Free Web Novel"Dr. Lovelace?"
"Present! I'm here!"
"Is the data transmission complete?"
"Complete. I've received everything."
"Wait—there's also armor deflection data? How..."
"...You performed a full set of armor deflection tests too?"
"Yes. Along with joint response, center of gravity compensation, heat dissipation curves, and interface synchronization rates. The rhythm of his Cross Fencing was very stable, making it perfect for a benchmark test."
"I was originally planning to use mechanical arms for these tests..."
"I know."
"He made the first move; I just did it along the way."
"...Right, right, it really was his fault."
"Alright, I've received the data. I'll analyze it later. Now, hurry up and retreat. Do you need my help?"
"Honestly, if I had known, I would've set up a simulated environment for instruction to avoid all these accidents."
"No need for help; I'll just fly back. Remember to arrange the landing."
?
"You're still flying? Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"You almost fell to your death just now, and now you want to fly again?"
"That was an accident just now. This time, I know which button is which."
"Are you sure?"
"At least I know what that red button in the bottom-left corner is for now."
...
Dr. Lovelace covered her face with her hand.
She needed to reflect on why she had designed the emergency takeoff button like that.
But she didn't dwell on it for long.
"Manual takeoff procedure: Step one, confirm the Transformation System is ready—center of the panel, green indicator light, the icon is two overlapping arrows."
"I see it."
"Step two, start thruster preheating—second row, fourth from the left, yellow knob, twist it all the way clockwise."
Pavela's fingers found the knob.
Twist.
A low roar came from the back of the mecha as the thrusters began to preheat and steam accelerated through the pipes.
"Step three, release ground anchoring—right panel, third lever, flip it up."
Click.
The mecha's feet vibrated slightly as the ground anchoring system released.
"Step four—"
Dr. Lovelace paused.
"Transform."
"Center of the panel, blue button."
"The one you pressed by mistake last time."
Pavela's finger hovered over that blue button.
Just then, the voice on the loudspeaker changed.
"All units—prepare to fire."
Pavela heard the mechanical sounds of six mechas adjusting their firing stances simultaneously.
The bolts of the Steam Rifles were pulled.
Targeting systems locked.
Six red laser indicator dots appeared simultaneously on her mecha's armor—two on the chest, one on the abdomen, one on the left shoulder, one on the right knee, and one on the head.
Pavela pressed the blue button.
"Transformation sequence initiated."
Armor plates began to slide.
Joints began to reconfigure.
Variable wings deployed from the back.
The entire structure of the mecha was rearranging itself in a precise and fluid manner—shifting from its humanoid form into a fighter jet form.
The instructors clearly hadn't expected this.
The six red laser dots danced frantically across her armor's surface because the parts they were locked onto were moving, folding, and disappearing.
The armor plate that was originally on the chest slid to the side of the fuselage.
The joint that was originally on the left shoulder retracted into the wing root structure.
The targeting system's tracking algorithm clearly didn't have a contingency for "target is currently transforming."
"Fire immediately!"
Six muzzles simultaneously erupted with plumes of white steam.
Six Armor-piercing Rounds flew toward Pavela at supersonic speed.
In Pavela's pupils, the golden double rings spun faster.
Six golden light screens bloomed simultaneously around her mecha.
Each light screen appeared precisely in the trajectory of a bullet.
Thin as a cicada's wing.
Translucent.
Glowed with a soft golden light.
The first Armor-piercing Round struck a light screen.
They weren't deflected.
Nor were they blocked.
Its kinetic energy was stripped away layer by layer by some kind of force field on the surface of the light screen—like a bullet fired into a pool of honey, its speed was completely absorbed within a very short distance.
The Armor-piercing Round stalled inside the light screen for less than 0.1 seconds, then lost all its kinetic energy, sliding powerlessly from the bottom of the screen and hitting the concrete ground with a 'ting'.
Like a spat-out grape seed.
The remaining five rounds met the exact same fate.
Six crisp sounds of metal hitting the ground rang out almost simultaneously.
Ting. Ting. Ting. Ting. Ting. Ting.
Six Armor-piercing Rounds were arranged neatly on the ground around Pavela's mecha, like exhibits put on display.
The six light screens shattered simultaneously after completing their mission, turning into golden fragments that filled the sky and slowly drifted away in the sunlight.
"Transformation sequence complete."
Pavela's mecha was no longer in humanoid form.
A streamlined fuselage.
Fully deployed Variable wings.
The tail propulsion structure was ready and waiting.
Fighter Mode.
"Thruster output—maximum."
Dr. Lovelace's voice came through the communication channel, her tone shifting from worry to excitement.
This was the excitement of a scientist seeing her creation about to take flight.
"Recommended takeoff angle is sixty degrees. Wind speed—never mind, you won't be able to see where the anemometer is anyway. Just pull the stick; the airframe will correct itself automatically."
"Understood."
Pavela pulled the control stick.
Thrusters initiated at full power.
It wasn't like the uncontrolled, frantic vertical ejection from before.
But rather a controlled, elegant acceleration process.
Steam roared in the pipes, but the roar was reduced to a low, continuous hum by the precise soundproofing structure.
Like distant thunder.
The mecha—no, now it was a fighter jet.
Its nose lifted, pointing toward the sky at a sixty-degree angle.
The tail nozzles erupted with brilliant white steam exhaust.
The acceleration pressed Pavela into her seat.
But this time the acceleration was gradual, not like the violent ejection from before that felt like it was going to squeeze her internal organs out.
The seat's cushioning system perfectly absorbed the excess kinetic energy.
The synchronization rate of the Spinal Interface stabilized at 99.5%.
Everything was under control.
The ground was rapidly receding.
The training ground shrank from a massive circular field into a gray dot.
The dense crowds in the spectator stands turned into ants, then into dust, and then disappeared from view.
"Second round of fire! Intercept!"
Muffled shouts came from the ground.
The six instructor mechas fired again.
But this time, Pavela no longer needed the light screens.
Because her # Nоvеlight # speed had already exceeded the effective range of the Steam Rifle's Armor-piercing Rounds.
The six bullets carved white trails in the air behind her, then began to fall under the influence of gravity like six limp parabolas, powerlessly dissipating behind her wake.
Pavela's fighter jet passed through a thin layer of clouds.
Water vapor condensed and then evaporated on the surface of the fuselage, leaving a fleeting white trail.
Then she broke through the clouds.
Sunlight.
Pure sunlight, unobstructed by anything.
It poured down from above, making the entire fighter jet's white livery shine dazzlingly.
Pavela narrowed her eyes.
She could see the horizon.
She could see the full view of Eisenburg—the city planned around military needs, with its straight streets and uniform buildings, like a precise chessboard.
She could see mountains, rivers, and forests further away.
She could see the clouds spreading out beneath her feet into a white ocean.
The wind howled outside the fuselage.
But it was quiet inside the cockpit.
Only the steady roar of the thrusters and the faint glow of various indicator lights on the instrument panel remained.
Pavela leaned back in her seat.
The corners of her mouth curled up.
Flying.
It was real, controlled by her herself—she was flying.
...
Third Training Ground.
The ground. frёewebηovel.cѳm
The smoke and dust had not yet completely settled.
The six instructor mechas maintained their firing stances, their muzzles pointed at the rapidly shrinking white speck in the sky.
But no one ordered to fire again.
Because everyone had seen it.
The six Armor-piercing Rounds had all their kinetic energy stripped away by the golden light screens like peeling an onion, then dropped to the ground like scrap metal.
The second round of fire didn't even touch the target's exhaust.
That white mecha—no, that white fighter jet—soared into the sky in a manner they had never seen before, leaving a straight white trail in the clouds before disappearing.
A dead silence fell over the training ground.
The thousands of spectators collectively fell silent.
The instructors looked at each other.
Konrad's mecha was still sprawled on the ground.
Julian's mecha was also still lying on the ground.
On the concrete ground between the two mechas, six Armor-piercing Rounds were arranged in a neat row, reflecting a dull metallic glint in the sunlight.
The lead instructor, a middle-aged man piloting a dark gray heavy-duty mecha, slowly lowered his Steam Rifle.
The voices of other instructors came through his communication channel, all talking at once, but they were all asking the same question.
"What is that thing?"
"Don't know."
"Does the Empire have this kind of mecha?"
"Never seen it."
"From Usar?"
"If Usar had something like this, the war would have been over a long time ago."
"That light screen—is that Return Power?"
"Looks like it, and it's golden, just like the one from the other day."
"Return Power can even block Armor-piercing Rounds?"
"How should I know? I only heard that such a thing existed in the world a few days ago. Have you seen it?"
"Unfortunately, I slept too soundly the other day; I still haven't even seen what Return Power looks like."
...
The lead instructor took a deep breath and switched to the command channel.
"This is the Third Training Ground Security Command. The unidentified mecha has broken contact and is flying away at high speed toward the northwest. Current altitude is estimated to be over one thousand meters and still ascending; it has already exceeded the effective interception range of ground fire."
He paused.
"Requesting instructions: Should we activate the Anti-aircraft Protocol?"
Anti-aircraft Protocol.
The Royal Knights Academy's Anti-aircraft Protocol is designed for wartime emergencies.
Activating the Anti-aircraft Protocol meant mobilizing the anti-aircraft fire of the Eisenburg garrison—including the large-caliber Steam Anti-aircraft Guns on the city walls, the long-range optical tracking systems on the watchtowers, and the two Rapid Response Mecha Squadrons stationed in the northern barracks.
The effective range of these anti-aircraft guns exceeds three thousand meters; their warheads are loaded with Fragmentation Blast Shells, which form a cloud of metal fragments twenty meters in diameter after exploding around the target.
Any flying object caught in that would turn into a pile of burning parts and fall from the sky.
The other end of the command channel hadn't had time to respond yet.
A voice came from the edge of the training ground.
Not loud.
But in this dead silence, every word was as clear as if it were carved in stone.
"Do not activate."
The lead instructor turned his mecha's head.
All the instructors turned their heads.
At the west entrance of the training ground, a figure was striding forward.
Dark blue Imperial Army Winter Service Uniform.
Golden patterns on the shoulder boards.
Dark hair tied in a low bun.
The military belt around her waist was tightened firmly.
Ice-blue eyes.
Eleanor von Schwartz.
