Failure.
Defeat.
Surrender.
The Ustian Loyalists repeat such words constantly in their mind. Their steps are uneven. Their hearts are as heavy as mountains of rock. Gone are the remaining traces of innocence and dreams these young n once held. Replacing them are the visages of fractured, broken, and even maddened n. They march forth ununiformly, with not even one of them can muster enough strength to look up at the clear sky. They don't even have the mind to process the Belkan soldiers flanking their disorderly parade. As of right now, these once-spirited n are nothing more than walking corpses, burdened by the traumatic war and the earth-shaking news that, in the end, none of what they suffered even matters.
Sergeant Jirou, being assigned to watch over this motley group of soulless Loyalists, smacks his lips distastefully. As an Oni, he knows there is much joy to be had when the Reich triumphed over their mortal enemies at last. Yet, when Jirou sees how young many of the surrendered Loyalists are these days, many with crippling injuries and traumas, even a battle-hardened Oni finds himself shaken. Is this what reality is nowadays? Have the Loyalists fallen so deep into the rabbit hole to conscript young teens? So seem youthful enough underneath all the dirt and dried blood to be barely fifteen. It's not just boys that the Ustian Loyalist faction called to serve, as even the old and the crippled were told to pick up a gun and fight for their country. This is the predicant and also the choice of the Loyalist faction, or what's left of them, made after their Regular military was defeated soundly on so many fronts. An entire Army of conscripts, drafted from the bottom of the barrels, from the young to the old, and from what's left of the populace that didn't have to work in critical industries... And they perished all the sa beneath Belkan treads.
It's truly distasteful, in Jirou's humble opinion. In the first days of this war, Jirou enjoyed brawling against the Erusean Expeditionary Force and even so of the Loyalist Regulars. However, for nearly a week, Jirou and his unit, as part of the larger 404th Division, were striking at the pushover that is the Loyalist Conscripts. There's no sense of challenge, no taste of fulfillnt to be had at bullying the weak kids in the hood. The forr very young Jirou might have enjoyed it as an Oni kid back then, but having matured after finding his true calling in the ard forces, the Jirou of now is sickened by the idea of mowing down young dreams and innocents. That is not how Jirou would like his legacy to be built, trampling on a bunch of hapless kids and unfortunate old fellows.
Yet, what can this Oni do?
Jirou is not much of a thinker, but he knows well enough that this is another unfortunate consequence of war. When push cos to shove, the people above will stop at nothing to fight for their rule, their citizens are but another resource to be expended for that cause. The Conscripts in front of Jirou can only bemoan their fates for being put under the thumb of tyrants, forced and brainwashed to fight a war that is frankly rigged from the very start. At the very least, Jirou is fighting for what he truly believes in. More than just enjoying the adrenaline rush of the battlefield, Jirou is fighting for a promise, a dream that grows more tangible with each passing day. Lofty as it may be, Jirou is fighting for a grand nation, a Belka large enough that the sky itself can't contain it. It's a childish dream indeed where Jirou imagines himself to be one of the heroes who help carve the first stone for the foundation. Yet, when having to choose between this dream and that of many unfortunate souls trudging along in front of him, Jirou will pick the forr in a heartbeat, even if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
Selfish? Paradoxical? The Oni doesn't know, he leaves the brainy stuff to Major Muller anyway. Jirou acts only on what his heart calls for, and right now, the best the Oni can do is pity these lost souls in front of him.
Suddenly, a young lad stumbles upon a rock and hits the muddy ground, making a splatter as the dirty stuff coats his uniform and even his face. Seeing the sight, the conscripts only steer a path around the downtrodden lad instead of helping him up. Were this the Loyalist Regulars, things would be different, but since this is just a bunch of disillusioned conscripts currently... Jirou moves before the kid can drown himself in the mud. In the Oni's eyes, you either die on the battlefield, perish due to old age, or are killed by extenuating circumstances. Drowning in shallow mud, however? That ain't no way for a young lad to go.
Stomping over to the boy welling in his own misery, Jirou exudes an aura that makes the conscripts around them disperse out of fright. They have legit fear that the towering Oni will tear them apart all of a sudden. Their fear is understandably misplaced. Stopping next to the lad, Jirou leans down and rightens him up with muscular arms. The Oni ignores how the action may dirty himself, having dealt with far worse. Jirou also disregards the dispirited puzzlent in the boy's eyes as he pulls out a roll of bandage and a bar of chocolate. Pushing them into the confused hands of the lad, Jirou gives him a pat on the back, nudging him to rejoin the marching line.
"Clean yourself up and get sothing in your stomach, kid. The day is not yet over." Jirou speaks in accented Ustian.
Having done what he sets out to do, Jirou walks back to his post, leaving behind a puzzled lad who obediently listens to what the Oni said. Jirou's eyes linger on the kid's back for a bit before they return to closely watch the Loyalist formation. Shit out of luck at they all seem to be, Jirou and the other Belkans must still keep a close eye on these conscripts, lest soone has the bright idea to sow so chaos. Lost in the monotony of his current tasking, Jirou barely registers Major Muller's presence as he approaches.
"Boss." Jirou performs a two-finger salute, an action deed more than enough respect by Muller.
"Jirou." Muller approaches, giving the Oni a curious one-over. "Seeing that there's no blood, it ans that none have been braved enough to cause trouble. So what's with the muddy getup?"
Jirou shrugs. "I just helped a kid back on his feet, that's all."
Looking at the road condition, Muller nods understandingly. "Yeah, that will do it..." The Major then scans the surrendered Loyalists. " Still can't get used to seeing them all like this when this could have happened to us five years ago."
Jirou smirks wryly. "I know, right? But anyway, did sothing co up that needs you to be here?"
Major Muller replies. "I decided to go on a stroll now that the cessation of hostility is basically guaranteed. Most, if not all Loyalist resistance have surrendered on this side of the front... And we also receive a new order. The 404th is to regroup under the Marshal's banner once more."
Jirou whistles. "About damn ti that all of the 404th Brigades co around. I miss the days when the Marshal moved us as one large group."
"For what it's worth, we will once more be her personal division, accompanying her everywhere she goes. No more training Reformists, we will be sticking to her like shadow this ti around..." Major Muller adds. "After so R&R, of course. And if the Reformists can sort through whatever is going on over in Paris, we will be the first Belkan Division to march through the Arc de Triomphe. Though from what I have heard, don't count on a big parade as the city will still be reeling from the loss of their ruling symbol."
Jirou nods. "Yeah, real ssy stuff happened over there. I am contented with taking so pictures or a few souvenirs."
"We all are." Muller echoes the sentint. "Nowadays, the Reformists are our brothers and sisters. Best we don't act like damn tourists and sow discontent in the alliance. That is the consensus right now."
"I'll be sure to spread the words around... When will we leave?" Jirou asks.
Major Muller checks his watch. "After we hand over the babysitting duty to the 47th... It should be around four hours later."
"Four hours... I can deal with that." Jirou shrugs.
Afterward, it's just the Sergeant and the Major sharing their experiences thus far and whatever thoughts they have for the future.
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Things are much more sombered in Paris, however. After speedrunning through everything to get to Paris, Princess Rosa Bonaparte can't hide a sense of despondency from showing up on her face.
It's gone. The place she once called ho... It's gone.
Rosa has mixed feelings about her birthplace that is the Castle of Paris. It's a place where her parents used to shower her and her little brother with love. Yet, it's also the place where she witnessed firsthand everything the Bonaparte line built slowly crumble away. And now, as if it's the icing on the cake, the proud symbol of the Bonaparte dominion is made into ruin. More ironic is it happened in less than a few years, with Rosa being one of the contributors. The unintended consequence is that the Bonaparte lineage is facing extinction, with only Rosa being the imdiate heir now that the Loyalist Puppet King's fate is presumably dead. A traitorous part of Rosa is wondering whether Napoleon Bonaparte will rise from the beyond or not to either praise or shoot her himself. Maybe even both if the conqueror is feeling generous.
It's with these thoughts that Rosa carries herself through a congregation of Paris' citizens. As planned, the Belkans have chosen to stay outside the city's walls, focusing on disarming the surrendering Loyalist Army. Accompanying Rosa inside the city proper is Mary and two Companies worth of elite Reformist soldiers, expressively airlifted from Army Group C. Though Rosa half-expected the populace to welco her arrival with jeering and anger, the circumstance evolves wildly above her expectation.
The civilians of Paris solemnly welco the Reformist delegation, with most of them being children, widowed mothers, or grandmothers living in their final years. So kneel, paying respect to the returning Princess. So clasp their hands, hoping and praying as the Princess's convoy drives past. Others throw flowers, white flowers, to welco the Princess ho... Yet, none of them say or shout anything, at least not audibly for Rosa who is sitting in a slow driving convertible. Looking around, there's not even a single banner on their path or the sides of the road. No slogans, no symbols, save for the occasional flag of the Bonaparte family being flown, not to be mistaken with the Ustian flag.
Rosa is keen enough to see that, much like herself, Mary, and the rest of her entourage, the citizens of Paris are draped mostly in black or dark color attire. Like Rosa, the people are mourning. Whether this mourning is dedicated to the Puppet King or the demise of a tumultuous chapter in Ustio's history... The answer will vary from one person to another.
In the spur of a mont, Rosa orders the convoy to halt, with Mary stepping off the driver's seat of their car to open the door for the Princess. Decisively, Rosa decides to walk, rather than ride further into the city. This leads to her entourage dismounting as well, with only the drivers remaining to creep their vehicles behind the steps of Rosa and Mary. As if committing to an unspoken agreent, most of the civilians follow the convoy on foot as well, with so of them scurrying away to pass on the word. Gradually, more and more of Paris converge to follow Rosa's entourage, a sea of black is ford as they all march solemnly to the foot of the Eiffel Tower. The original plan was for Rosa to co to the ruin of the Castle of Paris, but she changes her mind when her retinue bloats in sheer scale. Rosa pays it no mind, however, as she leads the path forward, sotis even slowing down to a crawl, just to answer the childish curiosity befitting of Paris' children. Regretfully, so of these younglings will never get to see their brothers, fathers, and grandfathers again.
It is one of the sins that Rosa knows she will bear for a better tomorrow.
When Rosa and her entourage, military and civilian alike, reach the Eiffel Tower, the Princess decides to address the citizens' concerns. Enlisting Mary's help, Rosa climbs up on the back of a 251 half-track, it's the only platform tall and close enough to the sea of black in front of her. Unlike what one would expect from her stature, Rosa is not wearing an elaborate gown. Instead, the Reformist Princess is wearing a simple black suit, a dress code that is mirrored by Mary and the rest of Rosa's initial entourage. Knowing that the citizens living in Loyalist lands were having it harder than those living under hers, Rosa didn't want to spit on their sufferings by wearing sothing obnoxious. This is not even ntioning how ridiculous it will be for her to wear sothing bright in the wake of her brother's supposed demise.
Standing on the back of the half-track, with Mary dutifully right behind her, Rosa speaks up, and her voice is magically carried over to the rest of the city... No, it should be said that her voice can be heard all across the lands of Ustio and its colonies. As for who is responsible for this, anyone can guess.
"To the citizens of Paris, of Ustio... To those who spend their days to work, to serve, and to raise a better future for your children in Europe, in Asia, and in Africa..."
"THE WAR IS OVER!"
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No, the war is not over, Rosa, not yet.
I mull over Rosa's speech in Paris, leaning back on the seat of my command post with my eye closed. The war may be over for Rosa and the Reformists, but it's nowhere near the ending for the Belkan Reich. The pledge I made to eliminate all borders, and all threats for the continuing existence of the Reich, of my family, is still an unfinished business.
There are still many Loyalist nobles in the winds. Most spend their ti running and hiding or are looking to be another source of annoyance in the Ustian colonies. Unless sothing else cos up from them, I trust Rosa to be capable enough to deal with them. What I am more worried about is the other nations' reaction. Polania is audaciously convinced that they will be able to surprise us soon, but it's Erusea who makes the most interesting play. They decide to reach their tentacles out for Ustio's colonies. These guys just don't know when to quit...
As for the Japanese, they're still opportune observer, eager to conduct their own agenda while things in Europe remain murky. However, it appears that recent events have alerted so of the minds over there of the true nature of the Reich. As expected, Vill-V can't be fooled forever... I am surprised that it takes her this long to react, however. Knowing her, it will only be a matter of ti before she can cobble up so haphazard ways to level the playing field first before focusing on attaining her version of an endga weapon. How do I know this? Well, I do have so mad scientists of my own to call in.
Still, the point is, Belka will be going on and on, from one war with a nation to another. Much joy and sorrow is to be had, depending on how you look at it. But first, let's have a temporal clone of mine sticking around Rosa just in case. As for the Overlord , it's a coin flip on which part of Case Yellow should I directly participate in.
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