Free Web NovelTime seemed to stand still.
The moment Pavela turned her head, the whole world seemed to have been pressed on pause.
She saw fire.
Orange-red flames erupted from the end of the street they had just passed, like a flower of death blooming «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» in an instant.
Tongues of fire licked the air, staining everything around them with the colors of hell.
She saw debris.
Glass, brick, wood chips—they were pushed by the shockwave, expanding outward in an eerie slow motion.
A palm-sized shard of glass flew past the edge of her vision, sunlight refracting into a kaleidoscope of colors on its jagged edge, like a twisted gemstone.
She saw the shockwave.
The air itself had been compressed into a visible ripple, expanding outward at a speed she knew all too well.
Where the ripple passed, the gas street lamps shook violently, and the awnings of street stalls were torn to shreds.
She saw people.
A middle-aged woman wearing an apron was standing by the side of the street, holding a cup of freshly bought coffee in her hand.
The moment the shockwave reached her, the coffee cup flew from her hand, and the brown liquid stretched into a graceful arc in the air.
Her expression was still frozen in bewilderment—she hadn't even had time to realize what had happened.
She saw—smoke and dust.
Thick, greyish-black smoke rose from the center of the explosion, like a giant beast with its maw wide open.
Pavela's pupils contracted sharply.
Nitroglycerin-based explosive.
Approximately two kilograms of equivalent.
Timed detonator, not remote-triggered.
The explosion point was inside the building, on the first floor or basement.
The shockwave dispersion pattern indicated a single-point explosion, not a chain reaction.
This information welled up in her mind instinctively.
No need to think.
No need to analyze.
It was as natural as breathing.
—This was man-made.
Time finally resumed its flow.
"——!!!"
Sounds finally reached her ears.
The roar of the explosion, the crisp sound of shattering glass, the screams of the crowd—all the sounds flooded into her senses at the same instant, almost tearing her eardrums apart.
The street was in chaos. freewebnøvel.com
Pedestrians fled in all directions, screams rising one after another.
Some fell to the ground and were trampled by those behind them.
Some huddled in corners, clutching their heads, trembling all over.
Others stood dazed in place, their faces etched with disbelief.
Pavela's body reacted faster than her consciousness.
Her hand had already reached toward her waist.
In the hidden layer of her skirt, two daggers lay quietly.
The cold touch of the metal made her heartbeat suddenly steady.
—Wait.
She paused.
This was wrong.
She looked down at her hand.
It was gripping the hilt of the dagger tightly, her knuckles white from the exertion.
This was not the feeling she was familiar with.
On the battlefield, her heartbeat would slow down.
On the battlefield, her breathing would become steady.
On the battlefield, her brain would enter a state of calm that bordered on cold-bloodedness.
But now—
Her heart was pounding wildly.
Her breathing was accelerating.
In her brain—not calm.
It was rage.
A scorching, searing rage welling up from the depths of her chest, one that threatened to burn her to ash.
Why?
Oh, that was it.
Three seconds ago, she was still watching Victoria's exaggerated gestures, looking at Irene's radiant smile, looking at the curve of Cecilia's mouth.
Sunlight spilled over them, as if plating them with a golden halo.
She had just been thinking—this kind of life didn't seem so bad.
And then—
"Boom."
Just that one sound.
Everything shattered.
The sweet scent of the candy store was replaced by gunpowder smoke.
The sunlight was obscured by dust.
Laughter turned into screams.
These people—these damned people—had brought the war here.
"Little Pa!"
Eleanor's voice came from behind, but Pavela did not turn back.
She flicked her wrist, and a dagger was thrown backward.
Eleanor caught it instinctively—the hilt landed perfectly in her palm, the angle as precise as if it had been calculated in advance.
"Take care of them."
Pavela's voice was calm.
So calm that it didn't reflect her current state of mind.
"Pavela! You—"
But Pavela had already rushed out.
Her figure was like an arrow released from the bowstring, cutting through the chaotic crowd and rushing toward the center of the explosion.
She was fast.
Too fast for someone who had just recovered from an injury.
Too fast for a delicate noble miss.
Eleanor wanted to chase after her, but a wave of fleeing people suddenly surged in front of her.
By the time she pushed through the crowd, Pavela's figure had already vanished into the smoke and dust.
"Damn it—"
Eleanor gritted her teeth.
She looked back.
Victoria stood dazed in place, the color completely drained from her face.
Irene held Victoria's hand tightly, her eyes wide, filled with fear and confusion.
Cecilia was the calmest of the three, but her hands were trembling slightly.
Eleanor took a deep breath.
"Follow me."
Her voice regained its usual calm and authority—the voice of a captain of The Order.
"We need to find a safe place."
In the basement, five people were nervously packing up equipment.
"Damn it, it went off early!" A man with a thick beard cursed in a low voice, "I told you that fuse wasn't reliable—"
"Shut up, Gerz." The woman leading them interrupted him coldly, "The explosion time was only off by three minutes; it doesn't affect the plan. The Gendarmerie is busy evacuating the crowd; no one will notice this place."
Her name was Marian Heinrich, thirty-five years old, formerly an engineer at the Imperial Ordnance Department.
A year ago, her younger brother died on the front lines—in a meaningless battle to capture a worthless hill.
Since then, she had become a member of the Children of Dawn.
"Is the second team in position?" she asked.
"They are," another young man replied, still fiddling with a metal box in his hands, "and the third team, at the Imperial Parliament Building, tomorrow at nine in the morning. Just in time for the meeting."
"Those warmongers..." Gerz gritted his teeth, "Let them taste the flavor of a bomb—"
"Remember our goal," Marian interrupted him, "It's not to kill, but to warn. Let them know that this war must stop."
She checked her watch.
"Let's evacuate. Jorgen is keeping watch outside; we'll go through the back door—"
Before she could finish, a loud crash came from overhead.
It wasn't an explosion.
It was an impact.
Something—or someone—was approaching at extreme speed.
"What—"
Before Gerz could finish his sentence, a rush of footsteps came from the direction of the stairwell.
Then, the iron door of the basement was burst open.
Not pushed open.
Blasted open.
The entire door, along with its frame, was sent flying, smashing into the opposite wall with a deafening crash.
And what flew in with the door—was Jorgen.
Their lookout, a former Imperial Army sergeant, a veteran who had received formal combat training—was now hitting the wall like a rag doll, sliding to the ground, motionless.
"Jorgen!"
Gerz screamed, instinctively reaching for the pistol at his waist.
But his movement froze halfway.
Because he saw the figure at the doorway.
Smoke and dust poured into the basement from the ruins, like some kind of grey tide.
And in the midst of that smoke—a figure was walking slowly toward them.
It was a girl.
A girl wearing the dress of a noble miss.
Her dress was covered in dust.
Her short silver hair was disheveled on her shoulders, with a few strands sticking to her cheeks.
Her figure was slender and small, looking frail and weak.
But her eyes—Gerz saw those eyes.
They were light grey eyes, like the surface of a frozen lake on a winter morning.
But at this moment, those eyes were flashing with some kind of eerie light.
A scarlet light.
Like burning charcoal.
Like congealed blood.
Like—hellfire.
Smoke and dust churned behind her, swept up by some invisible force, forming a twisted shape.
Like wings.
Grey-black wings made of smoke and shadows.
Her right hand held a dagger in a reverse grip, the blade pointing backward, the tip downward.
That was the grip of an assassin.
That was the grip of an executioner.
She stood there in the doorway, against the light, her whole body shrouded in smoke and shadows.
Like a demon that had crawled out of hell.
"Hello there."
She spoke.
Her voice was light, soft, even carrying a hint of a smile.
But that smile—made Gerz's back instantly drenched in cold sweat.
It was not a smile that a human should have.
-- 【Warning】 --
-- main personality stability dropping rapidly】 --
-- 【Warning: The Way Back trajectory has deviated.】 --
-- 【Analyzing deviation direction...】 --
-- 【Analysis complete.】 --
-- 【Current frequency: Path of the Tower / Destroyer --
-- 【Current sequence: IV】 --
-- 【Suggestion: Immediate emotional isolation advised to avoid further contact with stimulation sources.】
