Year 1486
Rhein Theater,
The land was shrouded in darkness, choked by smoke and torn apart by steel. The rivers ran brown with mud—undrinkable and lifeless. Every 200 yards, trenches scarred the earth like the wounds of a dying beast. Soldiers stood in them, clad in dark and dull grey uniforms, helmets low over their eyes. Each gripped a bolt-action rifle tipped with a bayonet, worn hands trembling not just from cold, but from the weight of war.
Every face was different—some pale with fear, others hardened by courage and defiance.
"PREPARE TO GO OVER THE TOP!!"
An officer roared, his uniform slightly more adorned than the others, marking his rank among the masses.
Suddenly, the fields were lit with fire—artillery shells rained down from distant batteries, the earth erupting in geysers of mud and steel. Dirty water splashed across helmets and faces, and the concussive blasts rattled the bones of every man.
Then came the whistle.
A sharp, shrill sound that pierced the chaos. Like clockwork, soldiers scrambled to the ladders, hoisting themselves out of their trenches and charging into no-man's-land. Across the field, enemy guns barked—rifles, machine guns, hidden bunkers—mowing down the charging wave one by one. Blood and mud mixed beneath boot and body alike.
But high above it all, far above the smoke and fire, floated a lone figure. A boy—no older than fifteen—dressed in an officer's uniform and cap. His hair was short, shock-white, and unnatural. Strapped to his back was a strange, glowing device that pulsed with a neon red light.
"Such a waste of soldiers… Might as well take the advantage," he muttered, raising a heavily modified bolt-action rifle to his shoulder.
Through his scope, far beyond the battle lines, lay the enemy's will to hold the line: rows of massive artillery, primed to decimate his homeland.
He closed his eyes and whispered a quiet prayer.
"My Lord… grant me the sight to find my enemies. Give me the will to protect my homeland. Bless me with your courage and steel… And forgive me for my sins."
As he spoke, arcane energy began to coil around him—tendrils of glowing red magic seeping from his chest, swirling into the rifle. The weapon pulsed with unstable power, mana leaking through cracks in the runes etched along its barrel. It was more than the rifle could contain.
The iron sights adjusted, powered by the energy, zooming far beyond normal range—locking onto the rows of enemy artillery below.
"May God grant you a painless death… for I won't."
He pulled the trigger.
A deafening surge of arcane power erupted from the barrel. A crimson beam tore through the sky, striking the distant artillery emplacements in a blinding flash. The enemy's entire stockpile detonated in a chain reaction, flames climbing into the heavens as the earth shook beneath them.
The rising night sky was ignited with fire and screams—the sound carried across miles of battlefield.
And then, silence.
All eyes, both ally and enemy, turned to the inferno in stunned stillness. The horror of arcane warfare laid bare for all to see.
A voice crackled through a glowing magical circle on the boy's arm. Deep and commanding.
"Great work, Lieutenant Hiro. Return to base. RTB—mission complete."
Hiro brought his right arm closer and responded, voice calm.
"Copy. Delta-1 returning to base. RTB."
Without another word, he turned, disappearing into the clouds, the glow of his flight pack fading into the darkness as the full moon rose over the battlefield.
A while later, Hiro descended gently, landing on solid ground where the grass still grew a vibrant green—untouched by the war's fury.
He glanced around the temporary camp, letting out a soft sigh. Wounded soldiers lined the area, bandages wrapped around limbs, torsos, and heads. Some lay motionless under white sheets—lifeless, honored only by silence. Others sat quietly as medics tended to them, the air thick with exhaustion and the lingering scent of antiseptic and blood.
"Hiro! You damn bastard! You did it again, didn't you?!"
A commanding voice rang out.
A woman in a high-ranking officer's uniform marched toward him with haste, her long blonde hair swaying with each angry step. Her emerald eyes burned with frustration.
"Commander Adelheid, I—"
Before Hiro could finish, she struck him on the head with an open palm—an all-too-familiar start to her reprimands.
"That's Erika to you, boy!" she snapped. "Can't you see your sister's worried sick every time you fire off another Arcane Blast?! Now—where's your rifle?"
"R-right here," Hiro muttered, handing it over.
Erika examined the weapon. The barrel was charred and cracked with arcane fatigue, glowing faintly with the residual energy it could barely contain. Runes along the body were blackened, partially burnt out.
"Hiro! This rifle is in worse condition than the last one! Have you completely lost your mind?! This could've exploded in your hands!"
A growing crowd began to watch as the pair continued their back-and-forth.
"That's the commander and the Delta kid again," a nearby soldier whispered to an officer. "Every time, she chews him out."
"I can't blame her," the officer replied. "Hiro joined the military at ten. Top of his class in officer training. His Arcane Affinity? Off the charts. High enough that he could've been one of the few boys to become an Aerial Witch."
"Aren't most of them… y'know, women?" a younger soldier asked, sitting on a crate.
"Yeah. That's what makes Hiro stand out," the officer continued. "Brilliant tactician. Sharp aim. Knows when to take a risk—and more importantly, how to make the enemy take one first. He's made a name for himself not just in training, but in real combat. The Empire's Aces talk about him like he's already one of them."
"How do you know so much about him?" the younger soldier asked again.
"Officers like me are informed on elite deployments. We tailor strategy around them. Hiro's tactics usually center around distraction and positioning—getting the enemy to fire first so he can locate them and strike with precision."
Back at the center of attention, Erika finally gave up her lecture with an annoyed sigh. She held Hiro's ruined rifle in one hand as she turned away.
"Go get yourself a new one. I'm taking this for inspection," she said, already striding back toward the command tent.
Hiro remained where he was, shoulders slumped, and exhaled heavily. He then made his way to the storage tent, pushing open the flap and stepping inside. He opened a large crate packed with identical rifles—each one pristine and ready.
He stared at them for a moment, bemused.
"Command sent me this many...? Why so many, though?" he muttered to himself, selecting a new rifle with a familiar weight.
Hiro soon closed the crate and exited the tent...
Ten Years Ago
Year 1976
Capital City: Irinheil, Kaiseren Empire
The streets of Irinheil—the shining capital of the Kaiseren Empire—were filled with protesters, marching in calm, unified formation. Their signs rose high above their heads, bearing bold statements demanding war against the nations that had, in their view, insulted the Empire and its royal family.
City guards lined the streets, watching closely. Their presence ensured order, allowing the protest to proceed without incident.
"Go to war!"
"Show them our might!"
"This is our land!"
Shouts and chants echoed through the city. Some citizens stood aside, watching briefly before returning to their daily routines.
In a narrow alley nearby, a young white-haired boy watched the demonstration quietly. Barely six years old in appearance, he wore plain, tattered brown clothing. Dirt clung to his skin, and his eyes carried the fatigue of a life too heavy for someone his age.
"I should head back..." he murmured, turning and walking deeper into the alley.
But the voices from the streets echoed on, unrelenting. Even as he walked farther, the cries for war still reached his ears.
Turning a corner, the boy stopped in his tracks. A group of men in ragged, suspicious clothing had cornered two young women.
"C'mon now, let's go grab some drinks, little missy," one of the men said, his tone dripping with menace.
"I said we're not interested. We're just passing through," replied the blonde woman with emerald eyes, her voice tense and defensive.
"Oh? Playing hard to get, huh? Two can play at that—"
"Hey! Leave them alone!" the boy shouted.
The men turned to face him, surprised—and then amused.
"Get lost, kid. This ain't a playground," one of them growled.
"Military Police!" the boy shouted again, hoping to bluff.
Startled by the claim, the men hesitated—just long enough for the two women to seize the opportunity. They pushed past and ran, vanishing into the maze of the city.
Realizing there were no Military Police in sight, the men turned their fury on the boy.
"You little brat!!"
One of them lunged to strike him—but as the punch neared, a shimmering Arcane Barrier flared to life, blocking the blow and shattering the attacker's wrist in a flash of light.
"ARGH! Damn you! Get him!" the man bellowed.
The rest charged forward, and the boy bolted in the opposite direction. He dashed down the alley, leaping over crates and dodging debris, doing everything he could to stay ahead.
But fatigue caught up with him.
A hand grabbed his collar, yanking him backward.
"Gotcha, brat."
The man threw him against the wall. Pain exploded in the boy's skull as blood trickled down his forehead.
"Time to teach you a lesson," the man growled, taking a metal pipe handed to him by another.
The boy's vision blurred as blood loss weakened him. But instead of feeling the pipe's blow, he heard grunts—punches landing, groans of pain.
He tried to focus, but darkness overtook him.
When he slowly awoke, he found himself staring at a ceiling. A warm room. Soft sheets beneath him.
He turned his head. The two women from earlier were sitting nearby—now fully visible in the light. Both wore formal military uniforms of the Empire.
"So, you're finally awake," said the blonde woman, breaking the silence.
"Thanks for earlier... but we could have handled it ourselves, you know?" added the other, a smirk playing on her lips.
The boy studied them—especially the second woman. She had short black hair, sharp blue eyes, a lean, athletic build.
"Name's Alisa von Gurthern," she said, introducing herself with a smile.
"I'm Erika der Adelheid," the blonde added.
"What's your name, kid?" Alisa asked, her voice kind.
"H-Hiro... Hiro A. Belkan," he replied weakly.
"That's a nice name," Alisa said softly, ruffling his hair.
"Hiro, huh? Sounds kinda... Shinanio," Erika remarked.
"The Shinanian Empire is neutral and friendly with us," Alisa responded, giving Erika a look. "It's no surprise more of their people are settling here."
Then, she turned back to Hiro.
"Hey, Hiro... where are your parents?"
"I... I don't know," he admitted quietly.
An orphan.
The two women exchanged a glance. Though they tried to remain composed, his answer clearly struck a chord. More importantly, they had seen him cast a Barrier-Type Arcane Spell—a feat most adults couldn't manage. The boy wasn't just gifted. He was rare.
"I say we adopt him," Alisa said suddenly.
"Are you crazy?! He's just a kid!" Erika protested.
"I'll talk to my mother. We'll get him enrolled in the Academy. It's safer for him there—and better for the Empire."
She continued gently rubbing Hiro's head, who had already begun to drift back into sleep.
Erika sighed, folding her arms. "Alright, fine... but you explain this to the brass. I'm not taking the heat."
=====
Hiro stood silently in front of Erika inside the command tent, watching as she carefully examined his gear—especially the backpack-like device strapped to him, the one that allowed him to fly and hover in midair.
"Your Arc Gear is intact… The Mark 56 Arc Core seems to be functioning as intended," Erika said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she set the scorched weapon on the table. "But your rifle... Hiro, how many times do I have to tell you—never push it past its rated arcane capacity. The research team back home is furious. Their 'perfect' design can't keep up with your raw output."
She exhaled, tapping a finger on the burnt barrel of the rifle. Her voice softened slightly.
"Other than that... your deployment term has ended. You should start packing up."
Hiro paused before responding. "What about you, Erika?"
"I've been reassigned to the rear forces next week," she replied, her voice steady, but tinged with something bittersweet. "Looks like I'll be seeing you again back in the capital—maybe a week or two from now."
Hiro gave a small nod, masking any emotion behind discipline. "Well then, Erika… I'll see you soon."
With that, he turned and exited the tent, leaving the silence behind.
Once he was gone, Erika let out a long, tired sigh and slumped forward, resting her forehead on the desk.
A female officer entered the tent, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Commander, forgive me for saying this, but... you seem a bit too attached to Hiro. What makes him so special—besides being a male Aerial Witch, which is rare enough as it is?"
Before Erika could answer, a calm male voice spoke from the comms station near the back of the tent.
"You see, Captain Luia, Hiro isn't just special to the Empire. He's important to her, specifically."
Erika straightened up, brushing strands of hair behind her ear and waving away the question.
"Enough chatter," she said, regaining her usual composure. "Initiate the next wave. The enemy has lost their ability to hold the front. Time to press the advantage."
"Yes, ma'am," the male officer responded, turning back to his comms unit and relaying the orders with practiced precision.
Outside the command tent, the air came alive with motion.
Aerial Witches—elite female soldiers equipped with Arc Gears—rushed out in formation. Arcane sparks lit the sky as their devices activated, allowing them to lift off. They grabbed rifles, loaded their arcane-infused magazines, and soared into the clouds. These were the pride of the Kaiseren Empire—its primary airborne force, honed through relentless training and deadly efficiency.
Meanwhile, back at the front lines, Kaiseren infantry surged from their trenches. With rifles raised and adrenaline pumping, they stormed across no man's land, charging the enemy with reckless, almost inhuman courage.
Some time later, Hiro stood waiting near a makeshift runway, his duffel bag resting by his side. A military transport plane rumbled ahead, its twin propeller engines undergoing final checks as ground crews signaled the all-clear.
"Leaving so soon, Hiro?" came a familiar deep voice from behind.
Hiro turned around to see a tall man in a dark trench coat approaching. The man's presence was commanding, but his expression warm.
"Vice Captain," Hiro said, snapping a salute out of habit.
"At ease, Hiro," the man chuckled. "I'm off duty now too. Call me by my name at least."
"Yes, Mr. Hans," Hiro replied, relaxing slightly.
Hans gave him a grin. "So, what's your plan once you're back home?"
"Well… nothing planned. I've got four weeks of rest ahead, so I guess I'll just go with the flow," Hiro said, glancing toward the transport plane as its engines began to hum louder, spinning into full motion.
Hans placed a firm, fatherly hand on Hiro's shoulder. "Family first for me. My daughter's birthday is coming up—might be a small gathering, but you're welcome to come. I'll introduce you. You're at that age where boys should start thinking about romance—and maybe even a future wife, eh?" he added with a teasing smirk.
Hiro gave a faint smile, slightly flustered. "I… I suppose I'll look forward to it. I've got nothing else planned."
"Good. You need more than war in your life," Hans said, his voice firm but kind.
Together, they walked toward the aircraft. The ramp lowered with a mechanical whirr, and the two stepped aboard.
Moments later, the transport plane taxied onto the runway. With a rising roar, it accelerated down the strip, lifting off and soaring into the sky—away from the frontlines, away from the smoke and steel of war.
Inside, Hiro sat by a small round window, gazing outside. The world below slowly shrank away, the trenches and chaos fading into the distance. Soon, the plane breached the cloud line, and everything was cast in soft white and golden light.
For a brief moment, surrounded by silence and sky, Hiro allowed himself to breathe.
From a great distance, Hiro spotted a massive flying vessel dominating the horizon. It stretched nearly 200 meters in length, heavily armored and imposing. The craft consisted of two enormous zeppelins, connected by a reinforced central structure—a vast flight deck spanning between them. Along the runway, rows of interceptor planes were neatly parked, ready for launch at a moment's notice.
He immediately recognized it: one of the Kaiseren Empire's airborne war machines.
Hiro recalled his days back at the Academy, where they were taught why Aerial Witches—despite being the backbone of the Empire's Air Force—could not operate alone. Their combat effectiveness was limited by Arcane Fatigue, a cap on how long they could remain in the air and use their abilities. Aircraft, however, did not suffer from such limitations. Powered by Arcane-infused fuel, they could carry out extended missions, act as escorts for massive air carriers, and provide vital support during operations. Bomber squadrons, in particular, were essential, as not all Aerial Witches possessed high-explosive Arcane abilities. Only elite units—like Hiro himself—had such destructive capabilities.
"Leviathan-class air carriers," Mr. Hans said proudly, breaking the silence. "The finest achievement of the Kaiseren Empire's Air Navy. I'm always impressed by the milestones our R&D teams back home continue to surpass."
Hiro nodded slowly. "That's the 10th Fleet's flagship... the Bisthurn. Are they pushing into a new sector?"
Hans gave a slight nod. "From what I've heard, yes. It's another major push—this time into Aria-controlled territory. The Aria Empire still believes it can hold the line, even after their artillery divisions were destroyed. What do you think?"
"They won't hold for more than an hour," Hiro replied calmly. "Big sis Erika already issued the order for a full advance, with support from the 127th Aerial Witch Battalion."
Through the window, the Bisthurn had begun launching its bombers. Squadrons of sleek black aircraft surged into the sky, their engines roaring as they accelerated into formation, followed closely by interceptors breaking from the flight deck.
Hiro watched them disappear into the clouds ahead—another operation, another battlefront. It was no surprise that a Leviathan-class carrier had been dispatched. Every time one appeared, it signaled a decisive blow was about to be dealt.
The skies were once again preparing for war.
Hiro sat quietly, pulling a worn notebook from his bag. He flipped it open and began reviewing the entries he had written over the past few months during his deployment.
"..."
He remained silent, his eyes scanning the pages carefully.
Sitting beside him, Hans glanced over and caught a glimpse of the meticulous notes. Page after page, densely filled with information. Based on the dates, the entries began during Hiro's second week in the Rhein Theater, specifically in the Salasis Sector. The notebook documented the movement of companies and battalions, recorded in intervals of approximately four weeks. It detailed the rotations of Aerial Witch units—from the 70th to the 112th Battalions—being transferred to different sectors, replaced by newer and less experienced units.
One of the most striking pages was a hand-drawn map of the entire Rhein front. Dozens of arrows and symbols marked troop movements, artillery emplacements, fallback zones, and supply lines. It was a complete tactical overview, the kind that could alter the course of a war if it ever fell into the wrong hands.
"Amazing..." Hans muttered. "You've been tracking everything. Be careful, though. That notebook of yours—it's already classified as high-value intel. If the enemy ever got hold of it..."
His voice trailed off, the warning heavy in the air.
Hiro didn't respond right away. He kept his eyes on the map before finally speaking, his tone subdued.
"War never changes... But I'm more concerned about what comes after. Once the Empire of Aria falls... what about the others? The rival empires, the vassal kingdoms? Will they rise up against us next? Will we ever stop fighting?"
Hans leaned back into his seat, his gaze drifting out the window.
"Slow down, boy. One war at a time... War will always be war."
Hiro closed his notebook slowly and returned it to his bag.
"War will never change..."