"But, Nicol..." Dearka's voice was incredibly dry, carrying a deep sense of helplessness. "Even if what you say is true, even if you have the Archangel and that Eternal or whatever... what can you possibly do with just four warships? On one side is the Earth Alliance with its vast military power, and on the other is PLANT, where everyone is being militarized... You'll be crushed." It was the detachment that came only after one had cast life and death aside.
"Though he doesn't know... what the future will bring, perhaps we'll die tomorrow, perhaps we really will vanish like dust, just as you said... But if we give up because we can't do anything, then won't we truly be unable to do anything? If we don't try to stop them, are we supposed to stand by and watch both sides throw nuclear bombs at each other's homes?"
"...!"
Dearka felt as though a heavy hammer had struck his chest.
Just as Dearka had said, four warships were as insignificant as a lone boat in a storm before this massive war machine. What could they possibly accomplish—no one knew.
By the laws of probability, by military common sense, they were destined to be moths flying into a flame. Perhaps they would die before fulfilling their ambitions.
But that could not be a reason to give up.
In this world filled with despair and hatred, if they did not even protect this faint spark of hope, then only darkness would remain in the future. At least, that was how it was for Michel, and for all of them who had been won over by that man—Xia Ya.
Seeing the conflicted expressions still on the two men's faces, Michel decided to add one final straw. A straw enough to break the dam