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I look in the direction where the Lieutenant departed.

Of course.

Many soldiers who fought amidst Sarkaz witchcraft are showing acute Infection symptoms.

These soldiers got Oripathy fighting the Sarkaz. How could their comrades just abandon them like that?

It's an old military tradition. And not a strictly Victorian one; it's the same in Kazimierz, Ursus, Gaul.

The Infected are not allowed in camps. More conscientious commanders might put the Infected in their own unit, and send them on the most dangerous missions.

But for the military, there's far too much uncertainty in the Infected and their uncontrolled Arts.

Some must have resisted.

No one ever succeeded. Looking back on history, the Infected make up a relatively small portion of armies in times of war. Acceptable losses in exchange for stability on the front lines.

It's even in the textbooks of the Royal Military Academy.

It's just—

'The honorable martyrs who died for the glorious foundation.'

Now, now, no need to get violent, ladies.

I'm here to talk.

First, let me make clear that the death of Her Grace Duke Windermere has nothing to do with the part of Victoria that I serve.

In fact, I bring my sincerest condolences, Lady Delphine. My own position aside, I believe she glowed brighter than any hero in the Battle of the Four Emperors.

But now, who will fill the gap that her death leaves behind? Who can step up to take her place in the grand strategic theater?

Duke Wellington is an accomplished soldier, but we all know he has no intention of giving his all.

Duke Caster has her hands full coordinating everything. Frankly, the death of Duke Windermere is a big, big problem.

You sure got the news quickly, didn't you?

Well, it's my business to know. You'd be familiar... with our line of work.

What are you here for?

I suggest you think carefully about the next words coming out of your mouth.

Flowers for the hero, Lady Windermere, and a gift of rations and ammunition.

In exchange for?

You know full well, Your Royal Highness.

The scrap of metal known as the Sighs of Kings.

To be honest, I have no use for this sword, personally.

You want to trade, sure.

My conditions are simple—

Take that damnable Stone of the Sword of yours, and bring it to the front lines, where the storm blows the fiercest, where fire falls the hardest.

You can get lost if your plan is to keep this sword safely in the rear, to prop up a tent for kings and nobles to drink tea beneath.

If you really will bring this thing to the lines, and provide shelter for Victoria's warriors, citizens, and the poor souls who have lost their homes...

If it is a shelter for all, whether the son of a blacksmith or the daughter of a teacher, whether they take pay in the name of Victoria or carry weapons of their own making...

Then, by all means, you can have this piece of metal.

Come to me with the Stone of the Sword, Trilby Asher. I promise that I will never fall behind you on the front lines, not by a single step.

Oh my.

This is beyond my discretion. I'm just an envoy, after all. Her Grace the Duke of Caster has the final decision.

Then go to your master. Come back to me once you have an answer from my dear aunt.

I'll do my best, Your Royal Highness Alexandrina.

But... this is just a promise on a personal level.

What follows now is off the record. Some personal opinions, not of Trilby Asher, but of Sir Suffolk, Bellingham.

A new voice is not necessarily a bad thing.

You've taken in Infected soldiers... well, and many more civilians, but the point stands... that's all good and fine. But it's not enough. You need an army. Your own army.

An army with a place for them.

You...

I'm surprised. Perhaps it's a Caster trick...

But he is encouraging me to form my own Reunion.

Looks like you really did turn off your sound recorder.

Can't do it for too long. Colleagues start getting suspicious, you know.

...My grandmother was executed after getting Infected in the War of the Four Nations.

When she left, she told me with a laugh that there was less than a three percent chance of getting Oripathy in battle. It was only when I inherited the title and looked through the records in the archives that I learned...

The three percent figure has been in use for centuries.

It has never changed, even though we're using more Originium machines and more complex Originium Arts in modern warfare.

Perhaps you haven't noticed because all you can see is a small corner of the battlefield. Certainly the dukes haven't noticed, because they have their sights set way too far away. But I have.

The Infection problem in the Victorian Army is serious. Serious on an unprecedented scale.

Everyone exercises restraint in a conflict between 'civilized' nations.

No one wants their camp to be filled with ticking, living time bombs, or seize a dirty city covered in Originium dust.

But now... our enemy is the Sarkaz.

If you really mean to do this, Siege, then it has the potential to be a good thing for your reputation, for my career... perhaps, even for our country.

Thanks for the concern, but my friends and I know the Infected better than you do. We'll be fine.

Very well.

Oh, by the way, I have some scrap equipment here that nobody wants or cares about. Leftovers, you know.

You can have them. It's all trash, after all.

Farewell, then.

How much do you believe him?

I would rather believe that even someone like him could not stay out of this conflict.

What did he leave behind? A recording and coordinates?

This sound—

'Bzzzz—'

'Need... support... Chetleigh...'

'Surrounded... Tempest Platoon...'

'Requesting aid!'