Free Web NovelThe dome of Victorian Central Station rose sixty meters high, a mosaic of thousands of glass panes and steel frameworks. Sunlight filtered through the hazy steam, bathing the entire hall in a golden halo.
Pavela sat in her wheelchair, looking up at that firmament of gears, rivets, and glass, momentarily lost in a trance.
Minutes ago, she had tried to stand up and walk out of the carriage on her own.
"My legs aren't broken," she had said at the time.
Then she received a sharp tap on the back of her head.
"Three of your ribs are broken, your right shoulder was dislocated and reset less than a week ago, you've lost four hundred milliliters of blood, and you have a mild concussion."
Eleanor's voice came from above, carrying an unquestionable authority. "It's already a miracle that you woke up, and a blessing that you can eat by yourself. You still want to walk?"
Pavela opened her mouth, wanting to say something.
"Sit down."
And so, she sat.
Now, she was dressed in a loose set of grey casual clothes—supposedly borrowed from the military doctors by Eleanor—the size so large it felt like it could fit two of her.
She was pushed by Eleanor through the bustling crowds.
Victorian Central Station was one of the most magnificent buildings Pavela had ever seen.
No, it should be said it was the most magnificent building she had seen in "this life."
Twelve railway tracks stretched out side-by-side, each with a steam locomotive docked. A massive clock hung in the very center of the dome, its hands driven by a precise set of gears, each tick accompanied by a crisp mechanical sound. On both sides of the platforms were cast-iron railings and brass handrails, polished to a shine, reflecting the silhouettes of the passing pedestrians.
Porters in uniform pushed carts laden with luggage through the throng; noble ladies strolled along under lace parasols; gentlemen in top hats nodded to one another. Steam pipes crisscrossed beneath their feet, occasionally puffing out a plume of white mist, as if the entire station itself were breathing.
Pavela blinked.
The last time she had seen so many living people gathered together was—
No, better not think about it.
"What's wrong?" Eleanor's voice came from behind. "Dazzled already?"
"No." Pavela withdrew her gaze. "Just thinking that the floors here are really clean."
"Hmm?"
"It lacks a sense of surprise. There's no mixture of landmines, blood, and minced meat that you'd occasionally step on—ouch..."
Eleanor withdrew her hand from tapping Pavela's head.
"Can you not speak normally?"
"I am speaking normally..."
The wheelchair continued forward, passing through the ticket gate and arriving at the station's main entrance.
Then Pavela saw the world outside.
Her breath hitched for a moment.
Victoriana.
The heart of the Victorian Empire, the City of Steel and Roses, the most prosperous city on the continent—without exception.
Broad avenues stretched into the distance, wide enough for eight horse-drawn carriages to pass side-by-side. On both sides of the road were rows upon rows of buildings, where Gothic spires blended perfectly with steampunk pipes; every single one looked like a work of art stepped out from both a fairy tale and a mechanical blueprint.
Massive steam buses huffed and puffed as they drove past, their bodies painted a deep red and inlaid with brass decorations, the chimneys on their roofs emitting puffs of white steam. The streetlights were not electric, but gas lamps, each supported by an exquisite cast-iron bracket, their shades carved with intricate patterns.
The pedestrians were dressed splendidly. Men wore sharp suits and overcoats, while women wore layered skirts with exquisite corsets cinched at their waists. Almost everyone wore some kind of hat—top hats, bowlers, bonnets—as if stepping out without a hat were some unforgivable sin.
In the distance, a massive clock tower stood in the center of the city. The clock face was at least twenty meters in diameter, its hands driven by steam, a faint rumble audible with every tick.
The air was thick with the scent of coal smoke, perfume, and fresh bread.
Pavela took a deep breath.
It wasn't the smell of blood.
It wasn't the smell of gunpowder smoke.
It wasn't that sickly-sweet stench of rotting corpses fermenting in the sun.
It was just... the smell of a city.
A living city.
"Little Pa?"
Eleanor's voice pulled her back to reality.
Pavela realized that her hands had tightened around the armrests of the wheelchair at some point.
"I'm fine." She let go. "It's just..."
It was just that she hadn't seen such a sight in a very, very long time.
In her memory, whether from this life or her previous one, the concept of a "city" had become incredibly distant.
In her previous life, she should have seen metropolises even more prosperous than this.
But those memories were as blurred as if viewed through frosted glass, leaving only fragmented shards.
And in this life, her memories held only mud, trenches, burning mechs, and countless dead.
So now, looking at this glamorous city before her eyes, a bizarre sense of detachment rose in her heart.
A feeling of unreality.
"Little Pa."
Eleanor's voice rang out again, this time with a hint of worry.
"I'm really fine." Pavela forced a smile. "I was just thinking, there are so many people here."
"This is the capital, of course there are many people."
"That's not what I meant." Pavela looked at the bustling crowd on the street. "I mean... there are so many people here."
Living people.
Living people who could walk, talk, laugh, frown, and worry about trivial matters.
Not corpses.
Not wreckage torn to pieces by shells.
Not shadows screaming amidst the flames.
Just... ordinary people.
Eleanor didn't say anything more, only gently squeezed her shoulder.
Just then, a whistle sounded.
Pavela followed the sound and saw a black steam car slowly approaching.
The car's body was low and sleek, its paint polished to a mirror finish. The radiator grille at the front was made of brass, engraved with a coat of arms—
A Black Rose Entwined with Thorns, its petals stained with three drops of blood.
The coat of arms of the von Schwartz Family. freeweɓnovel.cѳm
The car stopped in front of them. A middle-aged man in a black tailcoat stepped out from the driver's side and bowed respectfully.
"Miss Eleanor." His voice was steady and deferential. "Welcome home."
"Hans." Eleanor nodded. "Thank you for your hard work."
"It is my honor." The man named Hans straightened up, his gaze falling on Pavela. A barely perceptible hint of scrutiny flashed in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a professional calm. "And this is—"
"My sister." Eleanor's voice was flat yet unquestionable. "Pavela von Schwartz."
Hans's expression didn't change at all; he simply bowed again.
"Miss Pavela, welcome to the Schwartz Family."
Pavela blinked.
The Schwartz Family.
She was now a member of the Schwartz Family.
The adopted daughter of a great Victorian noble house.
Three days ago, she was still cannon fodder in the Usar Punishment Camp.
Life's fortunes were truly strange.
"Thank you."
She offered a proper smile.
This was an expression she had practiced for a long time in front of a mirror before getting off the train.
"Please take care of me."
Hans stepped forward to help, lifting the wheelchair into the back seat of the car.
The space inside the car was much more spacious than Pavela had imagined. The seats were soft velvet, and the air was filled with a faint scent of leather and sandalwood.
Eleanor sat down beside her, and the car slowly started.
The scenery outside began to flow.
Pavela leaned against the backrest, watching the streets of Victoriana flash past.
Exquisite goods were displayed in shop windows—silk, jewelry, mechanical clocks, leather goods. At the outdoor tables of cafes, gentlemen and ladies leisurely enjoyed afternoon tea. Newsboys on street corners waved newspapers, shouting something loudly.
Everything was so... normal.
So peaceful.
So much like another world.
"Great victory at the front! The Empire has successfully captured Kaldburg in Usar, seizing enemy mechs—"
Pavela's ears caught the newsboy's cries.
She froze for a moment.
Great victory?
She remembered the hell of that night.
Was it truly a great victory?
She turned her head to look at the pedestrians outside.
Their faces wore relaxed smiles, their steps leisurely, as if the greatest worry in their lives was whether today's weather was suitable for going out, or what they should eat for dinner.
Pavela twitched the corners of her mouth, but in the end, she couldn't manage any expression.
She just continued looking out the window.
The car crossed a bridge. Below was a wide canal with cargo ships and pleasure boats coming and going. Then, the road began to widen, and the buildings on both sides became increasingly grand.
The ordinary commercial streets turned into an affluent district lined with mansions.
Every building had its own independent courtyard and walls, with family crests engraved on the iron gates. Fountains in the gardens sprayed crystal water columns, and neatly trimmed hedges were arranged in geometric patterns.
Then, the car turned into a tree-lined avenue.
Tall oak trees lined both sides of the road, their branches and leaves interlacing overhead into a green dome. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled light and shadows on the ground.
At the end of the avenue was a massive iron gate.
Pavela was already very familiar with the crest on the gate—the Black Rose Entwined with Thorns, its petals stained with three drops of blood.
The iron gate slowly opened, and the car drove in.
Pavela saw a...
She didn't know how to describe it.
A manor?
A mansion?
A castle?
The three-story main building was built of grey-white stone, its windows inlaid with stained glass that reflected brilliant light in the sun. The porch was supported by six Corinthian columns, their capitals carved with intricate acanthus leaf patterns. Symmetrical wings extended from both sides of the main building, every window like a silent eye.
The front yard was an impeccably manicured lawn, with a white marble fountain in the center. Atop the fountain was a statue of a woman holding a rose.
Pavela counted—from the gate to the porch of the main building, she estimated it was at least two hundred meters.
Two hundred meters, wow.
"We're here."
Eleanor's voice pulled her back to reality. "This is my residence."
Pavela opened her mouth.
"...Is this the 'one of' the residences you mentioned before?"
"Yes."
"How many more do you have?"
"Three. But I rarely go to the other two; they are properties given by the family."
Eleanor paused. "This one I bought myself, using my salary and military rewards. My sister and I live here."
Pavela was silent for a while.
"Is your salary paid by the ton?"
Eleanor was amused by her. Her laughter was light, but it made her whole being seem much softer.
"It's not that exaggerated."
The car stopped in front of the porch.
Hans got out and respectfully opened the door for them.
Pavela was pushed out in her wheelchair, once again looking up at the building before her.
The sun shone warmly upon her.
The air held the scent of flowers, grass, and a faint, lingering aroma of tea—likely wafting out from the residence.
"I'm thinking about something," she suddenly spoke.
"What?"
"I'm thinking—" Pavela's gaze fell on that white marble fountain, "—if I might already be dead and am dreaming right now."
Eleanor pushed the wheelchair toward the porch, her voice tinged with a hint of helplessness.
"You're not dead."
"How do you know?"
"Because if you were dead, you wouldn't still be in a wheelchair in your # Nоvеlight # dream, being pushed by me."
Eleanor said, "And if this were a dream, I wouldn't have to take care of a sharp-tongued patient in it."
Pavela thought about it and felt it made a lot of sense.
"That's good then." She leaned back in the wheelchair. "I thought God really agreed to let me into heaven."
"This isn't heaven."
"Of course not for you." Pavela looked at the manor before her. "But for me..."
It was too similar.
So similar it made her a bit uneasy.
In her experience, things that were too beautiful often meant a trap.
But at this moment, the sun was warm, the air was fresh, and there was someone beside her who was willing to block a mech for her.
Perhaps...
Perhaps believing in 'beauty' just once wouldn't be such a bad thing?
The wheelchair was pushed up the steps of the porch.
The heavy oak doors slowly opened before her.
Pavela von Schwartz—formerly Pavel Ivanovich Sokolov, number 404-631.
Thus she entered her new life.
