"Say shogun!"
"Shogun~."
With a bright flash, the camera clicked. Kaito checked the photo, grinning—until Nobunaga snatched the phone away, his face lighting up with childish glee.
"My family is going to be stoked when they see I took a selfie with a star pilot!"
"Give me my phone back, Nobunaga."
"In a sec~. Just making sure the photo gets sent to me first."
The bet had ended with a narrow victory for Lieutenant Kenji, though he wanted no part of the reward. Somehow, in the aftermath, those two managed to rope me into it—claiming I'd been part of the bet all along. And apparently, by a ridiculous margin, I was the actual winner.
Kaito: 103
Nobunaga: 105
Firefly: 216
My prize? Taking a photo with them. Not exactly a loss, considering how ridiculous they were.
"Take care, Firefly!"
"See you on the ground next time—hopefully!"
With a few last waves and laughs, the two goofballs headed off to assist with the Ishimura's repairs.
Honestly, it felt way better taking pictures knowingly than dealing with the... fans? Spies? Paparazzi? Nicole's word, not mine. They'd sneak around corners just to snap a photo of me, and I still had no idea why. Or what they even did with the pictures afterward.
After Nicole successfully hacked the Freiheit warship's AI, she developed a program to replicate the process. We slotted a copy into the second cruiser's server mind, taking control instantly. Now, both autonomous warships stood like deadly fortress walls, guarding the warp tunnel. Meanwhile, the Ishimura lingered close by, hidden, undergoing internal repairs.
I sat in the hangar beside the ship as it refuelled and resupplied. Unsurprisingly, the Ishimura had no CIF₃ canisters in stock.
Andromeda was one of the few war machines capable of utilizing such a dangerous chemical compound without suffering catastrophic failure if a canister ruptured. Same went for me—thanks to the cockpit's advanced heat shielding, even a direct detonation wouldn't turn me or Andromeda to ash.
Thankfully, they did have a few liquid helium canisters Andromeda could repurpose into sub-zero grenades. Rare, more defensive than offensive, and inefficient to produce—but they'd prove useful on Duradell-VXI I hope.
Still, I couldn't help wishing for proper ranged weaponry. Something like auto-cannons. The back-mounted missiles had their uses, but they were finicky mid-combat. Touchy. Too easy to misfire.
[Pilot, were you thinking about adding auto-cannons to my frame again?] The silver beetle chirped on my belt as I sat atop a stack of crates.
"Yes~."
[We have already discussed how cumbersome they are to carry. My speed and manoeuvrability are diminished by 39% with even one attached to my spine.] As usual, Andromeda's tone left no room for debate. [The ammunition load for high-fire-rate weapons is also extremely burdensome.]
"Can't we at least try—"
[Negative.]
"But what if we—"
[Negative.]
"...Will you ever say yes to anything I suggest?"
[Negative.]
I let out a long, dramatic groan and slumped over. Then, with a deep breath, I straightened up and pointed a finger toward the hangars ceiling "One of these days, I'll find an auto-cannon that makes you say yes."
"Haven't you been saying that for two months now?"
Nicole's voice carried across the hangar. She was walking toward me, Jason following a few steps behind.
"My persistence will wear Andromeda down," I declared, hopping off the crates. "So—what's the play now?"
Jason answered first, crisp and matter-of-fact as always. "We head to Duradel-VXI. Sneak past the orbital defences using Nicole's passkeys. Kill our final target. Then proceed to Palace-World for your ordainment and promotion as a Constellation Knight. Afterward, return to base before anyone can rope us into the celebration."
Nicole snorted. "Said like a true emo introvert." She nudged him. "Haven't you ever considered going to a party?"
"No," Jason replied flatly. "And even if I did, I wouldn't know where to go."
"That's 'cause you have no friends outside of me, Firefly, and maybe Dan... I think. Are you friends with Dan?" Nicole asked, echoing my own curiosity.
Back at the compound, I could never tell if Jason and Dan ended up in the same rooms by coincidence, or if they intentionally hung out—in total, mutual silence.
Jason refused to answer. Instead, he shoved Nicole's face aside and walked up the ramp into the ship. "I'll leave without you if you don't board in the next thirty seconds."
We followed without protest.
Inside, we took our seats. Jason powered up the ship, lifted us from the hangar, and surged into the void of space. After a final course confirmation, he engaged the slipstream drive—and the ship vanished into a streak of light.
For a few eager minutes, we flew through the fractured glow of slip space. Then Jason began pulling back on the throttle. The starlit tunnel around us unravelled, and slowly, we phased back into real space—emerging behind Duradell-VXI's moon, nestled deep within its asteroid belt.
And as we curved around its edge—we saw it.
The destruction.
"Whoa," Nicole breathed.
The captain of the Ishimura had warned us about the scale of this battle just four hours ago. But seeing it with our own eyes was something else entirely.
Explosions riddled the planet's atmosphere and burned along its orbit. Dozens of warships clashed in zero-g, filling the void with gunfire and shredded hulls. Amidst the chaos, the two Noblesse Oblige legions' largest warships held the line—defending a single surviving Knight Station, the one belonging to the Vibrio Hawk battalion's cruiser.
The battle for Duradell-VXI was already in full swing.
Each warship bore distinct markings beside the Nymphas Empire's orange flag—a knight's helmet, surrounded by white dots and crossed by twin swords.
The Sakainta noble army carried a pink chrysanthemum tree on their hulls. The Illeniast bore a golden shield streaked with black, shaped to resemble a Spartan helmet.
Opposing them, dozens of Freiheit cruisers—painted deep green and navy blue—scrambled to shield the burning planet from relentless bombardment.
Jason eased the spaceship to a stop, letting it drift among the asteroids. He turned from the pilot's seat, analysing the chaos through the viewport. "From what I'm seeing, there's a chance the target might already be dead. The planetary bombardment is hell—it's covering everything."
"If they were dead, the data stamp on the false intel would've vanished along with their life—or spark, or whatever a robot calls a heartbeat—just like the sixteen before it." Nicole checked her tracker and groaned. "They're down there. And still kicking. Somehow."
Jason exhaled sharply, pushing himself up from his seat and bracing his hands against the control desk. "It's just one Empress-damned problem after another." He stared at the display, running scenarios in his head before glancing at the speakers. "Andromeda, what are our chances of survival if we risk going down there?"
[3.24% if all of Fireteam Thermite descends.] Andromeda's voice resonated through the ship's internal speakers. [If it is just Pilot Firefly, the results vary between 70.1% and 88.62%. There is a high likelihood the two of you will be mutilated by indirect orbital bombardments. While my armour can withstand such conditions on behalf of the Pilot, you two cannot.]
"...Didn't need the last part, but thanks." Nicole made a sickened face before muttering, "Andy can use the insurgent passkeys to go unnoticed by the drones, but the real issue starts once he lands on Duradel's surface. It'll be way harder for Jason or me to track the data stamp from up here. Best I can do is narrow it down to a million square miles." She paused. "Could be underground, too."
[I cannot perform the tracking myself, as the data stamp is invisible to digital recognition. Pilot Firefly also lacks the technical knowledge to do so manually.] Andromeda pointed out. [Is it possible for you to rig a device capable of formatting a compass toward the data stamp, Corporal Nicole?]
Nicole bit her lip, thinking. "Maybe? But I don't have the tools on the ship to start. We could go back to the Ishimura and scrap parts from the Freiheit warships, but by the time we return, the passkeys will be useless—the robots' hive AI will have already rotated their security protocols."
"Can't we use your D.S.I. for it?" I asked.
"Absolutely not!" Nicole snapped, recoiling like I'd suggested detonating the ship. "That's my gaming buddy! It's packed full of adaptive hacking protocols and assistant AIs—and more importantly, it has all my progress on my games! It'd take me forever to remake it!"
"Okay." I backed away quickly.
Jason ran a hand down his face. "We can't go to our allies—if the Freiheit bots see my ship entering, anything that leaves the fleet will be flagged, and the passkeys will be compromised." He counted off each issue on his fingers before letting out a low, muffled groan into his palms. Then, flatly, he concluded, "You're just going to risk it, Firefly."
I exhaled, scanning the war-torn planet below. No real counterargument. "Will you two be able to narrow down the data stamp's location from outside the planet?"
"Should be, but we'll need better instruments than this rust bucket has." Nicole scowled, kicking the ship's bulkhead. "I need at least a warship's satellite if we can't get onto the Knight Battalion's cruiser."
"Andy and I don't know anyone from Vibrio Hawk to send an encoded message to, but if you give them his serial number, they should be able to verify we're in the same squad and let you onto the Knight's Terminus. We got our military signal IDs renewed while we were on the Ishimura, so approach shouldn't be a problem—as long as you avoid jet-drones and enemy knights along the way."
Jason nodded. "Then we have a plan. Firefly will exit here and make the descent to Duradel's surface alone. Meanwhile, Nicole and I will try to enter the Vibrio Hawk battalion's cruiser and use their long-distance scanners to pinpoint the target's location. That may take a couple of hours." He glanced at me. "Sound good?"
[Affirmative.] Andromeda answered, while I gave a small nod. [My serial code is ready for transmission via the ship's terminal, Sergeant Osthez. We will await good news on the ground.]
Leaving the cockpit, I entered the cargo hold, locking the door behind me. The familiar routine kicked in as I adjusted my combat suit for spatial endurance—mainly, just slotting my combat gloves into place. They automatically socketed into my sleeves beneath my leather jacket, sealing into the suit's fabric with a faint hiss.
The ramp opened slowly, hissing as the air in the cargo hold rushed out into the vacuum of space. As soon as the opening was wide enough, I let myself drift free, weightless for a split second before Andromeda manifested around me in a flash of silver light. The instant his armour locked into place, his thrusters ignited, and we shot forward, a streak of burning propulsion against the endless black.
Ahead, the warzone stretched across the planet like an open wound—explosions of red fire, black brimstone, and plumes of pink smoke coiling into the darkness.
"Radio check," Jason's voice crackled through the comms.
"Radio is good," I responded, making a minor adjustment to the dial.
"Nicole sent Andromeda the target's general area, Firefly. We'll try to narrow it down as best we can. You're masked by the enemy's signal-ID, so the orbital guns won't be a problem on the way in—but getting out is another story. The passkey expires in seventeen minutes. If you don't disable an orbital cannon line before then, you'll be vaporized before you can hit the upper atmosphere."
"We'll figure something out. I'm approaching the conflict's edge. Going radio silent—I'll blend in until touchdown."
"Copy. Good luck."
Jason cut the transmission. I pressed a few buttons, shutting off all outbound signals from Andromeda except for the stolen Freiheit signal-ID. From this point on, I was just another faceless insurgent unit in the middle of the chaos.
Du-du!
A flashing alert. I glanced to the side.
Flying in formation next to Andromeda, a jet-drone hovered perilously close, scanning. A tense moment stretched—then it abruptly peeled off, convinced by the false signal.
[Infiltration into the enemy fleet is successful, Pilot.] Andromeda's voice was calm as we skimmed beneath a formation of green-blue Freiheit warships, approaching the massive white flagship at the heart of their forces. [I have masked us as a malfunctioning unit. There should be no issues.]
'Yeah. Because things always go that easy.' I held back a groan, keeping my eyes locked on the alert sensors.
A massive explosion tore through the void. A wall of flame and wreckage blinded me for a moment as a Freiheit warship split apart from the inside, detonated by some unseen force.
"Andy, what was that?"
Before he could answer, a metal rod shot toward me at lethal speed. I twisted Andromeda into a barrel roll, dodging just as another wave of knights and jets burst from the smoke, speeding toward the Freiheit fleet in a full-frontal assault.
[It's a heavy push by allied forces! Hurry, Pilot, or you'll be caught in the crossfire!]
Andromeda's thrusters flared hot, and we tore forward, weaving between the Freiheit drones and enemy knights as they launched from the warships in the dozens.
The battle erupted into full madness around me.
In the depths of space, knights clashed in chaotic melees—swords, axes, and spears cleaving through steel bodies as gunfire and missiles shredded those too slow to react. Jet-drones rammed into Nymphas knights in suicide waves, weakening their armour with brute force before the final drone delivered a kill shot straight through the cockpit, splitting both machine and pilot in half.
Screams filled the open frequencies.
"Die, machine!"
"I need backup! I need—agghh!"
"I don't want to die! I'm going to li—"
Then—static.
The sheer horror of it—knights torn apart in real-time, the cold efficiency of the drones ripping them limb from limb—was something I couldn't just ignore.
I wanted to help.
I wanted to do something.
But if I stopped, I'd never make it to the surface.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry!"
Shoving the guilt down, I pushed Andromeda harder, breaking free from the carnage. The planet loomed ahead, its burning surface stretching toward the horizon, promising nothing but war.
Then—movement.
A flash of steel.
Before I could react, a blade came swinging straight into Andromeda's path. I barely managed to bring up his arms in time, catching the impact before it could carve through his chest.
My attacker didn't hesitate.
With a brutal grip, they seized Andromeda by the throat, forcing the scythe's blade closer with sheer strength.
A distorted voice crackled through my comms. "Where are you running off to in such a hurry?"
[Pilot—! The attacker is a Constellation Knight!] Andromeda's voice tightened. My HUD flickered, flashing the enemy's serial code:
CK-37, Codename: Boötes. The Reaper Knight.
The tattered, battle-worn mech loomed before me, its ragged cloak billowing in the void. Its frame—a silhouette barely visible in the voids darkness shown only by the fiery explosions—they then tightened their grip on the scythe, forcing it against Andromeda's armour.
A Constellation Knight.
The plan was screwed.