Глава 11

They are only vague fragments of memories and unclear voices.

My daughter, come. Take this sword.

Is it calling to you?

Feel it.

Feel this voice...

Feel Victoria.

The palace is burning.

She wants to climb up and see what kind of show they are putting on outside. Things are always very lively on the king's birthday.

But all she sees is fire. The fire rages. There are also many men in uniform, either fleeing in all directions away from the flames or lying lifelessly on the ground.

The earth trembles. She's suddenly worried about the glass fowlbeast by her bed. It's a gift that she has just received. Lately, she hasn't been able to sleep without hugging that delicate little trinket.

Her Royal Highness Alexandrina!

Don't go back! It's dangerous! Thank goodness you ran outside! You're their only objective, aside from His Majesty...

His Majesty... His Majesty has...

No, you needn't know this.

He left us with one final order. To get you away.

Vina, what's wrong? You've been rather out of it since we came underground.

I... I remembered something. Something that I thought I'd forgotten long ago.

The kind that hurts to remember, or the kind that brings you joy?

It's just... a voice.

Your Highness... you must walk the rest of the way on your own.

You were here not too long ago. You remember, don't you?

They're coming for us.

No matter what happens, you must keep running down this passage.

Do not turn back.

She listens to the officer and keeps running.

The path ahead is pitch-black, but she is more afraid of the star-like glow chasing her from behind.

She runs and runs for a long, long time. She's forgotten where she started and where she is going. She's almost cried all the tears she has, and the path before her is so long that she can't see its end.

She runs and runs, and a huge, golden mane appears beneath her.

She holds tight to the warm, golden color, and it feels as though she too has become a wild beast dashing on all fours.

At last, she no longer fears the nightmare that chases her. She cries for the things she has lost no more. Instead, she dashes forward freely in the darkness.

The phantoms have disappeared, and the memories recede like the tide.

She finds herself standing in the middle of a long path.

At the end of the path is a door. The door divides life and death, and whether it leads from life to death or from death to life, it opens only to the King of Victoria.

We're here.

Four Years Ago...

Time goes by fast for your race and your country, compared to the Sarkaz.

Not long after the titan that was Gaul collapsed, Victoria and Leithanien feasted on its remnants as quickly and ferociously as they could. It has only been a few dozen years, and the Gallic Era has long since come and gone.

You never witnessed Corsica I's battleships and cannons. You have never knew Lingones's prosperity and pride. The lands of your father's generation have been integrated into the territories of Victoria's most provincial nobles.

The uniform you wear is that of a high-ranking Victorian officer. The medals you wear are all Victorian.

You speak the most standard Victorian as the Londinier nobility do, without even the slightest hint of Gaulish accent.

When you walk before me and claim you want to negotiate with the Sarkaz, what gives you the right to call yourself Gaulish?

Your Highness, Gaul has not a single city left.

The man who stands before you is not a Gaulish man, but a Gaulish survivor.

Some of us live in Victoria, some in Columbia, and some in Leithanien. We did not choose this exile. We've long been without a place to call home.

You wish to rebuild Gaul?

Yes, just as you and other Sarkaz wish to rebuild Kazdel.

Two centuries ago, the Gaulish Empire's artillery battalion also surrounded the walls of Kazdel.

And now you will speak of yourself in the same breath as the Sarkaz?

Victoria was in that war against Kazdel, too. And from what I heard, the reason you and the Military Commission were able to enter Londinium was precisely because of an invitation from Duke Cavendish.

Then I'm certain you've heard what has become of him.

Ten days ago, Duke Stafford stirred up an uprising in Londinium, and Duke Cavendish stepped forward to put a stop to his scheme.

The Londinium Defense Forces joined the battle as well. Too bad. Neither Duke Stafford nor Duke Cavendish survived the other's cannonfire.

I'm sure you know this better than me. The other dukes are all paying keen attention to Londinium's situation right now. No matter what you are planning to do within the city, you will need a new helping hand.

This is how you will work with the Sarkaz.

Correct. As you can see, the Gaulish remnant will fully support all of the Kazdel Military Commission's activities in Londinium.

In exchange, we only ask that you return the few Gaulish cities to Gaulish rule in Victoria's forthcoming chaos.

What good is my promise? A nation's destruction has nothing to do with the number of cities it has.

I understand that, Your Highness.

But... We can't afford to wait for a more opportune time than this.

I know a Youth Vanguard. He once served directly under the Gaulish Emperor's Guards.

When I met him, he was already sixty-something. However, the Guards had long disappeared during the Battle of the Four Emperors. He never got the chance to become a Vieux Vanguard.

He told me about the spirited emperor, their indomitable fleet, and the troops' idle conversations during mobilization. Over the decades, he has always insisted on telling his stories in Gaulish.

Now, he lies in a small sanatorium in the Chep Borough of Londinium. I paid him a visit not too long ago, and he has already forgotten how to speak.

Even so, whenever he sees Gaulish imperial-style architecture on the telly, his muddy eyes regain their former vigor without fail, and he lifts his spasming hands to clap.

He will be gone in no more than five years.

The last generation of Gaulishmen who have truly seen Gaul with their own eyes is dying.

Your Majesty, you are right. Compared to the Sarkaz, our lives are insignificant. Our memories... cannot be passed on through our blood.

When the final witnesses pass away, our memories of Gaul will disperse with the wind like the empire. When that moment comes, Gaul will truly be lost.

All we can do is to grasp at the ashes as best we can.

Ballistae! Fire!

Hold the sealing layer! Do not let them any closer!

These Defense Forces men... A tad bit stubborn, aren't they?

Because their leader is still up there.

These soldiers... really respect their commander.

Commander, the Sarkaz are here! The Rhodes Island Operators are engaged in battle with them!

Back them up. We need to draw the enemy's attention on this facade of a battlefield to the best of our ability. To buy the Doctor time.

My guess is the mercenaries at Highbury died by your hands.

War is imminent. Both you and I know it in our hearts.

Ascalon, you were born and raised in Kazdel. The General plucked you from a corpse pile, the Regent taught you to use a weapon, to defend yourself and your homeland.

But now, at this moment when all Sarkaz must stand together, what are you and those Sarkaz at Rhodes Island doing?

Are you going to give our information to the Victorians? To... a group of outbloods that once trampled upon Kazdel?

You betrayed the promise you once made. You betrayed Kazdel.

Kazdel is several thousand kilometers from here.

During the civil war, you chose to become Babel's assassin. I couldn't stop you, nor did I have reason to.

After all, you were serving Her Majesty Theresa, the sole King of Sarkaz.

But what do you serve now...? A phantom of the past?

The civil war ended long ago, and now even Her Majesty Theresa has returned to our side...

Four years ago... You were the ones who killed her.

And now you will sully her death so dishonorably.

Who's the real traitor?

—Urgh!

Ascalon's attack cuts through his Arts.

The two of them have been different since they were small.

He learned much from the General. Swordsmanship, military theory, and how to play political games. Yet Ascalon remains as pure as the weapon in her hand.

On the battlefield, she cannot be swayed by any words. Her eyes always focus on her highest priority target.

Lettou...!

This blood...

A thick, viscous, blood-red color rapidly seeps out of the ground. It turns into a barrier harder than a wall, dividing Lettou and Ascalon.

Doctor, the drones have detected another squad of Sarkaz fighters closing in on our position!

No, not just Sarkaz fighters... That surging red...