Siege of Annonrial’ pn.”

  “At once, Your Majesty.”

  Lugiel agreed with the Emperor about the enemy not caring about the Holy Empire’s readiness. But so does the White Lotus, which is why she will do everything to catch up with their ally in this ridiculous, current Secret Cold War against Zarathostra of the Messiah.

  Mid-May 1617 Central Calendar

  Arbor Instaltion 01 – High Charity

  Area B7R, Southeastern Holy Milishial Empire

  From his office, the man assigned as the Instaltion’s director observed as five rimmed oblong-shaped airships with a noticeable purple sheen on their hulls rise from the Cauldrons where they had just been built. Without hesitation, they powered up their repulsor engines and soared into the sky, quickly assembling into formation near High Charity’s massive tree-like structure. There, several other squadrons of identical five-ship units in various designs already hovered in wait, leisurely orbiting their birthpce with their majestic presence.

  This time, the Director had just witnessed the completion of a squadron of Va-pattern airships, one of High Charity’s active design patterns. Weighing 38.400 tons and measuring 162 meters in length (comparable to a light cruiser), the Va-pattern was an agile aerial predator, despite its 67,4-meter beam and 30-meter height. Powered by dual anti-gravity levitators and four rear-mounted repulsor engines, it could achieve blistering speeds of 459 to 486 knots (850-900 km/h) despite being a literal ship that flies. In addition, though technically crew-capable (requiring only three officers, three enlisted personnel, and an Associated Intelligence), these vessels were primarily unmanned, operated instead by LEGION processors much like the Holy Empire’s vehicur drones.

  Designed for the shadow operations of the Order of the Ancients, the Va-pattern skypiercer boasted an almost alien elegance, its sweeping curves echoing very early Second Epoch Ravernal aesthetics that even the Light-Winged Devils themselves would have deemed it ‘ancient.’ A stark departure from the regur Holy Empire military’s angurity, which took after the te Ravernal era weaponry, the Va-pattern’s refined silhouette evoked an older, deadlier age of warfare—one as sophisticated as it was genocidal.

  Letting out a sigh of admiration, the Director turned to the holographic image of Amon seated at the table opposite him. If not for the mask covering his face, his guest would have seen the bright smile spreading across his face.

  The White Lotus Leader’s voice was almost zy as he asked, “How do you find the ‘parade,’ Director?”

  He tilted his head slightly, watching the other man settle into his seat.

  Seeing the Cauldron’s unparalleled manufacturing flexibility, the Holy Empire figured out that they could deliberately field a diverse array of designs in cndestine operations to sow confusion among their targets. While most nations struggled with the logistical burden of standardization, High Charity’s Cauldrons effortlessly produced equipment of varying patterns, allowing the Holy Empire to deploy radically different-looking forces across different fronts without the dreaded maintenance nightmares. With this capability, they could even fabricate entire fictional nations, complete with their own invented arsenals, and wield them as phantom armies against their adversaries. The only true constraint was the scarcity of trained personnel—a limitation that the Holy Empire bypassed by relying heavily on AI systems like LEGION in this confusion warfare.

  In any case, given how High Charity churns out new hardware every day, the scene would undoubtedly captivate an enthusiast.

  “You honor me, Young Master… if making scale models of these ships were allowed, I certainly would! They’re magnificent… each one is a masterpiece of design and engineering!” the Director excimed enthusiastically, gesturing toward the window.

  But as he continued, his tone turned into a concerned one. “Still… White Lotus Leader, are you truly alright with this? You’re the real mind behind these ‘false fg’ designs, yet in all the reports submitted to the Grand Magister, your name is scrubbed clean. Others take credit for your work.”

  Amon let out a low, amused hum. “I find bureaucracy needed to do that to be more like shackles this time,” he muttered dismissively. “Our enemy does not care about whether we’re properly doing our paperwork or not. If we waste time on this matter, we lose the advantage we’ve had. Besides, I have more designs than people could ever ‘steal.’ If I wanted recognition, I could drown the Holy Empire in blueprints until they had no choice but to acknowledge me.”

  That should be right, the Director thought to himself. After working with him both in public and behind the scenes as an operative of the Order, he genuinely believed that the young boy behind that mask could really do it.

  “Such selflessness…”

  Amon cut him off with a dry chuckle. “No, Director. This is all because of my selfish desires. An incredibly selfish anomaly, that is.”

  As he indulged the Director with a few more remarks about the airships beyond the window, Amon’s mind drifted far from the conversation. Behind his impassive mask and cool demeanor, his thoughts burned with a singur purpose: At st, the time had come.

  He could finally unch a direct counterattack against the Annonrial Empire. High Charity’s Cauldrons and the White Lotus’s burgeoning arsenal had given him the unthinkable—a chance to retaliate in a way he had once deemed almost impossible in the Second Timeline. The Winged People would doom themselves, and drag the world into ruin with them. And so, they would need weapons to defend themselves.

  But the thought almost brought no satisfaction. Instead, a cold unease settled in his chest solely due to one individual who stirred in excitement at this moment.

  Legiel.

  To find himself reborn in the past, granted the chance to “make things right” as he saw fit was indeed something too good to be true. Yet, Amon was grateful to Kagaseo for giving him this chance. This was a miracle.

  But the cost of that miracle was the Civilization Annihition Game.

  Pestilence’s handiwork in Attarsamain, Japan, and Gra Valkas had made that clear. “A story needs conflict,” he stated. “What else would you expect when the point of your world is to glorify war machines!? Dammit, Little Brother, I love you but you’re so cringe and confusing—”

  For now, Pestilence was held back by his brother and gave the stage to him to perform—but his restraint was a thin veneer. He craved for a war, a fire so all-consuming it would scorch the world, leaving behind irreputable proof: that humanity was beyond redemption. That their ‘inherent evil’ damned them.

  And that was the crux of it.

  As much as he hated to admit it, there was the gravity of his presence that weighed down his soul. What a cruel verdict of fate, of which he intended to rebel against.

  Pying into Legiel’s hands was not an option. If his counterattack against the Annonrial Empire erupted into all-out war, it would only vindicate that bastard’s edgelord ideology. No. That couldn’t happen.

  Which left him with an impossible task: to dismantle a genocidal empire ruled by the Light-Winged Devil who cannot be reasoned with, to do it silently, and—somehow—with minimal bloodshed. From the outset, this was a ludicrous idea given that the notion of a ‘clean’ war was absurd. But he had to try. If not out of duty as a reincarnator safeguarding mankind, then to spitefully prove Legiel and his Audience wrong.

  Such was the selfishness of Meteos Roguerider.

  ?????

  01:00 of the next day

  Northwest of High Charity, the barren terrain stretched into an expansive ftnd used as one of the rallying points for weapon groups freshly assembled in the Cauldrons. Over it, airships hovered low in formation, arranged in four columns of six-ship units that comprised a single aerial fleet.

  Traditionally, the Holy Milishial Empire deployed its small ships in squadrons of five—a structure mirrored by its aerial fleet. Yet here, the deviation was unmistakable as a deliberate choice for this operation. Moreover, airships assembling here sported a completely different design, not matching any known aesthetic from the Ravernal Empire’s history. Coated in dull green, these unusual ships were comparable in size to an oceangoing magic battleship. However, they feature a tapered wedge-like hull with a slender rear extension ending in a bulbous command bridge, distinguished by its yellow-tinted windows. The airships were driven by thrusters mounted at the ends of two nacelle columns projecting downward from the port and starboard sides of the bridge. Lastly, positioned in front of the bridge were three twin gun turrets arranged in a row.

  Since their mission required a certain level of spectacle, this was what the pnners came up with.

  The area itself was almost draped in total darkness. What little illumination existed came from the occasional blinking navigation lights on the airships or the dim blue glow of thrusters and the occasional flicker of shuttle lights. Even at this te hour, supply shuttles continued their relentless back-and-forth between High Charity and the fleet, loading the final provisions and armaments for the Siege of Annonrial Pn drafted by Princess Lugiel two months ago.

  On the storage deck of the airships, a shuttle hissed as its ramp lowered, releasing three figures into the cold, lifeless environment. Two were identical raven-haired young men, while the third was a young woman with silver hair tied into a ponytail. Even though there were certain weapons already loaded inside, not a single human crewmember was in sight—only drones skittered across the deck on mechanical limbs, while others hummed through the air on anti-gravity devices, carrying crates or performing maintenance.

  “Well, this is kind of depressing,” commented one of the young men.

  “It can’t be helped.”

  “Still,” said the other man, turning back to peer out across the featureless dark toward the looming silhouettes of nearby vessels, “I expected something to greet us.”

  “Welcome aboard, Elder Brothers and Elder Sister!”

  As if on cue, the ship’s speakers bred to life. A drone skittered toward them, its optical lens flickering before projecting a holographic dispy. The image shimmered into the form of a light blue-haired woman who looked at the with a bright and eager expression.

  “Welcome!” she said enthusiastically. “I am Cyan, the assigned Associated Intelligence for the Heretic Fleet’s fgship, Musai. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, my older siblings!”

  The trio exchanged brief gnces. Identified as #78, this particur Magia was practically radiating with “newborn” energy.

  One of the raven-haired young men crossed his arms. “Heretic Fleet…? That’s what they’re calling this now?”

  “For the ck of a better term, because the ‘Special Operations Fleet’ is already taken! …We’re going to masquerade as heretic rebels, after all.”

  “Huh…”

  The silver-haired woman raised her hand slightly. “Are we going to be the only personnel on board?” she asked.

  Cyan’s holographic form shook her head quickly.

  “Oh, no, not at all! You simply arrived early. The rest of the fleet’s assigned Magias and drone crews are still en route. But don’t worry, once everyone’s here, we’ll have a full complement soon!”

  “Ah, thank the Maker.”

  The three arrivals were among the early Xyston Magias. Like many of their kind, they bore numerical and type designations, but upon went online, the Magias had taken to naming themselves and their sibling groups, adopting titles that carried weight and identity beyond cold digits.

  #9 Hugin and #11 Munin, the raven-haired twins, were a common phenomenon among Magias. As individuals who had activated simultaneously, their consciousness intertwined from the very moment they came online. Such pairs often developed an inseparable bond, closer to each other than to any other siblings in the vast network of artificial minds. #10 Synin, their “middle sister,” completed their trio, forming a unit known among the other Magias as “the Ravens.”

  “Now, since you’re early, would you like an early tour of the ship? The Musai-pattern is quite different from standard Holy Empire designs, so there’s a lot to see!”

  The trio nodded to themselves. While they were waiting for the others, they might as well spend time doing something useful. Hands-on research, for example.

  “That would be helpful.”

  “Excellent!” Cyan chirped. “Then let’s start right here on the storage deck!”

  As she spoke, the drone guiding them pivoted, its lens adjusting to highlight the rising compartment doors that lined the walls of the deck before them.

  The Ravens’ optics immediately locked onto them as they fully slid open with a low mechanical groan, revealing row upon row of massive green-colored humanoid war machines, each standing at around ten meters tall. Their armor glistened under the dim lighting, coated in a dull, utilitarian shade of olive that matched the exterior of the Heretic Fleet’s Musai-pattern airships. Towering and broad-shouldered, the machines simply look menacing.

  Synin tilted her head slightly as she studied the design.

  “It feels different, looking at it with my own eyes…”

  “Isn’t it?” Cyan beamed. “Since we’re masquerading as Annonrial heretics, we can’t very well deploy the Holy Empire’s equipment since that would give us away instantly! So, the AMS-119 Geara Doga is based on simir principles as a mobile suit but has a completely different aesthetic and loadout to sell the deception. It even got its own model designation!”

  The Geara Doga’s design was indeed a departure from the Holy Empire’s sleeker, vaguely jet fighter-like mobile suits. Its heavy green armor and prominent mono-eye visor gave it a somewhat brutish appearance.

  During pnning, a pnner stated, “Just use conventional equipment!”

  However, the others then stared at him and wondered what the hell he was talking about. Golems ARE conventional equipment in the Annonrial Empire, and the whole point of this subversion campaign is to impersonate Annonrial behavior.

  From what they knew, the heretic faction they were impersonating—the Righteous Salvation Army—had been famous for deploying golems, thanks to its founder, Annonrial’s most brilliant mage in the field at that time, around a century ago. The faction had come closer than any other to establishing an independent nation, only for their efforts to end in brutal annihition. The purge, where they were killed by Zarathostra’s own hands, had left no survivors, sending shockwaves and fear of God through underground resistance movements. The purge had unfolded with such spectacle that many whispered it was the All-Wielder’s divine intervention.

  Clearly, the Emperor had a fir for theatrics. He did, after all, style himself as “the Messiah.” But now that he had gone silent and hadn’t led another purge in the next century, had he grown compcent after a period of retive stability?

  “Do the pnners—and Master—believe that this kind of operation will be effective?” Hugin asked after a brief silence.

  “That remains to be seen…” Cyan answered. “However, the analysts predicted that the psychological impact alone could destabilize Zarathostra’s regime. If he believes the Righteous Salvation Army has returned with weapons and a fleet far beyond what they had, he’ll be compelled to reallocate attention, pull forces inward, and start purging again.”

  Munin snickered. “So, while Annonrial is busy hunting ghosts, we will strike from another front.”

  That’s right. The Righteous Salvation Army would not be the only ghosts rising from the grave to haunt Zarathostra’s nights.

  June 1617 Central Calendar

  As soon as the assembly was complete, the Heretic Fleet departed High Charity in staggered intervals, vanishing into the Hyperborean Circle to commence familiarization training. Their destination: a desote region where the ice fields stretched endlessly, and the only witnesses were the howling winds.

  For a conventional organic military, one month of training would be a ughable preparation. New formations would barely learn to synchronize. Pilots would just be memorizing youts. However, the Heretic Fleet was not a conventional force, and by the end of Solmens, the pnners were sure that the fleet moved as a single entity.

  Then, as the sixth month entered its second week, the order came through.

  With the Distant Thunder Unit having concluded its reconnaissance south of the Annonrial mainnd, the Heretic Fleet immediately began its repcement. The frozen nd that had served as their proving ground was left behind without fanfare as the day marked the commencement of Operation WHEELHOUSE.

  Meteos Roguerider’s counterattack was now in motion.