Half an hour earlier.
Georg: Yes, Mr. Chancellor. The delegations have arrived in Montpaix. The armistice will be signed before dinnertime.
Georg: Understood. We will be sure to serve a simple but delicious dinner. And of course, all journalists granted entry will be carefully selected.
Mr. Georg hangs up the phone dryly and with full confidence before checking the ceasefire memorandum once again.
Georg: Phew. No problems so far.
He picks up a fountain pen and sketches out his signature over and over again.
Each loop of the pen is taken with utmost seriousness—aware of the gravity it will soon hold.
Another impatient ring, and the tip of his pen slips, leaving the letter "o" in a rather unsightly shape.
Georg: tut
But the call isn't on his phone. It's the one on his assistant's desk.
Which, thankfully, means it isn't his concern.
Georg: What are you waiting for, Friedrich? Pick up the phone already.
Assistant: ...
The assistant, buried in paperwork, fails to react to the ring.
Georg: Pick up the phone, you hear?
Georg: Damn it. I still fail to understand why they would assign me a deaf sloth as an assistant. I'll have you fired the moment I set foot on the fatherland!
Georg storms over to the assistant's desk to scold him.
Jolting alert, the assistant grabs the receiver.
Georg: That's more like it.
Georg: ...?
To Georg's surprise, his assistant then immediately puts the receiver down.
Assistant: That was an awful racket, sir.
Georg: H-How dare you?!
The man checks his watch, paying no mind to his superior.
Assistant: I have more pressing matters to attend to. Yes, it's about time.
He stands up, picks up the receiver again, and hangs it up once more without a word.
Georg: Wh-What? Explain yourself this instant!
Georg: ...?
Assistant: Oh, I owe you no explanation, sir.
Georg: Who could that be?
Assistant: Come in.
Georg: You—?!
All attempts to reach the investigators sent to Hill 299 have failed.
Creius: ...
Creius puts his communicator down, pauses, then tries again—this time calling Hound.
But only static replies.
Creius: No response, either.
Creius watches the passing politicians with growing unease.
Negotiation Representative: ...
They don't flinch under Creius's gaze. In fact, they don't seem to pay him any mind at all. Their limited time is devoted to the pressing matters of peace.
Paravyan exits a nearby building and makes his way to Creius.
"Officer": Sir, a new batch of counter-arcanum devices has been deployed as instructed.
Creius: Good. Any contact from Merel in the past three hours?
"Officer": No. She's probably still on the front. There's a lot of celebrating going on out there.
Creius tries the communicator once more, this time calling a different squad member.
*beep—buzz*
Static.
Creius: Something's not right.
A shot rings out like a thunderbolt on a cloudless day.
Creius: ...!
Security Guard I: We're under attack!
Security forces rush into the streets, drawing any wandering delegates inside to safety.
Steel-eyed veterans fan out, searching for the gunfire's source.
Security Guard II: What's their location?
Security Guard I: I saw them! In that house! They're wearing black—
Security Guard I: Ugrrrgh!
"Officer": I have to—
The young man begins a charge, only to be held back.
Creius: Get back here, Paravyan! We need to get to the command post and inform all security staff to resume combat positions.
"Officer": Yes, sir!
Foundation security regroups around the most heavily guarded buildings.
Across the street, a man in a jet-black uniform exits Georg's makeshift office.
Manus Officer: Heh ...
As he walks into the open, he is flanked by soldiers covered in pitch black.
Manus Officer: Finally! No more hiding. The moment of truth has arrived.
He raises a hand, and the soldiers around him stand at attention.
Manus Officer: Leave a few of the Foundation lapdogs alive. I have something to say to those sanctimonious hypocrites.
Manus Officer: As for the rest, kill them all.
COMBAT
The ceasefire's signing descends into a bloody firefight.
Manus Officer: Search every room! Leave no stone unturned!
Every few seconds, a heavy, soft thud echoes as something limp crashes to the ground from above.
Foundation security offer what resistance they can, the counter-arcanum devices they've deployed providing them with a moment's respite.
Manus Officer: Oh, but keep that signing desk and the documents on it intact.
Manus Officer: It'll make for a great headline shot—perfect for the front page of the papers.
Manus Officer: Now, bring her out.
Manus Soldier: ...
The soldiers of Manus Vindictae carry out their orders in wordless lockstep. Soon bodies in white and black riddle the streets.
Moments later, two soldiers march a hostage into the center of the empty street.
Foundation Security Staff II: Ah ...
Manus Officer: Quiet.
Once again, the assassin-turned-officer raises his hand and checks his watch.
Manus Officer: Better late than never.
He strides forward as if he were participating in a triumphal parade.
Stopping only a few short paces from the Foundation command post—so near that he can hear the flag fluttering in the wind.
Manus Officer: All that endless searching. Heh. Well, here we are—you've finally "caught" us.
He spreads his arm wide like a showman.
Manus Officer: You might ask, why must things end like this? Why must we kill one another?
Manus Officer: Do you want to know why? Because our pleas, our pain, our suffering, were all ignored by you!
Manus Officer: Humans started this war, all these wars, and yet you hurled us—arcanists—onto the front lines like cheap cannon fodder.
Manus Officer: You have created a world that despises us for our bloodlines and mocks us for our arcane skills, yet you force us to use those very skills to fight the war machines you built.
Manus Officer: You humans have sown untold horrors in the name of conflicts created by your own hand, and still, you refuse us even a single scrap of bread in reward.
Manus Officer: These are the lessons history has taught us—a history of arcanist suffering that must end.
He draws a pistol from his waist and toys with it.
Manus Officer: So when I heard that arcanists were uniting—marching under the banner of a formidable army—
Manus Officer: I caught a glimpse of hope. In fact, it shone like never before.
Manus Officer: Foundation lapdogs, human scum, mark my words!
Manus Officer: This war has only just begun. From this era onward, the unjust reign of humanity shall be overturned.
Manus Officer: All arcanists from every era shall march under the banner of Manus Vindictae.
Manus Officer: Until the ultimate, most glorious era arriv—
A bullet rips through his temple.
Manus Soldier: ...!
The remaining soldiers drop where they stand.
Foundation Security Staff II: Who did that?
...
???: "Lapdogs," eh? Couldn't come up with anything more original?
The stray Hound at last returns.
He marches straight through to the command post, kicking the fallen Manus Vindictae officer's corpse for good measure.
Hound: Command post's clear now.
The door swings open, security staff cautiously scanning for trouble. Creius stands inside, waiting.
Creius: You're late, Yermolai.
Hound: At least you're not dead.
Yermolai balks. His voice, like his face, carries a permanent smirk.
Hound: You won't always have someone around to cover your ass, Creius.
As always, Creius finds it easier to simply sidestep his insubordination.
Creius: What have you found?
Hound: Long story short, we're a step behind the Manus. They've got an army, launching an assault on the front lines as we speak.
Hound: We're talking about a force the size of a traditional brigade—possibly even two. They're hiding out beneath Hill 299, and every one of their soldiers is an arcanist.
Creius: Hill 299. Any news on Charles and Amanda?
He lets the swagger drop from his voice.
Hound: Yeah. They're both dead.
Hound: But they did leave behind some critical info.
Hound: Turns out Manus Vindictae's built a colossal, full-fledged underground fortress inside Hill 299.
Hound: That's where all these Manus troops have been coming from—the ones here in the safe zone and the ones sent to eliminate the human soldiers at the front.
Creius: Did you carry out the other order?
Hound: Yeah. I've sent the request for reinforcements and your "frontline contingency plan" to headquarters. All available Foundation personnel in the region are moving towards the designated locations on the front.
Hound: All except Merel. I haven't been able to make contact with her.
Creius: ...
Creius nods—an understated gesture of approval.
He says nothing about Merel's radio silence, as if he had anticipated it all along.
Hound: You're really gonna do this, huh? This so-called "frontline contingency plan"?
Creius: I don't think we have much choice.
Hound: How're we gonna deal with Hill 299? It came out of nowhere.
Creius: Every plan has its surprises. We'll deal with it.
Creius: Follow me. We're going to the front lines. You can fill me in on the details on the way.