——In the afternoon.
Bronya paced anxiously back and forth, well aware that as a commander, she shouldn’t let her frustration show.
Yet here she was, freshly assigned to the frontlines, her personal guard now replaced by people hand-picked by the Supreme Guardian herself.
These so-called “protectors” were clearly sent to monitor her, a sign that her mother already doubted her loyalty and wanted tighter control.
But Bronya held no such ambitions. All she wanted was for her mother to see reason.
If they could find common ground, perhaps they wouldn’t be forced into a bitter conflict…
Yet, rather than offering any explanation, her mother had forcibly reassigned her from the Administrative Center to the frontlines, without a single response to the letters Bronya had sent.
The political motives were all too clear.
Apart from the bitterness, Bronya felt only disappointment.
“…Was I too naive?”
The words echoed in her mind, soft and doubtful.
“To think my mother might still turn back, to believe she could be persuaded—it was a mistake.”
Even imagining an inevitable clash with her mother filled her with a sense of dread.
She knew she couldn’t let herself be chained to a crumbling path, but she couldn’t resist one last attempt to stop this doomed descent.
What was the right thing to do?
Was there a better way…?
These thoughts continued to grow, leaving Bronya paralyzed by indecision. But amidst the confusion, she seemed to hear a poet’s soft words in her mind.
—When faced with a choice that could alter the course of your life, there is no middle ground.
Either one way or the other, a decision must be made.
Her decision was clear: to prevent Belobog from slipping into ruin, to keep the light of human civilization burning.
If her mother had lost the judgment needed to lead, then it was up to Bronya to stop her…
And if stopping her wasn’t enough, she’d have to choose between her mother and her people.
Even if it meant shattering their bond, abandoning the past, or facing each other as strangers—she had to make that choice.
Just as Bronya moved to open a window to let in fresh air and clear her restless thoughts—
Heavy footsteps echoed from outside. The clang of Silvermane armor colliding created what sounded to her like a “symphony of guardianship.”
The voice of one of the guards called out.
“—Commander Bronya, Lieutenant Dunn requests an audience.”
“Let him in.”
Bronya stopped pacing, returning to her desk. Training had taught her to quickly regain composure.
After three seconds, Lieutenant Dunn entered the room. With his towering frame and heavy armor, he looked like a walking fortress, ducking slightly to avoid bumping his head on the doorframe.
He walked in and offered a crisp salute. Bronya placed a hand over her heart in return, as was her custom, even though her mother had advised her many times not to lower herself when addressing the Silvermane Guards.
According to her mother, Bronya was a born leader, not one of the “weapons” she commanded.
To understand their relationship as strictly hierarchical was, Cocolia insisted, the correct way to govern. Becoming too close to the soldiers would only cloud her judgment as a commander.
People would naturally prioritize their relationships in their hearts, ranking some above others.
But to those carrying out her orders, that felt inherently “unjust.”
No one wanted to die, and everyone hoped to earn the favor of a leader as approachable as Commander Bronya. A few promising promotions aside, at least they could hope that death missions wouldn’t fall on their heads.
If left unchecked, such favoritism could poison the military’s morale.
Yet Cocolia’s reasoning was always based on the assumption that Bronya was overly sympathetic and lacked the correct mindset for rulership.
In truth, though Bronya’s orders might not have always matched her mother’s ideals, they prioritized soldier survival and mission completion.
Bronya deeply respected any soldier who offered their heart to Belobog, and she treated them with the dignity they deserved. This was evident in her daily conduct.
Because of this, the Silvermane Guards admired Bronya, seeing her as more honorable and humane than Cocolia.
Unfortunately, her mother viewed this respect as Bronya’s attempt to buy loyalty.
Bronya, however, didn’t care about her standing among the Guards.
As long as they followed her orders, that was enough. And if the Guards were loyal to Bronya, and Bronya listened to her, that created a comfortable feedback loop.
So, Cocolia had maintained her indifferent approach toward the Guards, even intensifying her demands on them.
All in the name of preparing a “bright future” for Bronya—
“Commander Bronya, I have something important to report.”
Dunn, unfazed by the growing rift between mother and daughter, wasn’t there to contemplate such matters.
Though he was one of Bronya’s bodyguards, his loyalty to Cocolia was unshakable.
It wasn’t that he was cold-hearted; he simply followed the Supreme Guardian’s orders.
He respected Bronya and accepted her authority as Silvermane Captain.
But as someone who had served under Cocolia since she first took office and seen her transition from wise leader to something closer to a tyrant, Dunn didn’t question her orders.
From the moment he swore loyalty to the Supreme Guardian and vowed to protect the people, he accepted the duty to obey her commands without question.
Unless she violated the core tenets of their duty, Dunn’s only concern was to do as a soldier should.
The political drama surrounding mother and daughter felt, to most of the informed or half-informed, like a trivial family dispute—not something that should end in bloodshed.
Sure, the Supreme Guardian might have made mistakes, but expecting her to admit them? That was about as likely as the Fragmentum vanishing overnight.
In Dunn’s view, a bit of mutual compromise, a cooling-off period, and they’d be back to normal in no time. No need for soldiers to meddle in family matters.
Besides, Dunn’s attention had been focused elsewhere. For days, he’d been testing the new equipment sent by Serval and had completed his initial evaluations.
He now presented one of the disposable shields he’d brought with him, excitement evident in his voice.
“Look here, Commander! This is Miss Serval—uh, former Research Division member Serval’s latest invention: a single-use shield!”
Dunn’s enthusiasm was practically contagious, his tone almost reverent.
“This equipment can withstand a lethal blow for the wearer. Based on my tests, even a full-force strike from me only left a faint mosquito bite feeling on the user.”
He set the disposable shield on her desk, taking a moment to control his excitement before continuing.
“According to our calculations, if we implement this new equipment, our casualty rate could drop by five to ten percent. And I hear there’s more advanced gear coming soon.
If Serval wasn’t exaggerating, then with these upgrades, we might turn the tide. Even in counterattacks, we’ll be able to reduce our losses significantly!”
Bronya listened, stunned—not that she didn’t long for what Dunn described, nor was she unimpressed by the equipment, and she bore no ill will toward Serval, despite her forced exit from the Research Division.
It was just… why now?
As strange as it sounded, it felt exactly like the moment she’d set foot in the lower city—her instincts told her she was at a crucial turning point in her life.
At this very instant, she felt it again.
But this unease didn’t come from the disposable shield or Dunn himself. It came from outside.
Suddenly, Bronya rose to her feet, moving swiftly toward the door under Dunn’s bewildered gaze. At that exact moment—
A thunderous, resonant roar echoed from the city’s rear, loud enough to be heard even on the distant frontlines.
While the frontline Silvermane Guards scrambled to prepare for an incoming creature…
In the Administrative District—
Pela stared in shock toward the city walls, where an enormous, impossible “creature” had appeared.
The dragon’s arrival cast an unnatural aura over Belobog’s sky, wild winds swirling and turbulent currents tearing through the air.
Its cloud-shrouded, enormous body, its glimmering, cyan-tinted wings, and the unrestrained, destructive fury in its eyes—
As it opened its massive maw, a sphere of highly concentrated energy formed, heralding one thing—
The beginning of a cataclysm.
—
T/N: Did bro really spawn fucking DVALIN?
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