Miss Witch Doesn't Want to be a Diva

Extra Story: The Gray Ashes of Steel

Timeframe: During the civil war, four hundred years ago.

"Captain, when do you think we can be victorious?"

The dark and cold space station corridor lit up from the enormous blue planet outside its windows as two soldiers wearing protective gear walked by and stopped here.

The two stood straight in front of the window, and in front of that huge blue planet, they appeared so small. Their reflections on the ground were just as solitary. In the silent void of space, no sound could be heard.

The war within the Federation had been going on for forty-three years. For many, that duration was likely longer than their age. From birth, they had been living amidst wars, their lives under control, with television programs eternally broadcasting frontline war reports. Factories churned out military supplies day and night, and every child received complete military education during their upbringing.

In graduation photos, figures were crossed out, those familiar names gradually faded, phone calls could no longer get through, and on the silent voyages, no one knew what kind of news they would sync to when connecting to the star network next time. Sometimes, simply seeing those still active IDs offered a slender comfort.

"We shall never surrender, maintaining the integrity and unity of the Federation is our sacred duty, Isenisha's will is inherited by us, and we shall ultimately purge all parasites and filth, giving all people a clear and just future!"

The fleet general on the podium declared with a clenched fist, his voice firm. The roar echoed under this steel dome, while the tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of soldiers in the formations down below also swore with clenched fists.

"For a clear and just future!" The voices echoed throughout the dome, the united will and roaring chorus were breathtaking.

Meanwhile, outside the dome, vast battleships slowly drifted away from the Star Harbor. They blotted out the sky; shadows from the battleships passing by made the residents of the Star Harbor feel the change of day and night intermittently.

The Central Third Fleet, one of the most elite and powerful fleets of the Federation before the civil war, possessed 2,726 of the most advanced 'Odysseus' class main battleships, 15,788 'Paradise' class carriers, around 57,000 'Iskar' class cruisers, and approximately 210,000 destroyers of various types.

These ascending battleships slowly moved into the starry sky, their bright thrusters gradually disappearing into the pitch-black distance, like a scattering of stars embellishing the night sky.

To slow down the enemy's relentless breaches and to buy time for subsequent troop build-up, the Third Fleet undertook the most arduous task. It would enter the enemy-controlled area alone to obstruct and restrain the fiercest First and Second Fleets within the Federation before the civil war.

War stretched time, a single year passing, time and again surviving in the perilous battle conditions. The Third Fleet's individual squadron numbers were gradually decommissioned, the remaining battered battleships continuously gathering and reforming to face the fight once more.

"When can we go home, when can we be victorious?" Such thoughts spread within the fleet as some soldiers gradually broke down amidst the endless brutal warfare.

As a Mech Pilot within the fleet, Salin was only 26 years old, yet he was a veteran of ten years of war. He awoke to alarms day and night, then took to his mech to strike. Sometimes, he felt so bewildered, wondering whether he truly was Salin or if he had remembered wrong—perhaps Salin was a comrade who had died in the war, and he had adopted the name out of shock from his death.

This kind of doubt and disorientation often occurred upon waking. He had to repeatedly check his identification code to confirm that it was indeed his name, and not that of a stranger.

Years of hovering on the brink of life and death nearly made him forget everything outside of war. Sometimes he inexplicably felt fortunate to have survived such an exceptionally cruel conflict.

Squad Sixteen originally had 127 official Mech Pilots, but now only he and the captain remained from the initial members. Over the years, the squad changed batch after batch, then pulled in reinforcements from the rear. The faces that once were familiar were gone.

Following another completed mission, he dragged his weary body out of the cockpit, handing over the points needing maintenance to the engineering mechanic. Walking out of the docking port, he hurried forward and finally caught up with the solitary captain.

"Captain, when do you think we can be victorious?" His words made the other stop in his tracks.

The captain didn't answer right away but stood quietly, like a silent statue. Perhaps silence was an answer too, which made Salin fall quiet as well.

The two no longer hurried back to the rest room but stood in the secluded, cold, and dark hallway, gazing out the window at the huge blue planet.

This planet was so beautiful, with the white clouds floating above and the hints of verdant green sprinkled across it. If one could descend to the planet and travel to take in the sights, it must be a very pleasant thing.

However, it wasn't them who occupied this planet, but the powerful Conservative Faction, with their planetary fortifications and formidable ground forces making this place unassailable. Even the orbital bombardment of starships could only damage the outer surface of the planet but hardly shake the deep underground bases and launch silos.

The reason for their attack here wasn't to conquer it, but to constrain the enemy's fleet, forcing them to return and defend, thereby buying time for their rear.

"Victory, I do not know when we can truly win..." Staring at the beautiful planet in space, the captain broke the long silence.

"The advances and retreats in war are merely to serve strategic objectives." Explore hidden tales at My Virtual Library Empire

If it had been in the past, they would certainly have said that by annihilating and driving out the enemy, they would welcome victory. But such an idea, after more than forty years of prolonged war, had lost hope in people's hearts.@@novelbin@@

To maintain an uncollapsed front line had become their limit. Compared to the situation at the start of the civil war, they had retreated time and again, not only gradually eroding the remaining people's confidence but also fostering unease about the future.

Perhaps the starting point of war was justice, but as the war dragged on, and residents in the enemy-controlled areas grew accustomed to the laws and ideologies imposed by the enemy, no longer standing with them, could such a war still be just?

"No! We absolutely do not recognize such a future, a future so decayed and degenerate!" The general's words still echoed in their ears; he was so decisive and firm. Perhaps it was precisely because of his perseverance that the Third Fleet had not collapsed and still held on at the most intense front line.

"I'm sorry, I don't know when we can win... when I can take you back home." The captain turned, his large palm resting on Salin's shoulder.

"But I think, as long as we keep going, we will see hope and dawn. Yes, as long as we persist, as long as we have not admitted defeat, it does not signify failure, it means the future still holds some possibility." Such a burly and straight figure speaking these words that were so bitter and fragile.

Just not admitting defeat is enough, a childish and naive idea. Salin recalled the last conversation with the captain, sometimes mocking himself for such thoughts.

But if it wasn't for these naive and childish ideas comforting him, he probably would have mentally collapsed on that harsh battlefield.

Sometimes even deceiving oneself might be a good thing, at least it has kept him alive.

The Third Fleet's designation was canceled, and although the war was far from over, he had finally retreated from the front lines.

To console and care for the many sacrifices of the Third Fleet, Emuralin suggested that the surviving personnel be transferred to the rear for training and assisting in production, to avoid the brutal front lines.

This proposal was approved, and Salin distanced himself from his former designation and everything else, taking the only remaining damaged mech to a faraway and secluded Star Domain. It was said that a new battleship Star Harbor was being built here, to produce the still-experimental 'Sighing Dragon' class main battleship.

"Four-leaf Crystal Star Domain, what a nice name." Salin sat in the cockpit, looking down at the verdant beautiful planet outside the window.

"You think so too, don't you, my old pal?"

He looked back at the mech in the glass-partitioned cabin behind him, a battered old mech with a body riddled with bullet holes, looming large with a steel-grey exterior and a Flame Branding on its shoulder, as if roaring and burning.

'Just not admitting defeat is enough, such a stubborn and childish statement, but my war is far from over. I have to repair you here, to properly record all those wounds and bullet holes you've experienced, to pass down the memories of those brushes with death, so that the younger generations can stand on our shoulders to develop stronger mechs and more formidable warriors.'

'We will do it, 'Burn-Iron-6412', just not admitting defeat is enough.'