Free Web NovelEleanor von Schwartz learned many things that night.
For instance, how to step over a corpse without making a sound.
The trick is to step on the ribcage rather than the abdomen, because the gases in the abdominal cavity will make a noise.
For instance, how to determine if a pile of ruins is safe.
Watch the rats; if there are rats active in the ruins, it means there are no ambushes. If even the rats dare not approach, then take a detour.
For instance, how to find a safe path through the gaps in a combat zone.
"It's not about finding a safe path, but finding a path that neither side cares to bother with."
Pavel explained it this way, "People are inherently lazy, especially after fighting for a day. Patrols will automatically avoid the most difficult terrain, and commanders will abandon the areas with the least strategic value. Added together, these places become our path."
When she said these words, her tone was as if she were describing some mundane life skill, like how to pick fruit or how to avoid congested streets.
But Eleanor knew these "skills" were bought with blood.
Either her blood, or someone else's.
...
The first combat zone was a factory ruin plowed by artillery fire.
The former factory buildings were reduced to a few twisted steel beams and half a chimney, with gears, pipes, and parts of unknown origin—machine or human—scattered on the ground. Soldiers from Victoriana and Usar had fought intense street battles here. Now, both sides had withdrawn, leaving behind nothing but shell casings and bloodstains that had yet to cool.
Pavel stopped in front of a broken wall, squatted down, and dipped her finger into a bit of liquid on the ground.
"Still warm," she said, "The battle ended less than twenty minutes ago."
Eleanor frowned: "Then we—"
"No problem," Pavel interrupted, standing up, "The victors have already left, and the losers are already dead. The most dangerous things here now are the unexploded duds, but as long as you don't kick them, they generally won't bother you."
She finished speaking and walked into the depths of the ruins.
Eleanor followed behind, her right leg aching faintly, but still able to support her.
She noticed that Pavel's way of walking was strange—not a straight line, but a seemingly casual yet precise curve, each step carefully avoiding certain areas. At first, Eleanor thought it was landmines, but she soon realized that Pavel was avoiding corpses.
Not all corpses, just certain ones.
"Why avoid those?" she asked in a low voice.
Pavel didn't look back: "Those few were killed by artillery shock; their internal organs are shattered but their skin is intact. Stepping on them would be like stepping on a water balloon."
Eleanor felt a surge of nausea in her stomach.
"How can you tell?"
"Posture," Pavel said, "People killed by artillery shock maintain a very relaxed posture, as if they were sleeping. But if you look at their eyes, you'll find the eyeballs have already burst—"
"That's enough."
Pavel turned her head and saw Eleanor's pale complexion, seemingly a bit surprised.
"Sorry," she said, her tone carrying a trace of genuine confusion, "I thought you were a knight, you should be used to this."
"Being used to it is one thing," Eleanor took a deep breath, suppressing the nausea, "Hearing someone describe it in that tone is another."
Pavel tilted her head, still not quite understanding.
But she shrugged: "Alright, I'll be careful."
...
The second combat zone was a dried-up riverbed.
The river channel was about ten meters wide, with three-meter-high embankments on both sides.
Due to the low-lying terrain, this had become a natural target range for both sides' artillery. The riverbed was riddled with craters of various sizes, some still containing pools of dark red liquid.
Pavel lay on the edge of the embankment for a full five minutes, observing the situation on the other side of the riverbed.
"Is there a problem?" Eleanor lowered her body and moved closer to her.
"There are people behind the opposite embankment," Pavel's voice was barely audible, "At least three, maybe more."
"Enemies?"
"Our side." Pavel's tone was a bit strange, "It's Usar."
Eleanor understood what she meant.
To Pavel, "our side" had become a complex concept. Those soldiers were both her former comrades-in-arms and the objects she now had to avoid.
"Can we go around?"
"We can, but we have to walk two hundred meters downstream. There's a section of the embankment that collapsed there; we can pass through the ruins." Pavel paused, "But your leg..."
"I've said it many times, it's not an issue."
Pavel glanced at her, a complex look flashing in her eyes.
"You know," she said softly, "Your 'not an issue' reminds me of someone."
"Who?"
"Myself."
Pavel didn't say anything more, turned, and moved towards the downstream direction.
Eleanor followed, pondering the meaning of that sentence in her heart.
Two hundred meters sounded close, but in this terrain, every step was agony.
Her right leg was already severely swollen, the bandages soaked through with blood twice, and every bend sent sharp stabs of pain.
But she gritted her teeth and didn't let herself fall behind.
People of the Schwartz Family wouldn't fall just because of this little injury.
...
The third combat zone was the most difficult section to traverse.
It was a mech graveyard.
Eleanor counted; there were at least fifteen mech wrecks scattered in this area—both Victoriana's and Usar's.
Some were left with only one leg, some were blown in half, and some looked like they had been torn open from the inside by something, with armor plates curled outward like petals.
The air was filled with the smell of machine oil, rust, and burning.
Pavel stopped at the edge of the ruins, her expression becoming solemn for the first time.
"What's wrong?"
"There shouldn't be this many wrecks here." Pavel's brows were locked tight, "According to the front line distribution in my memory, this area should be within the range of Victoriana's firepower; Usar couldn't have pushed their mech units this far."
"The front line has changed."
"It's changed too much."
Pavel's gaze swept over the wrecks, "And these mechs... the way they were destroyed is very strange."
Eleanor followed her gaze, and then her pupils contracted sharply.
The wounds on those mechs—they weren't caused by artillery shells, nor steam guns, and not even ordinary melee weapons.
Those were cutting marks.
Clean, neat, almost perfect cutting marks, as if sliced through butter with a giant razor.
Eleanor had seen these marks before.
Not long ago, her mech's right arm had been severed in exactly this way. freёwebnoѵel.com
She subconsciously looked at Pavel, but the latter's expression didn't change.
But Pavel just frowned, as if solving a difficult math problem.
"It seems the fighting on your side ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ was even more intense than I imagined," she said, "That night battle... did anything special happen?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"A monster."
Pavel turned her head, her eyes sparkling with curiosity under the dim sky.
"A monster?" frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
"A Usar mech," Eleanor said slowly, "Punishment Camp livery, the lowest-grade model. It single-handedly blocked our entire Order, killed eleven knights, using a... using an experimental weapon we developed ourselves."
Pavel's expression didn't change.
"Sounds very powerful."
"It is very powerful,"
Eleanor's voice became low, "And very terrifying. That mech's movements didn't look like they were controlled by a human, more like... some kind of unleashed demon. Every time it killed someone, it became stronger. By the end, its speed and strength had already exceeded the theoretical limits of a mech."
She paused, looking at Pavel's profile.
"Its pilot, some say it was a man, others say it was a woman. But everyone agreed on one point—when laughter came from that mech's cockpit, it sounded like something that had crawled out of hell."
"And then?" Pavel asked, "What happened to that mech?"
"It escaped, before our reinforcements arrived." Eleanor's tone was complex.
"Is that so."
Pavel turned back and continued observing the mech graveyard ahead.
"That's really... quite a pity."
"Let's go," Pavel said, "Going around this area will take at least an hour, but the good news is, there shouldn't be anything alive inside."
...
When the horizon began to turn white, they finally saw Victoriana's defensive line.
It was a fortification composed of trenches, barbed wire, and steam turrets, revealing its steel outline in the dawn.
The Empire's double-headed eagle flag fluttered in the morning breeze, and the figures of guards moved on the turrets.
Eleanor felt a complex emotion welling up in her heart.
She had finally returned.
"Let's stop here."
Pavel's voice interrupted her thoughts.
They stood at the edge of a ruin, about a few hundred meters away from Victoriana's first trench.
Pavel leaned against a broken wall, her silver short hair emitting a faint luster in the morning light, her pale face carrying a trace of exhaustion—this was the first time she had shown fatigue all night.
"From here on, you should be able to recognize the way yourself," Pavel said, "Just walk over, let the sentries see your rank insignia, and they shouldn't fire."
Eleanor nodded.
"What about you?"
"Me?" Pavel smiled, "I plan to find a place to hide now and wait until dark to leave. The dead aren't really suitable to appear in broad daylight; it will scare people."
"Thank you." Eleanor said, "Without you, I couldn't have passed through those combat zones."
"This was a transaction," Pavel shrugged, "You also kept your promise; you didn't kill me, and you didn't send me to a prisoner-of-war camp."
"That wasn't—"
Eleanor wanted to say that wasn't a promise, but a choice.
But the words stopped at her lips, and she swallowed them back.
"Goodbye, Miss Schwartz." Pavel waved at her, "Or should I call you Eleanor? I hope your leg gets better soon and doesn't leave any sequelae. Victoriana's military doctors should be better than ours; after all, they won't use that kind of green poison."
"...You take care too."
Eleanor turned and walked toward Victoriana's defensive line.
Her steps were somewhat heavy—not just because of her injured leg, but also because of some indescribable emotion.
This night was simply too long, and too many things had happened, so many that she needed time to digest them.
She walked a dozen steps, then suddenly stopped.
"Little Pa."
"Hmm?"
"If you want to find a safe place..."
Eleanor didn't look back, "In the south of Victoriana, there is a small town called Alwyn. It's far from the front lines, has no garrison, and is very quiet. There is a tavern in the town called 'Red Moon', and the owner is an old servant of my family. He owes me a favor."
"You mean—"
"I don't mean anything." Eleanor's voice was very light, "I'm just saying some useless nonsense. Nonsense that the dead won't hear."
A soft laugh came from behind.
"Got it, Sister Eleanor." Pavel's voice carried a trace of warmth.
"Thank you."
Eleanor didn't speak again and continued to walk forward.
The morning light grew brighter, and her shadow stretched long behind her.
...
Then, she heard a sound.
The sound of metal crushing.
The sound of steam gushing.
And... the clicking sound of mech joints rotating.
Eleanor turned back abruptly.
Under the dawn light, a huge shadow rose from the ruins behind Pavel.
It was a main battle mech of Usar, Iron Guard-III model, with mottled livery, armor full of bullet holes and scorched burns, but the steam boiler was roaring, and the searchlights were turning on.
Its weapons, a huge steam warhammer and a heavy machine gun, were aimed at Pavel's direction.
That mech had clearly discovered them.
Or more accurately, discovered Pavel.
A figure who wasn't wearing a military uniform, was small in stature, and appeared alone on the battlefield.
The searchlight's beam swept across the ruins, finally locking onto the silver-haired girl.
Pavel stood in place, not moving.
The morning light rose behind her, plating her figure with a golden rim, but also making the mech's shadow appear even heavier.
The sound of reloading came clearly from the mech.
Eleanor's heart sank suddenly.
