What I remember about the war was...the mortal cost. Hundreds, thousands, a...million...(the interviewed pauses and stares at the table briefly) all gone because of an old man seeking one final glory, and we were the court jesters and fools paying for it.

-Baldric, a Haryo tribesman of Knappnai.

GINZA, INNERCITY

They marched on, the horses thundering in unison like a beating war drum—the goblins scurrying along at the front, grinning hideously and searching for valuables. Ogres shaking the ground with every step as a show of their terrific might, and men were marching skin to skin like strange sewn-together dolls, and wyverns flew like an ariel circus, watching for any signs of opposition. Their mass and number eclipsed the sun, casting a dark shadow as if god himself had turned his back on the city.

Herm brushed his sweating forehead. Best spear thrower, best shieldman, and best-damned polearm fighter. None of that rubbish meant anything. All those one-versus-one and battle royale tournaments were more than nothing. The conclusion festered in his mind, watching his men and these Barbarians drop like insects

Death, oh yes, death. He'd been told over and over about how he must 'close his heart to it,' and that line repeated like a siren song in his head.


The words turned him back five years to a hunt he and the order had taken. They'd traveled a day from the capital into the furthest reaches of a boreal. There were pine trees as far as the eye could see, and in the four-hundred-pace clearing, a giant snow-topped mountain loomed with a blueish hue.

The Roses had two men by this time. Not counting the old soldiers and bodyguards they'd eventually have under their leadership, nor Sir Grey.

All eight were circled around a fire as if practicing some ritual to a god. Norma Co Igloo stuck his knife into a deer's belly and rubbed the blood off his round baby face—the conversation started with leadership.

"I'll tell everyone now. I can not wait until we're the ones ordering men to do this," Norma huffed, cutting out the intestines and flipping his walnut shoulder-length hair back, "leading instead of following the old man's every whim around sounds like a gift from the gods."

"Why must you speak of Sir Grey with tone?" scolded a girl called Hamilton Uno Ror. She seemed more akin to a lost child rather than a warrior in training. But she was Pina's oldest friend, so Herm kept the insult to himself.

"Oh, don't be so stuck up, Hamilton. A few more months, and we're knights!" Norma smiled brightly. He was handsome, for sure. However, his disposition wasn't anything to speak of.

"You gloat and jest," said Bozes Co Palesti, a beautiful thing with long golden locks. "But a knight cannot lead with words and theatrics when push comes to shove, Norma." Some of the other women whispered or nodded. Herm said nothing.

"Aw, Bozes, my dear. You wound me with such a grave insult," he smacked his hand against his chest and faked a faint.

"Do not be a fool!" yelled a dark-haired girl named Beefeater E Caty. She held aloft a branch she picked from the ground, "Valor, glory, and victory are within our future, Norma. You mustn't let it corrupt your mortal soul!"

Pina spoke up after a silent amusement, "Victory? we've not an enemy to face." Her red, flowing hair gave the third daughter and princess of the El Caesar royal family an almost heavenly aura.

"What about goblins, such as the slaves we fought on our first hunt out here?" suggested the silk-haired and spectral Panache. She placed a hand over her mouth and held in a soft giggle at Beefeater, and Norma clashed with firewood like they were sword fighting.

"Goblins?" Herm quizzically asked, "we seven defeated an entire platoon's worth with a few years of training. What challenges may they provide?"

"Herm," Pina spoke softly and put a gentle hand on his arm, "do not underestimate your enemy."

Herm gave the princess a glance, "I know your highness, but-"

He jumped as she pinched him, "Pina, eleven years, and you still call me princess." He readied another apology, but she laughed before he did, and Herm wasn't able to say anything after that.

"Young love," Norma sang. Everyone ignored him like usual.

"What if our enemy are halflings?" Hamilton poked her head up and sank back down like a turtle retreating into its shell when everybody viewed upon her.

"You think too small," said Bozes. Copying Beefeater and Norma, she took up a branch and held it like a weapon and let out a sharp laugh, "I shall cast down any filthy orc or bugbear which dares threaten the sanctity of our Empire!"

"Daring speech," Norma smirked and clapped a few times. Bozes bowed and sat down.

Silence. Herm rubbed his face, "All this talk of battle, yet we've not discussed one crucial component."

Pina placed her hands below her chin and leaned forward, "Do tell."

He set back and hesitated when he saw everyone looking, "D-Death, what if I..." he sighed, "we've fought before, I'm aware," some of them nodded, and some did not, "but can we continue? we cannot lie to another and say we were all not terrified during our first and only battle."

"Live by the sword, die by the sword," Norma stated, and they yelled in agreeance. "Remember Sir Grey's teachings, Herm?" he gave a pompous stare. Bozes nodded, and others followed suit.

Before they shouted once more, Herm waved his arms, "I know, I know Norma. But..."

"But?..." Pina said in a whisper. She'd come noticeably closer.

"But are we ready?" he breathed, "to keep on like this? become killers of all things, to lead, to..." he shrugged.

The fire swam in the following silence, its light drawing eyes like a moth and illuminating all their quiet faces.

"Of course!" shouted Norma. Cutting the silence with a pair of sheers, "I..." he noticed everyone's disapproving glares. He paused, and his smile disappeared. Hesitating and searching for what to say next, he came up with, "I don't want to kill, but I'm ready. If..." he glanced again, "if I have to."

They went around the fire like that. Bozes rose up and spoke much the same proclamation she had before, as did Beefeater and Panache. The three women joined each other in a coven and yelled about slaying dragons and saving handsome princes, then wedding them.

Eventually, their boasts died down, and Pina was next. They all glanced at her expectantly, predicting her to join the other three. But she'd just sat by the fire watching them. Her firey hair indistinguishable from the embers nearby.

"Fighting, killing, death. It is the ultimate tragedy," Pina said. "A wise man told me that—one of my teachers. I was smaller then. When my desire to start an order and become a knight was still growing inside and not a complete passion."

All eyes were on her. That was Pina. Drawing you in like the moths floating around the fire the seven surrounded.

"At first, it did not resonate. But after some time, I think I understood. Death is inevitable. None can outrun its cold grasps, even the gods themselves. This is simply a fact in our lives, and we'd best be better off accepting it. Either that or else we'll never do much of anything besides sit and worry about every small risk or action we take. I will not lie and say I shan't feel anything for our enemies. If there is any other way besides a battle, I'll most certainly take it. But..."

She placed a hand on Herm's leg, her eyes meeting his, and he stared into them like they were an infinite emerald void, "I'm ready."

Hamilton was the last to answer. She noticed everybody's stares and came out of her proverbial turtle's shell and meekly muttered, "I'm ready, too."


And back on that street as he viewed the bodies. Non-combatants, infantry, and men in blue alike set all around in a horrific, ghoulish queue. Twisted and broken, their final expressions are pain and fear. Thick black smoke belched out from numerous fires. He knew then that every one of them, even Pina, had lied.

Herm bit his lip so hard that a small drop of blood flowed smartly from his bottom lip down to his chin. Why didn't they surrender back at the Gate? Why did they resist and do this to themselves? They'd gotten in the way; they'd shouted and pointed those strange devices at the goblins. Even when his men had no choice and were forced to cut those in the way down, these Barbarians still stood there like a herd of cattle, just watching coyotes and wolves devour their kind right in front of them.

There were Barbarians struck down with arrows and bolts. Their square objects cracked against the concrete as the owners fell with them. There were goblins and trolls ripping men and women limb from limb. There were people smashed into a fine paste by ogres simply stomping on them or smashing a crowd with his giant club.

How many had he killed...half a dozen? Decuplet? Several dozen? He'd not even kept count. Invisible needles poked through his shoulders like one of those dolls witches hang up in their huts to ward off evil spirits.

Another batch of words echoed in his head, "advice" from Father: always remember the faces of the men you cut down and honor them as valiant opponents, lest you become an unfeeling monster.

Opponents? To describe any of these Barbarians as warriors would be an insult to the word itself. They'd held no weapons besides the men in blue, who, of themselves, held no actual tactics besides running away. He pondered the horror on Gray's face if he were to be here on his horse, trotting beside him.

But he couldn't have possibly predicted the unending masses in this bastard village, town, or whatever these Barbarians called it. Pina, Norma, Bozes, all of them would be in the exact same spot.

The army reached a wide open freeway leading onto a massive bridge. Those leftmost or rightmost in the lines spotted an ocean that went on like a massive light blue sheet of paper crinkling in and out and crashing against dock and shore like two primordial swords clashing in a never-ending duel. Herm almost removed his helmet for a better look but refrained at the last moment.

Are there lands beyond?

"Sir?" Legate Titus asked at his right side He was stout, with black hair protruding from under his helm. Herm straightened up as best he could.

"Have you received from the backline on my Father?"

"Sir Hamish has been healed. It turns out these strange weapons are not a work of magic."

A weight sank itself onto his shoulders, "You mean to tell me simple craftsmen may just make these?"

"Yes, and that worries me-"

"This palace. We'll need siege weaponry. Send word to the backlines on the double. We're not losing another man."

The Legate kept his mouth open for a second, stuttered, stammered, and finally relented, "Yes, Sir Herm." He slowed and turned. Herm rode ahead when he did.

It wasn't just to avoid being mothered like a child. This palace was built in a relatively advantageous position. As Herm studied its gardens, moat, well-fortified walls, unique and odd architecture, and the Barbarians running inside its courtyard like chickens with their heads cut off, he thanked the gods they could not fight worth a damn.

He glanced up towards the ogres. Wondering if they may be able to break through. If not, at least they would serve their purpose, shielding the army from any defenses these barbarians may have.

Herm found it utterly unbelievable how instrumental they'd been. Just a few dozen ogres to guard the front lines with their mass, and it'd saved so many needless deaths. It was their purpose. Protect the front lines at all costs: Balista, Scorpio, Catapults, you name it, and they could easily take the attack with their heavy armor and shields.

A decade ago, there were only bands of tribes robbing, killing, and warring. Then the Oprichnina came along, and Herm did not know how peace was made nor how the ogres agreed to fight for the Empire, but was he grateful.

Titus rode back up, and with him, a battering ram and several other siege engines being pulled by several groups of men and demi-human.

As the Barbarians came into view, the army watched them in comical confusion. They were crossing a bridge to the palace, not running anymore and moving as slow as molasses. A wall and moat blocked any melee exchange, yet moving in a line like nothing was going on wasn't exactly what any man witnessing expected.

"What the nine hells..." he murmured. Herm lisented to a few other soldiers making likewise murmurs. Their Centurions quieted them.

"Like sheep," The Legate said.

"I..." Herm rubbed his mount's neck, and the mare snorted. "I cannot disagree with you."

"Might I call upon my slingers and archers? They may prove troublesome," Titus was already lifting his hand, but Herm stopped him.

"No, they're much too far. The dragon knights will be of more use," the Legate put his hand down. Herm watched the Barbarians closely, and the gates actually began opening. They started moving inside, and one of them, dressed up in clothing with strange art on the front of his shirt, screeched and waved to his kin like a bellowing monkey.

"What in the realms!?"

The ogres pressed together like walls connected by mortar paste, and one fiercely roared, "Sirs, a..." he paused and let out a gasp, "buncha iron wagons fulla men be coming!"

Herm managed to peak in between the ogres mass and saw several coming up over the bridge's middle and underneath the arches, galloping like juggernauts that would not stop or could stop. They were long and coated in light blue and white. They made odd crashes and chinks, their tar wheels circling, the sun glinting softly off the glass, and a hot burst of anger coursed throughout his body upon seeing the men in blue inside.

Before another word could be uttered, dozens, perhaps hundreds of small tears through the wind shredded the dragon knights off their mounts. Some fell into the depths of the moat, others sailed onto greenery and the road dead before they even collided against the ground.

Several wyverns went with them. Crashing into the palace's structure, skidding across the road, and leaving a neat crimson, most stayed in the air, though all veered off from their intended targets, both uncertain and scared.

The horses yelped and bucked up into the air, and those at the front lines fought to regain control over their steeds. Some were bucked and sent crashing into hot pavement, their armor making a screeching clang.

Herm barely managed at steadying his own, letting out sharp curses and cries alongside Titus, whose mare nearly managed to rid itself of him.

White-knuckling his halberd in one hand. He yelled, and the army charged.


The Japanese Imperial Palace

Itami sat his back against the wooden wall. Cool air conditioning washed over him like a gentle, icy embrace. He held his hand in a clawing motion from where it'd once carried a thirty-eight special, given up to the palace staff, and he held his other on a smoothed brick wall. His shirt soaked with a dried, splotchy crimson in the front, and an ovalish wet sweat caked his back.

The last few minutes were like an eternity of running and fighting. First, he'd gathered up dozens, maybe a hundred survivors. He wasn't sure of specifics. They'd run like wounded animals, finally reaching the palace and begging for the gates to be opened. A few wide-eyed security officers did so and started ordering their terror-stricken visitors in. Here and now, he'd only rested for maybe two minutes at most.

Every once in a while, Itami would check every entrance he could from his seat. He didn't know why. There wasn't any way they could get in and still he went around in circles to check like maybe one had somehow materialized through the walls and hid out in the castles gardens.

All around him were people gathered together like boxed bento: Security officers were watching every entry and exit point, and couples, some with children, huddled together, wounded, lay on makeshift beds being tended to by civilian doctors and palace staff. The Cop was among them, getting his head stitched up on a white cotton blanket by a couple of staff and civilian medical person-doctors.

Hana lay on one of the beds a couple of meters away and watched him. Itami didn't even want to think about how she'd shown up under The Cop's heel, nor whatever could've happened to her father.

Itami would speak softly at her and make false promises about finding him. It was the only thing he could really do. His mom always said something similar when he was young and wondering why "papa" wasn't home.

"Attention, please!"

He turned his head and saw one of the security officers—a short middle-aged man with squinted black eyes and pale skin and a few other blue suits standing in the middle of the room. They held bottles of water, soft drinks, and snacks.

"Hai," some said. Others nodded, and Itami said nothing beyond a slight bow of acknowledgment. He went to Hana and placed a gentle hand on her head. The girl grasped his index finger firmly.

"We'll be handing out snacks, seeing as you all may be stuck here for an indefinite period of time," the man took a moment and let his news sink in for the audience. "Do not worry. We've received word the SDF and Americans are on their way to help. Everything will be okay; stay inside and remain calm."

They scattered back to their posts. Itami's chest sank lower than the Titanic. If the Americans were getting involved, how bad was this? Of course, he'd seen it firsthand, but still, this must be even worse than he'd thought.

When the workers came by, he took a bottle of water and a bag filled with chips. Handing the items to Hana first, the girl took both and did nothing besides laying them dully at her feet. Itami watched her, and his fingers dug into his palms.

"Looks like all of this will be over soon," a voice spoke. The Cop approached with a bandage wrapped around his head. His black stringy hair matted on one side and stuck out like a sore thumb on the other.

"One can hope," Itami murmured grimly.

The Cop nodded and stood verticle to the two. He glanced down at Hana and said, "Thank you for..." he massaged his shoulder, "for what you did. I owe you a debt, Itami-Sama."

Itami blinked, "Right..." he scratched his neck, "but how do you know my name?"

The Cop raised a brow and removed his hand from his temple, "You were flashing a badge around and yelling your name and rank at everyone we came across."

"Oh, m-my apologies..." Itami was mid-bow, and his fingers clenched into his palms when he realized.

"Aki Saski."

"My apologies, Aki-San," he finished the bow and raised back up.

"We didn't exactly have the time to learn each other's names during all," he put his arm up and waved it about, "this."

"You are right, but..." he sighed, "never mind, how's that treating you?" Itami took a knee and thumbed at his own head, and Aki sat on a cushion.

He touched the bandage and drew his hand away, cringing, "Not particularly well," he answered.

"I should've expected that; my apologies."

"You're alright. I shouldn't be touching it like a fool," he chuckled softly. Then stared momentarily, glanced at Hana, and then back. Itami gave a saddened look and shook his head from right to left.

Aki put his hand on his mouth, rubbing softly; he asked, "What were..." he rubbed his mouth, "do you think the Jietai will get here in..." he rubbed once more and glanced at the little girl next to him, "never mind, sorry."

They sat in silence. In fact, only the injured made any audible noise.

Itami pondered one of the questions Aki had almost asked. Would the SDF and Americans get here in time? A camp and base were close with air support on standby. Yet, it'd only been half an hour at the most. They'd dispatch these invaders easily. But first, they needed to get here.

He knew for a fact more firepower was needed. The riot police would simply be overwhelmed by numbers even with their superior weaponry, and a cauldron of bile formed in his stomach when he came to the conclusion.

Shifting slightly, he placed a hand against his belly. His arm brushed against something square, and the cauldron tipped when he realized what he was forgetting.

RISA

Standing, he brusquely said, "Pardon me, Aki-San, can I ask that you watch her for a moment?" he nodded at Hana, who'd laid down on her cushion and started taking a nap.

"Of course," he attempted an assuring smile, but it came out as only half of one. More like an odd sneer than anything else.

Itami went from the waiting room and out into a side corridor. His heart was pumping again. Well, thudding would be a more appropriate word. It made him feel a creeping in his neck whenever he felt his heart beating in his ears and wrists. Sometimes, he wouldn't imagine an organ going in and out. But as a big dial on the left side of his chest with a needle getting ever so close to the red zone.

The walls were decorated with ornate and ancient designs that would've once mystified him. He remembered solemnly back to the holidays when mom took him here.

A security guard stood at the end by a fire exit. He didn't seem to notice him, but Itami moved further away.

He took his phone out and opened it: several calls and dozens of texts listed in his notifications. Risa sent them, and they were filled with worries like, are you alright? and, Youji, please call me all the way to the last, which read, please come home...

Gritting his teeth, he dialed her number. It rang once, and instantly, he heard her voice squeal, "Youji!" her mousy voice squeaked through the receiver.

"Risa-chan," he kept his words to a whisper. Looking back and seeing no one besides the guard down the hall, Itami continued, "It's so good to hear your voice." He placed a forearm against a nearby wall. His breaths were slow and heavy. He covered his mouth and kept the phone to his ear.

"Y-You, you too," she whispered back hoarsly. She'd been crying, and Itami felt a pang of guilt in his stomach.

"W-" she stopped. Itami slid his arm down and took a few steps. His sneakers smacking against the hardwood. Risa attempted speech once more but stopped.

"Risa-Chan, go ahead," he said tenderly. His heart thudded like a hammer against a board, and he imagined the little ticker only an inch away from the red. He did not want that junk, and he did not need that. What he wanted was to hear his wife's comforting voice.

She took another moment, "Are you hurt?"

He glanced down at the dark splotches covering his shirt like an awful oil painting and stood there, his eyes glazing over. "No, I'm fine, baby." His burning legs suddenly gave out, and he sat against the wall.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Certain?"

"Positive," he scratched his stubble and thanked god she'd been sick at home today, "Are you holding up alright?"

"I'm fine!" she hurriedly answered, "Youji, you sound exhausted!"

"Well, you would be, too, after running for your life," he let out a groan as he knew exactly what came next for saying that.

"Youji!" she squeaked. "that's not funny!"

"Risa."

"Don't say stuff like-"

"Risa," a wave of silence passed through that corridor. So quiet, Itami could not even hear the general ambiance from the waiting area.

"I-I'm just worried..."

"I know."

"Can you please tell me your safe?..." she trailed off and took a moment before she continued, "I trust you over the news..."

"I know."

"A-And, no more jokes, okay?"

"I know, I..." his heart thudded in his wrist, and Itami hitched a breath. "I promise with everything in me, I'm sound and safe."

There was a pause, and he begged that she wouldn't start crying.

"Yes, apparently the riot police are engag-fighting."

"Oh, thank god," she exhaled, "I'm s-sorry for being so worried."

"Risa-Chan, this isn't your fault," he leaned his head back and slid a hand down.

"But it is! if I just didn't tell you to go out and get some stupid damned manga. You wouldn't be in Ginza!" and her soft cries were audible.

Itami sat up and leaned forward, "Risa-Chan, stay with me, okay? I'll be fine. There's no need to worry about me. It's completely safe in here."

"W-Where are you?"

"At the Palace, I led a few here. They let us in, and now we're surrounded by walls and gun-walls. Safe as can be."

More sobs and a weight formed in his neck. He swallowed, and she said, "I'm so sorry..."

"I know."

"If you say you're safe, I believe you."

"I know."

"I was really worried. I shouldn't have yelled..."

"Let's stay on the line," he scooted back against the wall once more, "like when we were kids, remember?"

"Y-Yeah," she stammered and let out a soft laugh, "up all night, and then we slept through school."

As he sat in that corridor with her on the line, Itami gained just a small bit of respite from the events the day had wrought.


HUNDREDS OF FEET ABOVE TOKYO

The gunner studied the ground below as he and another Supercobra flew in formation across the city like two bolts of lightning streaking through the sky. The day was a clear one, with very few clouds to blot out any carnage below. He watched below through his infrared lenses as they sailed into the packed city.

A whole-ass medieval army. That's what he and his pilot were up against. They'd all seen footage in the briefing, but watching a lot of goddamned sons of bitches riding whole dragons at you with pointed sticks was something nobody could really prepare for.

Luckily, these bastards couldn't move or take bullets worth a damn, but it was like flying into the Mariana trench. He thanked Christ that another bird was sent along; otherwise, shit might've gotten even worse.

"Mamba flyers on your three," said The Pilot.

"Copy, Python."

Several dozen in a neat row were trying and failing to catch up with them like angry children jumping at their parents for a toy. The Gunner, without hesitation, sent bullets as an answer.

For a while, this repeated itself. Finding pockets of them, their desperate attacks, and the two helicopters' angry response. But this wasn't their mission. Getting to the Imperial Palace was.

These invaders were focusing almost everything on it and had even wiped a bunch of Tokyo Police out to get there. He'd felt his chest pounding just a little harder than usual when taking off due to that.

Almost ten years of service in the Marines, but dear god, if he didn't say his balls were in his throat as they came upon the smoking buildings and flew towards the ancient structure to see those thousands of white figures and masses, he'd be lying.

Several buses were overturned, and two were smoking. He saw bodies all over and recognized the Japanese SWAT uniforms, even with the filter in his camera. Something murky spewed within when thinking about their sacrifices.

The four were given clearance. A simple check of readiness to engage was all they needed. He got them in his sights and activated the chain gun.

An ocean of gore and violence ripped across the ground. What seemed a near-endless amount of bodies were shredded in the wake.

After the first volley, horses and beings were filling the roads, and he saw a huge thing fling its large club desperately at the sky before the other chopper finished it. The thing slammed on the ground; its armor peeled away by the chain gun like a tin can.

He saw men with their bows and slings searching the ground, and he saw men kneeling or laying and clutching at their bodies. The horses trampled a few of them and finished the job.

He saw a man stand from where he was once cast to the ground without an arm and a dark liquid spewing from it, and the man didn't seem to notice for a while until he glanced at the limb and then toppled back.

Among the fallen, others knelt or stood staring at the sky or road dumbly. He could only imagine their facial expressions. Some threw themselves over the bridge and into the water below to escape. None made it to the shore.

Some tried throwing spears, rocks, and arrows. They were met by more volleys of what must've seemed like hellfire from two wrathful fiends summoned forth as vengeance for their sins upon this land.

"Mamba, see the one's running?" The Pilot said, and he saw a good few dozen riding horses, running, or limping back off the road. No way in hell they were getting there. Plenty of these cavemen fuckers already had shit in their pants and ran away. Finding them would be like needles in a mile-long haystack for the ground troops.

The Gunner sighted his laser and sent a Zuni Rocket. It flew for just a few seconds, and boom goes the dynamite. When the dust cleared, he could only imagine the terrified screams from the "lucky" survivors as they saw their buddy's body parts strewn everywhere.

"Not anymore."