Chapter 218

At the same time—
Inside the first airship of the Arland Kingdom Air Force, the armed vessel “Victory Coote”, there was a group of men armed with knives and similar weapons.

They were sons of members of the Noble Council. Out of courtesy, they had been assigned as junior officers. At first, they worked diligently, and it was assumed they had potential for future promotion.

However, they betrayed their country. Using the ship's communication equipment, they contacted the Empire to hand over the Victory Coote. Naturally, they planned to seize control by initiating a rebellion.

“Listen up—we’ll take the bridge. You guys secure the CIC. An imperial airship is waiting nearby in this airspace. We’ve got 30 minutes to take control.”

The men were armed with small knives, about the size of paper cutters, which they had secretly brought aboard. Anything larger would have been impossible to smuggle in due to tight security.

Weapons were banned on airships. In such confined spaces, the presence of weapons during a riot could lead to disaster, hence the prohibition.

But they were mistaken. They assumed that because weapons weren’t allowed, there were none onboard. In reality, firearms were stored on the ship. Of course—they were simply under controlled management. These traitors, who had yet to earn trust, had not been informed of this classified fact.

The group moved into assault position in front of the CIC. Around the same time, their comrades were to seize the bridge. They were only about ten in number, but believed their weapons and surprise attack would be enough. After all, the air force wasn’t considered to be particularly elite, unlike the army.

“One, two, three—GO! Move in—GAAAAAAHHH!”

As they burst through the CIC door, gunfire rang out and the man in front fell, clutching his thigh and writhing in pain.

The shooter was Pash. He aimed his revolver at the rest without hesitation and promptly shot out the thighs of each one, neutralizing their combat ability.

“Wh-why…?”

“All communications in the ship go through us. The moment you used the transmitter, we knew. There are also cameras installed throughout the ship. Standing openly in front of the CIC? That just sealed it. Too bad for you.”

“General Pash, sir! The mutiny at the bridge has also been suppressed.”

“Good work. We're returning to base. Restrain these men and toss them into a cabin.”

“General, sir—there are screams coming from the bridge… It’s the captain’s voice.”

The cries of anguish echoed through the comms. Pash hurriedly picked up the transmitter while the rebels were being bound.

“What happened!?”

“The ship! Our ship has been damaged!”

Apparently, during the capture of the rebels at the bridge, someone had scratched the floor with a knife.

Pash let out a weary sigh.

“… How bad is the damage?”

“The paint… some of the paint has peeled off! It’s a serious wound!”

“Understood. There’s spare paint in the storage. Touch it up.”

Pash thought it was utterly trivial. Something that minor would naturally happen with normal use. Still, he could understand how the officers felt.

The air force had long been without airships, or any real military might. Owning a warship had been unthinkable. As a result, they treated the vessel with almost obsessive care.

Daily cleaning was done down to the last corner. To the crew, who worked with extreme caution, having the ship damaged by traitors was unforgivable. The officers present looked ready to kill the rebels on the spot.

To them, the ship was like a home they lived in every day, and one they loved so dearly that it caused no stress. Being defiled had crushed their morale.

Pash sighed again. This was a warship. It would suffer more damage in the future. If morale collapsed every time that happened, it would be a serious issue. Clearly, a mindset reform was needed for the now overly gloomy air force.

“For now, we return to the capital. We’ve used up a good amount of ammunition.

Oh, and rejoice—the second ship, the Super Titan, has been completed. We’re heading over to collect it. The counterattack begins now.”

Until now, they had only been intercepting imperial ships. True, they had inflicted some damage—but not enough to turn the tide. But with two ships, they could double their effectiveness.

Currently, the Victory Coote was being operated by more than double the normal crew in preparation for the new vessel. Though, thanks to extreme automation, the actual number of personnel wasn’t that high.

Upon hearing this, the officers erupted in cheers. The time for counterattack had come.

“… But first, let’s sink those imperial airships loitering nearby.”

“Understood, sir!”

That day, the five imperial ships waiting for handover were annihilated.

Meanwhile, in the royal capital—right before the Noble Council’s rebellion—

A certain imperial commander wanted to cry.

His unit had infiltrated Arland through small-scale border incursions in the years before the war began. Over 2,000 soldiers had entered, but that number had dwindled to about 500.

Roughly 800 of the original 2,000 had successfully blended in. Neither he nor his superiors thought this a poor result. On the contrary, getting nearly half into Arland was an impressive success.

When the imperial war began, the infiltrators slipped into the capital posing as refugees. The royal army, unprepared for such a sudden influx, was overwhelmed and conducted little inspection. The commander felt like celebrating when they successfully slipped through. Once inside, the advantage was theirs.

They then gathered around comrades who had been posing as adventurers in the area, forming a unit of around 850 men.

The time to rise had come! But the Arland Special Service was ready. They had worked tirelessly to identify possible infiltrators among the tens of thousands of refugees. Despite a manpower shortage, they scoured the city and, right before the enemy could act, detected the plot. There wasn’t even time to report to the castle—they had to make a decision.

They decided to assassinate the commander of the infiltrators. And they succeeded. The commander and his staff were eliminated before the uprising could begin. One officer survived—he had been away on a scouting mission to another cell. He had some tactical knowledge and was a frontline officer.

The unit accompanying the commander was wiped out. This reduced their total force to around 500. The Special Service had done a spectacular job. Unfortunately, the assassination delayed reporting to the castle.

Then the planned uprising began.

However, even though the city was in chaos, no orders came from their commander. Suspicious, the officer returned to the cell—only to find him already dead.

(The plan has failed.)

That’s what he thought. But once the operation had begun, it was necessary to achieve some results. The Imperial Army had no place for incompetents who couldn’t produce results. His current position would be stripped away.

He acted according to the original instructions. The first target was the Adventurers' Guild. They needed to take control of the guild to throw the adventurers into disarray. Utilizing adventurers in warfare was strictly forbidden. While hiring them as mercenaries via requests might be tolerated, using their status for sabotage or espionage would result in the guild being designated for purging, and every adventurer would receive a kill-on-sight order. They had to seize the guild before that happened.

However, they failed. The unit he sent was repelled by the adventurers.

It was the worst possible timing—the most powerful adventurer clan in Arland happened to be in the capital. Of course, it was pure coincidence.

Next was the royal castle, but contact with the unit that went there was lost. So he turned to attacking the headquarters of the Viceroy Merchant Union (formerly the Ponpoko Company).

However, in front of him stood a formidable elderly soldier with a sword. The real problem lay behind him. There was no retreat.

A massive crowd of civilians had surrounded them. Each armed with whatever tools they used for work, they formed a perimeter around the Imperial soldiers.

"I knew Arland was a country with strong unity. But… why are even the cats so united in this country!?"

The citizens were indeed a threat. Still, as trained soldiers, they believed they could win.

But the reality was that the capital’s citizens possessed terrifying strength. Not to mention the group of cats coordinating their attacks alongside them.

The stray cats acted in groups of three, supplementing the citizens' clumsy coordination. Clearly, these cats were no ordinary animals.

And worst of all were the Paper Knights hiding among the citizens.

It happened when they were heading to attack the Viceroy Merchant Union's headquarters and steal Alicetia's development documents. They ran into a young girl who had failed to evacuate. She stood frozen in fear, despite having the chance to run. She was a beastkin. A soldier, already on edge from their string of failures, shouted that she was in the way and slashed at her.

“P-Please help—”

At the frightened voice of the girl, a flower pot nearby began to glow. From it emerged a Paper Knight. That was the beginning of the nightmare.

More knights appeared one after another. From everywhere. Their numbers were uncountable.

"Hey, that's the princess’s crest!"

At first, the citizens panicked and fled (though they were mostly just making sure the children escaped). But once they saw the colorless crest on the knights’ chests—the symbol of a bird in flight, crossed with a staff and sword—they knew. Their victory was assured.

Recognizing Alicetia's crest, the citizens calmed, and launched an enraged assault on the Imperial Army.

The Paper Knights were weak. But since they weren’t human, the citizens used them mercilessly as shields. Whenever a dangerous attack came, a Paper Knight would leap out and take the hit, allowing a citizen to close in with a hammer.

“Eat this! Don’t underestimate carpenters!!”

A retaliating Imperial soldier had his sword smashed from the side by a hammer. Then the carpenter landed a yakuza-style kick. The soldier fell, clutching his stomach, only to have another grab his leg and drag him into a nearby alley.

“P-Please help—GYAAAAAH!!”

There were devils in those alleys. Many were dragged in, and not a single one came back. Bloodshot red eyes and dozens of arms beckoned from the darkness.

“Come here, come over here…”

“The cult's even come out!”

An undercover member of the adventurer team stepped back from the alley, face pale with fear.

“What’s that?”

“A cult of the princess. They make the citizens behind us look like gentlemen. Unlike the citizens, they’re a combat group… Usually, they do things like maintain flowerbeds, but they’re extremely dangerous.”

He was baffled—dangerous people were making flowerbeds?

The cult was an unofficial citizen group, not formally recognized by Alicetia. It was created by Alicia and Gilbert to gather and manage the more violent among her followers, to protect her honor.

Though they looked like devil-worshippers, they were simply shy. They knew they were rough types and found it embarrassing to be seen doing charity work, so they settled on their current appearance through mutual discussion.

Normally, they were extremely quiet and well-behaved. But when faced with threats to the kingdom, they showed no mercy.

“The Princess’s enemies must be eliminated.”

“Come here… Come here… It’s fun, you know?”

Already at their breaking point with rage, they were completely unhinged.

In front, the Viceroy’s guard corps. Behind, the citizens and their Paper Knight shields. Supplemented by clearly coordinated cats. There was no way to win. But he realized something: none of his comrades had been killed. From the alleys came the sounds of beating and sobbing comrades, but no death screams. In other words, they weren’t trying to kill them.

“We’re escaping through that vacant shop!”

Near the Viceroy Merchant Union’s headquarters was a vacant storefront. Large enough for a carriage, it was blocked by thin boards. This area was under redevelopment, so the shop had probably relocated. They rammed through the entrance and escaped inside.

“No! Stop! I don’t wanna go to the alley aaaaaaahhhh!”

As they fled, many were lassoed and dragged into alleys, but the commander led the remaining troops to safety. He immediately broke down the back door and slipped out of the encirclement.

“If we can free the captured comrades, there’s still a chance. We’ll run through the capital, rescue them, and escape!”

“Yes, sir!”

Most of their comrades were already captured. With this few, they’d be caught before they reached the outskirts and dragged into the alleys themselves. The voices coming from those alleys engraved fear into their very souls.

But even so—there would be no escape for them.

"Meow!"

"Hissss!"

Even if they could break through the human encirclement, they could never get past the cat blockade.

"A cat's cry! They're over here!"

"Catch them! Grab them and take them to the plaza!"

(The commoners truly are fools.)

The commander silently thanked the unexpected piece of information.

"We'll attack the plaza and free our comrades... Anyone who can't move, leave them. We head straight out of the capital afterward."

"These damn cats are in the way!"

At his command, one of his men was bitten on the leg. As he tried to slash at the cat, the nimble creature dodged with ease. Enraged, the man stepped slightly ahead of the others—and in that moment, someone in black sprang from an alley and slammed into his stomach.

The shock made him drop his sword, and the black-clad figure dragged him into the nearby alley with that momentum. The cult was already closing in.

The commander had no time to save his man. He rushed toward the plaza. Before he knew it, his group had dwindled to about fifty. While fleeing, one by one, they had vanished into alleys, been swarmed by cats, or beaten down by citizens.

Even so, with about thirty left, he finally reached a vantage point where he could see the plaza—and fell into despair.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Some comrades were repeating apologies over and over, while others, with hollow eyes, had clearly given up. Some of the captured looked like they could still move, but their spirits had already been broken.

"When this battle's over... I'm gonna work in a mine..."

"Damn it! This is what humans do to each other!?"

To the commander's eyes, the captured were gathered in the center of the plaza, and citizens were stacking firewood. It looked to him like they were about to be burned at the stake.

"Looks like we’ve caught ourselves another one."

The looks they received as they entered the plaza—those were the eyes of beasts who had found weak prey. He and his comrades were trained elite soldiers, yet to these people, they were nothing more than meat.

"All troops, charge!"

One man roared, and the surrounding citizens surged forward—of course, using paper knights as shields.

"I'm not going down like this! Take as many of them with you as you can!"

The imperial soldiers, resigning themselves to the impossibility of escape, resolved to drag down as many as they could. They believed the Empire would eventually avenge them.

"Uoooooh! Save the dads! Go, golemmmm!"

Then, from the rear, a mysterious golem charged in, instantly blowing away their rear guard.

"A golem? Why would a child have—"

The answer: because it was a product of the Viceroy Merchant Union. Whether for labor or protection, golems were in high demand. And in the recently redeveloped capital, wealthier parents had begun giving them to their children for both safety and as toys.

As a result, a new trend had emerged—children staging golem battles. Incidentally, golems created without much thought tended to resemble Moai statues.

The remaining imperial troops were assaulted from front and rear and annihilated.

When the commander came to his senses, he was tied up in a bundle with his surviving comrades.

"Can't seem to get the fire going..."

"Gramps, I told you—this lighter is way easier than a flint."

A man held up a magic tool lighter for the old man trying to strike a spark onto straw with flint and steel.

"Things sure are convenient these days."

"Come on, let’s roast them already!"

"Let’s burn an imperial soldier every day from now on!"

"Mmrrgh! Mmrmph!"

He wanted to shout "Stop!" but with his mouth bound, he couldn't utter a word. The chaos continued until a message came from the castle: "They're to be turned into slaves, so stop the burning." The citizens, too, were only bluffing—burning people in the plaza would stink up the place. The straw was actually damp.

But the imperial soldiers didn’t know that. Until the knights from the castle arrived, they wept in fear.

What do you think about this chapter?