CHAPTER 1 A BATTLEFIELD WITH ZERO CASUALTIES

There were no casualties on that battlefield.

“—And now, we have an update regarding the war.

“A group of the unmanned Imperial weapons known as the Legion have

invaded the seventeenth ward today. The force was intercepted, severely

crippled, and forced to retreat by the might of our unmanned drones, the

Juggernauts, pride and joy of the Republic of San Magnolia. Damage to

equipment was light, and no loss of life was reported on our side today yet

again.”

The main street of the Republic of San Magnolia’s capital, Liberté et

Égalité, was so peaceful and beautiful one would be hard pressed to believe

the country had been at war for the past nine years.

Carved white marble graced the facades of the city’s high-rise buildings.

The greenery of the roadside trees and the black cast-iron lampposts mingled

to create a picturesque contrast with the spring sunlight and the clear blue

sky. The cafés on the street corners were populated by students and couples,

their naturally silver hair glittering as they laughed loudly.

The city hall’s blue roof was adorned with a flag bearing the visage of the

saint of the revolution, Saint Magnolia, and the Republic’s five-colored

national flag. Its five colors stood for freedom, equality, brotherhood, justice,

and nobility. The main street was paved with vast, delicately carved stones,

the result of meticulous urban planning.

A young boy passed by Lena, his silver hair shining like the moon as he

laughed, holding his parents’ hands. Dressed so neatly, they were probably

going out somewhere. Sparing a final glance at the backs of the happy family,

she turned her silver eyes to the street-side television’s holo-screen, the smile

fading from her lips.

She was clad in the Republic military’s dark-blue collared uniform for

female officers. The sixteen-year-old girl had a snow-white beauty and a

certain glasswork delicacy that fit her age—and an elegant demeanor that

reflected her upbringing and pedigree. Her softly flowing, silken hair and

long eyelashes were a striking silver, and her large, equally silver eyes served

as proof of her being not only an Alba, a descendant of the race native to this

land since ages past, but also a pureblood Celena, who were considered to be

of noble birth.

“Under the capable command of our skilled Handlers, these highly

efficient drones allow us to defend the nation while eliminating the need to

dispatch precious lives to the front lines. There can be no doubting the

usefulness of the Republic’s humane and advanced combat system. The day

when the Republic’s righteous ways defeat the fallen Empire’s evil relics will

surely come even before the entire Legion shuts down in two years’ time.

Hail the Republic of Magnolia. Glory to the five-hued flag.”

Lena’s expression darkened at the sight of the snowy-haired, silver-eyed

alabaster newscaster’s brilliant smile. This optimistic, or rather unrealistic,

news report had been repeated countless times since the war began, and the

majority of civilians didn’t doubt its authenticity. They believed it in spite of

the fact that after being driven out of more than half its territory less than a

month into the war, the Republic had failed to regain any of it in nine years of

fighting.

And all it took was one cursory look around this picturesque main street to

notice a certain fact. It was evident in the newscaster, the couples and

students in the café, the people passing by, and of course, even Lena herself.

The Republic prided itself on being the first modern democracy in the world

and proactively welcomed immigrants from other countries. The Republic

had been the native land of the Alba since ages past, while other countries

were home to people of different colors. All people of color, Colorata, were

welcomed equally, be they the dark-as-night Aquila; the golden Aurata, who

shone like the sun; the Rubela with their brilliant crimson hair; or the blue-

eyed Caerulea.

But right now, if one was to scour the capital’s main street—no, even the

city in its entirety—all one would find in the Republic’s eighty-five administrative Sectors would be silver-haired, silver-eyed Alba.

Yes, formally speaking, there were no soldiers considered human or

counted among the dead on the battlefield. However…

“…That’s not to say no one died.”

One corner of Palace Blancneige, once home to the royal court in days

past, now served as the military’s luxurious headquarters. This palace, and

the fortification wall that encircled the administrative Sector, the Gran Mule,

was Lena’s destination and the center of command for the entirety of the

Republic’s military.

There were no soldiers outside the Gran Mule, on the front lines one

hundred kilometers away from the fortress walls. Only drones—Juggernauts

—fought on the battlefield, and they were commanded from control rooms in

the military’s headquarters. Their line of defense, which consisted of over

one hundred thousand Juggernauts, with antipersonnel, anti-tank minefields

at their back and a surface-to-surface interception artillery cannon, had never

been breached. And of course, the forces stationed at the Gran Mule had

never seen live combat. Other professions in the military included

communications, transport, analysis, tactical planning, and assorted

bureaucracy. In other words, not a single soldier in the Republic military had

ever known true combat.

Lena frowned, catching the conspicuous stench of alcohol coming from a

group of officers that passed her by. They had probably used the control

room’s large screen to watch sports or something again. As she aimed a

reproachful look at them, her gaze was met with sneering eyes.

“Gentlemen, it looks like our little doll-loving princess has something to

say.”

“Whoa, scary, scary. She’s better off shutting herself in her room and

playing with her precious drones.”

She wheeled around to look at them, unable to contain her irritation.

“Listen, you—”

“Morning, Lena.”

A voice called out to her from her side, and she turned to find Annette,

who had joined the army the same year she had, greeting her. She was a

technical lieutenant affiliated with the lab division and a friend of Lena’s

since secondary school. As they had both skipped a grade, she was currently

Lena’s only friend who was the same age.

“…Good morning, Annette. You’re certainly here early. Don’t you

usually oversleep?”

“I’m on my way back from work. Pulled an all-nighter yesterday… Please

don’t lump me together with those idiots, okay? You know I’m a workaholic.

An issue that could only be resolved by certified genius Technical Lieutenant

Henrietta Penrose popped up.”

Annette gave a long, catlike yawn. Her short hair was an Alba’s silver,

and her large, hanging eyes were a similar silvery hue. Annette shrugged,

sparing a glance in the direction of the group of drunkards that had retreated

during the pair’s exchange, as if to say that trying to discipline idiots like

them was a waste of time. Lena blushed, realizing from the look in her

friend’s elegant eyes that she was trying to stop her from doing just that.

“Oh, right. The alert on your information terminal was on. You should

probably take care of that.”

“Oh no… Sorry. Thanks, Annette.”

“Don’t mention it. Just try to not get too caught up with the drones,

okay?”

Lena turned on her heel, a frown on her face, and after shaking her head

once, made her way to her designated command room.

The command room was small, half filled by an artificial, mechanical

command console, and was an otherwise dark, chilly, and cold space. The

silvery walls and floor were dimly lit by the console’s standby-mode

hologram.

Taking a seat on the armchair, Lena shifted her argent locks aside and

placed a resplendent metal ring—the RAID Device—around her neck with a

cold, dignified gaze. Now that the battlefronts were far beyond the walls of

the Gran Mule, this cramped room was the sole battlefield one could find in

the Republic’s eighty-five Sectors.

“Commence authentication. Major Vladilena Milizé, commanding control

officer for the eastern front’s ninth ward, third defensive squadron.”

Having completed its retinal and voice authentication, the control system

turned on. Holographic screens flickered on one after another, displaying a

dizzying amount of information from countless pieces of observation

equipment set across the distant battlefield. The main screen was a digital

map that displayed the Republic’s and the enemy’s mobile weapons as blips.

The friendly units—in other words, the Juggernauts—were displayed as blue blips, numbering seventy. The third squadron, which was under Lena’s

command, had twenty-four units, while the second and fourth squadron had

twenty-three each. The red blips that symbolized the enemy units, the Legion,

were far too many to count.

“Activate Para-RAID. Set Resonance target, information-processing unit

Pleiades.”

The blue-crystal portion of the RAID Device, which was set against the

nape of Lena’s neck, suddenly prickled with heat. It wasn’t actual, physical

heat but an illusory heat felt by her nerve cells as they were stimulated by the

Sensory Resonance. The activated pseudo-nerve-cell crystal served as an

information-processing unit and stimulated a certain part of the brain.

Perhaps that part held potential to be unlocked by humanity’s evolution, or

perhaps it was an unused section, left behind and forgotten by humankind as

it evolved ages ago. Whatever the case, using it unlocked a deep, nigh-

vestigial function of the brain known as the Night Head.

Lena passed through a “path,” diving into a place far deeper than her

consciousness and even her subconscious. The “collective unconscious” of

humankind, shared by every member of the human race. Lena linked her

consciousness with the third squadron’s captain, the Processor operating

Personal Name unit Pleiades via the sea of the unconscious. Pleiades’s and

Lena’s sensory information was linked and shared.

“Handler One to Pleiades—Resonance complete. I look forward to

working with you today,” she said gently, and the “voice” of a young man,

presumably a year or two older than she was, replied.

“Pleiades to Handler One. Resonance is loud and clear.”

The voice was laced with irony. Lena was all alone in the command room,

so it wasn’t the someone else with her. It was the voice of Pleiades’s

Processor, being transmitted to her through their now-shared sense of

hearing.

A voice.

Having been built in a hurry during wartime, Juggernauts weren’t

constructed to be able to communicate orally, and they weren’t programmed

to have advanced cognitive abilities that would allow them to think or feel.

The Para-RAID—Sensory Resonance—linked consciousness via the human

collective unconscious; the defense lines’ minefield, despite the enemy using

armored units, was set with antipersonnel mines.

The secret behind the front lines where drones fought one another, the

battlefield with zero casualties.

“Your polite greetings to us subhuman Eighty-Six are much appreciated,

Alba.”

Eighty-Six. As the continent was being swept over by the Legion, the last

remaining paradise for the Republic’s citizens was the eighty-five Sectors.

The Eighty-Sixth Sector was designated a no-man’s-land, populated by pigs

in human form. Despite being born civilians of the Republic, they were

decreed to be subhuman, inferior life-forms by the Republic. It was a

derogatory name for those Colorata cast outside the Gran Mule to live in

internment camps on the front lines.

Nine years earlier, year 358 of the Republic calendar, year 2136 of the global

calendar.

The Republic’s eastern neighbor and superpower of the northern

continent, the Empire of Giad, declared war on all its neighboring countries

and began attacking with an army of the world’s first completely autonomous

unmanned combat drone, Legion.

Faced with the Empire’s overwhelming military strength, the Republic

Armed Forces were decimated within half a month. As what was left of the army gathered its remaining forces to stall the invasion via hopeless delay

tactics, the Republic’s government made two decisions.

The first was the evacuation of all the Republic’s citizens to the eighty-

fifth administrative Sector. The second was Presidential Order #6609. The

Special Wartime Peace Preservation Act. This law acknowledged all persons

of Colorata descent within the borders of the Republic as inimical characters

and supporters of the Empire and allowed the stripping of their civilian rights.

They were designated as targets of monitoring and isolated in internment

camps outside the eighty-five Sectors.

This act was, of course, in violation of the Republic’s constitution and the

spirit of the five-hued flag. The law also did not include Alba, who formerly

lived in the Empire. Neither did it spare Colorata who were not originally

from the Empire. It was a policy of blatant racism and discrimination.

The Colorata were opposed to the law, of course, but their opposition was

silenced by violence at the hands of the government. Some Alba, however

few, also cried out against the law, but the majority accepted it. The eighty-

five Sectors were far too small to accommodate the sheer number of civilians,

and there was nowhere near enough food, land, or labor for everyone. False

rumors were spread that the Republic’s defeat in the war came as a result of

the Colorata’s spying. Those rumors were far easier for the civilians to accept

than coming to terms with their country’s technological inferiority.

But more than anything, in a situation where they were surrounded and

isolated by enemies, they needed something, someone, to take their

frustrations out on. This justification by way of eugenics spread quickly

among the populace. The Alba, who founded the country that stood as the

foremost advocate of democracy—the greatest, most humane of all forms of

government—were the superior race. By contrast, the Colorata, with their

outdated, cruel, and inhumane imperialism, were an inferior species—

barbaric and foolish subhumans, pigs in human form and the result of an

evolutionary blunder.

Thus, all Colorata in the Republic were banished to internment camps

where they were forced into labor and conscripted for the sake of

constructing the Gran Mule. Their properties and belongings were

requisitioned by the government to fund the construction of the wall and the

war effort, and the Alba civilians who were spared from conscription, labor,

and wartime taxes all praised the government’s humane methodology.

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