Time is the cruelest and most impartial judge in the universe. Two years passed in the blink of an eye beneath the silent gaze of the stars, marking history since Steve's revolutionary speech at SIDE3.
In the early days of the war, as supreme commander of the Human Federation, Steve occasionally looked up from towering piles of battle reports to watch the blue points flicker across his command screens, recalling the moment when the war machine at last was complete.
Once, he jotted a few names onto a piece of scratch paper—names he privately thought were in poor taste. For example, he had dubbed the mass-produced war machines "Zoids" and the high-performance command units "Gundam."
"No, that's ridiculous…" Steve quickly scratched them out with a self-deprecating smile. This wasn't a child's game; this was a war for the fate of humanity itself. To send weapons that determined the lives and deaths of so many under such a mocking banner would be an insult to every soldier.
In the end, after consulting with Sion, they fused alchemy with futuristic scientific concepts at Atlas Academy, and bestowed these war giants with more chivalric codenames—the mass-produced units became "Paladin," while the ace and command models were titled "Chevalier."
Steve, famed as the "Man of Miraculous Wisdom," had prepared everything over twenty-eight years for this moment. War did not truly start with his speech, but the moment the first settlers ascended the space elevator, and the first space colony began to take shape.
Over the intervening years, as chief architect for every SIDE colony, Steve had left countless backdoors. His mind, operating far ahead of his era, shaped the technology of this age; the engineers of the time executed his almost unintelligible designs in blind faith.
Even the great and powerful of the Earth Federation were deceived. They believed Steve's apparent ambition was to become the successor president of the Federation—a king for the "elite" 10%.
But today's massive industrial system, seamless logistics networks, and the giant army spanning dozens of colonies with absolute numerical superiority—these were, in truth, the "funeral" Steve had spent twenty-eight years preparing for Earth's regime.
War erupted in an event later described by military historians as the unprecedented "Orbital Descent Operation"—nicknamed Ragnarok. Thus began the epic bloody ballad known as the One Year War.
Steve took the concept of Troy's final "wooden horse" and manifested it as a massive, 500-meter-long assault landing capsule with multi-layer composite armor and a basic "ether phase transfer shield"—the Trojan Class.
When war broke out, hundreds of these Trojan Class capsules descended from orbit like divine spears of judgment, striking at Earth Federation military and administrative centers with pinpoint accuracy. The EU headquarters at Brussels, the Pentagon in Washington, the Kremlin in Moscow—symbols of humanity's old powers—were reduced to rubble, falling with a thunderous roar.
In the chaotic aftermath, waves of iron cavalry spilled from the gaping hatches of the Trojan Class—giant, 18-meter-tall war mecha, unleashing storms of destruction upon the cities.
The Earth Federation's military, for the first time, lost all leadership and fell into disorder. With command systems physically severed, all local garrisons had no option but to fight independently.
The Human Federation achieved an overwhelming tactical victory in that first week with its near-perfect decapitation strike.
...But war does not end simply with decapitation. This was merely the prologue to Hell.
After the first panic and chaos, Earth's immense, entrenched bureaucracy and military machine slowly, doggedly, began to recover and function again. New commanders emerged from the rubble; vast industrial complexes churned out tanks, fighters, and helicopter gunships.
Naval fleets around the world reorganized, bombarding the Human Federation's beachheads mercilessly.
War rapidly shifted from one-sided blitzkrieg to a grinding, bloody war of attrition. On the vast Siberian plains, the Iron Cavalry's advance was rolled back by tens of thousands of tanks. In the ruins of Europe's formerly prosperous cities, every street and building became a meat grinder, as soldiers of both sides clashed, again and again.
Over the Pacific, alien space fighter squadrons duelled the Federation's own orbital drop squadrons—the Sanctuary—in dazzling, deadly aerial ballets.
…
A full year passed.
This brutal struggle, later remembered as the One Year War, burned out all passion and zeal from both sides, leaving nothing but exhaustion and hatred. In the end, only scorched earth, tangled trenches, and the ugly scars of wreckage stretched across Eurasia.
The Human Federation managed to control a few key strategic landing points, enough to maintain supply lines, but could move no further.
The Earth Federation, exhausted of every method of transport, could not force these "invaders" to retreat into space.
The war entered its second year.
A longer, more desperate stalemate...
…
April 7, 2032
Bridge of the flagship Avalon, Human Federation.
Steve stood before a giant holographic starmap, staring at the once-blue planet now covered by countless red marks—burning warzones. He brooded deeply. Two years had passed since the war began. He had succeeded in dragging the ancients into a battlefield of his choosing, but at a grave cost.
"Steve."
A familiar voice called from behind. Turning, he saw Sion, now dressed in a crisp dark-blue Human Federation investigator's uniform—though her violet eyes still carried traces of fatigue and concern.
She handed him an encrypted datapad. "Here's the battle damage report for last quarter, and... some 'special events' that defy common explanation."
He took it. The figures were brutal—cold numbers concealing countless living, breathing souls now lost.
Steve's eyes were quickly drawn to the "Special Event" column.
[...]
[TOP SECRET] Special Incident Report – Q4 2031 to Q1 2032
Incident ID: AE-077
Location: European Theater, Black Forest Front, Germany
Summary: Our elite decapitation squad "Griffin" (composed of three Sanctuary units) lost contact while raiding the enemy's temporary HQ. Three days later, our scouts discovered the squad's remains nearby.
Analysis: All three Sanctuary units suffered irregular damage. No signs of explosion or heavy gunfire—rather, serrated wounds matching bladed weapons densely covered the hulls. The cockpit of one was pin-point pierced from outside, pilot's bones missing.
Recovered black box footage, last few seconds: Squad encountered at least two unknown entities, moving at high speed. One was slim, wielding black thrown weapons; the other wreathed in magical flames.
Images too blurred for identification.
Incident ID: AP-104
Location: Inland Brazil, non-combat zone
Summary: Confidential intelligence from our agents—recent mass disappearances in aboriginal villages deep within the Amazon. The local Earth Federation garrison censored the news, but villagers whispered that the people had been… 'drained.'
Analysis: Such cases match Atlas Academy archives for high-ranked "Dead Apostle" predatory traits. Likely that a Dead Apostle Ancestor is exploiting the chaos, ruthlessly expanding their 'hunting ground.'
[...]
Steve read the report in silence, a chill running to his core. He looked up to meet Sion's worried eyes.
"It seems our little 'domestic affair' has lured out monsters long hidden in the shadows," she said, faint bitterness in her voice. "The Clock Tower's Seal Enforcers, the Holy Church's Executor... they flock to the war's blood, like vultures to a corpse.
"And the real demons... are feasting in places no one notices."
Steve closed the datapad and returned his gaze to the battered blue planet. He knew well—the true war was only just beginning.
…
Note: Chapter 1-30 is prologue.