Free Web NovelShe was dreaming again.
There was fire in the dream, there were screams, and there were thousands of twisted faces.
They surged out of the darkness, scrambling to burrow into her body.
Someone whispered in her ear, someone roared in her mind, someone stroked her spine with icy fingers—
"Let me out."
"Let me live."
"Give us the body—"
Pavela wanted to scream, but she couldn't make a sound.
She wanted to run, but her legs felt nailed to the spot.
The voices grew louder, closer, until they converged into a deafening torrent that completely drowned her—
Then, she suddenly opened her eyes.
The first thing that came into view was a constantly shaking ceiling.
It was made of wood, painted a dark brown, with a circle of exquisite brass patterns inlaid around the edges.
The ceiling was shaking.
No, it wasn't the ceiling shaking; it was her who was shaking.
Or rather, the thing carrying her was shaking.
A rhythmic sound reached her ears—"Clang, clang, clang"—the sound of metal colliding with metal, accompanied by a low rumble.
A train.
She was on a train.
It took Pavela a full three seconds to process this information.
Then, the first thought surfaced:
I'm not dead yet?
This realization made her feel a sense of daze.
It was neither disappointment nor relief, just pure... confusion.
She remembered the mech, remembered the steam warhammer, remembered the moment she used her body to knock Eleanor away.
According to normal laws of physics, a human body weighing less than forty kilograms being grazed by a mech's warhammer should have been turned into a puddle of mud.
But she was alive.
And lying on a train.
Not particularly scientific. freewёbnoνel.com
Pavela tried to move.
The good news was that all her limbs were still attached.
The bad news was that she wasn't entirely sure if they could function normally now.
She struggled to sit up, and the movement caused her ribs to protest violently.
The pain was both familiar and fresh, as if someone had lit a fire in her chest and then extinguished it with ice water.
But she still managed to sit up.
Pain was an old friend; a simple greeting was enough.
After sitting up, she finally had a chance to assess her condition.
She was lying on a bed.
Not a cot, not a stretcher, but a real bed with a white sheet.
The mattress was soft, the pillow was fluffy, and the quilt was clean.
She hadn't seen all three of these things at the same time in a long time.
Her entire body was wrapped in bandages.
From her neck to her ankles, almost every inch of skin was covered in white strips of cloth.
She looked like a packaged... Zongzi? A mummy? Or some kind of fragile item requiring special transport?
But these bandages were wrapped professionally.
The tension was just right, the placement precise, and the angle of the splints fixing the fractures was perfect.
It was clearly the work of a professionally trained military doctor, not the crude methods of the Punishment Camp, which involved tearing clothes if bandages ran out.
Pavela looked down at herself.
Her short silver hair was messy, but someone had washed it; the accumulated grease and dried blood were gone.
She was wearing a white patient gown made of soft fabric with fine stitching—this kind of material could fetch three cans of preserved meat on the black market in Usar.
She sniffed herself again.
There was no smell of decay, no stench of pus and blood, and there was even a faint scent of medicinal herbs.
Someone had cleaned her wounds.
Someone had changed her dressing.
Someone had taken her from the battlefield, put her on a train, and taken care of her with the best medical resources.
Was Victoriana this kind to prisoners?
Or had she died, and this was some strange afterlife?
Pavela's gaze swept around the compartment, trying to find more information.
This was a private compartment.
The space wasn't large, but the decoration was exquisite. The walls were covered in dark red velvet wallpaper, the windows hung with heavy velvet curtains, and in the corner, there was a small table and two soft chairs.
On the table sat a teapot and two teacups, along with a plate of something that looked like biscuits.
Hmm, definitely not a prison wagon.
A prison wagon wouldn't have velvet wallpaper and refreshments.
Then what was her status?
A VIP?
Impossible. What right did a cannon fodder soldier from the Usar Punishment Camp have to be a VIP?
A hostage?
That didn't seem right either; hostages didn't require such good medical care.
Unless...
Just as she was lost in thought, the compartment door was opened from the outside.
"You're awake."
A familiar voice.
Pavela looked up.
Eleanor von Schwartz stood at the doorway, her ice-blue eyes holding a trace of... relief?
She had changed her clothes—no longer the tattered uniform from the battlefield, but a well-tailored dark blue military uniform.
The epaulets were embroidered with gold thread, and badges of some kind adorned her chest; the whole person looked clean and neat, like someone stepped out of a military pictorial.
But she was leaning on a crutch.
Her right leg was wrapped in thick bandages, and she was clearly limping slightly as she walked.
"Your leg..." Pavela's voice was hoarse, her throat feeling as if it had been scoured with sandpaper.
"It's much better than your ribs."
Eleanor walked into the compartment, closed the door, and sat down on a chair by the bed. "The doctor said you fractured at least three ribs, dislocated your right shoulder, cracked your left wrist bone, and have a mild concussion. How did you survive this time?"
Pavela thought for a moment.
"Maybe I'm lighter? Less wind resistance, so the impact when I was thrown was relatively smaller."
Eleanor looked at her with a complicated expression.
"You were thrown over ten meters by the mech's warhammer, landed on a pile of rubble, and you're telling me it's because of less wind resistance?" freewёbnoνel.com
"What else could it be?"
Pavela shrugged, immediately regretting it—the movement sent a sharp, stabbing pain through her right shoulder. "Good luck? Tough life? Good karma from a past life?"
"People with good karma from a past life don't get sent to the Punishment Camp."
"That's true."
Pavela leaned back against the pillow, closed her eyes, and felt the shaking of the train.
A moment later, she opened her eyes and looked at Eleanor.
"So," her voice was full of confusion, "what is my status now? Prisoner? Hostage? Or some kind of dangerous item requiring special handling?"
Eleanor didn't answer immediately.
She stood up, leaned on her crutch, and walked to the window.
The curtain there was drawn tightly, with only a sliver of light penetrating the gap, casting a thin golden line on the floor.
"Do you remember what happened before you passed out?"
Pavela frowned, trying hard to recall.
"I remember... that mech. I remember the landmine. I remember pushing you away. Then..."
She paused.
"You were unconscious for three days," Eleanor's voice was light. "The military doctor said it was a miracle you woke up."
Three days.
Pavela absorbed the information.
Three days was enough time for a lot to happen. Enough time for a battle to end, enough time for the front line to stabilize, enough time for certain people to make certain decisions.
"What about the mech pilot?"
"Dead," Eleanor's tone was flat. "Your shot went into the cockpit, severely wounding him. I finished him off with another shot."
"Thank you for me."
"You saved me first."
Pavela smiled slightly and said nothing.
Silence spread in the compartment.
The train continued moving forward, emitting the rhythmic sound of "clang."
Finally, Eleanor spoke again.
"Pavel Ivanovich Sokolov."
She pronounced the name, her tone somewhat strange.
"That person is already dead."
Pavela blinked.
"I know, I saw the casualty report myself."
"No, I don't mean that."
Eleanor turned around to face Pavela.
Sunlight streamed in through the gap in the curtain behind her, outlining her silhouette in gold, but her expression was hidden in the shadows, making it unclear.
"Pavel Ivanovich Sokolov, Private, 404th Independent Mech Punishment Camp, Usar Union Army, Serial Number 404-631. This person was officially declared dead three days ago."
She paused.
"But Pavela von Schwartz was officially born three days ago."
Pavela froze.
"What?"
"You said it yourself," Eleanor's voice softened slightly. "The dead can go anywhere and become anyone."
"I meant—"
"I know what you meant," Eleanor interrupted her. "But I choose to take it literally."
Leaning on her crutch, she walked back to the bedside and took a document from her pocket, placing it in front of Pavela.
Pavela looked down.
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It was an official document, bearing the double-headed eagle emblem of the Victorian Empire. Filled with complex legal jargon and noble titles, its core message was simple:
Adoption Certificate.
Adopter: Eleanor von Schwartz, Acting Commander of the Seventh Mecha Knight Order.
Adoptee: Pavela, female, age sixteen, stateless refugee.
Date of Adoption: Year 403 of the Victorian Imperial Calendar, Fifth of Frostmoon.
Pavel stared at the document, her mind briefly stalling once more.
"Are you insane?"
That was the only response she could muster.
"Perhaps," Eleanor replied, settling back into her chair, her expression unnervingly calm. "But it's the simplest solution."
"The simplest—" Pavel took a deep breath. "You're a noble of the Empire, a commander of The Order. I'm cannon fodder from a Usar Union Punishment Camp, a criminal who doesn't even know her own crime, carrying..."
She paused.
"...things that can't be explained."
"Like the scars on your spine?"
"Like that."
Eleanor looked at her, an emotion Pavel couldn't decipher in her ice-blue eyes.
"I won't ask how you survived. I won't ask why you didn't undergo spinal modification. I won't ask you..."
She let the implication hang.
Pavel opened her mouth to speak, but Eleanor cut her off.
"But I know one thing," Eleanor said, locking eyes with Pavel. "You saved me. When that mech appeared, you could have stayed hidden in that shell crater and let me die. But you charged out instead."
"That was because—"
"Because what?"
Pavel's mouth opened and closed again.
She didn't know how to answer.
Because the deal wasn't finished?
No, the deal ended the moment they reached the Victorian lines.
Because she didn't want to owe a debt?
No, she'd never been the type to care about such things.
Because...
She remembered that moment.
The sound of the machine gun spinning up, the sweep of the searchlight, and the fact she'd stood her ground, not seeking cover.
What had she been thinking then?
She hadn't been thinking at all.
Or rather, she hadn't wanted to think anymore.
She'd been tired ever since that night.
Not physically, but a deeper, more fundamental exhaustion.
The screams of those souls had never truly faded; they were just suppressed deep within her consciousness, like caged beasts.
She had to stay vigilant, maintain a precarious balance, to keep from being overwhelmed.
It was exhausting.
When that mech appeared, her first reaction wasn't fear, but... relief.
If she died then, it wouldn't be so bad.
At least the nightmares would stop.
But Eleanor came back.
Someone who could have kept walking, safely escaped, came back.
To save her.
An enemy, a prisoner, a stranger she'd known for less than two days on the battlefield.
It was absurd.
And it was warm.
"I don't know."
Finally, Pavel told the truth.
"I really don't know why I saved you. Maybe it was an impulse, maybe instinct, maybe my brain's just broken."
She looked up at Eleanor.
"But your reason for coming back to save me must have been even dumber."
Eleanor blinked, then laughed.
Not a noble's elegant, composed smile, but a genuine, heartfelt laugh.
"Yes," she admitted. "My reason was indeed dumb."
"Because you're an idiot."
Pavel blinked.
"You're insulting me again."
"Hmph. That's the reason I saved you."
Eleanor stood and walked to the window. "You're the strangest person I've ever met. The way you talk, the way you see the world, the way you treat life and death—it's all abnormal. But because of that..."
She reached out °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° and grasped the edge of the curtain.
"...I want to see what you're like when you're normal."
Then, she yanked the curtains open.
Sunlight poured in.
Pavel instinctively squinted—she hadn't seen light this bright in a long time.
The sky in the Punishment Camp was always gray; the battlefield sky was always shrouded in smoke. She'd almost forgotten sunlight could be this color.
Golden, warm, like melted honey.
Then, she saw the view outside.
Mountains.
Majestic, endless, stretching to the horizon.
Peaks soared into the clouds, their summits capped with pristine snow that glittered silver in the sun.
The slopes were covered in vast swathes of coniferous forest, deep green canopies like a soft blanket. Lower down were open meadows, emerald grass dotted with wildflowers of every color, as if a paint palette had been spilled.
At the mountain's base, a river.
Its water was crystal clear, shimmering a brilliant blue in the sunlight.
A few small wooden cabins dotted the riverbank, wisps of smoke curling from their chimneys. Someone was hanging laundry in a front yard.
Further out lay a plain.
Golden wheat fields rippled in the wind like a shimmering sea.
Winding paths snaked between the fields, past scattered farmsteads, past cattle and sheep grazing leisurely.
There were no shell craters here.
No corpses.
No scorched ruins or lingering smoke.
Here, there was blue sky, white clouds, sunlight, green plants, and living animals.
Here, there was... peace.
Pavel stared, speechless.
Memories flooded back.
The mud and stench of the Punishment Camp, the blood and despair of the battlefield, the dead and the living, her own whispered wish for 'just a quiet life'.
Was this the quiet life?
Was this what she'd been searching for?
"These are the Alp peaks."
Eleanor's voice came from beside her.
"The spine of Victoriana, the Empire's highest mountains. We're crossing the central corridor. In a few hours, we'll reach the capital, Victorian."
Pavel didn't turn.
Her gaze remained fixed on the view.
"It's beautiful," she said softly.
"Yes."
"Much prettier than the Eternal Frost Line."
"Of course. The Eternal Frost Line is hell. This is heaven."
Pavel finally turned to look at Eleanor.
Sunlight streamed through the window, falling on the young woman's face. Eleanor's ice-blue eyes seemed especially bright in the light, a faint smile on her lips.
Pavel—no, she should be called Pavela now.
She looked at her, at the mountains outside, at the sunlight flooding the carriage.
Then, she smiled too.
"So," she said, "I'm your sister now?"
"Adopted daughter."
"Is there a difference?"
"Legally, yes. But in practice..." Eleanor shrugged. "Call it what you like."
Pavela thought for a moment.
"Should I call you sister, then?"
"If you wish."
"Sister Eleanor?"
"...You've called me that before."
"Have I?" Pavela put on an innocent look. "I don't remember. Must be the concussion."
Eleanor looked at her, a hint of exasperation in her eyes.
"Your concussion seems to only affect specific memories."
"Right. Only the ones inconvenient for me."
"...Did you learn to be this shameless in the Punishment Camp?"
"No. I've had that talent since I was little."
Pavela turned back to the window.
The train was crossing a bridge over that brilliant blue river.
Sunlight danced on the water, refracting into countless tiny points of light, as if someone had scattered diamonds across the surface.
She took a deep breath.
The air carried the scent of grass and trees, the smell of earth, the fragrance of sunlight.
A scent she hadn't smelled in a very, very long time.
"Eleanor."
"Hmm?"
Pavela didn't turn, her gaze still on the scenery.
"Thank you."
This time, her voice held no teasing, no jest, only sincerity.
Eleanor, leaning on her crutch, moved to stand beside Pavela, also looking out.
"Welcome to Victoriana."
"Miss Pavela von Schwartz."
