Free Web NovelHaving finally teased him enough, Pavela finally restrained her laughter.
She began to observe her surroundings.
The cockpit's viewport—or more accurately, the external observation system connected directly to her visual nerves via the Spinal Interface—presented her with a panoramic view outside the mecha.
It was a massive open-air arena.
Over two hundred meters in diameter.
The ground was concrete.
It had already been smashed into a sizable crater by her impact.
Cracks radiated outward from the center of the pit for at least twenty meters.
There were steel fences at the edge of the field.
Outside the fences were spectator stands.
On the stands...
It was packed densely with people.
Some wore academy uniforms.
Some wore military uniforms.
Some were in civilian clothes.
Everyone was staring at her blankly.
Their expressions varied.
Shock, fear, confusion, excitement—
As if they were looking at an alien.
Pavela blinked.
Royal Knights Academy.
Third Training Ground.
So many spectators.
It looked like some kind of event was being held?
She carefully examined the layout of the field—
Fences, referee stands, loudspeakers, scoreboards—
A competition.
This was a match.
A Mecha Combat Tournament?
The corner of Pavela's mouth twitched.
Did she fall from the sky right into the middle of someone else's tournament finals?
A sound of twisting metal came from beneath her feet.
Pavela looked down.
Oh.
Her right foot was currently stepping on the shoulder armor of a mecha.
That mecha was sprawled on the ground, its back armor caved in, steam hissing from broken pipes, motionless.
It looked like it was still 'alive.' fгeewebnovёl.com
At least the cockpit was intact.
But the pilot probably wasn't feeling very comfortable.
"...Sorry about that," Pavela whispered softy.
Then she raised her head and looked forward.
A mecha was facing her directly.
A slender model, designed for speed, holding a one-handed sword—
The rubber sleeve on the blade had already been removed and tossed aside carelessly.
It held a standard, textbook-perfect combat stance.
A tournament contestant.
When she crashed in, this person was likely about to fight the one under her feet.
And she—
Descending from the heavens.
Stomped right onto the back of one of them.
And now faced the other contestant who was ready for battle.
Pavela stared at the mecha in its stance for two seconds.
For a moment, she felt this mecha looked a bit familiar.
This fencing stance—
Ah.
She remembered.
Cross Fencing.
She had seen it in the dueling arena on the day school started.
Isn't this that... Julian von Weber?
Natasha had mentioned him before.
While Pavela was still identifying her opponent, the perimeter of the training ground finally snapped.
Silence had lasted for about five seconds.
During those five seconds, thousands of spectators were collectively stunned, their brains refusing to process the scene before them.
Then a girl screamed.
That scream was like a key, opening the floodgates of collective reaction.
"My God—what is that—"
"A mecha! It's a mecha! It fell from the sky!"
"Run! Run! It might explode!"
"No—it didn't explode—it's standing up—"
"That halo—did you see that halo—"
"Konrad! What happened to Konrad?!"
Chaos erupted in the stands.
Some retreated.
Some pushed forward.
Some hugged the person next to them.
Some tried to climb over the fence to rush into the field.
Some were crying.
Some were laughing.
Some had already started praying.
Several middle-aged men in instructor uniforms were shouting themselves hoarse to maintain order, but to little effect.
But all this clamor—
Had no effect on the mecha in front of her that was holding its stance.
Pavela noticed this.
Thousands of people around were screaming, fleeing, and in chaos.
But the mecha before her didn't move an inch.
The tip of the sword pointed steadily at her.
It didn't deviate by even a millimeter.
He was indeed afraid.
Pavela could tell.
Through the subtle shift in the mecha's center of gravity—the weight borne by the back foot was about 3% more than the front foot, a typical characteristic of the body instinctively trying to retreat.
Through the almost imperceptible tremor of the sword hand—high frequency, small amplitude, likely adrenaline overload.
Through the respiration rate—the exhaust rhythm of the steam vents was slightly fast, indicating the pilot's heart rate and breathing were above normal values.
He was afraid.
But he didn't run.
And he had even removed the rubber sleeve from his sword.
Pavela tilted her head slightly.
Interesting.
But before she could make any reaction, Julian had already moved.
His mecha suddenly lunged forward.
It was very fast.
Among the Royal Knights Academy students Pavela had seen, this startup speed could be ranked near the top.
The first form of Cross Fencing—
Thrust.
The sword tip pointed precisely at the midline of Pavela's mecha's chest.
The angle of the strike was perfect.
The power path was logical.
The transition from stance to strike was as fluid as water.
Pavela's mecha shifted half a step to the left.
Only half a step.
The sword tip grazed the outer side of her right shoulder armor, bringing up a string of small sparks.
Julian didn't pause.
He utilized the momentum of the Thrust, converting it into the initial kinetic energy for a Horizontal Slash.
The blade swept from right to left, targeting the waist joint of Pavela's mecha.
This was a standard combo of Cross Fencing—Thrust, Horizontal Slash, Cleave.
A set of three strikes.
Three strikes per second.
Pavela's mecha leaned back slightly.
The Horizontal Slash swept past the front of her abdominal armor.
About ten centimeters away from contact.
A perfectly judged safe distance.
The third strike.
Cleave.
A full-power downward cleave.
The sword blade drew a silver arc in the air.
The force of this cleave was significantly greater than the previous two strikes.
Julian was gambling.
He gambled that Pavela would retreat to dodge, and the moment of retreat would expose a flaw in her center of gravity shift.
Pavela did not retreat.
Her mecha raised its left forearm.
The sword blade slammed into the forearm armor.
The sound of metal colliding was sharp and ear-piercing.
Sparks flew everywhere.
But Pavela's forearm didn't budge an inch.
It was as if the sword had struck a wall.
She didn't even tilt the angle of her arm to deflect the force.
She just took it head-on.
Using the thickness of the armor and the mass of the mecha itself, she directly absorbed the full force of the cleave.
Just then, the communication channel suddenly connected.
"Pavela! Pavela, can you hear me?!"
Dr. Lovelace's voice exploded from the headset.
Pavela could hear a cacophony of cat meows in the background, as if every cat in the Seventh Division had opened its mouth at once.
"I hear you."
Pavela said.
Her voice was very calm, not at all like someone who had just crashed.
"Are you okay?! Where are you hurt?! Is there any abnormal feedback from the Spinal Interface?! Any burning sensation?! Any—"
"I'm fine."
Pavela tilted her head to dodge Julian's second round of Thrusts.
"The person is fine, and the mecha is fine."
"The left shoulder might be a bit deformed, and the right leg is leaking a bit of lubricant, but everything else is good."
The communication channel went silent for two seconds.
Then Pavela heard a very strange sound.
Like something—or someone—had collapsed into a chair.
"...Thank heavens."
Dr. Lovelace's voice changed.
Before, it was sharp with anxiety.
Now, it was a relief born of exhaustion.
"Do you know I almost—I really almost—"
"Doctor, I seem to be a bit busy right now."
Pavela used her right hand to gently brush aside Julian's Horizontal Slash.
It wasn't a parry.
It was brushing it aside.
Like brushing aside a branch blocking the path.
"Someone is attacking me."
"What? Who's attacking you?"
"I don't know. An academy student, I guess. I fell into their competition arena."
The communication channel went silent again.
This time, the silence carried a subtle, very familiar flavor to Pavela.
It was exactly the same kind of silence that followed whenever Victoria did something stupid.
Mother and daughter indeed.
"...You fell into a competition arena?"
"Mm."
Pavela's mecha stepped back, letting Julian's cleave hit empty air.
"I also stepped on someone."
"..."
"He shouldn't be dead. Probably."
"...Pavela."
"Mm?"
"Is the real-time data transmission channel for the Spinal Interface still open?"
Pavela glanced at the control panel.
An indicator light was still glowing green.
"It's open."
"Good, you keep being 'busy,' I'll synchronize and receive your unit's data and the interface's operational data on this end."
Dr. Lovelace's voice regained some professional composure.
But Pavela could tell that the relief and lingering fear had not completely faded.
"I need to confirm if all parameters of the interface in actual operation match the simulation data."
"This is the first real-machine connection test, and although # Nоvеlight # it's not being conducted in the way I planned—since it's connected..."
She paused for a moment.
"Data is data."
"Don't waste it."
The corner of Pavela's mouth curved up.
"Understood."
She cut off the active communication while keeping the data transmission channel.
Then she refocused her attention on the persistent opponent before her.
