Free Web NovelRight in front of her.
Eleanor stared fixedly at the opponent's battered mecha, cold sweat sliding down her spine.
The sound of metal clashing against metal was deafening. Her lance and that pitch-black longsword were locked in a stalemate in mid-air, the entire frame of her mecha groaning under the immense pressure.
Just what kind of monster was she facing?
She didn't have time to ponder that question.
Because the second strike was already coming down.
Boom!!
She parried with her lance again, but this time, Eleanor clearly felt the vibration through the transmission system—the opponent's power was even heavier than the first strike.
No.
It wasn't heavier.
It was more "precise."
The first strike was pure brute force, like a beast's pounce. But the second strike was different; its angle, force, and timing had all been precisely calculated, striking exactly at the weakest point of her lance's defense.
This change had occurred in less than a second.
—!
Eleanor clenched her teeth and slammed the control stick forward, trying to use her mecha's weight to ram the opponent away.
But that battered Thug-IV mecha dodged with an eerie sidestep, moving with a grace that was completely unlike a one-armed, limping, crippled machine.
Then came the third strike.
This strike slashed upward from below, following a strange arc aimed directly at the armpit of Eleanor's mecha—a joint connection and one of the thinnest points of the armor.
“Damn it!”
Eleanor was forced to retreat, barely dodging the lethal blow.
But that pitch-black longsword still grazed her mecha's side plating, leaving a deep gouge.
Red warning lights flared in the cockpit.
【Warning: Left armor integrity decreased by 42%】
This was impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
She was piloting a specialized mecha of the Victoriana Royal Knights, a masterpiece forged by the Empire's top craftsmen using the finest materials.
And the opponent?
A piece of Punishment Camp scrap with joints that were about to fall apart.
By what right?! freēwēbηovel.c૦m
Eleanor retreated again, trying to open up some distance from her opponent.
But that Punishment Camp mecha gave her no room to breathe.
Its movements were incredibly fast—the mangled right leg should have severely impacted its mobility, but now it seemed to completely ignore mechanical limits, closing in again with a posture that defied the laws of physics.
The sword light flashed.
Eleanor held her lance horizontally to parry, barely blocking the fourth strike.
Then came the fifth strike.
The sixth strike.
The seventh strike.
Every sword strike contained the power to tear through heavy armor, and the angle of every strike was outrageously tricky.
Eleanor's pupils began to contract.
She had always been a genius.
Entered the Royal Knights Academy at fourteen, graduated at the top of her class at sixteen, soloed three Usar main-force mechas in a border campaign at seventeen, and became the youngest acting commander of the Seventh Knight Order at nineteen.
She had seen countless excellent pilots and had personally defeated most of them.
But she had never—never seen a combat style like the one before her.
It was too bizarre.
The opponent's attacks bore no trace of a 'human.' No tactical considerations, no rhythmic changes, no feints or probing.
There was only pure, primal, near-instinctive—
Slaughter.
It was as if sitting in the cockpit was not a human, but a wild beast locked in an iron cage.
Crack—
A piercing sound of metal snapping.
Eleanor's lance was sheared off by a third by that pitch-black longsword.
—!
She had no time for shock, subconsciously maneuvering her mecha to sidestep.
The blade grazed her shoulder armor, leaving a bone-deep crack across her meticulously carved family crest.
Just a little more.
She was just a hair's breadth away from being split in two.
“Everyone—”
Eleanor finally cast aside her arrogance and roared into the comms channel:
“Besiege it!! Now!!”
...
At the same time.
Pavel's consciousness was floating in a boundless darkness.
She couldn't feel her body.
No hands, no legs, she couldn't even feel her heartbeat.
Only voices.
Countless voices.
They surged from all directions, drowning her consciousness like a tide.
“Let me... let me kill them...”
A raspy male voice whispered in her ear.
“My skills are better than yours... let me control this body...”
Another shrill female voice vied for control.
“Three years... I've waited for three years... I want revenge... move... move!!”
More voices joined in, tearing at and roaring at each other, attempting to seize dominance from this chaos.
Pavel felt a surge of intense nausea.
Not a physical nausea.
But a deeper disgust coming from the depths of her soul.
These things... these things parasitic in her mind... they were trying to control her body.
To use her hands to kill.
To use her eyes to see the world.
To use her will to complete their unfinished vengeance.
“Stop struggling, child...”
An old voice drifted from the darkness, carrying a hypocritical kindness.
“Your body is too weak, your will is too weak... give the control to us... we will help you kill all those Victorians...”
“Yes... give the body to us...”
“Hand it over...”
“Hand it over!!”
Countless voices merged into a noisy tsunami, like countless hands trying to tear down Pavel's final line of defense.
But Pavel smiled.
In that darkness, her consciousness condensed into a blurry silhouette, the corner of her mouth curling into a cold arc.
“You guys...”
Her voice was very soft, so soft it was almost drowned out by those noisy souls.
“...Are you kidding me?”
...
-- 【Warning: host consciousness activity abnormal】 --
-- 【Strong rejection reaction detected】 --
-- 【External consciousness cluster attempting forced fusion...】 --
-- 【host consciousness is... counterattacking?】 --
-- 【Warning: Consciousness conflict intensity exceeds expected value】 --
-- 【Recalculating control allocation...】 --
...
Eleanor von Schwartz had fallen into the toughest battle of her life.
Eleven Victorian mechas closed in from all directions, surrounding that Punishment Camp scrap heap.
But that mecha showed no fear.
Its movements were getting faster, fiercer, and more... inhuman.
Sword light was like a storm.
The first Victorian mecha tried to ambush from the flank, but that pitch-black longsword swung at an unbelievable angle, decapitating it directly.
Sparks flew as broken metal fragments danced in the air.
“—Philip!!”
Someone screamed in terror over the comms channel.
“Its reactions are too fast! It's not something a human can do—”
Before the words could finish, the second mecha also fell.
The longsword pierced through its chest armor, the red lines flowing on the blade suddenly lighting up. A scream came from the cockpit, followed by the flare of an explosion.
Eleanor's face changed completely.
“That sword...”
She finally realized the terrifying nature of that experimental weapon.
It wasn't just a weapon.
It was absorbing something.
With every kill, the red lines on the blade would become brighter, and that battered mecha... its movements would become smoother and more powerful.
It was as if the sword was using life as fuel to constantly enhance the user's power.
“Everyone retreat—!!”
Eleanor finally made a decision.
“Don't get close! Keep your distance! Use long-range fire suppression—”
Before her command was finished, the Punishment Camp mecha suddenly stopped moving.
Everyone held their breath.
The square was dead silent, save for the crackling of burning buildings.
The battered mecha stood quietly in the center of the battlefield, surrounded by the wreckage of four Victorian mechas. freewebnovel.cσ๓
Its right hand still held that pitch-black longsword, the red lines on the blade flowing slowly like a living thing.
On the monitor, that eerie red light pulsed on and off, on and off.
Then—
Laughter rang out.
From the mecha's loudspeaker came a low, raspy laughter.
At first, it was just a chuckle, as if it had discovered something interesting.
Then the laughter grew louder, more manic, more hysterical.
“Ha... Haha... Hahahahahahaha!!”
The laughter echoed in the night sky, carrying a hair-raising madness.
Eleanor felt her blood freezing.
The laughter didn't sound like it came from one person.
It sounded more like... countless people laughing wildly at the same time.
“You guys—”
The voice came from the loudspeaker, raspy and distorted, like someone rubbing sandpaper against metal.
“You think ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) you can stop me like this?”
The mecha slowly raised its head, the red light in the monitor suddenly becoming blinding.
“Too naive.”
“Too naive.”
“Too naive!!”
Its voice grew louder and shriller, as if something was struggling to gush out from within it.
Then, the mecha moved again.
Faster than before.
Fiercer than before.
Sword light tore through the night sky, and another Victorian mecha was split in two.
“No... don't come over here—!!”
Terrified pleas came over the comms channel.
But the Punishment Camp mecha showed no reaction.
It simply continued forward, continued swinging its sword, continued the slaughter.
And inside its cockpit—
Pavel was curled up in the seat, her hands death-gripping the control sticks, her knuckles white from the exertion.
Her eyes were wide open, the fire from outside reflected in her pupils.
She was laughing.
Laughing wildly with tears streaming down her face.
“Shut up...”
Her voice trembled, yet she was still forcing herself to operate the mecha.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up—!!”
Those voices in her mind were screaming, pleading, trying to flee.
But she wouldn't let them escape.
Since you all wanted to take my body—
Then hand over everything you know.
Your combat skills.
Your combat experience.
Your memories.
Your souls.
All of it—
Give it all to me!!!
