"With the recent census from the Salva Council Administrative Guild, the new government has released the recent population data of the City-State. Before joining the Hispana rebellion to activate of the Bridge to Altaerrie, there were nearly sixty thousand children of Tekali, with about ten thousand travelers monthly. Since the war began (Six AST months or four Earth Zulu months) and excluding the Altaerrie presence, the remaining occupation of Salva is about fifty-seven thousand, with five hundred travelers. With coordination with Colonel Hackett, there is an approximation of eleven thousand USAM personnel, mostly coming from the American 1st Brigade, 4th ID, and the two Ranger Battalions, but all this includes support warriors.

  Before the war, the city only needed a hundred Militia to maintain stability. Excluding the emergency drafting of all body males during the First Siege of Salva, there were not three thousand Militia serving under the Minutemen's command.

  The City-State of Salve, a once major trading and religious city before the days of the Daru'uie Confederacy that once housed over a hundred thousand souls, is now a shadow of its former self. Over the centuries, the city slowly degraded against the dominant competition and the rise of the Toriffa-Affrooliea alliance. Unable to forge a counterbalance, their influence faded throughout time. A once-thriving people resorted to a backwater, aging like the abandoned Indolass Temple.

  However, a sense of brightness fills Salva's air. Despite constant bombardment from their former masters—the Verliance Aristocracy—the Altaerrie are there. New blood, technology, and courage bring new life to the city. Buildings that have not been occupied in generations have found new purpose. While times are dark, food is scarce, and at any moment, the enemy of Tekali could storm the city, most are hopeful that a new golden age has arrived." - Oracle

  April 17th, 2068 (Military Calendar)

  Salva, the former Confederacy of Daru'uie

  Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore

  *****

  Walking along the street, the Princess of Salva observed hundreds of commoners conducting their daily business. They navigated peacefully to their destinations, conversing with fellow citizens or Altaerrie defenders. The city bore scars from relentless attacks, with damage control and security teams active after the recent bombardment, yet a positive mood hung in the air.

  With a lull in the assaults, Colonel Hackett deemed it vital for American and Salva leadership to appear publicly, showcasing solidarity and bolstering morale. The Princess welcomed this; she had no fondness for being confined indoors. Six years spent within Kallem’s palaces and fortresses, glimpsing the world only through paintings, had left her craving open skies.

  “It is nice to see people happy again,” the voice said.

  “I’m surprised they’re not panicking,” Assiaya thought. “The war rages just beyond the walls, yet they act as if nothing is wrong.”

  “People cannot stay scared forever.”

  “True…,” Assiaya thought. “But I’m still scared.”

  She gazed at the partly cloudy sky. It was midday, with Tekali looming high above. But a new sight marred her view of the blue and purple gas giant: giant missiles launched from American artillery streaked toward the enemy’s rear, targeting outposts and supply lines.

  “What’s wrong, kid?”

  The Princess turned to see Colonel William Hackett, accompanied by his staff, Captain Loria Smith, and Captain James Howard, whom she recognized from the Palace Headquarters. They had joined her daily walk but spent most of their time discussing the war. Their collective stare made her nervous.

  “Um…,” Assiaya murmured. “I was wondering when Father will come home.”

  “I see,” Hackett replied. “I can’t say—it’s classified—but I promise it won’t be forever.”

  “It’s been a week,” Assiaya said, measuring time in Alagore Standard. Memories flickered of their days in the forest, playing shadows in the cave, sitting on the balcony at Vagahm.

  “I understand,” Hackett said softly. “Duty calls soldiers to war to defeat our enemies. It’s hard, unfair, and it hurts—but that pain shows you love someone. It’s a sad truth, but when you reunite, cherish those moments—they’ll be precious.”

  The Princess looked down, reflecting on his words. The thought of losing her new Father chilled her, each day deepening her dread. Having already lost one family, she couldn’t fathom enduring it again.

  She glanced at the officers. “What if he dies?”

  Hackett exchanged a look with his staff before facing her with a wry smile. “Impossible. I didn’t permit it,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

  Realizing worry wasn’t helping, Assiaya resolved to appear composed for the American supply convoy and the townsfolk. In Kallem’s Slave, she had learned that public perception was everything for a ruler. She took her hanky, wiped her eyes, and, with her composure restored, continued down the street.

  As she passed her subjects, many showed respect—bowing, waving, or offering other gestures. The attention still unsettled her. As a slave, she had been deemed lesser; now, her world was inverted. She returned each gesture with a warm “thank you,” whether to Salva natives or Altaerrie.

  The Americans were different. Lacking a royal culture, their respect often felt forced, driven by Colonel Hackett’s standing order rather than sincerity. This didn’t bother the Slave Princess; she could sense their obligation. Yet, some Americans saluted her, occasionally acknowledging her royal title. With every flower, thank you, and speech, more soldiers showed her respect as she walked Salva’s streets.

  “It’s nice to see your subjects respect you,” the voice said.

  “My subjects,” Assiaya mumbled. “Should I call them that? It feels wrong.”

  “Kallem did,” the voice replied. “Our former Father did. Even the Vagahm Lord did.”

  “I know. But our new Father doesn’t, and the other Altaerrie avoid such terms.”

  “Not true. That Ambassador woman does. She acts like royalty, but the rotten kind.”

  “True… I hate that woman so much.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Startled, Assiaya realized she had spoken aloud. She turned to see the Minutemen officers staring at her, puzzled.

  “I… was wondering if I should call people subjects,” she said.

  “If I recall,” Smith replied, “that’s normal in a feudal society. Or am I mistaken?”

  “I… guess so,” Assiaya said. “Yes, it’s normal.”

  “I have a bigger question,” Hackett said. “Why are you asking?”

  “I don’t know,” Assiaya admitted. “I was thinking I don’t want people to fear me like they do Kallem.”

  “I understand,” Hackett said. “It’s okay if people fear you a little—that’s how you maintain order and respect. But it’s also good, even preferable, for the government to fear its people, in principle.”

  The idea stunned the Princess. A government fearing its people was unthinkable. She recalled Kallem’s obsession with public perception, balancing groups to maintain aristocratic allegiance. “Why?”

  “It’s about respect,” Hackett explained. “A ruler can have a soft heart, but you mustn’t appear weak to citizens or enemies. Fear doesn’t always mean oppression; without consequences, society unravels. As for your question, it’s your choice: are they subjects who serve you, or are you duty-bound to serve them?”

  “Father was right,” the voice said. “Everything Uncle Hackett says is complex.”

  “‘Yeah…,’ Assiaya mumbled. ‘You said “citizens.” What do you mean?’”

  “It’s a modern term for subjects, loosely speaking,” Hackett said. “Nations valuing nationalism often unite under one culture and ideology, regardless of creed, religion, tribe, or race—everyone under a single banner. Citizens feel connected to the state, unlike an empire, which segregates cultures or ethnicities under a central authority, rendering ‘citizen’ meaningless.”

  “That’s an oversimplification,” Smith interjected.

  “Which is right, then?” Assiaya asked.

  “It depends on who you ask and why,” Hackett replied. “Empires have dominated history, but as Americans, we’re nationalistic. Race doesn’t matter; national principles trump ethnic or regional ones. That’s our heritage. But whichever model you choose, balance is key—too far or not far enough, and it fails.”

  “Again, oversimplified,” Smith said. “There’ll be time to learn this, but it’s not your concern now. First, we must reclaim the region.”

  The concept jolted Assiaya, sparking questions about governance and her future as a ruler. She hadn’t imagined leading a country in different ways. Her former master’s constant politicking now made sense.

  Seeing the Colonel signal to move on, she turned, pondering the ruler she wanted to be. If the Americans broke the Aristocracy’s blockade, she would one day govern multiple cities and villages.

  *****

  Colonel Hackett watched the Princess navigate the street, greeting everyone with genuine effort. The dual-eyed girl thanked and showed consideration to her subjects, making it no mere chore.

  “It’s kind of cute,” Smith said. “I’ve never seen someone try so hard at her age.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Hackett nodded, considering Smith’s observation. He suspected Assiaya was battling self-doubt, much like Mathew Ryder. Six years of confinement likely fueled that struggle. If he had to pinpoint one motive, Hackett believed she was striving to be the opposite of her former master, Kallem Verliance—a trait that could be both positive and perilous.

  He was pleased she asked questions but cautious about giving direct answers, hoping she’d develop ideals aligned with Ryder’s vision organically. He worried she might reject Kallem’s ways out of spite, adopting opposing ideas impulsively. For now, he’d guide her mindset to reflect Ryder’s approval, not merely negate her former master.

  “Maybe a little too hard,” Hackett said. “But for now, it’s harmless.”

  “Sir,” Howard said, “if we’re to meet the supply convoy, we should hurry.”

  The Colonel glanced at his intelligence officer, who was scribbling on his tablet, sifting through battle reports.

  “It’s not that urgent,” Hackett replied.

  “We’re only out here because of her,” Howard said.

  “She does this daily,” Smith countered. “Or do you miss her not serving you coffee?”

  “Not the point,” Howard said. “We could be working efficiently at HQ, not wandering.”

  “We’re not wandering,” Hackett said. “The townsfolk need to see their leaders among them, not isolated.”

  “Isn’t that Captain Ryder’s role?” Howard asked. “And the kid? Why us?”

  “Ryder’s busy bombing the enemy,” Hackett said. “She wants to be out here, and as city military commander, I need to show presence.”

  “Then shouldn’t the Ambassador be here?” Howard pressed.

  Hackett sighed. “One war at a time.”

  “Besides,” Smith said, “we’re winning hearts and minds.”

  “Exactly,” Hackett said. “If we do this right, it’ll be a model moving forward. Now, speaking of bombs—how are our Combat Teams faring?”

  “Captain Ryder—or rather, Duke Ryder’s alliance with a Farian town has been successful,” Howard reported. “Major Stone had no issues establishing a temporary outpost. Fifteen teams are operating from there.”

  The Farian town was a critical staging ground for deep strikes against Aristocracy and Unity rear bases and supply lines, eliminating the need to return to Salva for resupply. Hackett had sent his second-in-command to lead the operation, underscoring its importance in breaking the siege.

  “That’ll get noticed,” Smith said.

  “Major said the same,” Howard replied. “B Squadron is setting up now. Two teams are contacting other villages as we speak.”

  “Good,” Hackett said. “Recall A Squadron after their current missions. Keep the two in rotation for consistent disruption.”

  The Colonel agreed with his personnel officer. The U.S. military traditionally dominated conventional foes, maintaining global dominance for over 150 years, even among Earth’s Great Powers. Yet asymmetric warfare—winning local loyalty—remained a challenge. Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, and even Central America’s cartel wars showed mixed results.

  The American tendency to treat every problem as a nail for their hammer often blinded them to alternative solutions.

  As they moved through the city, Hackett watched the Princess greet passersby. She paused to speak with two shop owners—a Yalate and a Kitsune—about their bare shelves. Then, an unfamiliar noise caught her attention.

  The dual-eyed girl clutched her dress and hurried toward a market building, stopping at a metal cage fence. The three-story structure housed residents on the upper floors, with a shop and a small courtyard on the first, sheltered by the second floor and supported by four stone-and-wood pillars.

  Assiaya and other townsfolk gathered around the fence enclosing the courtyard, where a dozen chickens pecked at the ground.

  The crowd marveled at the alien, flightless birds, many wondering their purpose. The Princess explained they produced “infinite eggs.”

  Colonel Hackett chuckled, especially when a small Neko reached through the fence, only to be pecked by a rooster. Importing these animals was a modest investment to ease the food crisis, but he hadn’t anticipated the morale boost.

  A cage guard warned the Neko to stop. Since these farms appeared, shop owners had hired security to protect their valuable assets.

  Hackett understood some guards were former Adventurers, this world’s private law enforcement. Salva’s small guild, where the Council or individuals posted quests, had closed since the war began. He considered reopening it once the siege lifted, as locals were already taking security into their own hands.

  Seeing the Princess busy explaining the chickens’ importance to Salva’s future, Hackett checked his tablet, which listed active Combat Teams, including allies. Two Minutemen Squadrons, alongside British and Japanese teams, were deployed.

  He flipped to Razorfist’s POV. The Minutemen team was tasked with destroying an ammunition depot. Other teams had taken out an Aristocracy radar base, but this mission faced a new detection system—a “scope,” an orb-antikythera magitech using electromagnetic waves to track targets visually. Unfamiliar with its capabilities, Hackett prioritized its destruction.

  Razorfist’s live feed lagged due to poor connections. Coordinating with two B Squadron teams, they opened fire, surrounding the enemy and enabling Mācuahuitl to demolish the structure.

  Ghost, alongside a Japanese team, called in a Tonbokiri cruise missile to destroy a cargo airship, requiring three missiles and causing secondary damage.

  Major Stone deployed Comanche and Horatius to neutralize walker artillery bombarding the city. American radar tracking pinpointed artillery origins, but the enemy’s superior mobility allowed them to relocate before counter-barrages.

  The campaign against the enemy’s rear had stalled their assaults on Salva’s walls, frustrating the White House. With resources pouring into this secret war, maintaining secrecy was increasingly untenable. The Bridge’s discovery had raised questions about its long-term presence on Alagore. The President, wary of public revolt over an alien war without clear victory, demanded a triumph to justify the announcement.

  Hackett understood the White House’s logic, but the reality on the ground didn’t match. The month-long siege hadn’t starved Unity, though he hoped his raids would demoralize them and thin their blockade.

  City alarms blared, signaling an attack. Hackett scooped up Assiaya and rushed into a nearby shop, followed by his staff and civilians. Smith and Howard directed everyone to the floor as he knelt by a wooden pillar, setting the Princess down. She adjusted her dress, thanked him, and peered out the window as the building shook.

  “This is why your Father hasn’t returned,” Hackett said. “These attacks must stop.”

  “I know,” Assiaya whispered. “I feel so helpless.”

  “I understand,” Hackett said. “When I was your Father’s age…”

  The blue-and-gold-eyed Princess sat on the floor, waiting for the alarms to cease. Some grumbled or cried, but most waited calmly for the enemy volley to end. The shop owner, a male Kitsune, beheaded a chicken and plucked its feathers, unfazed by the attack.

  The building shook as enemy shells struck, slipping through the remnants of the American layered defense. The Aristocracy’s recent assault on the Fort had destroyed many Tawa and Bolas batteries.

  “They’re getting desperate,” Smith said. “Third volley today.”

  “They’re not focusing on the rear anymore,” Hackett noted. “They must be close to breaking.”

  “I’m not sure,” Howard said. “Our teams found massive supply stockpiles—too many for a siege.”

  “You’re expecting an attack?” Hackett asked, reaching the same conclusion.

  Then, he heard Captain Smith humming a familiar tune beside the Princess. At first, he ignored it, but his gut prompted him to ask. “Smith, what are you humming?”

  The Captain shifted. “Sorry, sir. I got in the mood.”

  “That’s fine. What’s the song?”

  “I was humming The Star-Spangled Banner,” she said. “I don’t know why. I was picturing the shroud explosions.”

  Hackett kicked himself for not recognizing the national anthem, written during the War of 1812 after the British burned Washington, D.C. During the siege of Fort McHenry, the defenders withstood cannon and rocket barrages, their oversized flag flying defiantly by dawn, prompting the enemy’s retreat.

  As the building shook, Hackett approached the cracked window and stared at the city.

  “Sir?” Howard said.

  Hackett ignored him, focusing on the Princess. “Princess, I have a job for you.”

  April 18th, 2068 (Military Calendar)

  Hiplose Forest, the former Confederacy of Daru'uie

  Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore

  *****

  Mathew Ryder peered over the rocky surface toward the meadow ahead, using the terrain as cover. Greenery and moss covered the area, but his focus was elsewhere.

  Below, Charlie Higgins operated his radio while Benjamin Ford and Ovidius Vestalis monitored a laptop. Natilite scanned through her M77 optics, and Kurt Forest used a digital range finder feeding data to the computer. Flavius Antius and the rest of Comanche and Horatius secured the perimeter.

  “I thought Phantom-1 said they were coming this way?” Ryder asked.

  “They did,” Higgins confirmed.

  Before Ryder could respond, Natilite signaled him. “Matt, I see movement.”

  “I can confirm,” Forest added.

  Ryder turned and saw half a dozen enemy troops emerge from the brush, followed by a four-legged walker with a long accelerator on its back. A second walker appeared, its spider-like legs gliding over obstacles.

  With Salva’s defenses holding against direct assaults, the enemy had shifted to long-range bombardment. Walkers, unrestricted by roads, climbed hills for better firing positions, prompting the Minutemen to prioritize their destruction.

  “There’s the suckers,” Ryder muttered.

  “Boss,” Forest said, “those turrets don’t look like any circiletum I’ve seen.”

  “They’re rallustum variants,” Natilite clarified.

  Unfamiliar with the term, Ryder accessed his Itlian battlesuit’s Oracle database, which translated “rallustum” as “railgun”—a linear motor device using electromagnetic force, unlike the coil-based circiletum.

  “What are they used for?” Ryder asked.

  “Mainly artillery,” Natilite said. “Rallustums double as rocket launchers due to fewer components and stronger kinetic force.”

  “But they’re energy-inefficient,” Antius added. “We rely on circiletums as standard.”

  “Thanks for the intel,” Ryder said. “Bruno, prep the Atlatl.”

  “Hold on,” Antius interrupted, pointing to the brush. “There’s an amplifier walker.”

  Ryder checked Forest’s range finder, spotting a giant orb and a leg protruding from the foliage. The amplifier’s presence ruined their ambush plan; it could deploy a mana shield or electrical strike to counter the Atlatl.

  “Good eyes,” Ryder said.

  “You rely too much on tech,” Antius replied. “I’ve fought Unity for years. You learn or die.”

  “Here’s hoping we live to learn,” Ryder said. “Now what? We need to neutralize the amplifier.”

  “The orb’s vulnerable,” Vestalis said.

  “A .50-cal shot could do it,” Forest suggested. “Boss, permission to grab the M66?”

  Rommel King, below the mount, shook his head. “By the time Kurt reaches our vehicles, the walkers will redeploy.”

  King was right. The sniper rifle wasn’t an option. “Forget it,” Ryder said. “Antius, can Horatius take out the amplifier?”

  “Derion has a rallustum,” Antius said. “Get us close, and that walker’s done.”

  “Do it,” Ryder ordered. “Bruno stays to prep the Atlatl. We’ll cover you when it gets hot.”

  The leaders agreed. Horatius moved north, circling the meadow, while Comanche—minus Forest and Barrios—advanced. The terrain aided their stealth until they reached the meadow’s edge, where a slope offered cover but no foliage. They crawled to avoid detection.

  The soft, stream-fed ground slowed them, but Comanche reached the slope safely.

  “Water on wings…,” Natilite muttered. “Not a good combination.”

  “You could’ve stayed back,” Gonzales teased.

  “And who’d kiss your wounds when you get shot?” Natilite shot back.

  “Enough,” King snapped.

  Ryder directed his team to fan out for cover and prepare to engage. Natilite, beside him, felt the ground. “Matt, maybe Fraeya could redirect the water into a wall if we need to retreat?”

  “Can you do that?” Ryder asked.

  “A strong hydromancy mage can,” Fraeya said, crawling for a better view. “There’s enough water to freeze the ground.”

  Ryder caught her meaning. Freezing the wet grass could slow the enemy, aiding their escape. “Do it,” he ordered. “Don’t overdo it. Everyone else, when Horatius opens fire, light them up.”

  Fraeya cast her spell cautiously to avoid detection. Tension mounted as the team waited near the enemy. The rallustum walkers raised their cannons toward Salva, their battery packs glowing as they charged. A loud crack echoed as projectiles launched.

  Weapons fire erupted across the meadow. Unity defenders scrambled toward the skirmish.

  “Horatius has been made,” King said.

  “Dammit,” Ryder snapped. “Comanche, light it up!”

  The Minutemen emerged, catching the Unity soldiers off guard. Wallace’s light machine gun roared in bursts, forcing survivors to cover. Natilite picked off officers with her DMR, while Ford launched a grenade from his M31.

  The enemy regrouped, with circiletum-armed soldiers providing cover fire and shield-bearing troops charging.

  King slid beside Fraeya. “Forget caution. Go hard.”

  The ice spread swiftly as Fraeya focused her mana. “I can fire ice shrouds.”

  “Wait for my order,” King said.

  The charging Unity soldiers hit the ice, one slipping, another stumbling. The rest halted, realizing the trap.

  “Now!” King shouted.

  Ice shrouds shot from the ground. One shattered against an energy shield, another killed a soldier. The surprise stalled the charge, letting Comanche unleash a hail of 6.8mm rounds on the slowed enemy.

  The amplifier walker glowed, projecting a shield over the other walkers. A projectile from nearby brush struck the orb, triggering a colorful explosion.

  “What was that?” Natilite asked, shielding her eyes.

  “Horatius,” King said.

  The shield collapsed. Unity soldiers retreated, sensing the shift. An Atlatl missile from Barrios’s position streaked toward the nearest walker, exploding on impact.

  The second walker scrambled toward the tree line, but a second Atlatl hit its top, causing a massive secondary explosion. Its wreckage collapsed, legs splayed.

  Comanche erupted in cheers. Ford thrust his fist skyward. “Run, you utopian bastards!”

  Fraeya and the team chuckled at Ford’s outburst, but Barret silenced them, maintaining combat focus.

  “Nice to see them burn for once,” Natilite said.

  “Celebrate later,” King said, pointing to approaching enemy infantry. “Two Files incoming.”

  “They must be pissed,” Wallace said.

  “Mission accomplished,” Ryder said. “Comanche, fall back.”