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...Why is someone still outside this late?

Is that... Jessica?

What brings you here at this hour, Miss?

I... *huff*, *huff* I... have some business here!

L-Let's... talk inside, shall we?

What's going on, Sylvia? Didn't I tell you to keep the door closed at night? Recently those people from Blacksteel have been—

Ah. So it was you, Miss.

I'm not sure why you've paid us a visit at this hour, but how may I serve you?

Don't... don't chase them out!

Chase them out? Who exactly?

The residents with debt! Don't let Blacksteel drive them out!

...Who's this coming from? Mr. Cliff?

I... it's from me!

Did I hear that right? If this is a joke, I'm not sure I get it.

I'm serious! If you need someone to pay off their debts, then I-I'll pay it off for them! At least enough to let them stay through winter? Sending them to the frontier <i>now</i> is no different from a death sentence!

What holds sway in a bank are not the delusions of a mercenary, but honest-to-goodness gold certificates.

I have the certs! This isn't a crazy fantasy, I can walk the walk and pay off their debts!

I'm sorry, but the bank doesn't have time to indulge your nonsense—

I'm the daughter of Bernie Brynley... The CEO and largest shareholder of Raythean Industries!

Jessica freezes on the spot as soon as she finishes speaking. Ever since she joined Blacksteel, she has never once relied on her father or her family to handle any setbacks she's faced.

This was her one unwavering insistence—she did not want any special treatment because of her family name.

But she had just unleashed the name of her father, as well as the one that sits on their family crest.

Bernie Brynley?

You must be quite the bigshot then, Miss Jessica Brynley.

Spare me the sarcasm, ma'am. Just give me the number.

Hm... I can't give you an exact figure on the spot, but no matter. Sylvia is here, and she's always been good with numbers.

What are you standing there for, Sylvia? Tell her.

...Miss, I—

She's a child of the Brynley family. It should be a paltry sum to her.

This, this isn't a good idea...

Tell her, Sylvia!

Currently... everyone's debt in Davistown roughly totals to... 276 million certs. If we calculate the interest until spring, the amount you'll need is roughly...

How much?

28,450,000 gold certificates.

Twenty-eight... million?

A small price for three months of peace and stability on the plate, no?

At a loss for words, Miss Brynley?

I-I don't have that much on hand right now, b-but I can make the arrangements...

28,450,000... So even a trust fund heiress can't withdraw that much money in one go?

I've learned something new today.

I... I... no...

Jessica...

Sylvia, I-I...

You're... you're not from Davistown. There's really... no need to do this for our sake.

Listen to me. You should just leave... E-Even if you have enough for this time, could you afford the next one? Or the one after that?

Jessica's lips tremble as she fails to let even a single word out.

She knows Sylvia is not being wry, but just stating the facts.

The long string of numbers in her account can ensure a carefree lifetime for <i>her</i>, but isn't enough to guarantee even a month's stability for the people of this plate.

She thinks back to her father's earnest reminders—To always act within her means, and to weigh the pros and cons before doing so.

But she never learned to, and thus has no achievements to her name.

Sir? Are you in there?

Yes. What's the matter?

He's here. Is it a good time for you to meet?

Sir?

Yes, I heard you. Bring him in.

Jessica? Ain't you supposed to be back on the Blacksteel landship?

...Helena, is Woodrow back yet?

No, he said he went out to see an old friend, and isn't back yet.

You don't look so good... What's wrong? Did something happen to Woody?

No... He must have gone to our landship to meet the boss. They're old friends, so... maybe he can change his mind.

The boss of Blacksteel? He never told me he knew a bigshot like that.

Doesn't he have a photo of him and some other Sankta...?

Photo? That rings a bell, but ain't it always locked away in his drawer? How did you manage a look?

That... that's not important. What's important is that the three in the photo were all smiles, right?

...Are you sure Woody went to look for the man in the photo?

...So you <i>do</i> know something about them?

I dunno much about Woody's time in the Revolutionary War, and even less about the people in that photo...

But back then, it was your boss who made the choice that led to Woody and the other man getting captured by the enemy and locked up in Camp Collus.

...Is that... an internment camp?

You didn't know? Well, it's ancient history. No official would ever bring it up, so of course you young'uns wouldn't know about it.

It was a POW camp built by the Victorian Army during the Columbian Revolutionary War. And what went on in there was... appalling. I'm talking torture.

Torture...?!

Yeah. For every ten that went in, only one made it out.

So Jessica, who'd ever call someone who left them to rot in a place like that an old friend...?

Jessica recalls the brown identification document.

She suddenly realizes that the document's color was not just a random shade of brown, but the color of dried blood.

Sir, are you in there?

Yes. What's the matter?

He's here, sir. Is it a good time for you to meet?

Yes, just bring him in.

...May I sit?

Of course.

We have chairs, Woody.

...Sorry, got used to sitting on the ground these past two years. I forgot I can sit on chairs without... getting beat up.

Autumn 1019, Columbia, Camp Collus

...Calling me here... Got something to say to me?

I figured you'd be the one full of questions for <i>me</i>.

No, just the one.

Why didn't you back me up, three years ago?

The situation changed after you left. Once the enemy encirclement suddenly tightened around our right flank, I had no choice but to abandon the original rescue plan and conserve our forces.

...You're gonna write it off with just that understatement?

You devised a rescue plan, sent me as a decoy, and in the end, you didn't even rescue him.

The circumstances compelled me to take responsibility for my men.

Don't give me that, with that face like you don't care!

Why are you so obsessed with my expressions, Woody? You've been scrutinizing my face since the moment I stepped in.

Since when did... Sankta ever need to pay attention to body language? What's going on, Woody?

...It became a habit after he passed. After all, ain't no other Sankta in here.

When did he die? The document only has one 'dead' stamped in here, and the rest aren't even recorded.

I can't remember the details... Didn't have a calendar or a watch... Probably last year? Early spring... no, summer. I saw a pansy outside the barbed-wired fence that day.

What happened...?