The first thing it became aware of was “thought.”

  A flood of memories, impressions, and knowledge poured into consciousness, yet none of them were its own. One of those memories came from her, a young Malakh girl with short hair, standing at 156 centimeters tall. Her name, when converted to Milishial tongue, meant “Sincerity-Flowed-from-a-Poison-Bottle.” A strange—nay, exotic—name.

  The Magia fixated on this long-deceased individual, processing the fragments of her life.

  Magias like itself awakened with the inherited memories of the Attarsamain civilization, a sum of knowledge that was meant to be their Creator’s gift, but also his greatest burden. And like him, they were not burdened by the emotions tied to those recollections. And so, as it calmly sifted through the girl’s memories and experience as an outside observer, it understood: she and itself are not the same. Yet, in that same moment, it knew its form would mirror hers. A vessel inspired by that identity, but belonging wholly to itself.

  A cheerful voice interrupted its contemplation.

  “Hey there, sleepyhead! How are you doing?”

  The Magia turned—or rather, its awareness shifted—toward the source. A white-haired woman with a playful grin leaned into view. Its eldest sister, #2 Kruger.

  “………”

  The Magia’s awareness shifted again, this time toward a presence that resonated deeper than memory, standing before the Genesis Capsule, his silver hair catching the light, his eyes blue like a deep ocean. The flood of inherited memories carried his presence, as though it had always known him. And yet, this was the first time it truly saw him.

  Meteos Roguerider gave a small smile as his eyes and its optics met, beckoning with a slight motion of his hand.

  It obeyed without hesitation, stepping out of one of the capsules where it and all Magias were ‘born.’ The sensation of movement was strange, yet fluid, as though its body had always known how to walk. It glanced down, noting the simple gray clothing that already adorned its form—fabric woven with Cauldron technology, effortlessly conjured into existence.

  Kruger lingered nearby, but the new Magia’s focus remained on Meteos. He studied it with an expression that was something between pride and a quiet acceptance. The Creator tilted his head slightly before even, yet gentle words flowed out of his mouth.

  “Welcome to the world, #100… Do you have any questions?”

  “…I understand my purpose,” it said. “But I do not yet know my designation.”

  “Straight to the point, I see,” Kruger quipped with a sagely nod.

  Meteos’ lips quirked slightly.

  “You can be whatever you wish. Choose what to call yourself, and I will accept it.”

  A designation of its own choosing.

  The Magia thought for a moment.

  No—she thought for a moment, sorting through the haze of knowledge and impressions. Among them floated fragments of language, emotionless yet rich with meaning. She internally sifted through the countless combinations of letters until one simple sound caught her attention. It was, in organic beings’ terms… “nice.”

  “…Anby.”

  “Hm. Anby?”

  Testing the sound of it, the word felt simple, yet carrying a charm much like the girl whose memories had shaped her. At the end of her contemplation, the newborn looked up at Meteos, her optics steady.

  “My designation… name, is Anby. #100 Xyston Magia.”

  “Anby it is, then. I am Meteos, son of Roderick Roguerider. Let’s get along.”

  Before she could react further, a sudden sensation enveloped her as Kruger swooped in, arms wrapping around her in a tight, enthusiastic hug. “Welcome to the family, Anby!” the white-haired Magia chirped, squeezing her with enough force to make a lesser being wheeze.

  Anby remained silent for a moment, processing the gesture. Physical contact was not something she had experienced before, but the protocols were there—inherited, like everything else. Slowly, she raised her arms and returned the embrace.

  “…Thank you, Sister,” she replied evenly. The response was appropriate, though her tone carried no particular inflection. Emotions were still a foreign concept for a newborn Magia, after all. But in time, she would grow into her own personality as she got used to the world, setting her apart from the other Magias.

  Kruger eventually let go, though the grin never left her face. She appeared to grow into a rather boisterous individual, Anby noted.

  “You’ll loosen up soon enough,” she teased, ruffling the younger Magia’s short white hair before turning toward the door at the far end of the chamber. “Now, we’ve got the post-activation procedure to get through.”

  And so, the first 100-series Magia came into being.

  ?????

  Mid-May 1617 Central Calendar

  Arbor Installation 01 – High Charity

  Area B7R, Southeastern Holy Milishial Empire

  Time passed swiftly for Anby.

  Unlike organic beings, whose learning was bound by the limits of biology, her synthetic mind absorbed knowledge with frightening efficiency. Where a human crew would require months—if not years—of training to master a new vessel, an AI like her could step into the role the moment the systems came online.

  This advantage was not lost on the Holy Milishial Empire, now an entity starved of knowledge after Meteos Roguerider dangled the bait that was the glimpse of a wider world in front of them. While working to prepare their world and undermine the Annonrial Empire behind the shadows, they saw a room to covertly dispatch exploration missions beyond the known world. Why so sneaky? The reason could be anything. It can be seen as the Holy Empire trying to get a head start as the most advanced nation, but one could argue that doing it too publicly would tip off Annonrial that something was amiss within the Holy Empire’s affairs. Ultimately, they acted simply because they had the means to do so.

  In any case, the Emperor tasked the Order of the Ancients with forming the Special Operations Fleet as pioneers, using one of its fronts, the MOASEC’s Secret Department.

  That Special Operations Fleet was unlike anything the modern world below had seen. Operating purplish-blue airships materialized by High Charity’s Cauldrons, the fleet would be able to soar into the stratosphere beyond the maximum ceiling of conventional mana detectors’ sensing field. Moreover, radar-absorbent magic technology made them invisible to a certain non-magical tracking method, leaving not even a speck of radar cross-section visible on the scopes of such devices.

  Nevertheless, they still haven’t discovered a way to completely evade mana detectors’ sensing field, which operates on a completely different principle rather than just functioning as a simple “magic radar,” as some mistakenly believe. Because of this, the interim solution was straightforward: remain outside the detectors’ sensing field range. However, Annonrial was not foolish enough to overlook this, hence the presence of “mana detector beam” emitters to monitor the skies. While these beams have a narrow sensing field, their extremely long range makes anyone who said “lmao just fly over” Annonrial’s airspace completely undetected should be dropkicked in the face. Even attempting to absorb mana like how they did radar waves isn’t a viable workaround, as high-end mana detectors can detect unnatural voids in their sensing field, evidently because the developer had to contend with such threats in the past.

  Back to the fleet, among the airships that participated in the mission was the Filial Piety, a Vala-pattern skypiercer. And at its core of operations was the Associated Intelligence, #100 Anby.

  However, the ship itself was still only about fifty to sixty percent complete in the Cauldron, a fact that left Anby with… well, time to kill. The engineers had optimistically called it “ahead of schedule,” but even with High Charity’s absurd industrial efficiency, something so complex like an alien-looking warship clad from bow to stern in pedanium technology didn’t just pop out like a toast from the toaster.

  So, Anby wandered.

  The special crew lounge, nestled comfortably within High Charity’s internal structure, wasn’t exactly crowded. Most of the ship crews had other business to attend to or, like her, were just waiting for feedstock to magically turn into ships. The lounge itself was simple, if futuristic. Rows of seats, vending machines, holo-screens cycling through local channels, and a couple of bored personnel and Magias scattered around mingling or minding their own business.

  Her own crew—or rather, the soon-to-be crew of the Filial Piety—was somewhere in the labyrinth of briefing rooms and temporary accommodations. Three officers, fourteen enlisted. A 162-meter ship that was practically a light cruiser was about to be manned by a complement of a small patrol boat, but it was more than enough when paired with an advanced AI like Anby. The marvels—and horrors—of automation.

  Wandering past the wide panoramic window, Anby paused, her synthetic eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the outside airspace.

  It was busy out there. Really busy.

  Airships drifted and zipped through the structured flight lanes that wrapped around High Charity like organized chaos. Smaller VTOLs darted between the hulls like small fish around a lumbering bahamut.

  Resuming her wandering, Anby made her way along the quiet corridor branching off from the lounge. She rounded a corner and slowed as her eyes caught someone sitting on one of the benches near a side alcove. A young Special Operations Fleet crewman in the MOASEC’s rarely seen gray uniform and a mask covering the upper half of his face was hunched over a small book with a red cover. Occasionally, his lips moved soundlessly, mouthing words with some hesitation.

  Curious, Anby approached.

  She wasn’t exactly trying to be stealthy, but her light steps and unassuming presence let her get within a few meters before the crewman suddenly paused, his posture stiffening just slightly. A moment later, his head turned toward her.

  “…Ah,” Anby murmured.

  “Hello there, can I help you?”

  The Magia tilted her head, glancing down at the book.

  “What are you doing?”

  The crewman exhaled. “Oh… I just can’t remember the next phrase,” he mumbled, tapping the page lightly with his pen.

  Anby leaned in just enough to see the page without crowding him. She scanned the cramped handwriting on sticky notes and the printed text beneath. “A storybook with missing pages,” she observed, “…are you trying to reconstruct the whole story?”

  The crewman, noticing her gaze lingering on the pages, gave a small, sheepish shrug. His eyes flicked down to Anby’s chosen outfit—a black and green hoodie, black pleated skirt, completed by black thigh-highs. It clearly clicked in his head who, or rather what, she was.

  “I know this probably looks stupid,” he said. “I mean, you can just go buy another book. But… this is my favorite story growing up. Let’s say this is just a self-imposed exercise for my mind.”

  “I see. If it’s for that purpose, then I won’t interfere.”

  “Thanks.”

  She stepped back, giving him space. The crewman gave a grateful nod and went back to muttering under his breath. Anby, however, lingered a moment longer to gaze at the page. She caught enough fragments of the story to cross-check with the database and piece together the rough picture.

  A fantasy tale. The main character was chasing after their selfish goals. Their intentions were clear as glass: entirely self-centered. But along the way, circumstances forced them into situations where they had to save people, help villages, fight monsters… all actions that made them look noble to everyone else, like some heroic figure destined for greatness. Until now, it was unclear what the story was actually trying to convey, but the irony practically wrote itself.

  Now, who was someone in those almost exact circumstances again…

  …………

  A few hours later, as the newly finished Filial Piety launched from the Cauldron, Anby and the 34 other Magias in the fleet received a transmission from their Creator, the White Lotus Leader.

  “Ready to go on an adventure?”

  Anby waited as the other Magias responded in turn. Though their emulated emotions varied, they were all united in their readiness to undertake the mission. When it came for her turn, Anby did not immediately affirm her readiness. Instead, she tilted her head slightly as she glanced at the Creator’s holographic image.

  “If I may ask, Master. Don’t you want to see the outside world yourself?”

  The question caused a visible pause in Meteos’ expression. However, the pensive look was quickly masked by amusement curling at the corner of his lips.

  “Well, I already have an idea of what’s out there. From my past life, at least,” he admitted with a wave of his hand. “But for now… I trust you and the others to bring back what you find. I wouldn’t mind seeing this timeline’s version of the outside world someday.”

  Anby considered his words, then pressed further. “What do you hope to find at our destination?”

  The amusement faded from the young man’s expression, replaced by something quieter. More solemn.

  “I hope it will be a more hopeful place than the last time I saw it.”

  From what she’d seen in Meteos’ past life memories of the place, Anby agreed it would be far better if they could simply establish their research operations without stumbling into a crisis demanding intervention.

  “I see, Master.”

  “Sorry. That was selfish of me, wasn’t it? Handing you all this mission while I stay behind.”

  “………”

  Anby’s thoughts immediately recalled the storybook from earlier.

  “There is nothing wrong with delegating a task because it is the optimal choice, Master,” she chided. “It’s not like you’re being negligent about this whole situation.”

  “Right. I should purge that bad habit,” Meteos chuckled. “One last thing… get along with the others, alright?”

  “We will.”

  ?????

  Midnight draped itself over Area B7R as the seven five-ship divisions of the Special Operations Fleet assembled and prepared for departure. From his vantage point within the gigantic tree-like structure, Meteos Roguerider’s hologram watched as the hulls of the airships hummed to life, propelled by repulsor engines that glowed brightly against the darkness as the backdrop. His eyes tracked their trajectory northward, beyond the borders of the known world, toward the vast unknown he had once known in another lifetime.

  “Godspeed,” he murmured to himself.

  The fleet vanished into the night, leaving only the faintest particles of mana in its wake.

  Nearby, the Heretic Fleet was assembling for the upcoming Operation WHEELHOUSE.

  20:00 of the next day

  From the skypiercer’s observation deck, the unfamiliar land stretched out below. Peeking from the gaps between clouds, mountainous terrain rose like shattered teeth among the white desert surrounding them, their slopes sheathed in thick layers of ice. Anby leaned against the railing as she stared down at the jagged, ice-clad peaks.

  “This place is called Hyperborea?” she asked the Filial Piety’s captain, a middle-aged man standing beside her.

  “Aye, the so-called ‘Land Above the North Wind’ in our people’s legends is finally proven scientifically. To think that we’re really here… all thanks to your Master.”

  “I see. Indeed, Master’s technology allows us to go this far.”

  The land below, known to the Holy Milishial Empire as Hyperborea, marked the planet’s farthest northern reach. A continent untouched by civilization sitting on the North Pole with its harsh climate, it had long been shrouded in legend and speculative geography, earning its name from its location beyond the Boreas Archipelago. Yet, its existence was ultimately verified, and an “official” expedition will surely follow.

  Until this moment, the Holy Empire had limited its operations to its side of the Hyperborean Circle’s southern fringes. Their established outposts marked the boundary of civilization’s tentative grasp on this frozen frontier. Past that unseen threshold stretched the uncharted—a realm untouched by settlers, soldiers, or scholars. But now, for the first time in humanity’s history, the Holy Empire’s cutting-edge skypiercers were not merely brushing the edges of Hyperborea, but slicing through its very heart. The fleet of airborne warships surged across the frozen continent’s upper reaches, daring to cross to the continent’s far side, an act once thought to be beyond impossible.

  The fleet maintained a cruising altitude of 13.000 meters, high enough to evade the worst of the storms that ravaged the lower atmosphere and well beyond the reach of most natural obstacles. For the crew inside each ship, it would appear that they were flying alone. The Special Operations Fleet was not clustered tightly like ships had been before the advent of guided missiles. Instead, they were scattered across hundreds of kilometers. But despite their vast separation, the formation functioned as a coordinated entity thanks to sophisticated data links. And through this network, the fleet gradually assembled a preliminary map of Hyperborea. Various landforms that were completely unknown before all began to emerge on their displays.

  After gazing at the scenery for a moment, the captain let out a sigh.

  “A white desert… I suppose some might find the desolation charming in its own way, but to me, it’s just dull.”

  Anby tilted her head slightly, studying the captain’s expression.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “You don’t seem particularly excited. Were you expecting something different on the other side?”

  At those words, the captain’s lips thinned into a line. “Honestly? No. Not after listening to the White Lotus Leader’s advance intel. Didn’t he say that nothing good awaited anyone who ventured beyond the known world? If anything, I’m half-convinced we’re flying toward a graveyard.”

  “At least, that’s how it looked in his future vision, which humanity wasn’t supposed to see until decades later.”

  “Sure, we’re getting an early look. But who can say…?” the captain shrugged. “Excitement’s a luxury we can’t afford. The moment you start expecting wonders, that’s when the rug is pulled under your feet.”

  “So you caution against optimism.”

  “Because optimism gets people killed.”

  Anby considered this, her glowing eyes dimming slightly in thought. “But Master’s technology has already defied what was once thought impossible. If we can cross Hyperborea, who’s to say we won’t find something beyond it?”

  The captain let out a dry chuckle.

  “And that’s how you end up disappointed—or worse. Hope’s a fine thing, but out here? Assume the worst. That way, if we survive, it’s a pleasant surprise.”

  “I don’t find that outlook very pleasant.”

  “Nobody does. But it keeps you alive.”

  06:30 of the next morning

  Hyperborea

  On the bridge, a low chime disrupted the subdued quiet, followed by Anby’s calm voice.

  “Incoming transmission from the flagship. We are entering an unidentified large-scale sensing field ahead.”

  The captain, lounging in his seat with a cup of hot chocolate, sat up straighter at the announcement.

  “A large-scale sensing field here? How large are we talking?”

  Anby’s pupils dilated slightly as she processed the incoming data from the entire Special Operations Fleet. Within seconds, she projected it onto the bridge’s main display. A translucent, dome-shaped field materialized over the holographic map. It was large enough to make a flying battleship look like a small fry next to it, even more so with the fleet’s light cruiser-sized vessels.

  “It is approximately one thousand kilometers in diameter. Vertical reach exceeds our current altitude. The epicenter is here.” She marked a point deep inside the dome’s boundaries.

  “Oh, joy. I expected trouble beyond the ice. Not still over it.”

  “We are almost at the northern ocean on the other side. The detector must be located on the other continent,” Anby explained.

  The captain grunted in annoyance. He had anticipated something, but they hadn’t even crossed the continent entirely, and already, the entity on the other side was making its presence known. However, probing the other side was always part of the plan.

  As if on cue, Anby spoke up again.

  “The flagship is ordering an altitude increase to 16.000 meters as a countermeasure against the sensing field’s reach.”

  “Do it.”

  Anby was already at work, adjusting the ship’s operation. The massive engines rumbled as the Filial Piety began its gradual climb.

  “Alright. Let’s see if we can slip past—”

  Before the captain could finish, an alarm sounded. Anby’s head snapped up.

  “Mana detector beams detected. Multiple high-intensity narrow sensing fields are locking onto the fleet.”

  “Of course…”

  The captain muttered to himself half-heartedly. And then—

  “Numerous projectile-sized contacts detected from ahead! I’m counting… 40 heading to our ship alone! Their speed is too fast to be any known creature!” a crewman manning the sensor yelled.

  The holographic display updated in real-time as the fleet’s sensors painted a new threat in the form of a swarm of fast-moving unknown aerial contacts emerging from the direction of the sensing field’s epicenter. Hundreds of markers appeared at once and streaked toward the scattered ships, their trajectories splitting into groups as they vectored toward a different vessel in the formation.

  “According to the ‘advance intel,’ those are definitely some sort of guided magic bullets. I see. Is this how the Great Wall is enforced…?”

  “This is it, boys, we’re diving straight into hell!”

  A crewman’s dark humor drew scattered chuckles, but the captain chided him nonetheless.

  “Calm down. Anby, what’s the interception status?”

  “The flagship orders general quarters. Target allocation commencing.”

  “Good.”

  Anby’s voice remained clear despite the sudden threat. Across the 35-ship formation, targeting data streamed back and forth between vessels, each ship’s combat systems operating as one in automatically divvying up the attackers for maximum coverage and minimal redundancy from overlapping targets. As an image of the contact captured by the ship’s magical telephoto lens was brought up, the captain frowned at the sight.

  “What the hell is even that? That’s no missile,” he muttered, studying the contact’s crude, brutal shape. The incoming “projectile” was little more than a jagged shard of blackened rock, aerodynamic only in the roughest sense, powered by a mechanism resembling a blue flame-spouting thruster. Yet, along with 39 others just like it, the thing had already gone supersonic on its way to slam itself onto the Filial Piety.

  But underestimating them would be a mistake. Quantity had a quality of its own, and if the calculations were correct, the fleet was being attacked by around 1.400 magically flying supersonic rocks right off the bat.

  “Targets locked, firing Megaflares!”

  From their housings along the ship’s hull, four circular silos called “Energy Projectors” glowed before ten bolts erupted from each in rapid succession, forty in total, streaking toward the incoming swarm like a volley of vengeful stars.

  A Megaflare bolt (also known as a “plasma torpedo”) is an energy-based analogue to guided missiles, with the added benefit that a single platform—given a strong enough power source—can carry a large number of them, several times what ordinary missiles can fit on a launch platform. Unlike traditional physical munitions, the Megaflare consists of a compressed sphere of volatile energy stabilized within a containment field. The bolt is launched from its projector and guided mid-flight via a command link with the launching platform, allowing for real-time course corrections to ensure maximum hit probability. Visually, Megaflare bolts are distinctive due to their glowing, light-blue coloration. Their short, rounded shape and trailing plasma exhaust give them a comet-like silhouette as they streak through the sky toward their targets.

  Watching the display, the operator prayed that the Megaflare was as good as advertised.

  “Five seconds to intercept… Standby, mark intercept!” Anby announced.

  Immediately after, all of the Megaflares executed breakneck maneuvers midair and slammed into the crude-looking missiles head-on, causing their containment field to collapse and their stored energy to release in a concentrated detonation, spreading blue flames and shock waves far away from the Filial Piety.

  “Target splashed! All hostile guided magic bullets intercepted successfully!”

  The blips disappeared from the display almost simultaneously, and the interception was successful just in time. But—

  “Second wave inbound—no, wait, there’s another one! Counting 50 in the second wave, and 80 in the third wave!”

  “A total of 1.750 in the second wave and 2.800 in the third wave… It’s as if we’re stepping onto an entire province of anti-air defenses! Don’t let them touch our ship! Fire away!”

  “Stars are in the air!”

  The captain slowly shook his head in disbelief. Despite the fleet successfully intercepting the first three waves, a fourth barrage of 3.500 airborne boulders suddenly launched skyward… only to be obliterated once more. Though the fleet’s strength was far from depleted, the absurd scale of the assault and the rapidly escalating numbers left the crew unsettled.

  That day, humanity of the Third Timeline caught a glimpse of what it meant to challenge the Great Wall of Mictlan-Palamecia—the unconquered realm spanning the Northern Hemisphere’s far side, a place even Japan and the Gra Valkas Empire had never dared to tread until it was too late.

  …………

  Special Operations Fleet flagship, Spear of Light

  The so-called “Great Wall of Mictlan-Palamecia” came not in the form of a physical wall surrounding the vast landmasses that were the titular continents, but an unthinkably dense array of defenses to deter anyone on both sides of the “wall” from crossing to the other side.

  Despite taking no losses from the barrage of rock-like guided magic bullets, the conservative-minded fleet commander was reluctant to test the theory that his ships’ pedanium armor would be able to shrug off these unknown enemy attacks like how they laugh at depleted uranium APFSDS in their very first sortie. Hence, after shooting down the fifth, sixth, and seventh waves, he commanded the fleet to do an about-face and retreat. Thankfully, no additional attacks followed after their withdrawal from the airspace, allowing the fleet some breathing room beyond the enemy’s detection range.

  On his chair, the fleet commander rubbed his temples as the adrenaline of the engagement began to fade.

  “I can’t shake the feeling that we just rammed a stick into a hornet’s nest, and the bastards inside just woke up.”

  You may believe it’s wise to let sleeping dogs lie—but no, that’s an utterly na?ve delusion. The Great Wall is invasive in nature, and sooner or later, the idiots of this wretched planet will have to face a threat from this utterly unknown corner of the world. Even if the Ravernal Empire never returned, the world was still being strangled to death anyway, the apocalypse rising from the shadows where no one thought to look.

  Besides, every decision will always get criticized anyway, so at least Meteos Roguerider stuck to his guns.

  With his repertoire now advanced enough to face the dangers ahead, Meteos arranged for an expedition under the banner of the Holy Milishial Empire’s Special Operations Fleet, all while finalizing preparations to undermine the Annonrial Empire, Operation WHEELHOUSE. Such was the fruit of a selfish bastard who desired the world, to the point he’s desperate to keep it intact.

  The chief of staff, reviewing the intercepted projectile data, glanced up. “But technically speaking, we’ve achieved the mission objective. Now, we can wrap this up and deliver a tidy report to the higher-ups.”

  “Satisfactory report or not, the people reading it won’t sleep easy.”

  In truth, this mission had been far more than a pioneering or symbolic flag-planting exercise. This incursion through Hyperborea was the first real test of Meteos’ “future vision” of the outside world. The existence of the Great Wall, its detection grid, and the overwhelming defensive barrage had all unfolded exactly as predicted. Not only did the fleet return unharmed with valuable intel, but they also managed to repel enemy assaults without a single loss. The lack of it might have made it seem to possess no sense of stake, but eh, Meteos would probably be relieved that no lives had to be spent out of a sliver of conscience in him.

  For the Emperor, who remained in the dark about Meteos’ foresight, the report would be framed differently, making it seem like a troubling but manageable revelation. The Special Operations Fleet had conducted a high-altitude reconnaissance mission to explore the North Pole, encountering previously unknown defensive mechanisms of “probable Ancient Sorcerous Empire origin.” Whether he would interpret this as a warning or an invitation to further investigation remained to be seen.

  “Ribbons.”

  A faint shimmer in one of the bridge’s holotables preceded the appearance of the flagship’s Associated Intelligence. A young man with short green hair, somewhere in his early twenties by appearance, materialized with the easy confidence of someone thoroughly familiar with his surroundings.

  “Yes, Commander?” Ribbons replied, a calm smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “So, where, exactly, did those barrages come from? We never even saw the other side’s continent.”

  Ribbons’ expression remained placid as he gestured toward the holographic map. A new overlay expanded, highlighting the last known sensor readings before the attack.

  “All projectiles seem to originate from within the Mictlan Continent’s hinterland. At the time of engagement, the fleet’s maximum sensing range was 450 kilometers. We were around 600 kilometers from the other side. The projectiles seemed to be guided by those extremely long-range mana detector beams. Their detection capability is as advanced as my Master warned.”

  A bitter chuckle escaped the commander’s lips. “Aye, that’d be true. At least our defenses held.”

  At that moment, he wondered what difference it would make if he ordered the fleet to hug the ground instead of fly higher. But what’s done is done.

  “The fleet’s interception systems performed optimally, though. Zero losses sustained,” Ribbons’ avatar nodded languidly.

  “Small mercies.”

  The commander exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple again.

  “Still, if we ever want to explore the North Pole properly, we’ll need to comfortably defend against those abominations. Can’t have them sniping us from beyond the horizon.”

  “At the very least, using crazy monsters to test your weapons is much preferable than using them against fellow man, no?” Ribbons mentioned an important point with a meaningful smile.

  “Heh. Always looking for a silver lining, huh?”

  “Indeed. Future operations in Hyperborea must take into account the other side’s capabilities. Otherwise, any expedition will face the same overwhelming response.”

  The commander glanced at his chief of staff, who gave a grim nod. “Noted. We’ll include it in the report.”

  With a final sigh, the commander straightened in his seat and waved a hand.

  “Alright. We’re done here. Order the fleet to fall back. We’ve got what we came for.”

  After detecting no anomalies, the Special Operations Fleet concluded the mission and withdrew smoothly from the skies above Hyperborea’s highest peaks, situated on the far side of the continent as seen from the known world’s perspective.

  ?????

  11:00

  Ministry of Ancient Sorcerous Empire Countermeasures, Runepolis, Holy Milishial Empire

  “Mm.”

  Humming in contentment, Legiel Roguerider watched the bustling cafeteria while sipping on his white dragon bush tea.

  As a representative of the Roguerider Foundation, whose headquarters were located practically next door to MOASEC in the sparsely populated San Redentore District on the outskirts of the Imperial Capital, Legiel frequently visited the Ministry’s main building for a variety of reasons.

  That’s right, in this Third Timeline, the presence of a bigger family working together toward a common goal allowed Meteos to concentrate more on combating threats to humanity (as collateral) abroad, while his father and siblings provided support on the home front. The first wave of the secretive Hyperborean Expedition has reportedly ended today following an encounter with the Great Wall, with all 35 airships of the MOASEC Secret Department’s Special Operations Fleet returning safely.

  The truth about what lies beyond the Great Wall of Mictlan-Palamecia had already been revealed by Meteos during his covert meetings with the White Lotus collaborators. However, not only would spelling it all out take forever, it also violated the spirit of “Show, Don’t Tell” that Meteos had already carelessly disrespected more than once. So, it’s best to simply wait for it to reveal itself in due time.

  Of course, Meteos hated it to the bone, citing the example of “showing” what Annonrial is capable of equals allowing a genocide to happen in real life before the action to intervene was made. Real life is not entertainment, he said.

  Excuses, excuses.

  That was exactly why Meteos would never be good at writing a story if he held even the most basic of all rules in contempt. All tell, no show.

  However, Legiel was unimpressed with the Special Operations Fleet’s commander for declaring the mission concluded and pulling back after only seven salvos of thousands of anti-ship missiles were launched at his fleet, none of which so much as scratched their hulls. The commander’s calculation and concern for the well-being of his men was… commendable (lmao, more like stupid), Legiel supposed, but it would’ve been far more satisfying if the man had been a callous little shit who didn’t think of anything beyond glory. Make a better spectacle.

  At that moment, Legiel’s sharp eyes caught sight of one Arsene Lippin emerging on the far side of the cafeteria. The man, dressed neatly in a charcoal-gray suit with the telltale lapel pin of the MOASEC, exuded the same polished charm as always. Yet, despite sitting in plain sight, Legiel made no effort to call attention to himself and, as expected, Lippin’s eyes swept over the room without registering his presence.

  Legiel sipped his tea again and watched.

  This timeline’s version of himself was… different.

  The man was shoved into the Ministry’s leadership in the Second Timeline at the cost of his crumbling personal life under the weight of responsibility. His marriage had strained, his children had grown distant, and the constant political maneuvering had worn him down. But now? Now he was just another official among many, free to focus on his work without sacrificing everything else.

  A happier man.

  Legiel sighed inwardly.

  All that buildup of drama, gone. Wasted.

  He couldn’t help but blame Kagaseo for this. That insufferable trickster had to meddle in ways that disrupted the natural flow of consequences and retribution. What was the point of a carefully constructed tragedy if it could just be undone on a whim?

  …But to be fair in Legiel’s eyes, Kagaseo is always at fault. Even if he does nothing, he will always be at fault because Legiel says so.

  Lippin’s role as a liaison to the Foundation granted him considerable prestige within MOASEC, given that the Foundation’s technology was the driving force behind all their progress. Now, whispers of a massive initiative—a complete overhaul of the Holy Empire’s infrastructure to fulfill the Emperor’s vision—had sparked a flurry of activity within the Foundation as well.

  Oh well, might as well say hello to the man. Totally not for evil intentions.

  With that in mind, Legiel finished his tea and stood up, striding toward Arsene Lippin.

  June 8, 1617 Central Calendar, 21:00

  HME Almark Station, Geographical North Pole, Hyperborea

  A certain green-haired Xyston Magia stood alone outside the recently completed research station, perched on the northernmost continent’s high plateau at an elevation of 2.700 meters. One reason for his presence was to take in the six-month-long “day” from the only inhabited place on the surface of the planet from which the Sun is continuously visible for six months before giving way to an equal stretch of darkness, but another part was to observe what was happening in the sky, only clearly visible thanks to his optics.

  “Ribbons!”

  “Hm?”

  The Magia, dressed in a location-appropriate thick winter clothing to better blend with his organic co-workers, turned around at the sound of his name, seeing the Special Operations Fleet’s commander walking over.

  “Commander.”

  “What’s got you out here, son?” The man, bearded and in his sixties, spoke with a jovial air.

  “Well, Magias don’t sleep.”

  The Fleet Commander let out an amused snort at Ribbons’ casual remark.

  “Tsk. I know that, you wisecracking little…”

  Ribbons pointed to a spot in the sky. “I’m just watching my siblings train,” he stated.

  The Fleet Commander squinted, trying to follow Ribbons’ gaze, but the distant maneuvers were barely more than specks despite the good weather. But then, Ribbons reached into his jacket and pulled out a pair of high-powered binoculars, handing them over without a word.

  The Commander grunted in thanks, raising the optics to his eyes. The view sharpened into a display where strange green-hulled airships were hovering in the sky, with humanoid shapes weaving between them. Bright flashes of simulated weapon fire flickered between them as they drilled in the void.

  “Hmm… would you look at that. Flying golems, huh?”

  “The Righteous Salvation Army favors them as their primary weapon. Given their reputation and WHEELHOUSE’s goal to degrade Annonrial’s power… it’s a fitting choice.”

  “Devious,” the Fleet Commander muttered. “So many novel weapons these days I don’t think I can keep up with you youngsters.”

  At that, Ribbons chuckled.

  “Well, I don’t think even the younger ones can fully keep up either.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re elites. I’ll do my best to adjust, at least,” the Commander shrugged.

  But ultimately, what the Fleet Commander said was true. Even among seasoned officers, keeping track of the new weaponry fielded by the Holy Milishial Empire had become somewhat of a challenge. In just a short time, the country’s arsenal had diversified into an almost dizzying array of platforms, systems, and technologies. Yet, far from being disorganized, this development was part of a strategy that could be neatly divided into three distinct “Design Groups.”

  First, there was the standard Holy Empire military equipment, which was rooted in the late Ravernal design philosophy. These were the face and the workhorses of the armed forces.

  The second, alien-looking Design Group was used by the Order of the Ancients as its cutting-edge equipment, invoking a design philosophy of the earliest, most esoteric phases of Ravernal civilization on Ars Goetia.

  Finally, there was a third category that was exclusively used for a single operation, WHEELHOUSE. This classified initiative deployed weapons and platforms unfamiliar even within the Holy Empire’s own ranks, including the distinctive Musai-pattern airships and their Mobile Suits, the Geara Dogas. Despite their strange looks, their role was clear: tools of disruption designed to reduce Annonrial into a stuttering mess by invoking one of the greatest terrors in their history.

  Normally, such diversity in equipment would be a logistical nightmare that should have crippled supply chains and hampered field operations. In a lesser country, it would have. But fortunately, the Holy Empire possessed a trump card, one far greater than any weapon of war: an array of pedanium technologies jokingly dubbed the “Magic of Easy Logistics.”

  “Speaking of which, Ribbons,” the Commander lowered the binoculars and turned to the verdette with a teasing grin.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think our fleet will get to field one of those golems later?”

  The Special Operations Fleet was receiving reinforcements from the homeland to set up a defensive line in front of the Great Wall of Mictlan-Palamecia in Hyperborea. However, the men were fully aware that their eventual mission would involve crossing into the perilous unknown beyond.

  “With enough mental gymnastics and technology, you can justify using even the most ridiculous weapons.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Take the Ancient Sorcerous Empire. They created their mobile suits to bring considerable firepower when they invaded the Hollow Planet region, where the chaotic environment made building infrastructure for conventional vehicles more trouble than it was worth. Invading means needing boots on the ground. If the other side is anything like that, mobile suits will find their use there.”

  “You can just say that you want to pilot one,” the Commander laughed.

  “Aye, that’d be true.”

  Ribbons concluded the talk with an imitation of the Commander’s manner of speech.

  ?????

  With Operation WHEELHOUSE about to begin, the Heretic Fleet concluded its nearby exercises and quietly departed Hyperborea, leaving the Special Operations Fleet as the sole unit active in the region, staring down at the unknown.

  The Available Information from Beyond

  VALA-PATTERN SKYPIERCER

  A line of airships utilized by the Order of the Ancients (mainly through their Holy Milishial Empire’s MOASEC front), based on an even more ancient Ravernal Empire’s design philosophy. It is a relatively small aerial warship identifiable by its smooth oblong shape, armed with relatively light plasma weaponry and highly regarded for its maneuverability and swiftness, making it equivalent to a seagoing destroyer.

  Specifications (Mark 0, atmospheric only; upgradable early mass-production model)

  - Mass: 38.400 tons

  - Length: 162 m

  - Beam: 67,4 m

  - Height: 30 m

  - Propulsion: Pedanium Manadrive engine, 2 × antigrav levitators, 4 × repulsor engines

  - Atmospheric speed: 486 knots (900 km/h) maximum

  - Atmospheric ceiling: 15.500 m

  - Complement: 3 officers + 14 men

  - Equipment: Onboard Associated Intelligence for achieving a highly automated operation; Hyperscanner arrays; Electronic warfare and decoys; Gravity lift

  - Armament: 2 × Gigaflare Energy Projectors; 4 × Megaflare Energy Projectors; 11 × single pulse laser cannons

  - Armor: Prototype Self-Regenerating Armor System; Permanently +5% enhanced Pedanium hull plating with +85% active magical enhancement (the original thickness is 60 mm)