Mine name is Sir Grey~yeah, nah, Sam’s way of talking ain’t for me…

A little bit of a flashback to about 10 minutes ago as I was hovering a quarter mile up in the air:

—Don’t leave meee~

{It’s a test flight! Chill!}

… Because of that, I went and landed in the bay for a bit. I mean, I was supposed to, anyway, but November’s clingy, and—

—I- I’m not!

Y-yeah. S-sure. Come on, just say it.

—S-say what?

Just say you’ll miss me~

—F-fuck off and drop dead in an ocean trench!

Oof, that hurts. Guess I won’t say anything when we actually finally leave.

…

Wait, hey, I’m kidding. I’m kidding, okay?

—Heh.

C-come on, lady, you’re putting me on edge here—

—Hmph.

I’m actually taking emotional damage here, okay?!

— … Are you really?

Yeah? I’ll actually miss you, you know?

—M-mfweh?!

H-hey! Why are you submerging!

—Don’t say embarassing s-shit like that!

Life’s too short, okay? Can’t I say the things I wanna mean?

… The heck’s with that periscope shyly peeking out of the waterline, the heck, that’s cute.

—I-if you’re really going out for a while, t-take this.

A two-story-tall splash of water explodes over November’s shadow, and out from that misty explosion flies one of her combat drones. It makes a round flight around me before landing on my deck, touching down by the tips of its wings.

No shit, it’s using its wings as legs—or hands? It’s doing a handstand? I think it’s more like a handstand. I mean, it’s just that much top-heavy and unreliable-looking.

The whole thing is about half the size of a fighter, but somehow it feels like it’s keeping missiles in hidden pockets or something. Looks like it also has a gun or laser or—fuckin’ magic blaster, I guess—so even if it’s just this size, it still packs a mean punch. Probably.

—I’m t-transferring control of this unit to y-you.

Accept control transfer of (1x) ChD-11 Multirole Autonomous Drone? [Y/n]

… It’s a CHAD-11, guys.

Guess I’ll go ahead and accept it.

Now, how do I control this … probably some sort of “Think about it and it’ll just work” type of thing? Alright, uhhh—use elevator B and park in the deck, I guess?

Ohhh, it’s moving. Thank Jesus it decided to lay down and taxi along instead of walking. I’m not sure how I’d explain that to the Wyvern riders downstairs.

—Do you… do you like it?

Yeah, dude, it’s pretty nifty.

—That’s… that’s nice.

I spot her slowly surfacing. Looks like she’s not coming up all the way, though.

I wonder if I can give her something in exchange. We’ll be apart for a pretty long time, I think, so it’s gotta be something just as nifty… are nukes nifty? It’s all I’ve got a lot of, besides railgun rounds, but November doesn’t have railguns, so those’re useless.

… Yeah, nah, I don’t have any better ideas.

Hey, November.

—Yeah?

Do you happen to be nuclear-armed?

—W-what.

Do you have nukes?

—Huh? No? Wait, wait, don’t tell me, you wanna gift me an ICBM in exchange for a drone? Dude, are you okay?

Well, it’s—uhhh—not an ICBM. It’s just… a BM. For self-defense. Yeah.

—Self-defense nukes, he says…

***

So anyway, I ended up giving her 10 nukes, each one neatly wrapped-up in gift packages with an effective range of 20 miles.

Though, we didn’t get to spend more time together after that. Not 30 minutes after the test flight, Sam gave the order to move out.

All eight of my Chaos engines roar to life, turning the water around me to steam. I can feel the horizon shifting down—it’s a weird feeling like something’s tugging me up to the sky.

—Good luck! See you soon, okay!

Not sure what “soon” means in this context, and I don’t wanna jinx things by saying that we’ll end this all by Christmas—only God knows how many times people have said that and ended up taking way longer than just Christmas.

But—I’ll miss you! I’ll definitely see you again! I’ll even grow arms and drag myself back here if I have to!

—Please don’t do that! That’s terrifying!

Haha, yeeaaah, that’d really be a horror scene~

I’m a half-mile in elevation, now. November’s shadow’s getting lonelier in the bay the higher I get. This should be the limit of her SpiritNet.

— … I … too …

Really wish I could’ve heard that in full.

.

Ahhh~

.

A drone roars past me, shooting up into the sky before doing a half-circle and hovering near the bridge, matching my ascent.

“I’ll miss you too!”

After playing that on loudspeaker, it dips back down, disappearing from view.

***

Princess Samantha at your service—but for another day. For today, and the days thereafter, I shall conduct myself on a warpath towards Washington, and thereby depose my idiot father.

I am currently in Sir Grey’s bridge. After the Spirit Ship November’s golem-familiar played its message and disappeared below, Sir Grey responded with the firework cannons which I hadn’t seen in a long time.

It has been 3 minutes and he is still firing them.

Somehow, I am… envious that even a vessel has a cherished one. However—the sheer happiness I feel to witness this moment, I am unsure how to explain it. Perhaps, it is as if I had watched two children—playmates saying goodbye.

If only through these spirit ships, I wish that innocence never dies.

I have already beforehand indicated to Sir Grey our course. It would be boorish of me to interrupt this mood.

***

{Sam?}

Ah. He’s finally available. Surprisingly, it’s only been 5 minutes since the familiar’s message.

“Stay the course, Sir Grey. Only stop for a Liberty Dragon.” Ah, of course, Sir Grey does not understand such idioms. “That is, do not stop.”

Our route is that of a straight line towards Washington.

By the secrets gathered by my and my allies’ spies, the bulk of the North’s armies are deployed to confront the Southern uprising. Hence, there are little in the way of forces on our otherwise-reckless path.

However, we must be cautious, as these facts were gathered before the two demonic invasions. Had the North and South united under the pretext of resisting demonic invasion? Are either of them reeling? We do not know.

The few trustworthy allies from the nobility that I had gathered after my declaration of the Crusade have had their territories all annihilated by the demonic invasions. I am sure of this, as we are passing overhead of those territories now.

The cities are rubble. The farms are black and white ash.

Golden Port City’s lord had reported an influx of some refugees, but less than we had predicted. It is good that the city’s food supplies would not be overburdened, but… for such a morbid reason.

***

It has been only a day of sky-sailing. I have assigned several flights of wyvern riders as advanced scouts 15 miles forward to forewarn of any forces-in-wait. I, myself, am stationed in the bridge, ready to witness their signals and accordingly act as Sir Grey’s captain, and the commander of this expedition.

Each rider can see another 20 miles forward from their height, meaning that we will know of any enemy within 35 miles. With Flare from the Signal Magic branch, we can know the direction, composition, and disposition of their sightings.

{Uh, Sam, I’ve suddenly got fast movers on radar. Contact in 30 seconds?}

“What? So fast?”

His detection ability is said to reach a hundred miles. What can cross a hundred miles in 30 seconds? Not even Aureos with assistance from explosion magic propulsion could do that.

{No, no, they suddenly showed up 30 miles out. Probably hiding in those mountains?}

Mountains? Ah. I had mistaken them for giant sand dunes, which fill the cursed Nevada Desert behind us, but thankfully, they are actually real mountains.

Forsaken as the Nevada is, I had almost forgotten about our predicament. I spot the colored lights of Flare magics arcing unto heaven.

“Sir Grey, full stop and prepare aerial defenses, and broadcast my voice.”

{Aye, ma’am—ready!}

“Thank you. Attention wyvern squads one through six, equip for aerial combat and deploy immediately. Engage only when attacked. All other flights, prepare and stand by as reinforcement.”

The wyvern squads are yet to deploy, and neither is Sir Grey completely stopped, when a row of a hundred large dragons appear before us, wings spread as wide as they could, blanketing the view of the mountains behind them. Only then did the breaking of the sound barrier reach us.

By the size and shape of these dragons, I can only conclude that they are Liberty Dragons.

Indeed—the ones from legend.

They are great dragons, considered ancient ancestors to modern dragons. They are far larger, and far more powerful than my halfway-disappointing knight. The last ones are said to have valiantly perished long before the founding of our nation, and it is precisely their figure that we have immortalized in our flag.

Though, as far as I know, powerful they may be, they do not have the power to transform into a human form.

Also, unlike my foolish knight, they are thrice as foolish, and much less polite.

“Git off our turf!”

It was half a roar sure to paralyze a hardened veteran, even at this distance, and half an arrogant threat of a child who had just learned how to use magic, which is to say, I am unsure if I should take them seriously.

“Aureos. I require a plausible explanation for my and others’ mental stabilities—why are there Liberty Dragons in this area?”

Aureos is shaking his head as if his relatives were being too embarrassing at the family gathering. “According to records, this must be the area where the last of the Liberty Dragons had been driven to towards the end of the Great Spirit War—right, the mountains east of the Nevada. The land is generally considered cursed with poison magic, however, hence why no confirmatory expeditions were ever dispatched.”

The Great Spirit War—that great, ancient war of which all but a few remnants of evidence of its ever having occurred remaining. Sir Grey is one such living evidence. It is strange that he knows nothing of it, however.

I digress.

“The land is cursed with poison, you say? And we have only gotten this far because we are in the air… I see.”

“Ain’tchya hear me! Fuck off!”

After the childish display, the lead dragon fires its breath—a pillar of light, much like the one that my knight considers a powerful, finishing move.

The light grazes the bridge, or at least appears to. I can feel the heat prickling on my cheek.

"The next wun won’t be a sissy flashlight!"

{T-that was scary. Sam? Anytime?}

Well, admittedly, we have been much too rude to not reply to them swiftly. I must correct this, firstly.

“Sir Grey, pleast let my voice reach them.”

{A-alright, directional speakers—go!}

“Esteemed ancestors,” my own voice echoes in my ears, “I am Eagle Samantha Burnheart, Princess of the Royal Family of the … Kingdom of Merika—”

I am unsure how they would respond if I mention “Dragon,” and so I omit it. They are Liberty Dragons who, famously, do not recognize being ruled, after all.

“—We are only seeking quiet passage eastwards and mean no aggression.”

***

(Meanwhile, a gathering of the Liberty Dragons’ clan heads group together.)

“Ugh, them’s using big ol’ words. What’chya think?”

“I dunno. Last one didn’ stop for shit and just went ham. This one’s talkin’, at least.”

“Yeah, yeah! I say, we get Ned to talk to ’em!”

“Yeah, yeah, Ned’s good at talkin’. Let’s do that!”

(Miraculously, the clan heads come to a decent decision.)

***

{Looks like they’re sending someone out. What do you wanna do, Sam?}

Of course, I will speak to the messenger.

“Aureos, come with me.”

“Princess!” One of the other dragon riders kneels. I had forgotten about them, and I ask for forgiveness in my mind. “This is reckless! Please, allow me to accompany you!”

Hm. This particular rider is infatuated with me. He is well-kempt and a virtuous man, but I am simply not interested. On the other hand, his knight, a woman of more upright bearing than Aureos, is, behind him, at once jealous and frustrated.

Obviously, I will support the knight.

“Densus, think more clearly,” I explain, making everything up as I go along, “There is no additional tactical advantage to standing beside me. If it is me and Aureos, we can fight even a Liberty Dragon—however, the rest of Sir Grey will be exposed to that intense dragonfire. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

I, myself, do not know what the correct answer is in this situation.

Densus looks up to me with enlightened eyes.

“Of course! I will hide in the shadow of one of the elevators, and protect one side of the hull at once!”

He stands up and looks to his knight. “Frau Strata, let’s go!”—and off they go.

I send an implicative glance towards the other knight-rider pairs still in the bridge. Thankfully, they are smart enough to wordlessly come up with their own ideas, and disperse to implement them without any attempt at coordination.

Of course, it is not as if knights and riders are universally irresponsible. By way of Tactical Magic, they all sense each other’s locations, and can tell by sheer battle experience what the others are trying to do. Everybody knows where they fit in a larger, still-emerging picture.

I, myself, shall fit into the place where I must meet the messenger.