Chapter 30

Colony 80 of the 2155 planetary system—an active conflict zone—was cold enough to bite through flesh.

Smog poured from the monster rifts, and swarms of the dead blanketed the sky, casting everything in a dull, gray gloom. Icy gales tore through the land where sunlight never reached.

Breathing out was enough to freeze your breath solid. Hard to believe this planet belonged to a quadruple star system.

The outpost wasn’t in much better shape.

The barrier generator was patched up with crude repairs, the defensive particle cannons bore the marks of hard use, and the concrete buildings were still scarred from bomb blasts.

No matter how you looked at it, this place was in terrible condition—both the planet and the unit stationed here seemed half-frozen in hardship.

“...Demotion?”

The company commander, who had been eyeing Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion up and down, suddenly asked.

“What, couldn’t find a superior officer to keep you around? For a Level 2, you’re not bad. Maybe try putting in a little more effort next time.”

“......”

“A little charm might’ve gone a long way. If you had any, you probably wouldn’t have been dumped in a place like this.”

He tossed her transfer orders carelessly onto the desk, spitting out the words with thinly veiled contempt.

“You can go.”

Then he gestured to a corporal sitting at a desk nearby, his exhaustion plain on his face.

“This way, ma’am.”

The unlucky corporal got stuck escorting her. It was a good reminder—don’t linger near your superiors unless you want to draw the short straw.

Erabelle followed the corporal out, her expression darkening.

She felt sick. The nausea was from the sedatives.

It had already been two months since she’d last seen him—since they’d last been together.

Her body, which had grown used to the comfort of his presence, now violently rejected the sedatives, wracked with vomiting spells. The more unstable the noise in her system, the more her body longed for him.

Just the smallest lapse... and he pops into my head again.

She’d been nauseous the entire way here. She’d barely managed to keep her meals down on the transport ship, puking more than once and popping fresh sedatives each time. Still, Erabelle couldn’t help but wonder—

Is this just the noise acting up? Or do I actually... miss Dezeb’s body?

God... I mean, maybe. That wouldn’t be so strange, would it?

It wasn’t like the people who fell under his spell were stupid. It wasn’t a matter of intelligence. People just... got sucked in, and their lives unraveled from there.

“......”

Fortunately, being reassigned out of Division HQ meant that Commander Dezeb Avganis was now out of reach—like a distant star.

He always had been.

In this vast empire of thousands of stars, a rising young commander was a figure so high above that you couldn’t even dream of touching him.

Even if he’d been demoted, a man like him still owned multiple planets outright. That was wealth on a scale incomprehensible to normal citizens—people whose lifelong dream was to own a single home.

From a humble Earthling’s point of view, people like him might as well have been gods.

And Dezeb Avganis wasn’t just some rising star—he was the heir of the prestigious Avganis Marquessate.

Whatever his true self was, his position alone placed him far beyond anyone’s reach.

Erabelle had already said goodbye to him in her heart.

...But is this really okay?

Sure, this was another world, but even so... she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

All around her, the dim air writhed with monsters tangled in swarms of the dead.

Every time one slammed into the Shield Disk’s barrier and lit up the smog with ghostly flashes, the grotesque scene burned itself into her mind.

They look...

Like insects. Or reptiles. Or snakes with stubby segments. Or maybe even slimy annelids.

And then there was that sound—like swarming gnats sizzling against glass.

It made her wonder if this was really okay. Like she was standing in the middle of the world’s end.

“Creepy, isn’t it?”

Erabelle turned toward the corporal.

“You shouldn’t stare too long. It can mess with your head.”

“I see.”

“I’m Jagon.”

The unlucky corporal introduced himself with a polite nod, then continued:

“First time here?”

It was obvious, but he gave her the rundown anyway.

“There’s a downtown area about 40 minutes from here by shuttle—closest thing to civilization. Still, I wouldn’t recommend going.”

“What’s there?”

“Not much. It’s a poor area. Pretty rough, especially for support staff like us.”

True enough—support divisions always had it worse.

“Even calling it a clinic is a stretch. Sanitation’s awful. But people still go, no matter how many times we warn them.”

He paused, then added with a grin, “Oh, and I’ve got a spare slot in my support rig, if you need anything. Not free, though.”

Corporal Jagon made a very generous offer for a first meeting. It immediately became clear why he was being so friendly.

So he’s hustling... got it.

Still, it was a generous offer. In a world where not accepting help could lead to biological function failure, you really couldn’t ask for much better.

This world had its fair share of nonsense.

“Thank you,” Erabelle said.

“We’ve all gotta help each other out, right?”

Following Jagon, who seemed unusually sociable, she stepped into a low, vacant building.

“This’ll be your quarters,” he explained.

The building was old, but at least it was a standalone unit. That meant the prickly company commander and his brass had come to some sort of agreement behind the scenes.

“Thanks for the tour.”

“Not a problem. Oh, and feel free to speak casually.”

“I’ll ease into it,” she replied.

What the hell am I saying...

She hadn’t even dropped formality with squadmates she’d served with for nearly three years.

Most combat personnel in the military averaged a physical rating of 4.

Erabelle, only rated at a measly Level 2, always had to tread carefully to avoid any mistakes. One slip-up and she’d be shipped back in a box.

That was exactly why high-grade Signum holders rarely took licenses in support or auxiliary branches.

In a world where control-freaks in command could turn a minor insubordination into a full-on assault charge, support and auxiliary divisions had to stay humble—regardless of their classification.

Honestly, putting a support or auxiliary designation in your main slot when you had a high-grade Signum? That was suicide. Utter idiocy.

Which is exactly what I did...

Erabelle split off from the other squad members and picked a decent room on the second floor.

The space was tidy enough. One bed, one wardrobe, one desk. There was even a small private bathroom attached.

She dropped her backpack to the floor and rubbed her forearms for warmth as she opened the stove lid.

“...Damn, it’s cold.”

Weirdly enough, it felt even colder inside the building than it did outside. She grabbed the coal that had been stocked nearby and loaded it into the stove before lighting a fire.

Seriously... a coal stove? In an era where interstellar warp travel is commercialized?

This company’s poverty outdid even the winds that sliced through the colony.

“Ugh.”

She crouched in front of the stove, waiting for the warmth to kick in, her mind momentarily blank.

Camillia Ovia had absolutely exploded when she found out about the transfer.

“You out of your damn mind? Have you gone completely insane?” she’d screamed, sending her off with a farewell of curses. “If you’re so hell-bent on dying, do it here! Why go all the way out there just to get yourself killed? Hell, I’ll do you the favor—die right now, by my hands...”

Honestly, maybe I should’ve let her drag me by the hair...

Dying? Please. She wasn’t suicidal. Erabelle grumbled to herself as she pulled a tablet from her bag.

This place—this wasteland—was the ideal place to prove her worth.

She’d considered everything carefully before making her move.

The moment she found out she’d become part of the Dogs’ wager, she’d started researching everything she could about conflict zones. She prepared a full survival kit—Muscle Enhancer B, Speed-Up A, various Spell Disks, Mana Regulators—everything.

And that’s when she’d realized.

This is it.

Yes, this is the place. A four-star system smothered in smog leaking from monster rifts, blanketed by hordes of mindless dead.

And this was the only place where she could sneak in artificial spirits, bypassing the surveillance network.

In her three years of service, Erabelle had come to one grudging conclusion: at the very least, they pay you for the work you do.

So she had a plan.

Here, she’d generate artificial spirits and build an integrated platform for the Dogs. In exchange, she would negotiate a safe retirement.

It was the first thread of hope she’d grasped since enlisting.

Commander Dezeb Avganis had three major companies under his belt.

Kronos Operations, a military contractor. Repeisa, a pharmaceutical company. And ETAP Energy.

The 41st Division’s chronic supply issues stemmed from the covert interlinking of those three businesses.

The unit was practically a paramilitary force and used everything from unauthorized reagents to black-market energy packs and illegal military supplies. Which meant it needed a massive, covert supply line to function.

If they did it openly, they’d already be under investigation. But hiding it all only made things worse.

Erabelle had decided she’d be the one to fix it.

An independent platform should be enough to trade for someone with a specialized S-class ability—especially if they had a support designation as a secondary.

Of course, she had a Plan B, just in case it all went to hell.

Work for thirty years straight, then become space dust.