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In my wardrobe, I have a drawer specifically for collecting medals.

The medal I received upon graduating from Cyr Military College, the fifteen-year service medal from the Defense Forces, the Londinium Freedom Medal awarded to me by City Hall four years ago, after quelling the chaos in the city.

Deeper in the drawer are the remnants of a previous order, passed down through my family. The emblem of the Vieux Vanguard, a piece of brick from Lingones, and a golden cup awarded by His Majesty Corsica I.

The cup is now split into two pieces, and the etchings on top are unclear. However, I remember the layout of each pattern, and the expressions on each relief figure.

This is all that my parents, my uncles, and aunts, all that they hoped for: the glory of Gaul, a glory that cannot be denied, and would never fade.

...The cup is quite weighty. You should be able to sell it for a good price. The market for Gaulish pieces has always been brisk.

Even if you just melt the thing and sell it as raw gold, it should be enough for you to easily buy an apartment in the finest part of any city.

Here is the key to my home, keep it. The things are in the wardrobe.

Pick a place and start over. Forget everything that happened this past year, call it a fleeting nightmare.

Sir, it was you who saved me when those Sarkaz were chasing me. You hid me in the Defense Forces office.

I should be thanking you. I'm no longer a member of the Forces, or your Gaulish compatriot...

You didn't have to—

Take it.

If you find anything else in the house you like, it's yours. The memories mean little to me anymore.

You'll want to hide here for a while yet, until the situation stabilizes.

The Military Commission has disarmed the Defense Forces. As it stands now, you're no different from the Victorian civilians to the Sarkaz.

But our comrades are still outside. Some of them are, um, unsettled. I want to save them all...

They've all been captured.

I handed them over to the Military Commission myself.

You what...?

The anger in his eyes deflates before it can reach a peak.

A coward, I evaluated him as much in the past. He may have had some courage in battle, but ultimately, he is a coward.

He survives here with me in ignominy. He can't be compared to those warriors who resist the Sarkaz.

He could never compare.

Could I?

Hah.

I... don't care.

It's been a long time since I cared.

Sir, what... are you going to do next?

Me?

The Sanguinarch of Vampires has been waiting for me for some time.

Stay here. Wait until it's all done before you go.

If you want to live, you'd best pray that when you open the door, the cheering you hear is Victorians, and not the devils.

Cheering Victorians...

The first thing that comes to my mind is, surprisingly, that Victoria will win.

No, it's probably just a force of habit. Naturally, I hope that Theresis will win. That's the prerequisite to him restoring Gaul.

All my sacrifices, all my betrayals, all my unforgivable sins were enacted in the service of Gaul.

Yes, of course, I serve... Gaul.

I hope.

Groups of people are led out by the Sarkaz forces, heading for the city walls in the distance.

The Sarkaz intend to fortify Londinium, and I'm afraid the final battle lies right before us.

Do they plan to defend the Victorian capital? Perhaps.

Some of the men cast resentful glances at me. I know them. We once... shared a toast.

No one stops me. The Sarkaz don't care where I'm going.

Even if you open the door for a caged fowlbeast, where can it fly?

René Lettou?

I didn't expect to encounter you like this.

This may be a good sign. At least you haven't been executed by the Sarkaz.

Do you have time to chat?

Hm, I know you... You're Clovisia, the little leader of the Self-Salvation Corps, yes?

We've cleared out all your bases, the remaining forces should have all fled Londinium. Why are you still here?

Some of the thanks go to the Defense Forces, and some go to Caster for keeping her promise.

Her Trilby Asher did indeed ensure the smooth evacuation of the Self-Salvation Corps.

The Duke of Caster...

...I guessed your identity a long time ago. But now, no matter which of the dukes you're vassal or puppet of, I no longer care.

I may not know how capable you really are, but Londinium as she stands is no place for a rebellious child to be wandering around.

Go back to your hiding place. Treasure the fact that the Sarkaz have not caught you yet. I'll pretend I never saw you.

...Lettou.

You've been cowering in Londinium for long enough.

After losing contact with the Self-Salvation Corps, I quickly found new objectives to work on within Londinium.

We... were betrayed too. And I don't even know who the traitors were.

But I don't have time to dwell on that. The situation within the city far surpasses our understanding of a nomadic city under occupation.

What's happening now is something you won't find in the history books.

I know that better than anyone.

But have you seen what's going on outside the city?

I've seen the Sarkaz Arts Circles, the red light in the sky, the war machines in their many forms, things unlike the military equipment of any ordinary nation.

I've seen hexcrafters floating in midair, seizing control of the sky, forcing drones and Arts alike to fail.

I used to think the descriptions of the Sarkaz military and the so-called 'Nachzehrer' were tall tales, literary embellishment for horror's sake.

I don't think that anymore.

When death itself opens its doors, what manmade hell do we face?

And what of the dukes?

The ducal armies... they're resilient, grand, but...

They stand on the horizon, out of reach.

I suppose you may be feeling guilt and melancholy, perhaps mixed with a dash of pride?

You ponder the cruel choices you've made, but your mission is now accomplished.

I guess you proposed a deal to Theresis regarding the nomadic cities that once belonged to Gaul.

Londinium is too small, she can't contain the Sarkaz ambition. He is simply using this place to provoke the expansionist lust of Terra's other powers.

Do you honestly believe he cares at all for your Gaul?

Londinium's fall is complete, but you are no fool. You see it.

The Military Commission of Kazdel has no intention of occupying Victoria.

Correct, I am no fool. I never once placed my hopes in Theresis keeping his word.

And yet you still had a hand in so many tragedies.

Are you trying to create an opportunity? Like what the Sarkaz are doing for Kazdel?

Perhaps this war will exhaust the ducal militaries, making space for the ghost of Gaul to return to the land of the living.

But the question is—

—Do you actually believe that, René Lettou?

What else can I believe in?

I've admitted my weakness. Do you need me to admit my stupidity, my despair, my irrelevance?

What do you want from me?

Cooperation.

The Self-Salvation Corps, those resisting the Sarkaz, those struggling for survival among Victoria's nonsensical nobility, they all still have a chance.

And that which you seek, your so-called 'Gaul', may also exist within that chance.

Gaul... oh, Gaul.

It seems you're still willing to fight.

For a person like you, the dusty rubble is a platform from which to grab the next ledge.

For you, those like you, for the Military Commission...

You are strong enough to subvert a nation, to change the course of history, not to mention... manipulate the fate of one or two men like me.

Enough of the self-pity. There is still much we can do before hell descends upon us.

Whether you consider this a form of atonement or the beginning of a new struggle doesn't matter to me.

But Lettou, I hope we can—

Now then, oh great one, can you tell me—

How I might save myself?

There it is. You haven't a clue yourself.

Let me by.

You really won't turn back?

I won't.

Then I can't say I wish you well.

Your hands are stained with the blood of so many, with the blood of my friends, and you carry on with such despicable decisions.

René Lettou!

That'll do, then. Run along now, the Sarkaz are coming.

I still have... to say goodbye.

Ces Lingones baignent nos yeux de larmes♪

Le champ de bataille est chargé d'amertume et de peine♪

Mais ce jour viendra, c'est certain♪

Pour juger à mort les agresseurs♪

Pour juger à mort les agresseurs♪

A 'Vieux Vanguard' living in the city.

Why is he the first thing to come to my mind in this moment?

...Name! Rank! Unit!

Your baton is pressed against my waist rather harshly, sir.

Fermez-la! Report... Name, rank, and unit! Soldat!

Lingones Youth Vanguards, 2e Régiment de la Garde Sautante, Caporal Lettou!

My... unit?

Yes, your unit.

I've... never seen you... before.

You have, you've just forgotten, sir.

Have I...?

L'Empereur, Sa Majesté, he ordered me to recover here... but... I want to know... what's happening... on the front lines.

Le Roi-Sorcier... the wicked Witch King... did our fleet... destroy him?

I saw it on television... the Victorian Duke with the great... big... HUGE beard... his army!

Do they... wish to betray Sa Majesté... our great Emperor... they will stab him in the back... too?

Sir, Londinium has fallen.

C'est bien! Good!

I'll be promoted... to the Vieux Vanguard! You... it's not your time yet... you still need... to prove yourself!

He's nearly ninety years old. He's been not-entirely-there for quite some time, forgetting nearly everything.

For decades, his mind has remained in the golden age when the Gaulishmen joined Corsica I's march into Leithanien.

The nurses always said he had only a year to live, but he's still here.

He's lived to see Gaul become history.

He's lived to Londinium teetering on the edge of her grave.

Before I left the Defense Forces, I issued one last order, to guarantee the safety of this sanatorium.

This is the only thing I did for myself in my entire long service to the Forces.

I brought you a Rheims Champagne, from Lingones. Your favorite. Have a seat, won't you?

Hm...

A fine drink, Caporal, mm...

Ces Lingones baignent nos yeux de larmes♪

Le champ de bataille est chargé d'amertume et de peine♪

...Pour juger à mort les agresseurs...♪

When you sing that song, it's as if there never was any pain, as if you never aged a day.

...Notre drapeau sera toujours glorieux♪

I've never seen Lingones.

You told me again and again about those magnificent halls, the flourishing road networks...

...Do you remember Golding, the girl who visited you with me so many years ago?

She's dead.

She died for this cruel, unshakeable, bloodstained world.

And I'm one of the murderers responsible for it all.

I don't know... what to feel for her.

But she's gone. She's out of my sight, and she'll certainly never see me anymore.

I... I'm frightened, sir.

A girl called Amiya says that all I've done was done out of cowardice.

I once confessed to Golding that my only goal was to survive the ruin to come.

But I still hope...

Even if it's just a pretext, I still hope—

That from the ruins, a new Gaulishman will rise...

No, that's not it.

I wish Golding could keep on teaching the children, under the sunshine, among the fragrance of the flowers.

Her persistence was truly beautiful.

But me, I'm the one who... I'm...

I've done all I can, sir. It's tiring.

Do you think we still have a future?

He'd fallen asleep minutes ago.

Right then.

I draw my saber. A sword that once belonged to a Gaulishman.

I think... it might be better to let him remain in that dream before the Sarkaz force their way in.

At least it'll be a splendid dream.

But me... despicable man that I am, dare not reach out to pollute—

The blood of the aged Youth Vanguard splatters my hands.

The Prince of Blood himself, the Sanguinarch of Vampires, looks silently at the extravagant decor of the Victorian palace.

The expression on his face could be described as... serene.

You came, Lettou.

Here I thought you'd find somewhere to hide.

No, of course not.

I was always going to come find Your Highness.

You seem spirited today, I'm pleased. Ever since that old Gaulish teacher of yours died, you've been quite the buzzkill.

I made a bet with my children, they wagered that you were about to die.

But I believed in you, Lettou.

Have a drink with me, to the defeat of your enemies, the death of the nation of Victoria.

I'll begin the ritual myself, bestowing the most ancient curse, the most tragic end.

And so I will be leaving soon. Even my own kin don't enjoy such an honor, you should be grateful.

You know, Your Highness...

By the time I was born, Gaul's capital had already been razed by the Duke of Wellington and his despicable accomplices.

A city annihilated, as one breathes a sigh.

Now it seems you will do the same to Londinium.

Will you weep for her?

I just... didn't expect it.

Duke Wellington dismantled Lingones, pulling those mobile plates apart. Heh, so silly, so boring, the Victorians.

Would you like to settle the blood debt with your own hands? I admire your persistence.

I could grant you such an opportunity.

Your Highness is most magnanimous.

I bow deeply, but I feel his gaze lingering on me.

Ah... pathetic.

Mean, fickle, cowardly, self-righteous.

Begging for mercy out of fear, self-destructing out of despair.

But I'm still very curious about you.

In the scheme of your insignificant life, we've spent quite some time together.

—Do you really think you can kill me, Lettou?

You won't.

My very blood grips my heart.

You may think to yourself, this Sarkaz is so arrogant, so contemptuous.

On the contrary... Lettou.

Considering what I am about to see, I am positively <i>filled</i> with affection for you.

You are a fool, yes, and despicable indeed. You should cherish your blood.

At first, I thought they might have some more interesting uses.

*Sigh*, such hasty farewells between us.

The Gaulishman's sword... I do my best to reach it.

The despicable man's sword.

Poor man. Keep trying, give it all you've got and you just might reach the hilt.

...I'll...

I'll... grant...

What is it you're trying to say?

I'm saying—

The blade cuts across my throat, cold, chilling.

I see my filthy blood gushing from my neck.

The crimson liquid stains his clothes and splashes his face.

Hah.

I'm saying... I'll... 'grant' you my blood, vile leech!

You'll never boast about the purity of your blood ever again!

Because the despicable René Lettou has polluted it!