The Nation could not afford to lose the First Island Chain. Gorou also urgently needed a victory to cement his prestige—for a supreme commander, that was the way of things. No matter how many triumphs came before, a single failure could shake his authority to the core.
War is the harshest and most unforgiving of judges. It decides winners and losers through death.
And in the eyes of many, Gorou's handling of the Hikaru affair was already one such failure.
So what was Gorou doing now?
The moment Warspite's adjutant entered with a sealed, spell-bound message, every bigwig in the room straightened. Cigarettes stubbed out, teacups set down, bleary eyes rubbed awake.
They all watched Warspite's expression.
This was the command center for the "yacht incident." All intelligence came directly to the chief investigator. More importantly, the country was leading this inquiry—after all, the compromised yacht belonged to shipgirl headquarters, and no one would allow them to investigate themselves.
So if new intel had arrived now, at this critical moment, it almost certainly came from Gorou's front.
Under the veil of enchantment, Warspite read the cipher.
Her expression shifted slightly. She folded the message back into its envelope.
Across the long table, Grand Marshal Heizou tapped his knuckles. "Well, esteemed lady? What intelligence?"
"Routine exchange from the Continental Shipgirl Division."
All divisions conducted regular intel updates. The moment she said it, interest waned.
Some were still curious, but that was an internal matter for shipgirl headquarters. They had no pressing reason to pry.
Setting the envelope by her hand, Warspite silently counted the minutes. After a quarter of an hour, she rose.
"Excuse me. I must step out to write a reply."
Envelope in hand, she left the room at an unhurried pace.
She had no choice but to be cautious. Hikaru had warned that the Fleet Admiral's new aide might be an Abyssal agent—but who was to say there was only one? For all she knew, others could be sitting right here at the table.
In matters like this, prudence was everything.
At Gorou's forward command post, the highest-priority transmission from the city branch of shipgirl headquarters soon arrived.
Through triple layers of translation and sealing, the message was finally handed to the Fleet Admiral's new aide.
The handsome young man accepted it with stiff politeness, thanking them with the awkwardness of someone still new to power. Like all young men suddenly vaulted into high rank, he strained to maintain a facade of calm, careful not to seem giddy or arrogant.
The clerks of the communications office kept their faces impassive—that was their profession—as they watched him hurry toward the Supreme Commander's operations office across the courtyard.
Both wings were housed in the inner compound, but encryption procedures were mandatory. Regulations demanded it.
So even holding the dispatch, the aide had no idea of its contents—he didn't even know the source.
In the short walk across the paving stones, only a few guesses flickered through his mind. Then he reached the office door and raised a hand to knock.
"Enter," came Gorou's voice.
Inside, the atmosphere was taut.
Earlier that morning, the room had echoed with heated argument.
Senior Marshals and Grand Marshals had debated the final operational plan, wrangling over contingencies for failure.
Now they had dispersed to their posts, each one a cog in the great machine.
Just the final step—surrounding and destroying the Abyssal Ryuujou—would demand the full might of the East Sea Theater.
So at this moment, only the Fleet Admiral remained, along with his shipgirl, Indiana.
It looked as though they had just quarreled. Indiana stood three steps from Gorou, arms folded, face stormy, chest rising and falling with anger.
The Fleet Admiral himself slouched in his armchair, expression unreadable, wrinkles so deep they could crush a mosquito, his thin frame hunched with age.
The aide didn't dare utter a sound. He delivered the envelope wordlessly.
On any other day, he would at least have recited a formal line.
But not today. He hadn't forgotten that the dark-skinned woman beside Gorou—Indiana—had served as his aide for over a century.
The last thing he wanted was to draw her notice, or worse, become fodder in the conflict between her and Gorou.
Better to avoid being the pond fish caught in the gods' battle.
Gorou took the sealed dispatch. His age-worn hand trembled slightly as he broke the seal and unfolded the paper.
The aide noticed a subtle motion: Gorou shifted the page just so, ensuring Indiana could not glimpse the contents.
They had been bound together in life and death for over two centuries, closer than any marriage could be. Yet here they were, guarding secrets from each other like sworn enemies.
[End of Chapter]
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