act18mini

But she does ardently hope that you can stay just a little while longer.

To witness a grand performance.

Are you sure about not meeting her personally?

No need to.

Strictly speaking, the war has yet to end. Nothing good will come of meeting Loughshinny now. It would only bring her more confusion.

Very well, Your Highness. Please return to the command center and await the good news.

Hold on.

What do you mean?

Seeing that Loughshinny is willing to tie her own fate to Tara's, we should show her the might of the nation she is about to be a part of.

Rest assured. We would demonstrate it with the Sarkaz's prompt defeat.

But if you prefer a more personal show of force, the Gastrell is more than willing to oblige.

Consider it a grand welcome.

As my dear sister has made her wishes clear, shouldn't I help her realize them with my own hands?

Didn't I tell you it doesn't matter where that Vouivre came from? She's helping the Victorians, so she's got to die. Simple as that.

We're... We're no match for her.

You're worthless!

...Bah, forget it. It's just one Vouivre—

What was that noise?

A—A high-speed battleship! Currently speeding towards the city walls!

Victorian?

It's the Gastrell—it's that Duke of Wellington guy!

Not just him, Caster's fleet seems to be spontaneously coordinating with his ships!

Raid! Raid incoming—

Purple flames?! Captain—

Atop the Gastrell's bow stands The Leader of Dublinn, purple flames spreading from the tip of her spear to the city walls.

Her flames of death erupt from the Sarkaz on the perimeter, spreading to adjacent victims as they wantonly seek the next host, leaving only the floating Nachzehrer untouched by fire.

Nachzehrer. 'God of War'? 'Lord of War and Death'?

A shame there is no longer enough death here to sate you.

Even living legends have their endings. But surely becoming the kindling of a new legend is better than wasting away in obscurity?

Oh. The brazenly ambitious young Draco.

Very well then.

Red Dragon who toys with life and death on a spear. Just how well do you comprehend death?

I suppose this is not the worst way to kill time before the war is over.

Do try to hold on a little longer, Nachzehrer.

Let us show those Victorians what death truly is, while the artillery still rings.

I have waited a long time, young Draco.

You are bolder than the others.

Then use those flames of yours to send a message to those cowards surrounding the city—

I am here.

The war is here.

The stench of rot thickens as the ice-cold flames of death rage.

Death crashes into death, over the faint shelling and thin city walls.

Th—They really started fighting?

Did The Leader...

Shush! There's no way she'd...

No. We have to go find her.

We promised we'd wait for her here.

But the fighting's broken out in Londinium again!

...Just believe in her—

I do, but listen! That's the sound of witchcraft, and the Dukes' cannons! How could The Leader—

—Like she believes in us.

The wounded soldier is left speechless, only able to look back on the tranquility now torn apart by flame and chaos. Searching for a reason for his squad to join the battlefield.

Past the smoke and mire he sees a figure.

The Leader. Reed. Loughshinny.

She finished her own fight, held true to her promise, and returns to lead them on, to the end of their journey...

To home, to peace.

Let's go, everyone.

What is happening there is no longer something we can involve ourselves in.

It's time to head home.

Here's the files on Chernobog, chief. They're on your desk.

Hope you can find the info you wanted somewhere in those dusty papers.

Thanks for sorting them out, Zhenya.

The assistant closes the door as he leaves, as usual. It scrapes against the uneven flooring, letting out a shrieking sound.

The editor sits up straight, lights a cigarette, and pushes through the discomfort as he flips through the stack of old newspapers.

'The Third Army's Dereliction of Duty in the Chernobog Incident...'

Tch... Same old, same old. 'Chernobog Closes Mine—a Heavy Blow to Ursus's Originium Industry'.

...'Novochernobog—The Infected Lives a Blessed Life Under His Majesty's Glory'.

Utter drivel.

No, this isn't what I want... These trashy tabloids are barely scratching the surface.

...None of these reports are anywhere close to the truth.

The editor pushes up his glasses and flicks away some stray cigarette ash, but accidentally sends sparks flying onto the paper.

He rushes to extinguish the sudden fire, but the newspaper already bears a freshly burnt hole.

Through the hole the editor sees an ensemble of letters—'Reunion'.

A name he has never heard of before.

In the last few days, a stream of Infected have been showing up wanting to join Reunion.

I told them we'll be leaving Londinium in one month's time, heading for the Duke of Gododdin's territory.

Are they willing to follow us there?

They neither agreed nor refused. They couldn't come up with an answer.

...I'll prepare for bringing them along. They have nowhere else to go.

Gododdin. I hear the Duke's issued more than a few decrees benefiting the Infected, so it's worth checking out.

Decrees and reality are not the same thing.

Obviously. Which is why we need to see for ourselves.

From a corner comes a rustling sound as Ch'en turns a newspaper page.

Nothing to say even after listening in for so long, Ch'en?

Everything you've talked about is internal business.

As an outsider, I have no right to comment. I've been focusing on the news anyway.

You weren't this quiet with many of the others in private.

We need your thoughts, Hui-chieh.

When I let you tag along with us, it wasn't just to show you how different we are from the other organizations.

Don't go getting the idea that you'd have to take responsibility for either of us.

Given our current situation, anyone's input is welcome, as long as we can help these people out. So speak your mind.

You're planning to take in people with nowhere else to go?

Why not?

They'll bring new vitality to our group.

Or new conflicts.

This group you've gathered under the banner of what you're calling 'Reunion' is as rag-tag as they come.

Is this what you promised me when you left?

Not to mention <i>her</i>.

Ch'en looks toward the indifferent Talulah.

You're bound to attract more eyes in future.