Zaku... zaku...

Swinging a homemade hoe, she thrusts it into the surface soil and digs it up. She's accustomed to this task.

"Here, there are still a lot of stones, huh..."

Each time she digs, she carefully removes the stones that peek out. With her strength as Nikké, she could easily crush them, but it's likely that the farming tools will finish their duty first.

It's all manual labor in agriculture. Tools must be treated with care. The reason being that repairs are somewhat troublesome—this is a secret only known here.

"Yeah, this should do."

At one of the bases she set up in various places, she starts preparing for farming while staying there temporarily.

She'd like to measure the pH of the soil, but in reality, there's no equipment like a soil acidity meter. However, fortunately, her special ability to sense the acidity of the soil has blossomed from her experiences. Thanks to that, she can spread lime beforehand to neutralize the acidity.

Breaking the dug-up soil into finer particles, then mixing in compost and fertilizer—after confirming the steps, she lightly taps her own waist.

It's not that her back hurts, but after hours of continuous work, it seems to be bothering her.

"Let's take a break for a moment."

The work has come to a temporary halt. Scarlet—she carries the hoe and heads towards a stream near the base.

She washes the hoe in the clear stream and cleans her dirty hands. It's a sign that the water is clean. Freshwater fish, not found downstream, swim away startled by the sound of the water.

Working in the middle of the day might not be a good idea—if her old acquaintances were to see, they would probably furrow their brows and express disapproval.

She tilts a porcelain decanter and pours sake into a cup. She drinks it in one gulp—letting out a satisfied sigh along with the alcohol.

This sake is also homemade by her.

"I'd like to let Bocchan taste this."

Bocchan—calling an adult male that might seem odd, but he would probably allow it. Rather, he might accept it without hesitation. After all, he considers himself a young man.

"Hmm..."

Sake is poured into the cup again. After swallowing just a sip this time, she indulges in contemplation.

An unusually young man—for better or worse—he left a strong impression on her, despite their short acquaintance. Whether it's a good or bad fate as a mass-produced type, her brain continues to wear out and age. No, it's more appropriate to say it's aging.

The memory of the First Rapture Invasion—though the recollection of that time has been fading for a long time, the memories of him and others who left a strong impression continue to be etched into the worn-out part of the brain responsible for memories, even if vaguely.

"He really looked a lot like him."

It wasn't an exaggeration to say he was a spitting image.

If, by some chance, they were to have the same match as back then, what would happen?

"I wonder if I lost... no, how was it, I wonder..."

It was a somewhat turbulent period. When she was picked up by the Goddesses, she vaguely remembers challenging various people to battles.

During that time, she should have challenged him as well.

"Hmm?... I wonder... what kind of match was it... hick... whoops..."

A hiccup escaped. Remembering memories is already a difficult task, and now the alcohol is starting to take effect.

"Oh... this is not good... hmm?"

The world began to sway gently. It seems she's gradually entering a state of intoxication.

"Oh... that's right!... I remember... a comparison of drinks—"

Later revealed was the absurd trick that, due to a physiological issue, he couldn't get drunk at all.

It was a match with no chance of winning from the beginning.

Even if she sent resentful glares, he simply shrugged his shoulders lightly and replied with just one word.

—You didn't ask.

This coward—calling him that probably sounded like the howling of a defeated dog, or it might have sounded like praise.

"Really... I never got tired of you... Commander."

She fought under the command of three commanders in her past—according to her memories.

One disliked being called Commander and insisted on being called Lieutenant.

Next was the commander of the first Nikke squad, a former mercenary who led the Goddess unit that achieved the best results in that war.

And then—

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.

.

"Richard... Smith." (Tl Notes: Moran gave Moore a fake name same as this one. Coincidence? Hell nah.)

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.

As she collapsed onto the ground, her lips trembling, she whispered his name softly.

The last conversation they had—his words about evacuating everyone, including her, from the battlefield, while he himself joined his original unit for the final charge. Even with a brain undergoing wear and tear, she could recall the resonance of those words.

At that time, he undoubtedly sensed that this place was his destined place of death. No, perhaps he had found his place of death.

A place of death suitable for him and the surviving members of the unit.

Surely, there was never an option to survive from the beginning.

Even if countless words were used to try to stop him, he had already made up his mind long ago, and the words to stop someone who had finally found their place of death—those words could probably be found if one searched. However, no matter how many words were used, they would never resonate in his heart.

It can't be stopped anymore. It won't stop anymore.

They are charging towards destruction. Even if they become the last soldiers, they will continue.

Advance, advance, forward, forward.

With determination, obsession, and attachment—their souls devoted to the beliefs engraved within them, they vanish like dew on the battlefield.

Perhaps because she understood this—perhaps because she possesses thought patterns closest to him and his kind among the Goddesses—it might be a disadvantage.

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—To the fullest.

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She doesn't know many words to send off those who fall.

But in his lifetime or in the way he lived as a warrior, she should have honored his name until the end.

"...Monster... I think you always said that... but until the end, I believe you were human..."

Feeling a little sleepy—taking a nap during a break would be good.

If she falls into a deep and high snoring sleep, she might unwittingly slip into eternal slumber.

She lets out a low laugh from the depths of her throat and, with one hand, grabs her beloved sword, Hana-Mu-Tokka-Kurenai, pulling it close to her chest.

----

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<—Hey hey! Is all you can do run away!!>

"Before you say such things, go ahead and try to kill me."

—Please don't provoke her, goddammit!

Whenever she opens her mouth, he naturally spews provocative words, and there's nothing to do but be amazed at the young man who retorts back.

Considering the battlefield environment, Papillon, dressed in out-of-place attire, has a point, but it's not unreasonable to inwardly criticize Moore.

The mechanical giant dragon opens its mouth wide, and every time it releases the flames it has gathered in its tooth-filled oral cavity, he and the others dive behind cover, dodging the attack.

However, it won't last long. The breath is too hot. The cover is melting, and the few remaining places to hide are dwindling just from being in its sight.

"Major, what do we do!? The plan!?"

"If you have a good idea, I'm all ears."

"...EH!!? YOU DON'T HAVE A PLAN!?"

As soon as the question was asked, and if asked in return, an almost scream-like voice echoed.

Even so, Moore showed no sign of concern, loading a grenade into the chamber and exposing himself when the flames ceased, pulling the trigger.

—Direct hit.

"Fifth shot."

He seems to be diligently counting the hits. He hides behind cover again, opens the grenade launcher's chamber, and ejects the spent shell as soon as the flames subside.

"Major, what are you doing!? Do we really have nothing!?"

"...Ah, earlier was just a joke."

"Don't take it seriously." The eyes hidden behind sunglasses conveyed a sense of exasperation.

In this situation, a poorly timed joke would undoubtedly be a breach of etiquette.

Moore, shrugging his shoulders, proceeds to give instructions to the neon sign beside him.

"Let's go."

"Yes, Master!"

Whether their master and apprentice relationship allows them to synchronize, it's hard to say.

The two figures of different heights, emerging from cover, raise their assault rifles and shotguns, playing a duet.

Each time the bullets and buckshot collide with the dragon's armor, a loud and jarring noise echoes. It wouldn't be pleasant for those hearing it up close.

<—Fools! Don't you understand they're not effective at all?>

"That's disrespectful."

"Indeed, very rude!"

"We're not that smart."

This time, it's a taunt from the master and apprentice together.

It's not certain whether they picked it up through a microphone or some other function, but Papillon felt the atmosphere surrounding the giant dragon become more hostile.

It's understandable. If you receive such taunts, most people would either get angry or be astonished. It seems, in the case of this heretic, it's more the former.

<—Do you want to turn into ashes that much...!?>

"Who, me? Miss, don't you have to catch me alive?"

"Wow, she also forgot her main goal... It's all backward. Master, what do you call someone like this?"

"Hmm, what is it again? Generally speaking—a fool, isn't it?"

.

.

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*SNAP!*

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.

Certainly, Papillon heard something snap with a loud noise.

People far inferior to herself were shamelessly taunting her without any restraint.

The heretic, who can't be said to have too much patience, has endured quite well until now.

Flames burning bright red start to accumulate in the dragon's oral cavity.

As they prepare to move to the next cover—just as he's about to start moving, two explosions of smoke erupt from the dragon's head, equivalent to two rounds.

What struck the side of the head were shots fired by—

"Commander, providing support!!"

"Commander-sama!!"

It was Rapi and Anis.

Support from them has also begun.

Confirming that, Moore, with Neon and Papillon, rushes to the next cover.

In the place they jumped into, he pulls out the magazine from his assault rifle, checks the remaining rounds, and then inserts it back into the chamber.

"Don't want to drag this out too long."

Papillon unfortunately couldn't interpret the meaning behind the quietly muttered words.

Just as she was about to ask, he exposes half of himself from behind cover, aims the muzzle of the assault rifle at the mechanized dragon, and pulls the trigger.

An attack from two points— from the enemy or the heretic's perspective, it might only have a mildly irritating effect.

However, it was more than enough to draw its attention.

<—Let's begin.>

"You made us wait quite a bit."

Waiting for a woman on a date is not a problem though. Hearing the usual sarcasm, somewhere inside the housing, there was a sound that could have been a scoff.

—A figure falling straight down with a speed resembling a freefall from above.

Maintaining an almost imperceptible speed, that figure grazes past the head of the mechanized dragon and—throws something into its mouth.

A few seconds later—inside the oral cavity, an orange flash expands, and with a detonation, the fully grown teeth burst outward.

<—Tch!!?>

In passing, Isabel threw high-performance explosives into the oral cavity.

The malformed dragon with its head partially destroyed collapses to the ground. Making a ground-shaking noise as it falls, the enemy aircraft, gradually reducing its size, eventually settles into a scale the size of a human.

"All units, concentrate the attack on the heretic!"

Moore's command is issued, and the entire firepower of the squad is directed at the heretic.

Two assault rifles, one grenade launcher, and a shotgun each. Additionally, the sound of a sniper rifle fired by the one who had unintentionally joined the fray echoed.

"Ugh, seriously, what the hell is going on!"

The gunfire left marks on Nihilister's body but didn't deliver any decisive blows.

As evidence, the bullet holes that should have pierced through were rapidly repairing themselves.

"After I repair myself, you're nothing more than insects!"

What a cheating move. With this, no matter how much ammunition they poured into her, it wouldn't have much effect.

"Wait for the right moment to shoot!!"

Another command, this one ordering a halt to the attack.

Reflexively, the triggers that the women had pulled relaxed, and their gazes involuntarily turned toward Moore.

"Huh? What's wrong?"

The abrupt cessation of the attack confused both the Heretic and the others, directing confused gazes toward him.

Moore activated the safety on the assault rifle and then casually drew a pistol from a leg holster he had wrapped around his left leg.

Though not accustomed to using a pistol, he disengaged the safety, quickly checked the first round, and held it up with his mechanized left hand.

The angle of Nihilister's tilting head deepened.

For Rapture, it was like shooting peas. What was he trying to do by directing it toward a higher existence like a Heretic?

"...Have you finally lost your mind?"

"Young lady, you shouldn't say such disrespectful things."

Blowing off the head of Nihilista, now the size of a human—however, would that cause the self-repair function to be lost?

What were the chances of success? He didn't have the inclination to bet the lives of his subordinates on such an unfavorable gamble. He himself could continue fighting until his last breath, but what he had confirmed through this extended engagement was that there was only one way to deliver a fatal blow to a Heretic.

With his index finger placed on the trigger, a play had been set into motion by him. Just before the firing pin fell, a momentary burst of noise echoed from the depths of the housing against his ears.

"<...Moore. Listen as it is.>"

The voice, still cold and indifferent, continued.

"<Unchained is not the first shot. It's the 4th shot.>"

----You bastard. You really had the nerve to deceive me like this.

"<I'm sorry. I apologize for that. But it was necessary.>"

----...Let's discuss it later.

Deep vertical furrows appeared on Moore's forehead. Realizing the disadvantage, was he now attempting to make a desperate last stand like a weasel's final fart?

The vigor he had shown just moments ago had disappeared—Nihilister couldn't help but feel a somewhat pitying sentiment.

However, given the admirable fight they had put up, she would catch some of the bullets for them.

And then, they could despair once again.

The corners of Nihilister's mouth loosened as Moore, aiming the pistol, opened fire.

One shot, two shots, three shots—four shots.

"...It's not doing anything at all."

Five shots, six shots—he fired all rounds, and the slide held open.

Nihilista lightly tapped the body with the bullet marks with her hand, demonstrating that she was still lively.

In response, Moore tossed away the pistol he was holding and gripped the handle of the assault rifle once again.

"Oh? You're still at it? Fine. This time, let's—"

Self-repair was complete. In the moment he tried to settle things, Nihilister felt a sense of discomfort.

"Huh? W-Why...!! Why...is self-repair...not working...!?"

A pulsating sensation in the core was perceived, followed by an intense pain that surged through her entire body.

"Guh...!? Gaaaaaah!!"

The excruciating pain, enough to make her writhing around—resounded as a tortured scream from the Fire Dragon on the battlefield.