Careliv Refugee Camp

『Captain Althanker, this is Sivdorado』

『This is Io-200』

『Diamond Frame, we acknowledge your valor』

The elderly man on the other side of the comms window saluted with precision.

The remaining soldiers had gathered around. Their faces showed no expression.

『Is unit 3552 safe? What of Lieutenant Creeke』

『No need for concern. Lieutenant Creeke collapsed from exhaustion but is otherwise unharmed.

The children, the others—they will be delivered to Audar, even if it costs us our lives. We will.』

『We are grateful』

A lizard’s cry echoed from somewhere nearby. Not far off.

The ship’s evacuation was complete. The soldiers’ taut tension snapped.

There was nothing left to sustain them now. They were at the limit of fatigue.

Weedran loomed ever closer.

『Althanker, one final…』

Io scanned the soldiers.

They said nothing. Accepted everything.

……Request artillery strike. Destroy the functionality of Oxanun Port.

Too good a prize to give to Weedran.

…………Is that acceptable?

Wasn’t that the original order?

Sivdral lowered his eyes. Remained silent.

……All turrets ready. Target designated. Operation Alpha.

Anything to say before the end?

Io scanned the soldiers once more.

They still said nothing.

Then, with a dazed mind, he managed to force out a single phrase.

Together, the dawn of humanity.

The soldiers echoed.

Together.

Together, the dawn.

The dawn of humanity, together.

Sivdral responded in kind.

Artillery launch. Intelligence unit, archive their presence.

At least bring her back to Audar. Along with the other records.

Boom. Wind cut. Sharply intense.

First impact on the harbor control facility. Flames erupt.

Flames rise instantly, magnetic cargo cranes felled.

Next, the docking section. Explodes forty meters from Io’s position. The large vessel can no longer enter.

“Altankark, thank you. Request complete. Communication ends.”

Shells rain down one after another. The port disintegrates.

Walking through the downpour of destruction, as if strolling.

Check equipment. Raven and SOD7 are damaged, but still functional.

“Goblet”

“Yes, Io”

“Not that I like everything about you, but… this isn’t bad”

“Honored”

Close-range detonation. Shrapnel rains down. Io pays it no mind.

The soldiers salute his retreating form. They appear intent on staying behind.

Escape. Our fight continues.

Brain function correction, physical augmentation, advanced combat support—ready.

Blue Goblet can propose multiple evacuation routes.

Victory to you.

All is swallowed by iron and flame.

Io breaks into a run.

——

——Sithalskia Unified Calendar 266, July 12, 01:00 PM

——Western coast of the Audar Continent, Carelv Refugee Camp

Record unit, artificial spirit "Blue Goblet"

Natalie Vicker had no voice. She had prepared for this.

Karauf was taken. Many died. Her benefactor among them.

She follows the recorded image on the terminal.

Crewk and 3552, Carlyle and the combat engineers, and Io—there they are.

Different expressions. Harsh. Painful. Laughing. Sleeping.

In the western coastal region of Audar, where a cold wind blew, a large-scale camp had been established to receive refugees fleeing Karaf.

Everyone there was starving. Terrified of the future. Pressed down by anxiety.

The media descended upon them. Natalie was one of them.

Just days ago, she could barely step outside without fear of assassination. Now, under the protection of former chairman Vitto Crouan, she had barely survived.

And now she witnessed something far worse.

She rose from the sand. In the distant, blinding blue sea, dull-colored clouds appeared.

The sun shone hot, but the wind was cold.

Natalie adjusted her sticky red hair, tousled by the sea breeze, and turned around.

Natalie, acting alone remains risky.

A woman stood with a calm expression. Her tightly pulled black hair was striking. She was Sheva.

Natalie’s guard, dispatched from Kouranj. The man named Vittō seemed loyal to Io-200, and even after his death, still orchestrated matters for Natalie.

She had once linked Io and Vittō through Oxanun.

A spy-like woman capable of drastically altering her appearance and perceived age through subtle changes in makeup and attire.

You’re lost in the sea’s direction again.

I understand. Especially for you, who once shared duty with Io-200.

Let’s return.

Sheva spoke, tucking back her wind-tossed hair.

The camp lay across a weathered road from the shore.

Nothing around. The nearest city lay twelve kilometers away. The camp itself spanned twenty square kilometers, yet still lacked capacity—construction continued unabated.

People of all kinds. Not only civilians, but soldiers too.

Boys who had fled from Karaf were here. The military struggled with them, treated them roughly.

A command post hastily built for the urgent procedures. Security personnel saluted Natalie.

At first, she did not understand why. When she asked, they said: You are the comrade of the sergeant.

No one in Audar now lacks knowledge of his name, of his victories. Here, on the Careliv coast refugee camp, even more so.

Natalie received special treatment. It worked both ways.

"Dreese."

"Ah, Natalie! A hand here, please!"

A small basketball court had been set up just inside the entrance. Proper goalposts stood in place.

Dreese, Natalie’s cameraman, was playing basketball with refugee children, but the lack of physical conditioning was clearly taxing him.

A quick glance around revealed no media personnel.

Naturally. They wanted to capture the trembling anguish and grim despair of the displaced, not this kind of “pressure release” zone.

“Natalie?”

“Natalie! Hey, come over here!”

Natalie was pulled by a child’s hand to a chair beside the court.

“Tell me about Sergeant Io.”

“Why, I told you yesterday—his details are military high-level classified.”

“But I heard! As long as it’s not related to operations, it’s supposed to be fine!”

“Fine, then.”

Natalie spoke it all out.

His usual gestures. His tone. The courage. The seriousness. The weight of responsibility.

But in battle, a complete turn—sarcastic, sharp-edged.

‘Dad says. Dad fought alongside Sergeant Io in Corwe, was saved by him!

‘Be like him,’ he says. Even if Dad dies, become a man who can protect family and comrades in his place. A man who can fight for Sitalskia.’

‘Yes, that’s good.’

But does he even want that?

He once said war is for adults. Not for children.

We shouldn’t make children fight. Where did our duty go?

—Io, your legend drives people into battle.

‘I’m leaving now. Let’s play again sometime.

If you want, I’ll drag you to basketball or anything else.’

—Natalie, I’m already worn to the bone, but—

Natalie tapped Dreace’s shoulder and moved on.

The unmanned vehicle for transport was prepped, but Natalie walked through the camp and Seiva’s position. The destination was never far.

She stopped at various points. Soldiers welcomed her. That was her strength.

They made exceptions even in places ordinary media couldn’t access.

Along the way, she met Paxton Cornini of 3552 and Shortiness Hauser.

They were training with the refugee escort soldiers.

—We have to grow up fast—

Pax ran, did push-ups, ran, squats, ran… whatever.

Driven by something unseen, she pushed herself relentlessly.

Train hard and eat well—grow big, grow strong. This time it’s our turn to protect the ones we care about. We’ll crush that lizard like they crushed us.

Just like Sergeant Io and Corporal Carlyle did for us.

Shorty says it, his voice low, eyes fixed on the ground. No time to dwell on weakness. Not for them.

Rations were scarce, but 3552 received priority allocation. It was favoritism, plain and simple—but they accepted it.

If it’s given, take it. They bring out every ounce of the brazenness forged in escape. Unapologetic.

“His wish was…”

“I know! I know!”

Pax is crying. Hates herself for it—hates that she can do nothing but cry.

“Live!”

The soldiers watching look down.

“But let me choose how I live!”

Performing physical conditioning with a twenty-kilogram weight load. Natalie couldn’t stop her.

The squad members are all pushing through. Even Captain Creeke—she won’t end like this!

We’ll do it again—absolutely, we’ll do it again!

Captain Creeke McGaban.

Natalie moved toward the next destination.

Captain Creeke McGaban was withdrawn. Expected.

In the final moments, her squad had ostracized her. Lied. Betrayed.

How did she feel when she realized Io had stayed behind in Oxanun?

A dedicated guard stood at the entrance of the tent assigned to her.

Nonstop media inquiries. They were here again.

“Still no interview today?”

“How much longer?”

Natalie’s irritation flared. She should have delayed the timeline.

The guards stood firm. They would not let the reporters pass.

Slipping past them, toward the soldier.

"Greg, hello. How's Cooley doing?"

"Miss Natalie, welcome. Standard procedure—authorization, please. I'll log the time as well."

"Captain Creeke is as usual. …Would be a little better if these noisy types would just disappear."

A biometric scan and record are performed with Greg's tool.

"Same as always. But the purpose is a visit, correct?"

"Please observe the rules. No interview-style conversation. Respect Captain Creeke's 'confidentiality obligation.'"

"OK, Greg. As usual."

Straining to keep her face neutral against the noise from behind.

"Again, just him getting special treatment?"

"Didn't you know? That reporter, Fletcher—Sergeant Io's 'this'."

"So that's why he gets VIP access?"

Gregg grimaced, still trying to soothe despite the discomfort.

—Ah, Miss Natalie. My colleagues will teach them manners later.

Rest easy. We’ll make sure they understand exactly how they’re perceived within this camp.

—Gregg, you don’t need to go out of your way like this.

Damn. Should’ve brought earplugs. Natalie regretted it instantly.

—Still, guarding the entrance with soldiers, private tent.

Crewk McGibbon lieutenant’s quite the princess, huh.

—True enough. The tragedy princess. Not just her. Everyone. They’re all—

That’s why I hate this camp. Everyone’s drunk on misery. Pure self-indulgence.

Natalie spun around and charged straight at the reporters.

He was no less physically capable than Io, keeping pace at her back. He could hold his own against the soft-bodied freeloaders who scurried through the safe rear lines of the Allied forces.

Knocking one down, he lunges at the second—

No need to do anything— a towering soldier had already seized its head.

Hey—oi, which unit are you from?

—H-hold on—

Can you see this emblem? Hmm?

Syndicate Assault Team—!

That's right. Operation ID Boomer— we're inviting you into our special studio.

I’ll grant you an interview with the toughest of the elite in the联合军. Consider yourself lucky.

The soldier tilted his helmeted head toward Natalie, shoulders hunched, then dragged the reporters along without pause.

The tent front, moments from chaos, settled into silence.

No one worth staring down exists in the media either.

The Special Forces most supported by the citizens of Sitarshkia are those they themselves are.

——What’s all the commotion about?

The girl steps out from under the tent flap. Gold-colored, expressionless, her skin pale as a princess.

Cruik MacGibbon.

Natalie offers a smile, tentative.

——Natalie, you’re here again.

—Coo, you alright?

—Come in. We’re welcoming you. Michelle’s here too.