Whispers from the Shadows
Over the past few days, Colonel Drake Brown had been in a foul mood. Ever since his promotion following the events at Graveyard, he had been appointed commander of the 808th Guard Regiment, the unit responsible for protecting the Chancellor's residence and other key buildings throughout the capital, Hohenbaren. The 808th Guard Regiment was effectively the Chancellor's personal guard. Though Drake held operational command, all final decisions rested solely with Chancellor Mikhail. Naturally, the assignment sat poorly with a man whose nature was that of a frontline soldier. But when the Chancellor himself had singled him out, what choice was there? Once the decision was made, only two options remained: retire or accept. With the Titans having vanished overnight, Drake judged that the situation would be the same wherever he went, and so he accepted the post.
Yet recent reports of "subversive elements" stirring in the provinces had created an increasingly ominous atmosphere. As the regiment's commander, Drake could not help but remain on edge. This was the heart of the Empire, the final shield protecting Chancellor Mikhail Bismarck. If any force sought to overthrow the Empire, this would be their first target. Given the Chancellor's direct order to strengthen security, Drake had declared a "special protection period" for his troops.
Amid all this, a mysterious radio transmission had begun targeting the regiment with unsettling precision.
"Colonel… it's the same transmission again today. It appears to be sending identical content at the same time every day."
"Any word from Intelligence Command?"
"None, sir."
"This has been going on for two weeks now. How can they remain so calm? Those bastards must be the traitors!"
"Colonel! Please calm yourself! They're in chaos over there as well. Between the breach of their intelligence network and the leak of Akasha-related information, they're overwhelmed."
"…Damn it. The intelligence division gets its own intelligence stolen. This is exactly why the Chancellor planted that strange Security Strategic Agency inside the military."
The war was over. So why was the military still in such disarray? Drake genuinely regretted not submitting his retirement papers that day. It had been the same even back at Graveyard. Even during a war that threatened the Empire's very existence, the rear-echelon officers refused to listen to reason. The only thing he had ever liked about Lutus Edan was how thoroughly the man had shaken down those rear-line parasites. Of course, now that Arhen Orca had exposed the full extent of the corruption, Lutus Edan had turned out to be one of them as well. His desperate flailing had been because he belonged to the same breed—or because someone had leverage over him. Either way, it had been dishonorable. Drake should have seen it coming the moment Lutus began associating with those Foundation Stones scum.
During their time at Graveyard, this had been the point of greatest friction between Lutus, Arhen, Drake, and the others. For soldiers who took pride in their service, relying on the help of those underworld rats had been nothing short of humiliating. The mere memory made Drake's blood boil.
"So what does this mysterious transmission say?"
"I've prepared a recording."
Beep— Beep-beep— Beep—.
A faint electronic hum mixed with the crackling of the signal. Listening to it for too long left an unpleasant feeling in the chest.
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"Can it be decrypted?"
"If even Intelligence Command is struggling, how would I manage it?"
Since the emergence of the Titans, humanity's communications and information systems had advanced by leaps and bounds. If any soldier were asked to name the two greatest reasons for victory in the war against the Titans, they would point to the military satellites and the quantum computer network, Akasha. The satellites already in orbit had served as humanity's eyes and ears until the end of their operational lives. Though the Titans' relentless interference had prevented any new launches, the existing satellites had continued to function without major issues. There had been a downside, however. Forced to fight with limited resources, the old communications protocols had become completely obsolete. Few people still remembered the dying languages of those earlier systems.
"Keep the file for now and search the archives. Look through old transmission records as well. We might find the answer if we dig deep enough."
"Understood. I'll leave it with the intelligence and communications sections."
Yet Drake's unease only grew with each passing day. The mysterious transmissions had become almost routine, but now a strange letter had appeared in his home mailbox as well.
[Chancellor, don't trust. Arhen, don't speak.]
After confirming the letter's contents upon returning home, Drake had immediately returned to the regiment and ordered a search of every CCTV camera in the capital, but the culprit was never found. What was this? Some kind of psychological game? And why mention the name of Brigadier General Arhen Orca, who was still serving normally? Sending such a letter to the commander of what was essentially the Chancellor's personal guard could only mean one thing: a warning. A clear threat that they knew his home and his background, and that he should watch his step. Especially since the personal information of all unit members was classified as Level 2 military secrets. The fact that they had specifically targeted the commander of the 808th meant their audacity had reached a breaking point.
More than fear, Drake felt anger. No matter who the enemy was, he was confident he could crush them completely. Still, from a broader perspective, the string of incidents was deeply troubling—especially with the summit approaching. In the end, Drake submitted a report to the Chancellor requesting that the summit be postponed or reconsidered.
"I'm not concerned, Colonel. After all, I have you at my side."
Chancellor Mikhail Bismarck had merely praised his diligence, as if the matter were of no consequence. Drake found the Chancellor's attitude reassuring. Yet at the same time, he felt an odd sense of déjà vu—as though he had heard similar words and seen a similar reaction from someone else before. Drake paused for a moment, then dismissed the feeling.
"…I will devote every resource to ensuring Your Excellency's safety during the visit to the Republic as well."
Yes. That was exactly what he should have done. He had even dispatched his most capable special operations battalion commander and security battalion commander to the site. And yet—
"What the hell were you two eating to both come down with gastroenteritis at the same time?!"
"M-my apologies, Colonel… We only intended to have a single drink at our usual bar…"
"Special Operations Commander, I specifically told you not to order any side dishes!"
"But sir, when a lady asked to join us, how could we refuse to share a drink?"
Everything had gone wrong. The two idiots, distracted by a woman, had contracted gastroenteritis just three days before their deployment. The culprit appeared to be seafood among the ordered dishes. In the end, Drake Brown, the regiment commander himself, had been forced to take charge of the on-site security coordination.
The mysterious transmissions, the suspicious letter, and the sudden vacancy in the dispatched personnel—everything felt wrong. The instincts of Drake Brown, who had survived as an assault battalion commander at Graveyard, spoke with absolute certainty. Something was going to happen soon. It could occur at any moment during the banquet, when the Chancellor would be at his most vulnerable.
While outwardly maintaining a calm demeanor and scanning the surroundings, Drake's gaze caught an oddly familiar face.
"…?"
At first, he doubted his own eyes. Hadn't former Commander Lutus Edan been completely ruined by Arhen after her appointment as Inspector General? Yet no matter how many times he looked, it was Lutus Edan. Drake Brown checked the roster with a dazed expression. The document bearing Lutus Edan's photograph clearly listed his identity as Lieutenant Colonel Werner Grime, Director of the Security Strategic Agency.
Drake Brown quickly pieced together the truth. Lutus Edan had not retired—he had remained in the military under a false identity. Such arrangements were not uncommon. Even Drake's own personal information was treated as classified. Moreover, the Security Strategic Agency, like his own unit, was a direct organization under the Chancellor's command. Using the alias Werner Grime instead of Lutus Edan was, in a sense, only natural.
Stuffing the documents into his pocket, Drake Brown strode toward the man in the black dress uniform.
"…What are you doing here?"
"It's been a while, Colonel Drake."
Their relationship had never been particularly amicable. As Lutus Edan's former subordinate, Drake had clashed with him repeatedly—almost as often as Arhen had. Even Drake, who upheld the military principle of strict obedience more rigorously than anyone, had frequently received orders he could not comprehend. Even when surrounded by countless Titans and under concentrated assault, the man who called himself commander had seemed distracted by other matters. No matter how strong the defensive line, if it fell, everything would end. When Lutus had spouted nonsense about overcoming the situation through willpower and claiming that nothing was impossible, Drake had nearly thrown a punch.
Yet strangely, he also felt a faint sense of gladness and a heavy feeling in his chest. After all, despite everything, they had fought side by side against the Titans as comrades. With that thought, Drake felt his anger soften somewhat.
"Arhen told me. You were stripped of your pension, if not dishonorably discharged."
"Is that so? I wouldn't know."
"She seemed to hope you would feel genuine remorse. I wonder what expression she'll make when she sees you walking around like this."
"…"
In the moment Werner fell silent—
"Pardon me, Colonel, but we were in the middle of an important conversation."
A lieutenant standing beside him suddenly interjected.
"Hm?"
Drake Brown was not the type of rigid superior who changed his attitude based on rank. He had been a commander who respected his soldiers both at Graveyard and in the 808th Guard Regiment, preferring to share their hardships. Naturally, his demeanor toward his officers was no different. But this situation was deeply uncomfortable even for him.
"And who might you be?"
"Edward Roman, Ordnance Chief of the Security Strategic Agency."
"I wasn't asking for your affiliation."
Drake growled. The presence he exuded was that of a beast. He was not the commander of the Chancellor's closest guard unit for nothing. But Edward did not back down. Instead, he smirked slightly. This bastard—
Just as Drake reached out to grab Edward's shoulder and subdue him—unable to cause a scene at the banquet—Werner Grime quickly stepped between them.
"That's enough. The Chancellor is watching."
"Then if you'll excuse me, Colonel."
Apparently, some grudges remained grudges after all.