Bismarck guns loomed menacingly at the envoy, her voice icy. "This man harbors malice toward us, and his guilty conscience proves his hostile intent. I sentence him to death."
Goeben nearly went mad. "Bring proof! You can't just claim it with your mouth. Even in war, emissaries are never executed. We're still negotiating cooperation here!"
"I don't need anyone else to judge. My heart is the balance," Bismarck said coldly, holding up her left hand that gripped Yamato. "Besides, why are you under the impression that we haven't already gone to war?"
Goeben glanced at the 'captive' Yamato, nearly coughing up blood from sheer anger. She glared hatefully at Bismarck, then waved her hand. "We're leaving!"
The envoy scattered northward in disarray.
Once they were gone from sight, Bismarck released her grip and Yamato fell onto the sea's surface.
Coughing twice, Yamato looked up at her. "You've gone insane. Why would you do this—why kill someone?"
Then realization struck her. "He was the one who helped set up those hidden cameras, wasn't he?"
Bismarck cast her a sidelong glance. "Even if he wasn't, he was still an enemy."
Shipgirls could feel the truth of words and sense killing intent at a glance.
"Even so, you can't just kill someone on the spot! Who do you think you are?" Yamato burst out furiously. "If you had captured him alive, at least we could've interrogated him and found out who his accomplices were. Why did you have to go that far?"
Clearly Yamato wasn't a fool—she understood this was a coordinated operation.
In other words, the enemy was an organization, not a single individual.
"I don't need to explain myself to you," Bismarck turned away. "As for who I am—I am my commander's wedding ship. I am his sword. I am his shield."
Of course, she had no intention of explaining further. The man with the melon-shaped head had been nothing but a suicide operative. Even if captured, he would never have given up a word.
And really, why bother with such trouble? What would evidence accomplish? Hand it over to Naval Headquarters and ask them to serve justice?
No. Bismarck did not need justice handed down by others.
When facing an enemy, there was no need for words—only to kill.
Prince of Wales looked at Bismarck's upright figure and gave a soft click of her tongue. "Now that's more like it."
Meeting the enemy head-on was also a proud tradition of the Royal Navy.
For once, in the matter of striking down foes immediately, she found herself aligned with her bitter rival.
Yamato was still shaken and furious at Bismarck's ruthless decisiveness. She sat stunned on the water for a while, then gazed northward, rose to her feet, shook her head, and pulled a cigar case from her breast pocket.
She took out a half-smoked cigar, a small blue flame flickering at her fingertip as she rolled it to heat the tobacco.
Such a minor task should have been second nature to her—no more difficult than a human crawling, crying, or laughing.
But Yamato failed.
Her hands trembled violently, spasming as if in a seizure. No matter how hard she tried to steady them, the more strength she forced, the worse the shaking grew.
The harder she fought against it, the more it consumed her—an exact reflection of her stubborn nature.
The next moment, the flame at her fingertip flared wildly, reducing most of the cigar to ash.
Her power was out of control.
"Damn it!"
Yamato hurled the ruined cigar and case into the sea, collapsing back onto the surface, uncharacteristically swearing aloud.
Helena shook her head, went to the yacht, and fetched a box of cigarettes. Lighting one, she handed it to Yamato.
"Here. Smoke."
Yamato, still reeling from her emotions, looked up at Helena once, then silently accepted the cigarette, taking deep drags without a word.
Helena sat down beside her. "Why don't you run? It's not like anyone's stopping you."
[End of Chapter]
[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]
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