Free Web NovelTo be honest, Frederick really intended to go down fighting right then and there.
Eight men were blocking the mouth of the alley.
Three walls surrounded him from behind.
The firelight stretched their shadows long, like hands reaching out from hell.
No matter how you looked at it, this was a dead end.
But there are many ways to die.
Some ways are pathetic, while others are dignified.
Being beaten to death by eight cultists, then dumped in some stinking gutter for rats to gnaw on—
That way of dying was just too pathetic.
No.
Frederick von Ashford could not die like that.
He was a proper student of the Royal Knights Academy.
He was a member of General Margaret's special project.
He was a Wayfarer of the Path of the Chariot.
Even if he was only Sequence II.
Even if he had just been chased like a dog.
But—
But he had to at least take one of them down with him.
His gaze swept across the eight men.
It finally stopped on the man he had beaten the most severely.
You'll do.
You talk the most.
All that talk about "believers of the Tower never fight alone."
And "everything will be destroyed."
It was noisy as hell.
If he was going to die here today, his final wish before death was to make this chatterbox shut up.
Shut up forever.
"What's this?"
The chatterbox man noticed his gaze and tilted his face, which was already beaten beyond recognition, wearing a bizarre expression.
"Done running?"
"Accepted your fate?"
"I told you, running is useless."
"The will of the Tower—"
"Shut up."
Frederick interrupted him.
"I know your brain might not be working right after taking two hammers to the head, but have you noticed you've said the same thing three times already?"
"The will of the Tower this, the will of the Tower that."
"Is this the only script your cult has?"
"Don't you have anything fresh?"
"Like 'you're surrounded, give up your resistance'?"
"Or 'any struggle is futile'?"
"At the very least, you could try acting tough in the face of death."
"You're supposed to be a legitimate cult, can't you be professional?"
The chatterbox man's smile froze.
"You—"
"But then again."
Frederick continued, loosening his wrists as he spoke.
The chains made a crisp metallic clinking sound.
"Eight of you against one of me, that's just bullying."
"Won't you dream at night of a handsome young man with a face full of blood coming to take your lives?"
No one answered him.
They began to close the circle.
Good.
Frederick took a deep breath.
Time to get—
BOOM—!!
The sound came from Frederick's front-right.
But it wasn't the sound of explosions or flames he had grown used to tonight.
It was an impact.
A pure, violent, physical impact.
And Frederick was very familiar with that sound.
It was the sound of a mecha crashing through a building!
Before Frederick's eyes, an entire house exploded.
It was as if a giant hand had slapped it hard from the side.
Bricks and stones flew everywhere.
Wooden beams snapped.
The flames were scattered by the shockwave, drawing countless orange-red arcs in the air.
Dust and debris obscured his vision.
A heatwave rushed toward him.
Frederick instinctively raised his hand to shield his face.
His ears were ringing.
He couldn't see anything.
But he could hear.
He could hear the sound of metal grinding.
He could hear the sound of steam gushing.
He could hear—
Footsteps.
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps that vibrated the ground.
Footsteps belonging to a mecha.
Amidst the dust, the giant silhouette did not pause for a second.
It charged out from behind the collapsed house with destructive momentum and unstoppable force, heading straight for the group of cultists.
Steam billowed from its joints, forming white wings in the night sky.
Brass armor gleamed in the firelight, covered in brick dust and wood splinters.
A Steam Knight-Sword was already unsheathed.
The moment it burst through the wall, the sword was already in its hand.
The blade traced a silver-white arc in the firelight.
The cultists hadn't even reacted to what was happening.
They were still in their previous positions.
They didn't have time to scatter.
The sword fell.
Two men were sent flying by the wind of the blade.
They slammed into the wall.
They didn't move again.
The remaining six finally reacted.
They began to flee in all directions.
But the mecha was faster than them.
The Steam Knight-Sword swept across, taking out two more.
An iron fist smashed down, taking another.
The chatterbox man ran the fastest.
He sprinted toward the mouth of the alley.
But he had only run two steps.
A massive metal foot landed in front of him.
Blocking his path.
He looked up.
The mecha's cockpit was looking down at him.
The cockpit's loudspeaker crackled.
A young voice.
An arrogant voice.
"A believer of the Tower?"
"Interesting."
The mecha's foot came down.
It didn't crush him to death.
It only pinned his leg.
Crack.
The sound of bone breaking.
Then came the scream.
"It's Frederick, isn't it!"
The loudspeaker sounded again.
"The glory of the Ashford Family truly lives up to its name!"
"To be able to stall so many enemies here all by yourself!"
"As expected of a family that clawed its way up from the mud; such resilience truly puts us old-money nobles to shame!"
At this moment, Frederick finally saw the crest on this mecha clearly.
Dammit, isn't that the Weber Family crest?
That Julian von Weber!
Behind the smashed house, the street was revealed.
More metal silhouettes appeared.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Even more.
The footsteps of the mecha shook the ground.
The hiss of steam echoed through the night sky.
Every mecha had an emblem on its shoulder armor.
Different emblems.
Different families.
But they were all nobles.
They were all private mecha belonging to the nobility.
"Brothers! Keep up!"
Someone was shouting.
The voice came from the loudspeaker of one of the mecha, carrying a strange excitement.
"Those bumpkin students ran in without even piloting their mecha; were they planning to fight the fire with just their bare hands?"
"They're simply a disgrace to the Royal Knights Academy!"
"How could the warriors of our Iron Cross hide behind those commoners from the Dawn Brigade!"
"Charge!! Don't let those guys steal all the credit!"
The group of mecha thundered down the street.
Metal footsteps crushed the stone slabs.
Steam wings sliced through the night sky.
They too began to charge toward the fire.
Toward the ruins.
Toward those burning houses and the trapped civilians.
As they charged, they shouted.
"Long live the Iron Cross!"
"Long live the Empire!"
...
"Goddammit!"
Katya slammed her fist onto the table.
The oil lamp wobbled, nearly going out.
"Sister Katya? What happened?"
"Those noble brats are charging in with their mecha!"
"Isn't that a good thing? Having mecha—"
"Good thing my ass!"
"They're charging around everywhere! No organization, no discipline! Just a damn swarm rushing in!"
"Our people are still in there! Civilians are still in there!" ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
"Send someone! Bring that Julian von Weber back to me!"
"Tell him to hurry up and pull the mecha units back for unified dispatch!"
"...Bring him back? Will he listen?"
"Then tell him!"
"This is coming from Katya!"
"If he doesn't listen, once this fire is out, I'll go settle the score with him personally!"
"Let's see just how tough that mouth of his really is!"
"What are you still standing there for?"
"Go!"
"Yes... Yes!"
