Free Web NovelThe second step is complete.
The plowshare has already cut through the earth.
The old order has been uprooted.
The battlefield has been plowed into a field waiting for seeds.
Now, for the final step.
Pavela looked up.
Facing that lead-gray sky.
The sky that had never changed, eternally gloomy, without sun, moon, or stars.
That sky was the oldest part of this space.
Older than the battlefield.
It was the first shadow cast here by the Path of the Tower.
The base color of destruction.
The dome of all despair.
But it was different now.
She bent down.
Slender fingers touched the ground, fingertips sinking into the soil.
This land was no longer barren.
All the wreckage left by war, after being destroyed, had turned into nutrients.
Destruction is the soil.
New life is the seed.
She spoke again, for the third time.
"I say—"
"Dawn shall arrive at this moment."
Her fingertips moved in the soil, as if plucking a string.
Then, something woke beneath her fingertips.
It was a tremor.
An extremely faint tremor from deep underground.
As if the heart of the earth had begun to beat.
Beneath Pavela's fingertips, a fine crack appeared in the soil.
From that crack, a hint of another color emerged.
It was a sprout so tender it was almost transparent, just breaking through the soil.
Pale green.
Carrying a drop of dew.
In the crimson light, that drop of dew reflected a tiny rainbow.
Then, a second crack, a third crack.
The tenth.
The hundredth.
Thousands and millions.
Cracks spread like spiderwebs from her feet in all directions.
This time, it was a spiderweb representing new life.
Greenery was gushing from every crack.
Sprouts.
Countless sprouts.
Poking their heads out from every crack.
Countless tiny green hands reached out from beneath the soil, tentatively touching the world.
Then, they began to grow. freeweɓnovel.cѳm
Even the earth itself began to boil.
Greenery surged in all directions from Pavela's feet.
An explosion, like a flood.
Blades of grass surged from the soil in patches.
Grass covered the shallow depressions.
Grass climbed the low mounds.
Grass filled the slightly raised, elongated landforms.
The rusty iron poking out from the soil was submerged by grass.
Green stems and leaves coiled around, wrapping the corroded metal.
Vines passed through the gaps in the iron plates.
Moss began to cover every inch of exposed rust.
The green tide continued to advance.
Faster and faster.
Faster and faster.
The meadow covered the entire field of vision.
Stretching from her feet to the horizon.
The dark brown soil was completely covered within seconds.
Replaced by an endless, undulating, vivid green.
Dark green, light green, emerald green, yellow-green.
Different kinds of grass and plants intertwined to form a giant, soft, living blanket.
Then, flowers bloomed.
Like someone had splashed all the colors onto a green canvas.
Red flowers emerged from the grass.
One, ten, a hundred, a thousand.
White flowers followed, small, dense, blooming in clusters.
Like scattered snow on the grass.
Purple flowers bloomed on the low mounds, their long flower spikes swaying in the wind. freēwēbnovel.com
Planting a gentle flag for every grave.
Yellow flowers covered the shallow depressions, golden and dense.
Like someone had poured a cup of sunlight into every former shell crater.
Then blue, pink, orange.
The wreckage of that mecha was covered by flowers and grass.
Thick vines embraced the corroded armor plates like arms.
Tiny vines crawled into every rivet hole, every crack, and every joint gap.
Leaves unfurled from the vines, layer upon layer, covering the steel edges into soft green curves.
Where the mecha's eye lamp once was, a giant red flower bloomed from the hollow socket.
Petals overflowed from the edge of the socket and hung down.
As if this steel giant had shed a tear made of flowers.
From Pavela's feet in all directions.
Further and further. Wider and wider.
All colors.
All life.
In this world that once had only gray and black, a silent, magnificent firework exploded.
Simultaneously, the lead-gray sky seemed ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) to be suddenly torn open by two invisible giant hands, peeling back to the sides and shattering.
Golden light poured down.
Falling on Pavela.
Falling on her long hair, a mix of dark red and silver-white.
Falling on her white dress.
Falling on her open palms.
Falling on the freshly bloomed flowers at her feet.
Pavela's shadow appeared at her feet.
For the first time, a shadow appeared in this space.
Because for the first time, there was a real light source in this space.
The shadow was long and faint, falling among the flowers.
Petals swayed gently at the edge of the shadow.
The rift in the sky continued to widen.
Behind the gray sky, it was blue.
Under the sunlight.
Tens of thousands of souls stood in this wilderness.
Hands empty.
Their military uniforms had faded into rags that made factions indistinguishable.
Underfoot was soft, moist, warm soil.
And green grass, and fresh flowers.
They no longer fought.
Because there was nothing left to fight for.
No weapons, no trenches, no positions, no enemies.
The person standing opposite wore clothes as ragged and faded as their own, making it just as impossible to tell which side they were on.
War requires many things to sustain.
Weapons, positions, flags, uniforms.
More importantly, it requires the concept of an "enemy."
When these things are stripped away, war is reduced to a crowd of weary people standing on a vast, empty land, not knowing what to do.
Pavela stood at the center of it all.
She looked around.
Her crimson eyes swept across the unrecognizable wilderness.
She saw undulating green hills stretching to the horizon.
Sunlight poured from the torn sky, casting alternating patches of light and shadow on the hills.
The wind blew across the meadow, blades of grass bending and springing back, forming green waves.
Like a sea.
A quiet, warm, green sea.
She saw those souls.
Scattered in this green ocean.
Like shells washed ashore.
Somewhat at a loss, but no longer fighting.
She also saw the red flower at her feet.
Very small.
Five petals.
The center was golden.
A drop of dew still clung to the petal.
Pavela nodded with satisfaction.
Mm.
Not bad.
Now, as the conclusion to the war, this place can be considered barely acceptable.
