It was not only us soldiers who paid our debts in the war, oh no. Nobles and kings? Emroy did not spare them. Some went along and lived relatively unharmed, and others? Ha, well, there are reasons why the New Republic bore down on them.
-Martin of Luwen
Tokyo Apartments: Three Months After The Battle of Ginza
The bright digital clock's red numbers set read two in the morning. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. He sat up, his pale chest reflecting the moonlight beaming in through a nearby window.
Risa lay asleep next to him. He watched her and paused. He placed a hand on her shoulder and felt a weight from the bags under his lids. That's the tenth time this month, isn't it? he thought.
In his dream while sleeping, he was riding in a Kamatsu at the gun position and clutched at its handles tight as the vehicle rode through the GATE. A massive dragon awaited his arrival, its nine heads poking out of a lake of fire.
He looked out the nearby window and saw the city view under the night sky—so distant, so fleeting—almost like a dream that you'd walk through with fog puffing from every step. But it had been real, hadn't it?
There had been a code-red lockdown. The politicians spoke promises of vengeance, of a campaign into the "Special region." Just a few weeks later, The Americans came like machines with their logistics, technology, tenacity, and the Square was turned into a FOB practically overnight.
Getting out of bed, his soles clapped on the cold floor. He stood and fixed the uncovered blanket then walked slowly towards the door, rubbing his face along the way.
Cults were propping up in small but vocal circles. Their claims that some god or gods had sent these people through the GATE for the sins of the modern world. The reporters interviewed the founders. Artists, writers, and such creative types told of dreams filled with entities in the new world. They spouted strange names like "Emroy," and "Hardy," before the news cut back to the anchors.
He stepped into the hallway and walked down its corridor, the darkness blinding, but he knew where everything was. The kitchen light came on as he flipped the switch and narrowed his adjusting eyes.
There were only a few days left until he'd be off to base and taking a field trip to the so-called Special Region. He might, or he might not die traveling into that unknown void, and that would be that.
He went to the fridge and took out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and took a small sip of it. The cool freshness of the liquid flowed down his neck, past his chest, and into the hatch.
"There's not gonna be a damned dragon on the other side," Itami murmured as he sat at the kitchen table and leaned forward on his left elbow, the bottle in hand. He sat there, studying the furniture. "But what if there is?"
A great panic ricocheted throughout the world in the last months like some awful soundwave. Violent riots, edging tensions of century-long feuds threatening to blow into a worldwide conflict. The cause belonging to some gang of bastards wielding 15th-century weaponry, and without a doubt, the GATE. The thing that had rung the bell through the fabrics of religion, science, and reality like some great cosmic alarm.
Saderans, yes that was their name. Itami often had trouble remembering. There was at least knowledge out to the public of what they were, the news had made sure of it. Saderans and these...creatures? demi-humans? He knew nothing beyond it, and that was fine with him.
The protestors stood on all sides of the barrier and non-civilian areas shouting for the GATE's closure, the Americans' departure, and a few other choice things. He stood there on a podium in uniform being there like a sorted circus oddity. He didn't even say anything as the politicians called him the "Hero of Ginza," he just smiled and waved like an idiot.
Of course, he'd be a part of the coalition to spearhead an offensive. In the back of the line while the American armor went ahead but he'd still be there, nevertheless. Japan had to look strong at a time like this, and who better to represent their strength than a man who'd led hundreds of people to safety away from an invading threat?
Itami shook his head and drank from the bottle. Running until he puked, days spent isolated in the mountains, the camo paint on his face smelling like fresh plastic, to go to an unknown and alien world that waited on him, his countrymen, and the Americans. Changes in the last decade meant he'd be doing that all over again.
He stared blankly at the table, strangely, as if he were in some pagan ritual known only to him and him alone.
Mom had taken him to the Imperial Palace when he was just a boy, maybe nine or ten he wasn't sure. He remembered her smiling face as he was awed by the thing, her right eye black from dad's punch two nights ago. She told Itami she fell down some stairs.
It was New Year's, so they'd even got to enter the inner grounds; Mom was a good planner like that. They walked through the gardens and saw the imperial family, and she made his favorite dinner that night while Dad lay drunk upstairs. It was the perfect day.
Two days later, Mom bashed Dad's head in with a hammer for his beatings, and that was that.
He heard her footsteps slowly making their way through the hall, but he did not turn to greet her. He just sat there.
"What are you doing?" her voice came soft and tired from the doorway. She stood there in her pajamas with no glasses on, the bags under her eyes clearer for that.
He held up the bottle as he turned to her, "I was thirsty."
"At one in the morning?" she huffed.
"Should I have waited?" he put the drink down and watched her walk inside and pull out a chair for herself. "What're you doing? go back to bed."
Risa sat and scooted forward, looking warily at him. Itami always thought she was akin to some kind of small animal without her glasses, like a mouse, perhaps.
"Is the ninth or tenth time you've done this?" she asked sleepily.
He didn't say anything.
"Youji?"
"The tenth."
She turned away from him. He heard a small sigh sound from her. Looking back, Risa slid her hand across the low table and placed it on his, "Youji..." she had a scowl across her face.
"What?"
"Tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"You know what."
He took his hands away, placed them at his sides, and started bouncing his knee as she continued, "You've been staying up late into nights, tossing and turning in your sleep, and zoning out. It's like you're ignoring everything around you. Like you're ignoring me."
"I'm alright."
"Ever since...Ginza..." Itami felt something inside him seize as she said that.
He was looking away from her, "Go back to bed, don't worry about me."
Her hand seized his forearm, and when he saw her face oh boy did, she look mad. Her cheeks were flushed red like small, bloomed tomatoes. She spoke through gritted teeth, "Goddammit Itami!"
"What?"
"Why do you have to be like this?"
"Be like?..."
"Pretending like everything is normal! it's not! stop acting like you don't care!"
"Risa-chan-"
"You think I'm dumb?!"
"Risa-"
"You think I don't see things?!"
"R-"
"By god, I've seen enough about what happened in Ginza. I heard about the things those people did! murder, rape, and you were right in the middle of it! you can't be normal after seeing something like that, you...you just..."
She was crying. He watched her. So small, so fragile. Looking her in the eyes during times like these wasn't easy. He'd rather be in the woods with nothing but a knife and the North Star to guide him through the cold.
"Why?" was all she managed to hazily get out. He held her close and rubbed her back softly as her mop of hair tickled his stubbled chin. Rocking back and forth like he was cradling her to sleep.
"There's just..." his voice trailed off, and he swallowed.
She responded with a low sigh. For a moment, everything was quiet besides the occasional sounds of the outside: crickets chirping, wind howling, and a small snow flurry that dropped its particles like white flower petals.
"I'm right here, always," she whispered.
"I know."
"I don't want you to leave..."
"I know."
"I don't damn it."
"Well, I have to."
She didn't continue when he said it. Instead, Risa took her face off his chest. The tears had stopped rolling, and all that remained were small splotches. After a staring session, she replied, "I know..."
"It's not just...duty," he told her. "There's a small part of me...maybe something as stupid as revenge or justice...I couldn't tell you. Something real stupid."
"I understand," she whispered. She looked at him for a moment, "But...you're still not being honest."
He smiled, and he even laughed—a few small chuckles that shook his chest. "You're too smart for me, aren't you, Risa-chan?"
"Youji..."
He stopped. Itami had begun bouncing his knee once more, he forced himself to stop that as well. Her grip on him tightened, he watched Risa go through several phrases and sentences that flashed up in her mind like the channels on a television switching continuously.
"I wish I could help you so...much...but..."
"But you can't; that's the issue, Risa-Chan."
"What if something bad happens?..."
"You'll always have the money from my life insurance policy."
She gave him a dirty look, "That is not what I meant."
"I know," her face did not change. He would need to think of a better answer, and fast.
"Listen, I won't even be in the thick of things. The Americans will be doing all the heavy lifting like always."
"Then..."
"Hm?"
"Then why have you been..." she breathed, "doing all this? what are you afraid of?"
He let the question sit for a little while, "The...the unknown, I think? it's not something explainable, more like a feeling...like a dream almost."
"Or a nightmare?"
"Bingo."
She shifted in her chair and brushed her bed hair down, "It's...overwhelming to think about." He watched her place her small hand on the table and drum her index and middle fingers every couple of seconds.
"Not knowing is the great fear. That's it, nothing more, nothing less."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He caressed Risa's head, her spindly hair edging out between his fingers, "I'll come back to you. Done so before haven't I?"
"Youji..." she gave him a look.
"Sorry, everything will be okay. I think."
"But you don't know, h-huh?" her voice was shaky, and he thought she might cry. Instead, she took her hands off the table, got up, and wrapped her arms around his head. They stayed like that, watching the stars and the city lights outside.
"We'd better get back to bed; it's nearing two in the morning," Risa finally said, removing her arms and stepping back.
"I think I'm gonna stay here for a little while," Itami replied.
She kept insisting, "You need your sleep, senpai."
"Tell me what to do again, and I'll take you back there and screw you."
"Oh. Ha. Ha." her delivery was sarcastic and dry like a desert, but Risa added a smile to it.
He nodded along, "Keep laughing, keep laughing."
Sadera Knappnai Mountains
They'd made camp along the small stretch of the northern Knappnai mountains, narrowly avoiding a snowstorm that raged miles away across a valley dressed in some whitish hue. The sky was gray, and the men wore heavy cloaks and coats to bundle themselves against the winter cold like sacks on scarecrows.
The Legate stood on the edge of the forest with a small group of them, watching the sight like an armada of large rags and towels dripping to the ground.
"Sir?" the Centurion asked him. The man was big, but even he shivered in this ghastly weather. He stood at the Legates's side like a pawn on a chessboard.
"Yes?" His slight accent, courtesy of a childhood spent in the North, still came through occasionally to his annoyance.
"What is our next move?"
"Worry not."
The Centurion looked unsure. "Sir, our food will be gone in a week. We must find a solution."
"I said worry not, now leave me."
"Sir-"
"Leave."
He stopped. He looked away then looked back to the Legate, then turned and walked away down a small slope. Taking careful steps, he joined some of the men at the fires after clearing the treacherous walk.
The Legate watched his subordinate's red plume contrast with the pale and dark snow, the feathers a tribute from the siren lands out east. Such exotic birds those sort hunted. There was a kind that used their beaks to smash into wood and ones that mimicked the voices of bipedals and quadrupeds.
The Legate sat back on a nearby rock and removed his helmet and placed it on his thigh. He sighed, smog exiting his mouth.
"Did he tell you, sir?" one of his legionaries asked while the Centurion took his place among them. The fire lit up their faces in the grey darkness like strings of lanterns and torches.
"No," he studied the men surrounding him and those stationed at the other campfires. Human, volralden, orc, and some male bunny folk made up most of their troops. A majority conscripted. Imagine that. Being taken miles from their nomadic and savage lands into a whole new plane.
They'd been laughed at and painted as fools by kings, generals, and the emperor. Cowards who couldn't defeat a small army of metal...things.
Desertion came next. Whole cohorts went in the night and chaos of Alnus, some going into the west and some to the north. The Centurion had chosen the latter, unable to stay any longer. He and those he could convince packed their things and left when the time was right, picking up souls as poor and forgotten as them on the journey. All of this in three months. Gods...
"Are we just going to starve up here?" a volralden said. His teeth had a certain glint that the fire radiated off of like silverware.
The Centurion raised his hand, "Calm yourself. We've not come this far to waste away in the bloody snow. He'll see us through."
An orc cleaned the inside of his helmet with a small rag and spoke with a thick accent, "We gotta get sumtin' to eat. Otherwise, we'll all be dyin'."
"Are there any villages in the area?" another legionary asked. He'd been hit by a spell from one of the otherworlders in the leg back at the battle of the Gate and always had an awkward stance, even in his sitting position.
"We're not begging for food, right?" one of the bunny folk said, his ears perking up as he heard their conversation.
"I did not mean that we beg," answered the legionary, who held a finger up.
"Bugger this...have the gods abandoned us?! we'd be better off returning to Alnus!" a volralden shouted.
"And be executed immediately? to hell with that."
Their arguing continued long into the late afternoon. The Centurion thought he might have seen the sun setting past the storm, but he couldn't be sure because it was so dark. He then imagined those metal dragons flying over the mountains, their roar drowning out the howling wind and the chatter of the camp. He turned away.
They were forced to leave some men behind on their travels from Alnus. Some jabbered inconsolably about the battle of the GATE, their eyes running mad with fear and terror at things only they witnessed. Others simply fell one day and did not move nor respond to being moved.
Abandoned and mocked by their kings and the gods without an answer and vilified as cowards across the land. No wonder they fled; the dead couldn't stay among the living.
He believed they were a bit over one legion. Then again, some had fallen. Each day, they seemed to lose a new man to something: starvation, sickness, and infighting. These demi-humans didn't exactly get along with each other, and hunger only made them rowdier.
Eventually, night fell, and they prepared dinner. Salted pork and a half roll of bread. One of the orcs, Olog, took his share and went to a fire. As his boots cracked in his approach, he saw a bunny folk sitting on a log with some volraldens and a dark elf, each keeping their food close as the fire warmed them.
The orc smacked his shoulder, "Get up." His green face shined with grease in the firelight.
The man turned to him. The others watched the encounter, only the shapes of their forms lit in the darkness. "Pardon me?" his face was serene and strangely clear even in the rugged conditions.
He pointed a fat sausage finger at him, "Get the hells off me seat, Rezol, else I'll smash your pretty little face in."
Rezol stared, his long light hair flowing in the wind. Standing, he said, "Is that your final say, orc?" he almost appeared as if he were going to strike him with how clenched his fists were.
"If you don't start hopping, I'll ensure this is your final day," Olog snarled.
Rezol studied him. He turned and did the same at the fire and the men on the nearby logs. He shook his head, grabbed his food, got up, and walked into the darkness as Olog arrogantly smirked and took his seat.
"Their sort do not take kindly to that kind of insult," a dark elf said as he dunked his bread into hot water.
"Let him be angry," the orc laughed. "Maybe then he'll actually look something that doesn't resemble a prancy little gi-"
Rezol emerged from the darkness, his food replaced with a curved sword he held with both hands as if some sacrificial blade. Raising it over his head, he slashed into Olog's bald skull so hard that a pop sounded throughout the peak.
The orc dropped his food into the snow and held his hands towards his head, fingers fidgeting wildly as thick hot blood and brain matter leaked in small pools and rivers down to his armor and the log.
The bunny folk withdrew his blade and wiped it clean with a small rag. The other men turned their heads to watch for a moment and then returned to their food.
"Wareharun punish you..." Rezol murmured.
The orc's body stayed in the snow for the whole night, like a slain beast during the trial of battle. The next morning, his corpse was thrown from the peaks into the sweeping winds below like some heap of rubbish.
In the morning, the Legate stood watching the sun at the top of his hill. He wore thick clothes and a padded helmet over his bald head, which he'd shaved long ago. A few yards from them, the men sat by their fires bundled and sunk.
The Legate sat next to him in fresh snow. The twilight was heavy greyness with light edging out from under it like an encased object. He took hold of his helmet, and it came off smoothly. He looked at it and sighed, "So many years...wasted."
"Sir?"
"Sirs!"
Sentries marched through the camp with sights to behold. Two women clad in silk dresses and fur coats were made to walk like spectacles for all to see, the guards with spears pointed at them. They all stood aside and watched the women be led to their officers.
The Legate raised his brow, "What in Hardy's name is this?" he studied the two women as they reached the bottom of the hill. One was young with tangerine hair falling to her waist, contrasting against the morning snow like one of the fires that burned off in the distance.
The other was in a single phrase, beautiful. Long oceany hair, tall, slender, and a few other noticeable things that the Legate would keep to himself. She smiled gently at him.
"We found her outside," one of the guards said as he forced the first woman up the small slope. She did not cry or protest; she merely moved.
"Doing exactly?..." The Centurion asked as the woman and the guards reached them.
The guard steadied himself on the slippery walk, "Riding a horse right towards us, the bitch wouldn't tell us anything after we threw her off-"
"Would you kindly send them away?" the woman suddenly asked. "We have matters to discuss."
They all stared, the guards with first confused then offended faces. They shook their heads.
The Legate looked at her face, pouting and furrowed brow. She'd certainly be prettier if she smiled more. Her dark eyes were lit with a flame that intensified her serious and compact manner.
"Say the word and we'll-"
The Legate raised his hand and shook his head, "Lower your weapons," he was even chuckling. By the gods, he hadn't laughed in a long time. "Do not let a mere woman bring yourselves to anger."
"But sir, she-"
"Enough, get back to your posts."
The four watched the guards return back down the hill, the woman giving them a side-eye. As soon as they were out of sight and earshot, the younger guest turned back to her hosts, "Your men should be better disciplined; for a moment, I thought they were going to use those spears on me."
"You're not exactly in the best position to make demands," said the Centurion. Lady...?"
"Just Lady is fine. You two need not know more than that."
The men looked at each other and then back at her. The Legate spoke this time, "Might you inform us why we shan't take you as a prisoner for ransom here and now?"
"My my," she crossed her arms, "such hostility."
"Do not test us, Lady."
"I must be sure of your battles with words as such with any physical confrontation. My apologies," she gave them both a small bow.
"Be sure?" the Centurion rubbed melted moisture from his coat sleeve, and he thought of something, "whatever do you mean to do? join our band of cowards, bastards, and deserters?" he laughed, "we are in need of a cook. Perhaps you may help us in that regard."
Her mouth could not be thinner as she responded, "I come here offering help, and all I receive are fanciful threats? hm."
The Legate silenced his subordinate from replying, "This help is...?"
"Weapons and food, enough supply to march out of the cold and begin raids on any village or small town within your paths."
"Raids?" the Centurion gave her a strange face, as did his superior.
"Tell me, you both fought at the battle in the new world, correct?" they nodded, "then you know what the Empire has taken away. From you, and from..." she pointed out the starving and shivering men huddled by their fires, "them."
"And you?" the Centurion added. Lady did not answer him.
The Legate listened closely until she ended her speech. He rubbed his long beard and said, "Strange, why would a Saderan noble of all things wish to see her Empire wounded?"
"I have my reasons. You have yours."
"An explanation is owed, woman, do not forget your situation so quickly."
"Hm, men."
"Out with it, girl, now. I'm not so easily convinced you're not pulling some trick."
Lady held up her hands, but her face did not shift from either man. She looked deeply at them as if daring both to do something. "Fine then, you win. Tell me, you gentlemen must've fought for years in wars under the Empire's banner, correct?"
"Certainly."
"How does it feel, gentlemen, to lose everything?"
"Excuse me?"
"How does it feel to be mocked by the same men responsible for the suffering you've been put through? Imagine a little scenario. Emperor Molt Sol Augustus sitting on his golden throne gorging himself on another banquet while ordering another ten legions towards the GATE to be slaughtered again, again, and again!" her voice cracked slightly, and she continued, "All those brothers, those fathers, those...husbands. Gone," she made a disappearing motion with her hands. "They do this, the vassal states do this, and they laugh while committing their sins. As if those men are mere cattle and nothing more. Numbers! statistics! all of this, and nothing more!" The two men watched her, nodding occasionally.
Lady went on, "Because of Molt. An old man seeking one last glory. Over fifty-thousand brothers, fathers, and husbands are dead in some backwater world of savages!" she let out a few breaths as her face reddened, and her chest rose and fell as they waited for her to continue, the two intrigued by the girl's passion. "Not only him. His spawn, the senate, they're all together, in on it. So...we must take up arms, wipe the slate clean...and from the ruins a new nation shall be born. Evolved, stronger, and never again dictated by a few dozen old men seeking power or wealth."
The Legate watched her with a peculiar interest. As she finished, he shook his head, "You crazy girl. You mean to overthrow the Empire?"
Lady frowned, "What better time than now?"
"This has to be a lie..." the Centurion murmured. Still unsure.
"If I am lying, I am dying, which would be rather redundant. Anyway," Lady pulled something out of her coat pocket and turned it over to them: a locket dressed in a gold engraving of a Lion.
realization struck the Legate's face, "This is..."
"A noble sigil," the Centurion finished.
"Although I have never..." the Legate thought momentarily, "laid eyes on this one before."
"Mine is not as wealthy as, say, House Palesti or famous as House Kalgi. But I promise you both deliverance if you and your men integrate with the bands I host."
The men looked at each other once more, the Legate shook his head, and he turned back and asked her, "You are... a rather forthcoming woman."
"Did you not seek the truth, good sir?"
He smiled at her words and nodded, "I suppose I did," he waved the sigil at her and handed it back, "staging raids on villages...towns...that is one thing. But spearheading right at the Emperor? even now, it'd be an arduous, near-impossible feat."
"We have five hundred men at best; the Empire has thousands at their disposal. A single legion and we'd be destroyed," the Centurion added.
Lady held up her finger, "What kind of provider would I be if I did not prepare for that?"
"How? do you have troops at the ready?" he said, half-joking.
"Yes."
"Huh?"
She began counting on her fingers and thought deeply for a moment. Lady then looked at her hosts: "I have traveled the land these last few months, recruiting men as dour as yourselves, along with various downtrodden demi tribes frequenting the areas surrounding Alnus."
"You? An army? you must think we're insane."
"And just how do you think I traveled up here?"
The two of them didn't reply to her. They surveyed the nearby trees and dead bushes, which might have been hiding humanity or something more. "This can't be true," the Legate said. He realized something then and searched for the disappeared blue-haired woman. "Where?"
"Hm?"
He shook his head, "Bother it."
"Assuming this is true...," the Centurion dusted the snow off himself, "we cannot go around raising settlements to the ground forever."
Lady nodded, "Which is why you will bide your time with small conquests until the time is ripe."
"For...?"
"Italica."
"Italica?!" the Centurion's eyebrows raised.
"Yes, trade capital of the Empire. Largest city second only to the capital in of itself. I've listened to countless argument after argument."
"Well, one does not simply conquer Italica," the Legate reasoned.
"Oh, but have you two not heard? a dead count, two foolish little daughters arguing over their daddy's land, his militia halved by the battle beyond the GATE, why, that sounds ripe to me," Lady's mouth formed into a smile as she explained away.
The Legate listened, and as she finished, he let out a simple, "Huh." He looked to the Centurion, just as perplexed as he was. Then he turned back to Lady and took a step forward. " Call me mad, but I think I'm starting to believe in your potential girl." Lady reached her left hand out, and he took it, bowed, and kissed her ring finger.
The Centurion nodded along, his eyes shifting with the possibilities, "And here we were, starving. Only the gods could've set this path..."
Lady looked satisfied with the deal, "The Empire burns away gentlemen. From its ashes, we shall forge a better world."
Notes: So this was actually gonna be a lot longer, but I didn't want the chapter to get inflated with too many things at once. Also, I have to admit I'm pleasantly surprised by how many followers and favorites I'm getting for what's essentially the first thing I've ever written thanks everyone. For those of you who don't know btw, "Lady" is actually a character from the LN. Unfortunately, the manga hasn't adapted her yet. I think it should be obvious who the blue-haired gal is, but I'll let everyone guess.
Alnus should be the next chapter, and hoo boy, will it be long. I know there's a whole meme about these things getting abandoned right before or after, but don't worry, I'm not going anywhere...(I think). Exams are coming in april, so it'll probably take me a bit longer to put out the next, but other than that, expect Alnus soon and thanks for reading.