The Divine Throne of Shipgirls

"No, what we want isn't hatred, but fear and despair. Bombing their capitals now would only unite them in rage and make their resolve stronger. We should ease the pressure slightly, maintain our deterrence in the Ryukyus, and continue infiltrating human society. Internal unrest will bloom on its own, and they'll collapse without us having to strike."

Akagi followed the logic. "Then we need to build fortresses and airfields in the Ryukyus—but even then, we can only station about five hundred thousand troops at most."

Taihou glanced southward. "Didn't that Tirpitz defeat hundreds of thousands of us all by herself? Let her put on another show—we'll get a clearer read on her."

Kaga interjected, "So who stays behind to run the base?"

Akagi and Taihou exchanged glances, then answered in unison: "Ryuujou."

…

Defeating the Abyssal Barbarossa's forces didn't mean everything was fine and dandy.

Qiongzhou Island still faced the threat of hundreds of thousands of Abyssal shipgirls, and the East China Sea's millions-strong Abyssal army loomed overhead like the Sword of Damocles.

So after a brief battlefield cleanup, the Silent Horizon immediately turned north, resupplying and standing watch near where the war took place.

No further bad news came during the voyage.

Attacks on Qiongzhou had sharply weakened, indicating that Akagi and the others were now hesitating.

After their defeat in the East China Sea, the Abyssal forces were pursued—but a massive westward push never happened, and there was no real sign of a southward campaign either.

As for a northern push—frankly, China would be glad if the Abyssal army's attention shifted toward Japan and relieved the pressure on their own forces.

A force of several million Abyssal shipgirls devoured so much energy daily that the black Ink Sea was beginning to turn blue. Such an army couldn't last long. Their next move would have to be decided in just a day or two.

Otherwise, not even Abyssal flagships could restrain such a beast tide.

The day after Barbarossa's defeat, word came from Qiongzhou: the Abyssals had begun withdrawing.

By dawn on the third day, a telegram from the East China Sea confirmed that most of the Abyssal fleet had returned to the deep sea under cover of night. Flagships like Abyssal Akagi, Kaga, Taihou, and Zuikaku had all pulled out of the war zone.

On the fifth day—though full confirmation of the withdrawal was still pending—a victory celebration was finally held.

On the deck of the Silent Horizon, an open-air banquet was in full swing.

The sun was shining beautifully. Hikaru had a special-issue tub of ice cream tucked under one arm, half-asleep. The three of them lounged at the bow of the ship chatting with Masaki.

A loose circle of Marshals and shipgirls casually gathered nearby, chatting about everything under the sun—but really, all eyes were on Hikaru and Tirpitz. Every so often, someone would "casually" ask a question to draw Hikaru into their conversations.

Hikaru grumbled to Masaki.

"You've no idea how cursed my luck is. I sunk hundreds of thousands of Abyssal shipgirls—and didn't get a single one. Not even one shipgirl drop. Tell me that's not rotten luck."

Defeating an Abyssal shipgirl had a small chance to purify her and allow her to be reborn as a shipgirl. While that chance was low, to sink hundreds of thousands and still get absolutely nothing—was unprecedented.

Masaki sighed sympathetically. "That's seriously rough. But from what I hear, shipgirl drops are tied to stuff like compassion, salvation, or emotional resonance. It's not just about luck."

Hikaru thought about it. "You mean, if I treat them like grinding mobs, there's no way I'll get one?"

Masaki rolled his eyes and was about to say something—when a figure marching toward them drew his attention.

Straightening his uniform, Masaki smiled. "Senior Marshal Noboru, are you here to see Hikaru?"

There weren't too many formalities aboard the ship—if there were, you'd get nothing done with all the saluting going on—but when a Senior Marshal came over, basic courtesy still applied.

Hikaru turned to look. The man who approached was gaunt and weary, with a wrinkled uniform and a martial air.

Senior Marshal Noboru had bloodshot eyes, an unnatural flush on his face, and reeked so badly of sour sweat and alcohol that even the sleeping Tirpitz frowned in her dreams.

Noboru stared dead at Hikaru and held out a half-finished bottle of vodka.

"Want a sip?"

Hikaru smiled and shook his head. "Can't drink."

In truth, so many Marshals and shipgirls had come to offer him toasts—either to thank him or get on his good side—that Lexington had flat-out banned him from drinking while aboard.

After all, these were high-ranking officers. If one toasted him, he couldn't just sniff the drink and walk away. But if he drank with one, and refused the others, it'd look like he was being arrogant after success. Better not to drink at all.

[End of Chapter]

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