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No need. Taking a walk with him isn't so bad.

You should go to the Old Red-Eye. He had just opened a new bottle of wine, waiting for you, and we have already grown tired of his stories of yesteryear.

You are a much better listener than us.

—Understood. Please pardon me, then.

You...

Golding's throat has never felt this dry. The person in front of her looks and acts exactly the same as the Molly she remembers, down to the tiniest movements.

She is always frowning a little, watching every move of the mischievous children. At suppertime, she would hand out bread to everyone and chastise anyone who hasn't washed hands.

Her expression is the same as ever, but for some reason...

The drop of sweat dripping down Golding's back seeps into her clothes.

Lance scratched his thumb again yesterday, but don't worry. I've put on some ointment.

He's always such a handful.

What... are you...?

The teacher has made it back to the school already. She will take good care of the children, I'm sure.

How about a chat?

Relax. It's just a chat. If you still don't feel comfortable, we can continue to use the identity of the owner of this appearance around you.

Why don't we talk about the weather first, or perhaps the children's studies? There is the play too, Lady Golding. Merely thinking about it brings tears to my eyes.

The children have all grown so big in just the blink of an eye.

Enough. Stop talking to me like you're Molly! Stop using that face, you monster!

What... What do you want?

Would you like a cup of tea? Lettou has pretty fine tastes, and his tea here is exquisite.

We finally have a satisfying outcome for all the missions Theresis handed us. Now, we can take a short break.

How long have you been around me...?

Not as long as you think. Can we skip the boring work talk, though?

It's break time right now. We want to do something that we are truly interested in.

For example—

We want to know what you think about this era, and your conclusions around all this.

I don't understand.

You... You used me to destroy the Self-Salvation Corps. I should have no more value to you anymore.

I... Damn it! I handed all this out myself...

Don't blame yourself. This is no big deal at all. We had all kinds of ways to locate the Self-Salvation Corps' stronghold. You are not the only lead we have.

This may sound a little hurtful, but you aren't even the most important one.

But we do indeed have a little bit of interest on you. We enjoyed your work and chatting with you.

So, let's have a chat together. There is nothing more to this. It's just a conversation.

We've had conversations like this many times. With countless of identities. With countless others.

But we are still confused. We still don't want to give up any chances that could lead to an answer.

Lady Golding, how do you think—

—we should live?

So this is all the Londinium Citizens' Self-Salvation Corps men... who evacuated the city.

We suffered greater losses than I imagined.

Some decided to stay. Even though the Sarkaz destroyed our stronghold, that doesn't mean they have a list of our collaborators.

We don't know exactly how bad the leak was, and a lot of our men think things aren't really <i>that</i> bad yet.

Hmph, they still pretend they can go back to their quiet, peaceful lives.

Can't they see we have nowhere to run?

Don't say that, Rockrock. Most of them aren't fighters. They are just willing to place their hopes on us.

Most of the people who stand with us... aren't.

Soldiers who don't know who they should be loyal to, journalists who lost their jobs, workers sick of Sarkaz exploitation...

Normal folk who have had enough.

The Londinium Citizens' Self-Salvation Corps were formed by men like them.

To leave Londinium... the place that we called home since we were born... is a lot more than delivering intel, forging a few weapons, and fighting the Sarkaz mercenaries...

It's to find where you belong in a real war with no end in sight and may end up dragging any number of people into actual turmoil. This is truly horrible.

This is our Londinium. We should rely on no one but ourselves to defend it... That's what we used to think, at first.

We thought we had been giving it our all to fight that horror...

But when it finally arrived... it turned out to be far more than we could actually bear.

To tell the truth, I don't know what fate has in store for us from here onwards. We have some new friends now, but the enemy has now truly bared their fangs.

We may soon find ourselves annihilated, become wandering ghosts that drift the wilderness, and in the end disperse all over...

Clovisia, stop being so gloomy.

I came here only because I don't want to be handed a liberation by anyone.

That's why we are all here.

I'm a worker. I'm not one to talk about righteousness. All I know is that the workpieces I knock out are the most trustworthy.

I want to save my city from those people hiding in the palaces and castles. I can't do it alone, but I found you.

If we don't have what it takes together, we'll unite more people. If we still fail in the end...

Then fine. I'll accept that outcome.

Hey, Rockrock, we're still far from talking about outcomes!

Now hurry up and walk faster. A stinking passageway like this isn't good for your wounded men's health.

Right, the air in the countryside should be better than inside Londinium.

Based on Rhodes Island's analysis, we should enter a branch of the Sarkaz's supply line up ahead.

We're back.

Granny, what is the situation like?

It's safe. We didn't run into any sentries, and there are no signs of patrols. It looks to be a maintenance access. There are some instruments there, although I have the faintest idea what they are for.

But it's strange. We couldn't find where that real 'supply line' was.

Nonetheless, the access should be more than enough for an evacuation right now.

Now hurry up, boy. Have your little friends get off their arses. A moment of safety doesn't mean peace forever.

Okay. I got it.

I'll take a look at the equipment we took. There might be something we can put to use. The crawlers that got written off might still be usable, if luck's on our side.

Granny!

I...

It's not that I don't believe in what we're doing, and I'm not losing heart over this setback.

We... We can come back, right?

What kind of answer do you want me to give you?

I've been cheering everyone up, but I've never really left this place myself.

On top of that, we're leaving like this.

Feist, I used to think every so often that... we're actually pretty lucky.

We were born in this city, we have trustworthy friends and jobs that are worth doing.

And at the weekends, we can even head to the pubs in the alleys for a pint, play some cards, and maybe win some change.

Of course, Victoria has never been truly at peace.

The things we make are sent to the border region to fight the Sargonians or the Leithanians and blast holes in their bodies—Not that it has anything to do with us.

All we had to do was stay in the factory and turn screws on the iron blocks.

We suffered pain too, and we had scars that would never heal... but we never had to worry about who to kill or we will be killed by tomorrow.

At the very least, we could live, or at least pretend to.

When the Sarkaz came, our lives got a little harder. When the factories were handed over, our lives got harder again.

But the way I see it, I consider us still more or less lucky enough.

Just what is your definition of 'lucky enough?'

Being able to stand here and talk about the past.

But now our luck has come to an end. No one can keep winning the lottery forever.

But so what? Most people aren't lucky at all, and they still manage to find themselves a way out.

Now go back to work, 'Big Deal in the Corps.' The chopper isn't going to pack itself up.

Do what you should do, just as you promised me back then.

Hm, now what did you say back then? 'I will walk into every night—'

Enough, Granny! I was still...

Regretting your lies now?