Editing Tytania:Volume 4 Chapter 7 (section)

=== V ===
The gunboat, having been flung aside, spun wildly, scattering fragments from its torn outer hull, before colliding with the canopy of Uraniborg.

A few of the residents of Uraniborg might have seen a tiny crack appear in a corner of the night sky. Hundreds of times that many were convinced they had seen it. Though they likely thought it impossible, the very fact that actual combat between Tytania factions was unfolding around Uraniborg was, in itself, impossible.

“The canopy is cracking!”

“What happens if the canopy breaches!?”

“We’re all going to be tossed out into space!”

The panic-mongers, who existed in every era, in every place, and in every situation, let out screams. The men and women around them were visibly shaken, scurrying about in a desperate attempt to find somewhere to flee. Of course, there were some who remained calm.

“Fool, there is no way it could break. What do you think Uraniborg is?”

“But cracks are actually appearing like that…”

“Listen, you! You can make all the noise you want, but where exactly do you intend to flee to?” shouted a seemingly thoughtful officer among the Tytania soldiers tasked with city security. “Silence! Calm yourselves, citizens. It is impossible for the canopy of Uraniborg to break. I strictly forbid any words or actions that incite social unrest or provoke panic. Depending on the circumstances, I will authorise lethal force. Now, everyone disperse and return to your homes. Sleep in peace. We guarantee the safety of Uraniborg, do you understand?!”

There was no need to be timid; if the situation reached a point where one could accuse him of failing to provide such a guarantee, everyone would be dead anyway. It was perfectly fine to declare such things with absolute confidence.

“Now, move along, move along! If you want to watch a show, go home and watch it with your families!”

Once the residents had been driven from the square, the soldiers exchanged private conversation among themselves.

“At this rate, if we concentrated about a dozen heavy battleships on a single point and rammed them at high speed, we might be able to destroy the canopy all the way to the innermost layer.”

“And then leave future generations with the infamy of mass-slaughtering civilians? I doubt Lord Ariabert or Lord Jouslain would have any desire for such a thing.”

“True. Besides, even without resorting to such an act…”

“Fool, say no more.”

An officer with a pale face ran past them just a moment later, leading his subordinates. The soldiers quickly fell into line with solemn expressions and offered salutes. It seemed that the higher one’s rank, the paler one grew as the prospect of defeat became more certain.

The one who had gone the palest in Uraniborg was, of course, Duke Idris, but he had not lost his fortitude. While being crushed by the sheer scale of the losses, he muttered,

“There are still three hundred thousand carracks remaining.”

That was an undeniable fact, yet compared to the magnificent grandeur of the ''Black Prince'', those numbers likely lacked any real intimidation.

By their very nature, carracks were equipped with only the minimum necessary weaponry for the purpose of self-defence and as a deterrent against anti-Tytania factions. When attacked by pirates, they would flee while attempting to fight back. Provided they could hold out, the Tytania regular army, having received emergency communications, would arrive to the rescue. All they needed to do was buy enough time.

Furthermore, there was no guarantee that the three hundred thousand carracks would all side with Idris. They were currently watching the struggle for Uraniborg with bated breath. They had no obligation to support the loser, and their consciences would not suffer even if they let Idris perish. If Ariabert were to seize hegemony, they would scramble to prove their loyalty and vie for the lead.

As he imagined this, Idris loathed their lack of principle, though he knew he was merely taking his frustrations out on them.

“The first Neville, the second Nuri, the third Chatelet, the fourth Var, the fifth Barneveld…”

Idris murmured the names of the successive Clanners. Among them, he held the second, Nuri, in the highest reverence. He believed that Nuri’s cold ruthlessness was precisely what Tytania needed most. The fortitude of the first Neville was, of course, also worthy of praise. However, towards the Clanners from the third generation onwards, Idris felt no need to accord them any courtesy beyond that due to their status as ancestors.

Had they not merely remained upon the foundation laid by the first Neville and the second Nuri? They already possessed the greatest military power in the universe, and there had existed no one to oppose or attack them head-on. Had such formidable foes emerged, Idris wondered whether Tytania could have even survived until this day. Indeed, Idris had to admit that Ariabert was a powerful enemy. If he did not, he would be admitting to having been defeated by a weak one.

Zelpha, Idris’ younger brother, stood about ten paces behind his brother.

Zelpha watched the battle, biting his lip so hard it threatened to bleed and clenching his fists with such intensity that his nails dug into his palms. If his gaze possessed the physical power to destroy objects, the space battleships of the Ariabert-Jouslain allied forces would have successively turned into fireballs and vanished.

“Ah, if this were ten years from now, or even five… I would be the one leading the fleet, and I would turn both Lord Ariabert and Lord Jouslain into stardust for my brother’s sake…!”

He had almost deified his eldest brother, yet he simply could not bring himself to undervalue the strength of Ariabert and the others.

The clouds of light were gradually contracting. Even within the media vessel observing the scene, communications were flying back and forth between the front lines and the rear.

“We might not be able to release it now, but think thirty or fifty years down the line! This could become a historical record of the Tytania split. Doesn’t your journalist’s blood stir at the thought?”

“Cap.”

“What is it?”

“… Do you really think Tytania is going to split apart like this?”

The Director fell silent, perhaps not because he had been asked an unexpected question, but because he himself harboured doubts and uncertainties.

“What do you think, Cap? Tytania…”

“You shouldn’t waste your meagre intellect on such things right now! What we need are the facts. Think of nothing but conveying the facts to future generations!”

It was certain that the end was drawing closer, bit by bit. Mingled with the hospital fleets, media vessels crept slowly towards the cloud of light, hoping to capture the decisive moment on film, but shells from rail cannons, arriving from out of nowhere, pierced their hulls, scattering life, ambition, and mission alike into the dark void.



Duchess Theresa Tytania was entirely ignorant of military affairs. She could not distinguish between strategy and tactics, and she referred to all warships simply as battleships. She preferred the tales of art, fashion, and romance told by her second son, Arses, to the grand stories of military exploits told by her eldest son, Zarlisch. In Lady Theresa’s view, the vast wealth of Tytania should be invested in art, sophisticated, elegant palaces, and gardens, rather than being squandered on war and political intrigue.

“Idris is quite incompetent. If he were my son, he would have wiped out Ariabert’s entire fleet in thirty minutes.”

Lady Theresa mocked Idris for his struggle, though when she spoke of a “son” in this instance, she was referring to Zarlisch. Zarlisch was a son who was not even half as charming as Arses, but he was useful as a watchdog.

As previously stated, having lost both of her sons, Lady Theresa was a woman who truly deserved the deepest sympathy. However, even the most well-meaning people avoided contact with her as much as possible. It was only natural, given she never gave any proper response to any display of kindness. The moment anyone offered words of comfort, a wine bottle would come flying at them.

Lately, Lady Theresa had stopped drinking wine. It was not that she had abstained from alcohol. Rather, she had grown fond of more potent spirits, such as vodka, rum, and absinthe. Watching from a distance as Lady Theresa dropped cubes of sugar or bits of butter into her vodka and gulped it down, her attendants and ladies-in-waiting trembled in fear.

“It is finally drawing near.”

“Indeed, it has been a long time coming.”

In places away from the nobility, they whispered prophecies among themselves. These were predictions concerning Lady Theresa’s mental breakdown and her physical ruin. Regarding the former, some argued that she had broken long ago, but the latter was progressing so rapidly that it was impossible to tell which end would arrive first.

Gazing through the alcoholic haze at the cluster of scattered bottles, Lady Theresa groaned.

“Idris, Ariabert, Jouslain… Hmph, nothing but a collection of weaklings. I will never hand the seat of the Clanner over to the likes of you. You should all just kill one another. And then, there will be no one left…”

Lady Theresa threw the glass in her hand with all her might towards the forest of bottles. The sound of shattering glass. The scattering of colourful spirits. The thick carpet turned into a marsh of liquor, and the scent of alcohol hung heavy in the air.

Yet, for something like that, no one attempted to rush to the Lady’s side anymore. Bearing a solitude loathed by all, Theresa, once known as a beautiful noblewoman, coughed violently.

When the nurses finally rushed to the scene, what they saw was the Duchess having tumbled from her sofa, her upper body drenched in an unidentifiable liquid. The fluid, a mixture of alcohol, gastric juices, and blood, continued to trickle from the corners of her mouth in small amounts, accompanied by bubbles.


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