Day 22 of Arach Symannon, Year 175 A.T.M / June 17, 1617 Central Calendar; 01:00 Local Time

  HME Operation WHEELHOUSE Task Force (Heretic Fleet) / Righteous Salvation Army

  By manipulating their anti-gravity levitators, the three intruding mobile suits descended upon the silenced airbase and landed with surprisingly little impact on the tarmac. Immediately, Hugin’s mono-eye sensor flicked across the place with its menacing crimson glow, scanning for active threats. But he found that nothing else moved.

  “…Raven 2, Raven 3, secure the perimeter. Disable anything that looks like it can shoot back,” the eldest Raven ordered.

  “On it.”

  As he replied, Munin’s Geara Doga strode toward the nearest target with deceptive speed.

  The base’s defenses were still offline due to the crews that were supposed to man them were still incapacitated by the earlier jammer suite’s burst. Anti-aircraft guns and surface-to-air missile batteries sat dormant, their barrels and launchers idle. The Magias thus made quick work of them—not with magical energy weapons or explosives, but with brute mechanical force. A massive armored foot crushed a 130 mm air defense gun flat, while Synin tore a SAM launcher from its mounting and crumpled it like tin foil.

  Very crude, but this golem-like method of eliminating targets would at least make Zarathostra of the Messiah believe that his resource farm (Empire) was under attack out of nowhere by abnormal golems, the signature weapons of the long-defunct Righteous Salvation Army.

  “This feels like vandalism,” Synin quipped as she ripped apart another empty emplacement, slammed it to the ground once, and threw it.

  “Think of it as aggressive pacifism,” Hugin drawled, casually sneaking a peek through the control tower’s windows as he passed by.

  The enemy soldiers lay strewn across the small airbase unconscious, visible as stationary magical signatures on the sensor.

  “Can’t kill you without prompt and utter destruction upon our Creator, huh?” the eldest Raven sibling muttered bitterly. “Don’t worry, we’re creative lot.”

  These soldiers were vanguards of the Ancient Sorcerous Empire, whom their Creator was already wary of their machinations even since the Second Timeline, back when he was just a student at that timeline’s Runepolis Magic Academy.

  It was often said that the opposite of love is neither hatred nor contempt, but indifference.

  Such was the Annonrial Empire.

  A shining example of this world’s banality of evil, where people both intelligent and retarded viewed every sentient species besides Winged People as nothing more than insects on a trash heap. No blaring propaganda on the streets was even needed to enforce this belief; it was simply the norm. It was really annoying to Hugin that the Annonrial Empire wasn’t some cartoonishly monstrous regime. It would have been easier to fight if it were, but noooo! They have to look so ordinary that their society literally functions in every other way just like any other nation.

  These enemy soldiers were the cogs of a genocidal war machine, one that would soon march under the Messiah’s banner. Though they would later suffer a crippling defeat at the hands of the summoned nations, that victory merely traded one exterminator for another. Now, in a world that does not need those summonings, Annonrial could not be allowed to retain its power to slaughter without consequence—nor could it be permitted to resurrect its Light-Winged masters.

  Humans are fallible, and perhaps this isn’t even the optimal approach. There will be someone out there who will sneer and say “Just do this,” or “Just do that” like it’s as simple as flipping a palm. Some might even call this psychopathic insanity. But in any case, the Annonrial Empire has to be defanged, one way or another.

  Thus, Operation WHEELHOUSE was born.

  Once Meteos Roguerider successfully established communication with the Order of the Ancients, he relayed the threat posed by Annonrial. From that point, the strategic blueprint for the mission gradually took shape, culminating in the final plan—dubbed the “Siege of Annonrial”—which was personally presented to the Emperor by Magister Sorath the Illuminator and received formal approval several months prior. Officially, the mission aimed to support rebellious factions within enemy lines; however, the Messiah’s counter-insurgency efforts had likely already eradicated those elements. In truth, the operation was founded on a falsehood, but as a well-known principle of propaganda goes, “repeat a lie often enough and it becomes the truth.”

  And so, the most elaborate false flag operation in the Holy Empire’s modern history was launched in silence.

  But it was a strange contradiction—these towering weapons of destruction, designed for carnage, now meticulously holding back. But that was the order. The Magias were expendable, yet no single enemy life could be taken—not even a bruise, if it could be helped. Should they fail, Legiel—no, Pestilence—would deliver a disproportionate retribution for murdering these would-be genociders ahead of schedule. Taking out the realism and coherence, he said. Mockingly.

  That despicable bastard.

  He despised his edgelord Audience himself, yet pandered to their craving with sadistic glee. And now, the spearheads of Amon had to dance on the edge of impossibility: proving magic’s oldest premise of bending the unthinkable into reality.

  As the last defensive emplacement crumbled into useless wreckage, Hugin opened a channel to the Heretic Fleet’s flagship.

  “Raven 1 to Nemesis, area secured.”

  “Understood. Dropships inbound with the retrieval team. ETA three minutes. Keep the area clear.”

  “Copy that.”

  Threats down. Now, the wait. The three vanguard Geara Dogas stood sentinel over the silent airbase.

  To the average observer, it seemed a miracle that such colossal machines could even move, much less maneuver with agility and precision. But these pedanium manned golems were not bound by the limitations that plague the very concept of giant robots.

  Usually, they would face enormous challenges. Standing ten meters tall and weighing 40-50 tons, a humanoid war machine like the Imperializer or Geara Doga would be a logistical and mechanical nightmare. Bipedal locomotion is inherently unstable at that scale, with every step will generate enough force to shake the frame apart. The strain on joints from uneven terrain or sudden shifts in balance would cause catastrophic failures in most models.

  Mobility is another hurdle. Armored vehicles use treads and wheels to distribute weight efficiently. A humanoid robot must contend with balance, torque distribution, and maintaining energy efficiency while standing, walking, or running—all of which compound dramatically with scale. And don’t forget ground pressure: a ten-meter mech walking on two feet would sink into soft ground without massive engineering compensation.

  Then there’s the problem of power. Existing power supplies, whether internal combustion, batteries, or fuel cells, lack the necessary output-to-weight ratio to keep such machines running for more than a few minutes under combat strain—especially if equipped with energy weapons, jump jets, or advanced sensor suites. In other words, just for this operation, the Holy Milishial Empire had just casually churned out machines at least twice as costly as a Pal Chimera!

  The solution for all the above problems? Technology, pedanium, pedanium, pedanium, and more pedanium.

  Yes, these Cauldron productions were definitely not ordinary equipment that was plagued by such problems. Their advanced magical technology brilliantly sidesteps them, otherwise it would be a massive skill issue on Meteos Roguerider’s part.

  …………

  The dropships arrived precisely on schedule, escorted by another trio of Geara Dogas. Hanging in the air above the site, their cargo bays opened, releasing a swarm of human-sized drones of the retrieval team. Much smaller than the towering mobile suits, the drones spread out across the facility without hesitation, their optical sensors scanning the unconscious enemy personnel.

  Through their shared vision, Hugin observed as a drone crouched beside an unconscious soldier, pressing a needle-thin injector to their neck and delivering a sedative before hoisting the limp form into a stasis pod. Nearby, another drone forced open a storage locker, its dexterous fingers sorting through files, datapoint-like objects, and scattered equipment. Every item of value such as blueprints, manifests, communication logs, and even weapons was swiftly seized, tagged, and filed away. The scene played out like a colony of mechanical scavengers stripping a corpse clean.

  “Efficient little things,” Synin remarked over the comms as her machine kept watch.

  “Retrieval complete. Commencing withdrawal.”

  After the drones signaled completion and they ascended back into the waiting dropships, vanishing as swiftly as they came, Nemesis’ voice crackled through Raven Team’s comms.

  “All retrieval objectives secured. Raven Team, you are cleared for phase two.”

  A slow grin spread across Hugin’s face—or at least, it would have, if he’d been in human form.

  “Understood. Raven Team, weapons free. Let’s give the Winged People something to panic about.”

  The three Geara Dogas raised their beam machine guns in unison, the weapons humming as they charged. Hugin fired first, a searing pink beam spearing through the control tower, cutting through the reinforced concrete and steel as if they were nothing. The structure groaned, then crumbled in a shower of sparks and debris.

  Munin and Synin followed suit, their weapons raking across hangars, fuel depots, and parked aircraft. Explosions blossomed in the darkness, flames licking at the sky as the base’s infrastructure was systematically reduced to ruin. The ground trembled under the barrage, the night air filling with the roar of collapsing buildings and secondary detonations.

  “Think that’s enough noise?” Synin asked, watching as a fuel tank erupted in a towering fireball.

  Hugin chuckled. “That depends on our hosts.”

  From here on, the Annonrial Empire’s readiness would be measured by how swiftly they reacted to the unexplained silence of their military outposts.

  The Annonrial Empire had concentrated its defenses on the north, guarding against threats from the known world and the western Branchel Continent, where the Imperial Capital stood. This left the southern Illemese Continent a soft underbelly. Thus, their complacency cost them when the “Righteous Salvation Army” slipped in undetected after disabling a lone radar station standing in their way.

  Now, the remote airbase, situated in the remote southeastern reaches of the Annonrial Empire’s eastern continent, was a blazing pyre against the night. The flames cast long flickering shadows, painting the Geara Dogas in stark relief as their frames were silhouetted against the inferno like vengeful cyclopean specters.

  ?????

  01:47 Local Time

  Southern Illemese Air Defense Command Center

  The first sign of trouble was the silence.

  The 229th Detection Station, a lone radar outpost situated at the tip of a mountainous southeastern peninsula, overlooking the ocean facing the direction of nowhere, had failed to transmit the scheduled check-in. Standard procedure dictated a secondary attempt after five minutes. When that, too, went unanswered, the regional communications hub marked it as a possible technical fault and forwarded the alert to the 71st Air Defense Outpost, the nearest military installation capable of dispatching a response team.

  However, the 71st AD Outpost did not answer either.

  By the time the Air Defense Command Center’s commander was notified, nearly forty minutes had passed.

  …………

  The commander, a man with streaks of silver in his otherwise dark hair, frowned at the report in his hands.

  “Both the 229th Detection Station and the 71st Air Defense Outpost have gone dark?” he repeated.

  “Yes, sir,” replied the junior officer.

  The commander exhaled through his nose. The 229th was a minor station in a low-priority area, its magic circuits were overdue for maintenance. But the 71st was a fully manned airbase despite its small size. Even if their communications were down, backup systems should have kicked in.

  “What the hell is going on?” he grumbled, but quickly gave his orders. “Dispatch a reconnaissance flight from the 43rd Air Wing. I want visual confirmation before we escalate.”

  ?????

  02:00 Local Time

  The dispatched flight, a single reconnaissance variant of the Annonrial Empire’s mainstay fighter, Nunamnir Nu-29, streaked across the sky, its swept wings cutting through the thin air as it approached the coordinates of the silent 71st Air Defense Outpost. The moment it entered the designated airspace, its conductive magnetic radar system suddenly malfunctioned—or possibly jammed. Yet, thankfully, the mana detector remained fully operational.

  The pilot adjusted his magical visor’s display and squinted through the night vision it provided. At first, there was nothing but the usual expanse of the southern frontier—until a flicker of bright spot that made his breath hitch came into view.

  Below him, where the base should’ve stood calm, was instead an infernal bloom. The entire facility was engulfed in flames. Craters riddled the tarmac. The control tower was a hollowed ruin. Fuel tanks had ruptured, lighting up the night like fireworks. The eerie thing was the lack of chaos otherwise. Just… devastation.

  The pilot’s jaw dropped slightly as the full scope of the destruction registered, before frantically keying his manacom with alarm.

  “Command, this is Scout 2! I got visual on the 71st, the airbase is—!”

  Static erupted through the recon pilot’s headset just as a flash of blinding light erupted from below. A beam of magical energy hissed through the air past the cockpit several meters away, triggering warning runes across his cockpit in a cacophony of alarm chimes. In his panic, he did not notice the three magical signatures that suddenly appeared on his mana detector’s scope.

  “W-WHAT THE HELL—!? GAH!”

  The Nu-29 banked hard, the pilot’s fingers white-knuckled around the control stick as another beam sliced the air where he had just been. Trails of pink light burned through the atmosphere, missing him by terrifyingly slim margins. For a few agonizing seconds, he thought it might be some kind of runaway ancient anti-air system—and perhaps it was the source of this nightmare.

  But then, the pilot’s heads-up display picked up movement.

  Three strange silhouettes, until then half-submerged in the burning wreckage below, began to rise.

  At first, they seemed like pillars of soot or collapsed wreckage stirred by the flames. But then the firelight caught the shine of plated armor, a gleam of photonic red across a single eye.

  Massive, humanoid golems, their armored frames wreathed in smoke and embers. But these were unlike any golems he had ever seen. The Annonrial military fielded its own constructs, but they were lumbering artificial lifeforms, nothing like these things with their menacing, almost organic movements.

  The panic in the pilot’s chest exploded into full-blown terror as the three monstrous golems rose from the inferno with a terrifying speed. What seemed to be thrusters on their backs ignited with blue flames, and in an instant, they were airborne, matching his speed with his impossible agility.

  “They can fly!? —Shit, they’re fast!”

  His plane’s engine screamed as he yanked the stick into a hard turn, narrowly avoiding another beam that sliced through the air where his wing had been a second before. The proximity alarms wailed in his ears, his vision swimming as G-forces pressed against him.

  “Command! I’m under attack by—by golems! Three of them! They’re—GAH!”

  “Scout 2, repeat—did you say golems?”

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  “Yes, dammit! I repeat, they’re—!”

  Another near-miss.

  One of the golems screamed past him and turned back with its hand outstretched, fingers splayed as if trying to grab his plane. The pilot’s blood turned to ice.

  “They’re trying to catch me!?”

  He threw his plane into a desperate spiral, rolling just out of reach as the fingers barely missed his fuselage. The ground and sky turned upside down, just like the feeling that his stomach was turning inside out from the sheer terror of brushing so closely with the unknown danger.

  A dogfight with golems. It was bullshit. Impossible. And yet—

  The three mysterious golems moved with eerie coordination, herding him like wolves corralling prey.

  “—I repeat, I am engaged by hostile golems—giant golems that are flying, dammit!” the pilot screamed amidst the maneuvering and streaks of pink beams that kept narrowly missing his plane.

  The noises of “battle” continued to fill his hearing before a strained voice finally cut through the manacom.

  “Scout 2, reinforcements are en route—estimated time of arrival, ten minutes! Break off and retreat from the airspace!”

  Ten minutes? He wasn’t sure he had ten seconds.

  However, the pilot didn’t need to be told twice. He yanked back on the stick, climbing sharply. The golems pursued for a few seconds longer, each of their beam guns glowing ominously. But then, without warning, they halted in mid-air. Their eyes flickered, tracking his ascent, but they made no further move to intercept. Instead, they hovered ominously, watching as his plane climbed higher into the night sky.

  For a moment, he feared it was a trick—that they were luring him into a false sense of security before striking. But as the distance between them grew, the golems remained still, their weapons lowering slightly.

  Adrenaline still coursed through the pilot’s veins, his hands trembling on the controls as he pushed the throttle to maximum. The recon plane’s engine roared, propelling him away from the nightmare below. He didn’t dare look back.

  Golems weren’t supposed to move like that. They weren’t supposed to fly like that. And they sure as hell weren’t supposed to hunt like that. What the hell were those things!?

  …………

  Watching the Annonrial recon fighter begin to retreat with its tail between its legs, the Ravens’ mobile suits touched back down. The two Male-type Xyston Magias were especially gleeful, their Geara Dogas’ mono-eye sensors flashing in amusement.

  “Dear Humanity, we regret being stubby winged bastards. We regret being exist. And we most definitely regret that the Ravens just drove out our raggedy-ass plane!”

  “OO-RAH!”

  “What are you two getting excited about? It’s just one recon plane.”

  “…Cut us some slack. Can’t we celebrate a bit?” Munin whined at Synin’s remark.

  “What if Legiel suddenly comes and starts making a speech telling us to blame humanity’s troubles on the misfortune of humanity’s birth? You want to take responsibility for that?”

  “Bah, you’re no fun, Raven 3.”

  Their sister’s call for a more level-headed response wasn’t entirely unreasonable, given the Sword of Damocles hanging above their collective heads, but at the end of the day, they’d done their job perfectly: scaring off the enemy scout without destroying it, ensuring the Annonrial Empire would take notice immediately.

  Unsurprisingly, while the enemy’s conductive magnetic radar was successfully jammed, their mana detector remained fully operational. This highlighted a fundamental characteristic of magical civilizations, where while they offered unique strengths, they also came with limitations. For instance, attempting to jam a mana detector (by disrupting the mana with its sensing field) would inevitably hinder both sides in a conflict. To mitigate this, the Ravens capitalized on their advance knowledge of Annonrial technology’s quirks. They powered down their mobile suits, reducing their signatures to undetectable levels for the scout plane’s less sensitive mana detector. The moment their suits reactivated in an instant, their energy signatures flared across the scope, but it was too late. The scout plane was too stunned at the sight and then he was forced to evade wildly, desperately trying to escape the Ravens’ ambush.

  “Raven Team, be advised. We have twelve high-speed contacts inbound, approaching the mission area bearing 335, altitude 6.000. ETA seven minutes,” came the transmission.

  “Coming all the way to fly cover for their scout plane, huh?”

  “So, there’s a fighter pilot worth his wings in this backwater nowhere.”

  ?????

  Meanwhile

  Magicaregia, Branchel Continent of the Annonrial Empire

  Emperor Zarathostra of the Messiah was a light sleeper.

  Though grandiose, his chambers were vast, cold, and empty—devoid of warmth, companionship, or even the faintest flicker of candlelight. The only illumination came from the pale moonlight filtering through the high arched windows, casting gaunt shadows across the floor. That only made the insistent chime of the emergency manacom link echo louder, and the moment it rang, Zarathostra’s eyes snapped open, his azure irises glowing faintly in the dark as he sat up in an instant.

  He did not groan, sigh, or curse the disturbance. He simply reached out to listen to the strained voice that came through.

  “Your Radiance, forgive the intrusion, but we have an emergency.”

  The Emperor’s expression remained impassive, but his mind was already racing. The voice belonged to the Minister of the Armed Forces.

  “What is it?”

  “Approximately two hours ago, the detection station at the southernmost tip of the Illemese Continent went dark. Standard protocol dictated a check-in from the nearest airbase, but they too failed to respond. A reconnaissance was dispatched—”

  “Skip the procedural details,” Zarathostra interrupted. “What did they find?”

  A brief pause. Then—

  “The entire airbase was under attack by an unknown entity. The scout also reported encountering three unidentified flying golems.”

  “Flying?”

  “Yes, Your Radiance. Flight at speeds matching our fighters. They engaged the recon plane in a pursuit, and the pilot barely escaped.”

  “What response have you prepared?” the Emperor demanded.

  “The regional Air Defense Command Center has scrambled interceptors. Local forces have also been notified.”

  “………”

  Zarathostra lingered on the mention of hostile golems, a spark of recognition flashing through his thoughts. Flying golems, however, that was indeed an anomaly. And the location was in southern Illemese, a complete opposite of the direction expected to receive an armed attack.

  Now that he considered it, a submarine had vanished not long ago, lost without a trace, though that was in the western seas, an ocean and two continents away. And then, an unexpected outbreak occurred in the research facility not too far from the attacked locations.

  —Why has his mind linked these occurrences? Could it be…?

  For a moment, his fingers tightened imperceptibly around the manacom.

  “Adequate response,” Zarathostra said curtly. “Convene the Security Council at once. I will join shortly.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he severed the connection and rose from his bed.

  ?????

  02:10 Local Time

  Southern Illemese Continent

  Though the recon pilot’s panicked report was initially met with doubt by the regional Air Defense Command Center, the eerie silence from two military installations was impossible to disregard. And soon after, another scout plane sent to the 229th Detection Station relayed identical findings. And so, after reporting to the higher command, two attack groups of twelve Nu-29 fighters each were airborne, heading toward the locations under attack.

  Since the enemy was confirmed to be flying—no matter how bizarre their nature was—the Annonrial fighters were equipped for an air superiority mission. Each Nu-29 in the attack group carried a formidable loadout: four nose-mounted 20 mm autocannons with 180 rounds per gun, providing a withering hail of firepower for close-range engagements. Additionally, six hardpoints lined their wings, though only the third from the center carried the prized HI-1 multipurpose magic signature seeker (MASIG) missiles recently developed by the Empire, making it two per plane. The rest of the hardpoints were loaded with pairs of 75 mm air-to-air rockets.

  The MASIG missile, being a guided magic bullet, was particularly notable for being a versatile weapon capable of locking onto magic signatures whether in the air or on the ground. Its guidance system was also unaffected by the ongoing radar jamming, making it a reliable tool.

  But… flying golems?

  The very idea hinted at highly advanced technology. Something had annihilated an entire airbase, and now it was engaging them in the air. However, the Annonrial Empire’s counter-insurgency campaigns had been thorough—brutally so. The idea that insurgent elements could somehow possess advanced technology and pull off an attack of this scale was uncomfortable. Another, more likely possibility was that this was the work of runaway Ravernal technology.

  …Such remnants were scattered across the Empire, a relentless scourge on its people. For reasons unknown, the mighty Ravernal Empire’s still-active automated defenses refused to recognize their descendants as rightful heirs—unless they first wrested control by force.

  But it didn’t matter. Whatever the enemy was, they just hit one of theirs. That makes them dead.

  The lead pilot’s eyes narrowed as his mana detector scope showed three signatures after arriving at the airspace above the burning airbase. The readings were unmistakable—strong magical energy signatures far beyond anything a conventional golem should produce, but also made them easier to lock on.

  “Tally three hostiles!”

  “All units, this is Red 1. Engage at maximum range. Red 2, center, 3, left, and 4 right—take the first shot. Flights 2 and 3, hold for follow-up.”

  A chorus of acknowledgments crackled over the manacom.

  Three Nu-29s from Flight 1 readied their MASIG missiles, locking onto the mysterious signatures.

  “Firing missile.”

  And then, six HI-1s streaked away from the fighters, their magical propulsion leaving faint blue trails in the night sky. The missiles arced gracefully before adjusting course mid-flight, their seeker heads unerringly tracking the enemy signatures 4 kilometers away.

  The pilots watched intently as the missiles closed the distance and overlapped with the three signatures one by one.

  “Direct hits!” one of the Flight 1 pilots called out as the missiles slammed into their targets in rapid succession. Explosions bloomed in the darkness, the shockwaves rippling through the air.

  But upon giving a glance at the mana detector’s scope, Red 1 let out a disbelieving gasp.

  …………

  The moment the Annonrial fighters locked on, the Ravens’ missile approach warning systems alerted them of the attack. The missiles screamed toward them, weaving slightly as they adjusted course. But Hugin didn’t try to evade. Instead, he braced.

  Time seemed to slow.

  The head of the first missile aiming at him was the only thing he saw. The air grew still and thickened. He moved his hand, palm open in a slapping motion—as fast as he could will the Geara Doga’s limb to accelerate. He reached out, pedanium fingertips brushed the mithril casing, and slapped it aside.

  …………

  “What in the name of—!?” Red 1’s grip tightened on the control yoke.

  The MASIG missiles were state-of-the-art equipment, guaranteed to slaughter even the HME’s sorry excuse of aircraft. And yet, the enemy had just… shrugged them off?

  “Flight leaders, aim at the center. The rest of you, aim at the right left target for Flight 2, and right target for Flight 3! Fire your missiles!”

  A second volley of missiles streaked through the night, this time numbering slightly more than the first.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  Explosions bloomed, fire and shrapnel engulfing the enemy. But when the smoke dissipated, the golems were still standing.

  No—worse. They were moving!

  “What!? They should be scrap metal by now!” Red 4 shrieked.

  “They’re closing in! Watch out!”

  The three aberrant golems accelerated with terrifying speed, rushing at them head on. The distance between them and the Annonrial fighters shrank rapidly—4 kilometers became 3, then 2, then—

  “Switch to rockets!”

  Two dozen 75 mm air-to-air rockets belched from the underwing pylons in a blaze of thunder, lighting up the sky as their proximity fuzes activated and swallowed the flying golems whole. And yet—

  The smoke cleared, and all three shapes were still there, shrugging off the barrage like a light drizzle.

  “They’re not even slowing down!”

  “Grrr! Then we hit them harder!” Red 1 barked. “All flights, disperse! Execute hit-and-run strategy!”

  “Understood!”

  With only their guns left, the Annonrial Nu-29s dove into the engagement zone. They were fast, but the pilots knew their jets bled energy hard in any sustained turn. If they stayed in such a fight for even a moment too long, they’d become vulnerable against agile enemies.

  The fighters split into three elements, each of four aircraft, executing a staggered attack pattern to minimize the risk of collisions and maximize constant pressure on the outnumbered enemy. Red 1 led his element in a slashing pass from high altitude while Red 5’s Flight 2 and Red 9’s Flight 3 vectored from the flanks at slightly lower altitudes.

  A chorus of autocannons screamed for every attack run made. Keeping their formation, each Nu-29 opened up with its four nose-mounted 20 mm guns, streams of high-velocity rounds pouring toward the enemy within their sights.

  Red 1 gritted his teeth as his guns hammered the lead golem—direct hits, a relentless fire punching into its hide. Yet, the damn thing didn’t even flinch.

  “Dammit, these freaks!” he roared, jerking his stick to the side as his Nu-29 banked away for another attack run. “What the hell are these things made of!?”

  Round after round tore through the air, his autocannons blazing bright lines of tracer fire that lit up the enemy silhouettes—one, two, three hits, straight to the center mass. Another burst caught one of the golems square in the head, but all it did was make sparks across its surface, and the damn thing’s head had the gall to turn to track the fighter as Red 1 passed by it.

  The moonlight glinted off the enemy—elegant, almost. Beautiful, even, if not for the blood-chilling reality of it all. They leapt and rolled through the air with uncanny grace, forcing them into turning fights.

  Realizing something about their enemy, their frustrations peaked even more. They were busy, but even then they realized that the pink beams as reported by the scouts were nowhere to be seen.

  They’re not even firing. THEY’RE NOT. EVEN. FIRING.

  Just… flying around, doing acrobatics. Running them ragged.

  “Those bastards… are they toying with us!?”

  Then came the dreaded call.

  “This is Red 7! I’m dry!”

  “Red 5, same here! Falling back!”

  “Red 3, I’m out of rockets and guns! Red 1, your orders!”

  Soon, all the guns fell silent. One by one, the Nu-29s ran dry, their ammo counters blinking zero.

  They had thrown everything at the enemy, and yet, the three flying golems not only withstood it all, they had mocked the assault with silence, motion, and sheer invulnerability. Red 1, having expended his ammunition for no gain as well, had no other choice.

  “Red Squadron, disengage and retreat! I repeat, disengage and retreat!”

  But then, just as Red 1’s command echoed across the manacoms, the sky shifted.

  Without warning, the three enemy golems began to glow. A faint outline at first, their armored silhouette shimmered, their edges flickering with a translucent hue. Then the glow intensified—brilliant light-blue energy seemingly enveloping their forms.

  “What is happening…?” Red 1 muttered, shielding his eyes as the brightness surged.

  Then, in an instant, they exploded in a burst of shimmering magic particles that scattered like dust in the wind. Within seconds, there was nothing left. Just empty sky where the enemy had once been.

  Red 1 swallowed the humiliation he had to endure before speaking to the manacom. “This is Red 1 to Command. Hostiles have… self-destructed. Engagement concluded.”

  “…Understood, Red 1. Mission over. Return to base immediately for debriefing.”

  Had it not for the official government stance following the incident, the Red Squadron would have been brutally mocked as “that one unit that got humiliated by golems,” which would permanently ruin their reputation as a competent force until its disbandment. No one cared that the golems were completely immune to their attacks, only the fact that they had been utterly defeated in every way but officially.

  ?????

  02:33

  Security Council, Oranata Palace, Magicaregia

  The Security Council chamber was tense as the Minister of the Armed Forces relayed the latest report from the military. The air combat had ended abruptly with the enemy’s sudden, inexplicable disappearance. The three flying golems had self-destructed in a burst of magic particles, leaving no wreckage behind.

  After listening to the whole thing with nary a reaction gracing his countenance, Zarathostra turned to the Spokesperson as soon as the Minister concluded his report.

  “Prepare an announcement to the public. Declare that our Air Force has successfully eliminated the enemy attackers.”

  The addressed man bowed, “At once, Your Radiance.”

  A ripple of relief passed through the Security Council members. A decisive response would prevent panic, as it had before. But now, the real question loomed.

  “Still, what were those things?” muttered one of the generals. “Flying golems… with that level of maneuverability? Are those Ravernal constructs?”

  “What else it could be?” countered another.

  “Armed Forces Minister.”

  “Yes, Your Radiance. As of now, we suspect the entities to be autonomous Ravernal war-machines, possibly golems specialized for aerial combat that we have never seen before. The failure of all conventional weapons against them is consistent with samples of Ravernal alloyed armor and enchantments. However…”

  He hesitated.

  “The absence of a counterattack is unlike automated defense systems, which typically execute lethal defense patterns. It is unusual. I am suggesting that this encounter is beyond anything we’ve cataloged from known Ravernal technology.”

  “This incident is close to the Cavo Facility where the outbreak has taken place…” a minister cut in. “Given how little we know about both cases, is it possible that these two incidents are related?”

  “That’s still unknown.”

  Truthfully, they hoped it was a single entity. Resolving it would end the unnecessary disturbance in one stroke. In hindsight, their speculation was almost correct that all but one recent incident was perpetrated by the same entity, but what do they know.

  “Regardless, the lives of good people were lost again. We must act without delay before the next appearance is not a test of endurance, but a strike on a city or major stronghold.”

  Speculation is useless without evidence. What they need now is an investigation.

  The Emperor remained silent as the Council gradually came to a conclusion, only granting his assent at the last moment to launch a comprehensive investigation. His spiteful glare was fixed on some distant, unseen point. His fingers curled imperceptibly against the armrest of his seat, the only outward sign of the storm raging within.

  One setback after another.

  First, Mu remained frustratingly stable despite Annonrial’s machinations. The socio-ethnic tensions he had stoked should have spiraled into a civil unrest by now, yet instead, the nation was somehow stabilizing by their suddenly efficient law enforcement snuffing out their separatist movements one by one. Like a drowning man clutching at flotsam, Mu refused to surrender to disorder.

  Then came the shrinking reach of foreign intelligence. The Holy Milishial Empire, ever the meddlers, had unwittingly disrupted his operations simply by prospering and developing their magic technology, allowing them to become increasingly adept in detecting anomalies. They didn’t even know what they were interfering with—just blind fools stumbling in the dark.

  But just as he worked to rectify those, now this. A submarine vanished without a trace. A research facility consumed by an inexplicable outbreak. And now flying golems, more advanced than anything the Annonrial Empire had ever recorded, appeared in the most remote corner of his domain.

  The gods must be laughing at him right now.

  ‘You think this will break me?’

  He was no stranger to suffering. The gods had made sure of that. They had carved their lessons into his flesh with centuries of torment. But he had endured. He had clawed his way back from oblivion, and he would not be denied now. Even if he was but one man.

  Not when the promised freedom from divine oppression lies at the end of his struggle.

  The Available Information from Beyond

  AMS-119 GEARA DOGA

  A general-purpose mobile suit used in the Holy Milishial Empire’s special operations against the Annonrial Empire. Naturally, made of pedanium.

  Specifications

  - Mass: 50 tons

  - Height: 10 m

  - Powerplant: Pedanium Manadrive engine

  - Armor: Pedanium armor

  - Armament:

  - Beam sword-axe

  - Shock anchor

  - Shield

  - Beam machine gun (grenade launcher)

  - Beam rifle