"Sir, we've rescued all the wounded soldiers," the adjutant reported, his voice heavy as he delivered the casualty report. "However, three squads could not be saved. They were right at the blast's center—they didn't stand a chance."
Inside the military compound, the colonel's face turned thoroughly grim. He had never anticipated an anomaly of this magnitude.
What was supposed to be a simple mission to root out Taran rebels contacting local nobles—an easy achievement to pad his military record—had spiraled into an absolute disaster.
Seeing the colonel's darkening expression, the adjutant hesitated, holding back the rest of his report.
"Go on," the colonel sighed, rubbing his temples. "I can handle bad news."
"Though the Dublinn forces vanished shortly after the explosion, they slaughtered our guards across multiple sectors during their retreat," the adjutant continued cautiously. "Every district sustained losses, but the Taran residential district has gone completely silent. We haven't received a single transmission from our troops stationed there..."
He trailed off, but the colonel already knew what the silence meant. Total loss of communication meant every last soldier in that sector was dead.
"So, our enemies have finally made their move. This is getting far more interesting than I expected..." The colonel offered a cold, mirthless smile, turning to gaze out the window at the distant, shimmering city lights. He fell silent for a long moment.
The adjutant remained quiet, wisely keeping his thoughts to himself.
Suddenly, the colonel slammed his fist onto the heavy oak desk, turning back to the window with teeth grit in pure rage.
"Those filthy Tarans... How dare they murder so many of my men?!" he spat.
The slaughter of their comrades had erased whatever restraint his soldiers had left, fanning their hatred for the Tarans into an uncompromising, lethal fire.
"Tell the munitions factory to double their pace!" the colonel growled. "My patience with these Tarans has run out, and I know the men feel the same way. It's time to teach them a lesson: if they choose to live on Victorian soil, they will obey Victorian laws, not cling to idle dreams!"
The adjutant's lips twitched into a subtle, hidden smile. Bowing respectfully, he murmured, "Understood, sir," and backed out of the office.
"Tarans, oh Tarans..." The colonel chuckled darkly to himself. "Why must you all be so foolish?" He seemed almost eager for the tragedy about to unfold.
A few minutes later, the adjutant burst back into the room, looking thoroughly flustered.
"Sir! The Tempest Storm commando captain is back! She's demanding to—"
"I won't see her," the colonel cut him off, waving a dismissive hand. "Tell her I'm indisposed."
Just thinking about that stubborn woman gave him a headache. Did she have a steel bar in her skull where her brain was supposed to be? Why couldn't she just drop it?
"Sir... she brought heavy ordnance with her," the adjutant stammered. "She said if you don't meet her right now, she's going to breach the compound!"
The colonel's headache flared violently.
"Let her in," he growled, realizing he couldn't brush her off this time.
Outside, Horn stood before the heavily fortified compound, taking a deep, steadying breath. She knew the garrison troops wouldn't open fire on a fellow Victorian officer without an explicit order, but walking into a lion's den alone still made her tense.
Though she had made light of the risk to Bagpipe, the sight of scores of armed guards watching her every move made her tighten her grip on her shield-cannon.
The adjutant stepped out, giving a sharp nod to the guards before gesturing for Horn to follow him inside.
"It certainly isn't easy getting an audience with you," Horn said coldly as she entered the office, staring down the colonel. "Arranging a meeting with my superiors in Londinium is far less of a headache!"
"Every district has its own procedures," the colonel replied coolly, his voice rising in an authoritative challenge that matched her tone. "Though I must ask—is threatening your fellow officers with high-explosive weaponry standard protocol for Londinium's elite troops?"
"If you followed the law, I wouldn't need to brandish weapons," Horn countered sharply. "Can you say the same for your secret activities here? Are you willing to make them public?"
Without waiting for his response, Horn laid out her accusations like a hammer strike: "Stealing Originium products to construct dirty bombs for civilian targets, ambushing Tempest Commando scouts, fabricating reports, slaughtering innocent civilians, and murdering Victorian soldiers... Any single one of these crimes is enough to see you hanged at the Londinium gallows!"
The colonel fell silent. Then, a slow, amused smile spread across his face, and he began to applaud.
"An impressive imagination, Captain," he chuckled softly. "But surely you know that baseless wild accusations are nothing more than slander?"
So what if he had done those things? Without concrete physical evidence, her claims were worthless. No court in Victoria would ever convict a commanding colonel on mere suspicion!
"I wouldn't make these claims if I didn't already have the evidence to back them up, Colonel!" Horn stood her ground, her gaze unyielding.
"Believe whatever you like," the colonel sneered, unbothered. He knew her military background was too prominent for him to simply execute her quietly. "However, since you know so much, you'll be staying here as my guest for the time being. I can assure you my men won't harm your subordinate while you're here. How does that sound?"
It was a blatant threat, but one Horn had already anticipated.
She feigned reluctance, staring him down for a long, tense moment before letting out a defeated sigh. "I require a private room and a long-range comms unit connected to Londinium. I need to file a formal situation report."
Her tone left no room for compromise, but the colonel didn't care about a simple communication line.
"Granted," he smiled triumphantly. "Though I should remind you—there's a reason your previous reports were ignored."
Horn turned on her heel without another word, walking out under the escort of armed guards.
Fool. I figured that out long ago, Horn thought bitterly to herself. She had considered warning him about his adjutant's suspicious behavior, but she knew it would be useless. A man consumed by his own arrogance would never listen to advice from a prisoner.
She shot a brief glance at the adjutant walking beside her, her intense gaze making the man visibly uncomfortable.
Once inside her room, Horn immediately activated the terminal to send her report to Londinium—though her message contained far more than just military updates.
Time ticked away.
Bagpipe waited at the abandoned storehouse until midnight, but Horn never returned. Realizing her captain had likely been placed under house arrest, an overwhelming urge to charge the garrison compound swept over her. But she forced herself to stand down. A reckless assault would only endanger them both.
With a heavy heart, she decided to lie low in the city for the night and meet up with Jeanne and Talulah the next morning to figure out a plan.
As she walked down a dark street toward a familiar fried-chips stand, the sound of a woman sobbing caught her ear, accompanied by a chorus of harsh, hostile voices.
Curious, Bagpipe crept closer, peering around a stone corner.
A crowd of angry locals had surrounded a crying woman, shouting accusations at her. And the uniforms on those agitators... belonged to Dublinn!
Bagpipe's eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her breaching spear. She edged closer through the shadows, listening intently to hear what the mob was up to.