Kill me then.

‘Vital decline. Auxiliary brain function declining. Recommend use of stimulant.’

Iō spat blood. Ignoring the ache deep in his throat, he drew a medical tool from the side pouch.

Loaded a substance that, by any objective standard, was detrimental to the body. Pressed it against his neck and pulled the trigger.

Vision cleared rapidly.

‘Sergeant, you’ve been hit?’

‘Forget me! Destroy the Cyphs!’

The Charger’s grenade launcher struck the Cyphs’ waist joint.

The armor-piercing round penetrated the Cyphs’ plating and triggered the tail mechanism.

The cover split into three segments. Designed to prevent full penetration. The round’s purpose was to breach armor, then detonate with directed force, pulverizing internal systems.

Cyphs exploded from within, internal mechanisms scattering and blown apart.

— Multiple muscle ruptures detected. Agent Io, take slow breaths.

— Charger, give me a round!

— Secretion control. Combat readiness in twelve seconds.

Twelve seconds? Io rolled through the dust-choked wasteland.

Enemy follow-up: Weedran rapid unit, upgraded Cyphs.

Felt capable without combat support. Aim remained steady.

"Postnatal combat instinct." Io’s unique skill and the gamer’s fire in crisis were perfectly compatible.

One shot, two, three—targeting the lizard head, the only exposed part of the Cyphs’ armor, each round striking true.

Only possible with an RX-3 heavy round.

— You’re a genius at killing.

— I’m stepping back while switching.

Hold position. Move to the rock twenty meters behind.

……Move up!

Ignoring the weakness in his limbs, he staggers to his feet and sprints. His legs won’t respond.

(—Goblet, even you’re pushing it. Re-sync the sensory links.)

Understood. Adjusting perception. Pain suppression engaged.

Ah, right. That’s how it’s set.

Hemorrhage stabilized. Stimulant and emergency gel are effective.

Charger, switch! Get back!

Io reaches the rock and pivots, locking onto the target. Begins suppressing the enemy.

Now it’s Charger’s turn to retreat. Io’s fire is inflicting solid damage on the pursuing unit. Charger slides smoothly into the rocky terrain.

Don’t stop, Charger! GO! GO! GO!

Take the round!

Charger retreats further. Io maintains suppression.

Io catches the magazine tossed by Charger and performs a fast reload.

A rock behind Io erupts in the upper left of vision—shrapnel scatters. Enemy fire whips past the side of his cheek. Ringing in the ears.

Can’t even aim straight, amateur. Tongue flicking out in hunger. Dusty.

Another one, exposed and reckless—slain.

"Enemy down!"

"Position secured! Back off, Sergeant!"

The roles switch again as they continue retreating. A Wee dran attempting a flank attack is stopped by Io’s aberrant marksmanship and the Charger’s grenade.

From the wasteland to the rockfield, from the rockfield to the hills.

Ammo nearly spent. Side arm damaged—useless. Defender’s battery dead.

"Pick-up point reached! Condor arriving in forty seconds!"

"Artillery! Down, Charger!"

The enemy Tomas’s artillery blast ripped through Weedran and Charger alike.

They didn’t care if allies were present. Io gritted his teeth and seized the last grenade.

Throw. Weedran’s men spotted the fragmentation grenade and halted their advance, diving into cover behind rock formations.

In the moment, Charger was dragged into the shadow of a ground ridge. Explosion.

“Charger, alive?”

“Yeah… still… here.”

“Good armor. That thing’s what kept you breathing.”

From Charger’s hip holster, Io borrowed a sidearm. At the same time, he tossed aside the RX-3 and hoisted Charger onto his shoulder.

Hiding his lower half in a deep gouge, he advanced backward with cautious, deliberate fire.

Carrying a fully armed man, one-handed shooting. Accuracy was nonexistent.

Situation highly unfavorable. Abandon the Charger.

(Negative. Give me the enemy layout, Goblet!)

One second of held breath. No support from Goblet—performance drop in avatar, perhaps.

But as previously stated, the worse the situation, the hotter it gets.

Enemy flank attack confirmed.

I’ll show you.

The view warps. Fire from cover at Weedran emerging.

Rifle flung aside. Weedran crouches, screaming. That one’s done.

Crouch low, minimize profile, aim next.

Shoot through the leg of Weedran, who stepped out to cover a wounded comrade. That one’s done too.

What’s wrong? Prove you can kill me!

…Outstanding. “The stronger the enemy, the higher you rise.”

Haha, hahaha!

Laughter echoes. Unconscious. No sense of defeat.

Watching Weedran die in the morning light was satisfying.

—Friendly Condor, initiating attack—

Condor emerges from above, streaking like lightning. That stealth function again.

Eight unguided rockets fire from the cylindrical launcher, striking Tomas directly.

Critical damage. Explosion. The unfortunate lizards caught in the blast.

—It’s fine. Set down, corporal—

He sets down the Charger and fires again. The Weedrans are startled, confused.

—Lieutenant! Lower altitude! Board now!

—We don’t have jump units.

—Forget it!—

—I have a debt to this one! I’m not abandoning him!

—…Damn it! Wendigo, land! Avoid direct impact!

Friendly Condor initiated full-rate fire. Missiles scattered. Minigun roared with heavy vibration.

Io dragged the Charger into the rock shadow.

Stay still, Charger—emergency gel applied.

You owe me now.

I’ll collect from you and the Reaper together.

Administered recovery agent. Condor descended. Impact around the perimeter. Ringing in the ears.

Io leaned the Charger, lunged toward the Condor like a predator.

Mounted—lift it!

Captain, you’re safe!

The frame swung violently. Vision shot upward at high speed.

As if in tribute, the Minigun swept across the field. Cyphs and Weedran cut down.

Rapid extraction. Less than thirty seconds to break contact. Io exhaled deeply. Seated in the Condor’s chair.

(Completion achieved. How’s that, Goblet? Not bad, huh?)

Yeah. Agent Io, I’ve recalculated.

(What?)

We might be a decent team, I suppose.

(I’ve thought that all along.)

Initiating recovery. Io, stay as still as possible.

No need to be told. Already at the limit. Can’t move even if I wanted to.

Dived continuously, for long stretches, since yesterday. Enough already.

Sergeant

The Charger collapses into the chair in front of me. The helmet visor flips open.

Face is smeared with blood—probably from the bombardment. Body likely the same.

The Charger is smiling with a nihilistic calm. A man with scars, yet somehow possessing an unsettling presence, a certain allure.

“Forgot to say, ‘abandon me if things go south.’”

…You’re better off alive. For humanity’s sake.

You can be confident in that judgment.

If only. …Anyway, I’ve fulfilled my contract. Now it’s your turn.

I already said the measures are in place.

Specify exactly.

The Charger powered on the battered terminal.

Host command kill report sent. Once headquarters confirms, assault will be launched on the enemy stronghold cluster located 120 km east of Skordy Pull.

The enemy is in disarray. Timing the strike, extraction forces will deploy—3552 will be saved.

…Just one enemy commander killed?

I told you countless operations are underway.

Is that so. How enlightening, Charger.

The Sitalskia Coalition had prepared a thorough counteroffensive. Yet the Charger’s plan seemed utterly impossible to execute.

If I hadn’t helped, would he have… died in the event?

Fine. It was undeniably advantageous for 3552.

—Send me back to the original unit. It’s a stealth craft. Shouldn’t be hard.

—No choice. Debt’s debt.

Looking out from the open door.

Waste and the river flowing through it. A few patches of green. Beautiful under the morning light.

Perfectly engineered—no end in sight.

Sergeant Io, I thought I'd be in trouble when the Lieutenant said she'd use you—

First, I’ll treat you—stay still.

Leave me alone. I'm in a good mood right now.

You're in critical condition. You're going to die.

Goblet spoke without expression.

Recovery protocol active. You will not die.

You won't die.

The Synglea unit shook its head and muttered, do what you want.

――

Goblet had been regularly transmitting enemy movement predictions to Unit 3552.

The dramatic maneuver following the Moimisuka rescue had thoroughly disrupted Weedran’s strategy. Crook methodically, meticulously, captured the enemy and slipped away undetected from the kill zone.

"Quite the princess."

Io chuckled while reviewing 3552’s combat log within Blue Goblet’s personal zone.

The goddess drifting in the blue-lit garden wore an expression vaguely satisfied.

‘Crook MacGibbon’s performance has exceeded Blue Goblet’s predictions.’

“Sounds like you’re evaluating a machine.”

‘Apologies. Did I offend?’

“No. Fine.”

The monitor displayed Crook glaring at the armored vehicle, jaw clenched.

Eyes wide. An expression beyond description.

Goblet, if you had another one, you could go hunting lizards with peace of mind.

— You mean simultaneously supporting you and 3552.

— Isn’t that a good idea?

— No artificial spirit with processing capacity matching Blue Goblet currently exists.

— Artificial spirit?

A word I don’t recognize. Not in the database.

— The creator referred to such entities by that name.

— …Hearing that from your mouth is new.

— Most information is under disclosure restrictions.

— I didn’t really need you to tell me, either.

— …Additionally, the creator set a limit on the program level capable of producing Blue Goblet.

Blue Goblet is forbidden from replicating itself.

That’s reasonable. If there were countless copies, all aiding humanity, the game balance would collapse.

Just checking—why?

The creator had feared the possibility of the Blue Goblet dominating humanity.

An unexpected reply. Something straight out of a film.

An AI that evolves without end will one day destroy humanity. A common trope in science fiction.

Interesting. Could such a possibility exist?

If managing humanity with high efficiency for the war effort against the Weedran is called domination—

The creator's concern is a valid one.

A scary one.

Fear has a place even for you.

You said it yourself.

Io laughs. Goblet mimics a smile. The smile lacks refinement.

Confirmed contact with Unit 3552 Rescue Force. Based on Charger data, contact expected within approximately four hours.

Mission nearing completion. Children should finally be able to relax.

Agent Io, you have not lost a single ward despite successive crises.

You protected the children—even when taking unnecessary risks. That is intriguing.

“Is death not frightening?”

Floating in the sea of light, Io shrugs.

It’s a game. What’s there to fear in death?

No—maybe a little. Hardcore games used to erase save data when avatars died.

“Maybe a little.”

“A little?”

“Why so concerned?”

“Blue Goblet is… weighing the necessity of efficiently managing you.

You are an exceptionally capable unit, but you have a tendency toward perilous situations.

Your loss would be a significant setback.”

“Wait—this isn’t a joke, is it? You planning to control me?”

Keep the yandere AI nonsense to yourself. The difficulty of this game is already high enough, and the Moimisuka rescue operation was forced-dive initiated.

Who are you to say that, exactly?

—No, just kidding.

Then I suppose it’s fine.

Io cut the conversation short. A residual satisfaction from completing a difficult mission still lingered.

A brief rest would be welcome.

—Virtual space is sometimes used for therapy.

May I rest here for a moment?

—Please do. “This sea of light is your private garden.”

Blue Goblet wishes to assist in maintaining your condition.

—Is that so.

—Shall I play some music?

A clever AI. Io closed their eyes. Even with eyes closed, data streamed in from all directions.

A classical piece, familiar from somewhere long ago, began to play. Not to Io’s taste, but acceptable enough.