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Do you know what the cruelest thing in the world is?

Neither total darkness, nor endless torment, nor a dark alley filled with murderers.

It is when a gentle hand pulls you out of a nightmare, just as you thought it was over, and all the pain would come to an end.

Only for you to realize that salvation was just a cruel joke, a brief respite before falling further into the darkness.

Even greater suffering is gazing upon you, within a stone's throw.

And you are powerless before such mockery.

Delphine, do you want to... join us?

The Duke of Windermere's coffin is being transported to the approaching battleships. Some of the refugees have taken it upon themselves to organize a funeral procession, in their gratitude.

She keeps looking at the place where her mother had fallen, even though any trace of blood is long gone.

It may not be a good idea to invite her now...

I'm already starting to regret it.

Can you thank them for me, Vina? I... I want to stay here a while longer.

What did they say to you?

Nothing, I'll just stay for a little longer and cool my head.

The Swordguards boarded the late-arriving escort fleet. Most of them kept silent while the nobles panicked.

A moment's weakness, when I tried to help that soldier...

The Vampire reached out his hand. Whether it was an obvious trap or not... mother was wounded because of it.

Broken formation and fallen soldiers. Swordguards do not defend their duke. Their only goal is to fulfill their mission—

—But they faced a foe powerful beyond their imagination.

Delphine...

The staff officers think there was too much personal sentiment in this reckless operation. They never supported it.

They must believe... that I'm the reason Mother died.

'A hero should not die for the weak.'

And they're right.

I gaze at the late-arriving battleships, their standards flying high.

For some reason, I am reminded of Allerdale.

I've cleaned your wounds as best I can, Lady Delphine. This is all I can do with the limited amount of medicine available.

Thank you, doctor.

I must go. The general staff have ordered all troops to report back.

I've left behind some things that belong to you.

These were the Duke's gifts to you... and you have her sword.

This may sound impudent, but I hope that you will come back to Irnclad Galavae with us.

Whatever the senior officers say, nothing can change the fact that you are the heir to the title of Duke Windermere.

I'll think about it... right now, I just want some quiet.

How are things?

They took a bunch of people, but many more remain.

So, that rough mum really...

Yes.

Ironic, isn't it? The Duke has trained her officers well.

Even now, the general staff of Windermere continue to plot the next course of action according to the plan.

But...

What about Delphine?

It seems like the snobbish officers are planning to abandon her.

I don't know. I'm even worried what they might do to Delphine as the 'heir'.

Heir.

She... she's not ready.

Duke Windermere was a strong leader. Her Swordguards, her general staff, they all serve the greater good of Victoria alone.

But she herself...

She made an admirable, but reckless decision, for the sake of her daughter.

That decision saved a bunch of lives, though, didnnit?

I'm not criticizing her! I respect her!

But it means that Delphine is being abandoned by what her mother, Duke Windermere, built on her own.

Oh...

What do we do now?

They took some of the refugees. Can we really trust them? Do we follow the tails of the nobles in the coming battle?

They didn't take everyone?

That's not right. If this one ship could take everyone, there's no reason that so many battleships couldn't—

What's that movement? I thought the ship's engines were out.

The window!

Dust rises from the escort fleet that has only just rendezvoused with us.

They're sailing away.

Delphine!

She stands on the deck, where her mother left this world, holding her mother's sword in her arms, as she did before I went below.

The wind sweeps at her short hair. Her solitude makes her look even smaller than she is.

What's going on—

I grab her shoulder. Only then does she come out of her stupor.

I see none of the anger, fear, or sorrow that I expected to see. She's wearing barely any emotion at all.

Only calm, flat disappointment, and a quiet so deep it is painful to see.

They're gone.

Her voice trembles a little.

But it's still too calm.

There are civilians down below waiting to see the Duke of Windermere's coffin off!

Those bastards didn't mind running innocent people over?!

What's going on?!

That's wasn't part of the orders! Maybe there was a miscommunication...

We still have a few good IFVs. We need to head back to Irnclad Galavae and get confirmation!

Pah.

I've never gazed upon the tail of a battleship so intently.

How ridiculous.

The marks that the rain of blood left on our clothes is a lingering reminder of that cruel attack.

Several hours have passed since we left the Duke of Windermere's flagship.

Bad news keeps coming. We did a head count as we left the ship. The Doctor, Amiya and Ascalon were not there.

We only had time to do a brief search, which came up empty.

All I can do is keep faith in their strength. But for some reason, I think back to Amiya's lean shoulders.

Sorrow and helplessness are luxuries that this group can no longer afford.

Stop dawdling!

I... I really can't go any further...

I'll whip you if I have to!

Get up! Stay with the armor if you want to live!

I... I need to catch my breath, sir... I have a condition...

No dawdling. This isn't just about your life—

Hands off, Norport hoodlum. I'm just carrying out my orders.

They're not trained soldiers. They've been at a forced march for five straight hours. They don't have any strength left.

Then they can lie down and die.

We're trying to save their lives! Everything can still be salvaged, if we make it back to Irnclad Galavae.

They need to stop and rest.

I said—

It's not just for them. It's for you too, Ensign. I know your condition.

Not many soldiers were left behind, but I know almost all of you are Infected—

Shut up!

I'll let that slide... this once.

You're Duke Windermere's man. Do not let your actions defile her memory.

I—

Infection, a curse they fear more than any other.

Catch up to the ship that abandoned them. Hide the growing black crystals under the bandage.

Fool yourself.

I'm sorry... It's just, don't say that blasted word!

I'm fine... I'm fine!

I said to keep a low profile on the barrens and avoid drawing Sarkaz attention.

Sir, I...

It's getting dark. The civilians trying to keep up with you need to rest, Lieutenant.

No. We continue the march as planned.

We can reach Hill 31 by midnight at our current pace.

We'll reestablish communication with Irnclad Galavae there. Only once we're in touch with the nomadic fortress are we truly safe.

If we wait until morning, I doubt this group is ready to face the Sarkaz and—

You're the ranking officer and de facto commander here, and the ship's doctor.

You know as well as I do that we're trying to catch a fast battleship with our own feet and a few tanks.

I respect your decision, Lieutenant, but we don't even know why those battleships left.

If they didn't respond to your hails at the time, why do you think the fortress will open its gates to us?

I checked on the group. We have less than three companies of combat-effective soldiers, and nearly a thousand refugees following in tow.

By the time the march that you had in mind is done, there will be less than twenty percent left.

Vina, right? Listen—

He avoids my gaze.

I mean twenty percent of your soldiers.

And none of the refugees.

Sir... (whisper)

I need not hear what they're saying. I saw what happened.

Someone bled his last in the long, silent wall of people.

He left behind a long trail of blood, mixed in with the mud.

The Lieutenant's silence hardly lasts two breaths.

Slow down a little...

We'll keep going—

Idiot.

My fist leaves its mark on his face.

I heard a crisp sound. I think I dislocated his jaw.

...Argh...

He quickly puts his jaw back in place. Must have dealt with this sort of thing a lot.

You assaulted a soldier, hooligan.

I could have you executed, according to Victorian Service Law.

You—

Stand up.

You could try to execute me. Or we can keep going.

The fist is a solution that can only be used once in a while.

Dagda, Morgan, and Indra stand in front of the soldiers on edge.

The civilians surround us silently.

It reminds me of how we used to fight turf wars on the streets.

Stand down! Do NOT open fire!

They called you Siege, didn't they? They were telling stories that you're actually highborn or something, and with that accent...

I'm a hooligan... leader of the Glasgow Gang.

Fine, I don't care. Listen, I'm a soldier who has pledged his loyalty to the Duke of Windermere...

My duty is to fulfill the mission handed down by my commander!

I'm waiting for you to wipe the blood from your mouth.

Give up. Your elbow is about to dislocate.

Some... sacrifices are acceptable in order to protect the many.

And just who are the many?

Have you taken a good look at who you're leading?!

I...

Frightened soldiers, silent civilians, the Infected, the wounded.

The people standing around us.

I'd had enough.

I want to tell them, those who escaped hell in Norport...

I'm still looking out for them. There's still someone who cares about them.

Might makes right. Law of the streets, Lieutenant.

I'm telling you now that they're going to make camp here, and they're going to rest. We must reconsider our course of action.

If we're cut off from the main force at Irnclad Galavae, everyone is going to die when we run into the Sarkaz. Every last one—

Enough.

Don't insult the memory of the Duke of Windermere any more, Lieutenant Shearer, if you still think you're part of her army.

How could you—

Delphine clutches the hilt of her sword.

It surprises me. Even more than it surprises Lieutenant Shearer. He's surprised, and angry.

I'm suddenly reminded that he had provided medical aid to everyone on the ship, before Irnclad Galavae abandoned us.

Delphine. Your clothes, and the sword...

A little big for me, is it?

But I need you all to hear me out.

Is the Lieutenant leaving?

Yes. They formed a small squad and picked the tank in best condition. He can leave at any time.

That squad will travel light and quick. They can reach the marked location before dawn.

You put those clothes on.

Maybe what they represent still means something to someone.

I've spoken to my troops, Lady Delphine. They will follow your orders until I return.

For the last time, my lady, you're the heir to Windermere. No matter what happens, you should come with us—

Sorry, but I must stay.

This was my promise to the people. They need to know that Victoria has not abandoned them.

They need this hope to keep going... we can only trust each other now. We must trust each other.

If the departure of the escorts was just a misunderstanding or a mutiny by a few, then Irnclad Galavae will welcome us, whether I'm there or not.

And if not...

The Lieutenant's eyelid twitches. Delphine's words are certainly subversive.

My presence will only make things worse. At least you'll live.

My lady! It's not my own hide that I'm concerned—

They let me go the first time, perhaps out of respect for my mother, perhaps out of a sense of... pity. But they won't give me a second chance.

I trust my comrades, and the officers' loyalty to the Duke.

Please take this locating beacon, Lady Delphine. I promise to bring back good news.

As for you...

The man gazes calmly at me. I clench my fist, preparing for a sucker punch.

...You've got some hard knuckles. Take care of Lady Delphine.

Cheers, Lieutenant.

Siege, we checked up on the refugees from Norport.

Perhaps the Duke of Windermere had given orders behind our backs... things were chaotic when we boarded the ship, and we couldn't find the one who executed the order.

Regardless, their screening was impeccable. There is no sign of Infection amongst the refugees in the group.

But now...

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!'