Of Steel and Roses: Silver-Haired Loli on a Rampage Chapter 14: Hell

Pavel stared at the Victorian knight for a long ti.

Her mind was still struggling to process the situation.

It wasn't because of the pain; she was long accustod to pain.

It was because the current situation was utterly absurd.

She had been saved by an enemy.

A knight of the Victorian Empire.

Had saved her.

A person from the Usar Punishnt Camp.

Did that make any sense?

It made absolutely no sense.

It made no fucking sense at all.

Countless possibilities flashed through Pavel's mind.

A trap?

A softening-up tactic before interrogation?

Or perhaps... so kind of perverse amusent?

She secretly studied the other woman.

Tattered military uniform.

Blood-soaked bandages.

Exhausted eyes.

A posture leaning against the wall—seeming relaxed, yet poised to draw her sword at any mont.

No.

That didn't seem like a trap either.

It seed more like... soone just as down on her luck.

"What's the situation outside?"

Pavel spoke up.

Whatever the case, she needed to understand the situation first.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "You're quite calm."

"I'm always calm," Pavel said expressionlessly. "Please answer my question."

A severely wounded, unard prisoner speaking to an ard enemy in a commanding tone.

The scene was undeniably comical.

But Eleanor wasn't angry.

She rely chuckled softly again.

"Outside?"

She gestured with her chin toward the entrance.

"Hell."

Another explosion sounded, shaking a layer of dust from the basent walls.

"The battlefield has completely descended into chaos," Eleanor continued, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"It was supposed to be a perfect blitzkrieg. Breakthrough in twenty minutes, occupation in thirty. Clean and efficient."

She paused, a touch of ruefulness in her tone.

"Instead, it turned into this godforsaken ss."

Pavel listened quietly.

She vaguely rembered that battle—the charge of The Order, the overwhelming artillery fire, and...

...and those voices screaming their way into her mind.

Her hand unconsciously tightened its grip on the military greatcoat beneath her.

"Now both sides are fighting over this pile of ruins," Eleanor went on.

"My unit was scattered, my communicator is destroyed, and my leg—"

She glanced down at her bandaged right leg, a bitter smile twisting her lips.

"—isn't working too well."

Pavel's gaze fell on that leg.

The bandage was already soaked with blood. Judging by the color at the edges, the wound was several hours old.

Shrapnel wound.

She'd seen too many of those.

Not fatal, but troubleso.

Especially without proper treatnt.

"So you need to cross the entire combat zone to get back to your lines," Pavel stated.

"Yes," Eleanor admitted with a nod.

"Alone, with a wounded leg, across at least three kiloters of battlefield."

She leaned back against the wall, a flicker of weariness in her ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) eyes.

"Sounds fun, doesn't it?"

Pavel didn't answer.

Three kiloters.

Combat zone.

The other was a knight; her combat prowess was unquestionable.

But the leg injury would severely impact her mobility and endurance.

And as for herself...

Pavel looked down at her own body.

She was covered by the greatcoat—clearly the other woman's.

Beneath the coat, she wore only bandages, which had obviously been reapplied.

She tried moving her fingers. They moved.

Tried bending her knee. It bent.

It hurt like hell, but it moved.

But she was alone, severely wounded, unard, lying before an enemy.

Her ch, her weapons—all gone.

If the other wanted to kill her, she didn't even have the strength to fight back.

If the other wanted to take her back as a prisoner...

Pavel thought of the prisoner camps.

She'd heard a thing or two about Victorian prisoner camps.

The rumors about those places could make life in the Punishnt Camp seem not so bad in comparison.

"Maybe I can help you," Pavel suddenly said.

Eleanor was taken aback.

"What?"

"Help you cross the battlefield," Pavel's voice remained calm.

"I know this area well. I know where the patrols are, where the minefields are, where to take cover."

This was the truth. She had thoroughly scouted the terrain around the third logistics depot before her theft operation.

Though the battle must have changed many things, the basic layout wouldn't.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. "What are you getting at?"

"A deal," Pavel t the other's gaze directly.

"I help you cross the battlefield. You don't kill , and you don't send to a prisoner camp."

Silence.

Eleanor stared at her. A complex light flickered in those ice-blue eyes.

"Do you know who I am?"

"A ch knight of the Victorian Empire," Pavel answered without hesitation.

"Judging by your insignia, not just an ordinary knight, but likely a noble lord as well."

An honorable noble lord, eight tis out of ten, wouldn't break an oath, even one made to an enemy.

If she could get her to agree to the proposal, she could survive.

She paused.

"Judging by your wounds, you survived a ch battle and abandoned your machine to retreat. Surviving the first wave of the charge, you're probably not a nobody."

Eleanor was slightly surprised.

This kid's observational and analytical skills... were completely unlike her age.

"Your eye is quite sharp," Eleanor said flatly. "Since you've figured that out, you should also know—soone of my status doesn't make deals with the enemy."

"But you saved ," Pavel pointed out.

"If you wanted to follow the rules, you should have finished off while I was unconscious. Or simply left to die in the rubble."

She tilted her head, her tone carrying an indescribable nuance.

"But you didn't. You saved . Treated my wounds. Even covered with your coat."

She paused. "You're already making an exception."

Eleanor clicked her tongue.

Pavel was right. She was indeed already making an exception.

From the mont she decided to carry this girl on her back, she had already violated the principles of an Imperial knight.

The scene fell into silence for a mont.

The two stared at each other for a long ti, each trying to gauge the other's thoughts.

"...So you're from the Punishnt Camp?" Eleanor finally spoke, a trace of hesitation in her voice she herself didn't notice.

"I saw those... on your body."

Only a place like that could have created such horrific scars on this child.

Pavel's expression twitched. "Indeed."

"The 404th Independent ch Punishnt Camp," Eleanor said slowly.

"That cannon fodder unit made up of criminals and death row inmates."

"Your intelligence is accurate," Pavel sighed. "Though I prefer to call it a progressive alternative correctional facility."

Eleanor was montarily speechless at the description.

She wasn't sure if it was sarcasm or if this kid genuinely had a twisted sense of humor.

Or perhaps this kid's mind wasn't entirely normal anymore.

"What was your cri?"

"Does it matter?" Pavel countered.

"Hmm... No, it doesn't," Eleanor admitted.

Yes, it didn't matter.

What mattered was that this girl—this child who should be studying in school or being spoiled at ho—bore scars that even veterans might not be able to endure.

What mattered was her tone of voice, that calmness bordering on coldness, not like a child, but like a veteran accustod to life and death.

What mattered was...

"If I agree to your deal," Eleanor began slowly, "what do you plan to do once we reach our lines?"

Pavel blinked. That was a good question.

One she had already considered.

"Once we're there, you let go," Pavel said. "Just let leave. It's that simple."

"And then you return to the Punishnt Camp?"

Pavel was also montarily speechless, but she continued.

"That depends on the situation."

"What situation?"

"Whether I've already been declared KIA."

Eleanor frowned.

"Declared KIA?"

"Punishnt Camp rules," Pavel explained. "If a soldier is missing in action beyond a certain ti, they're declared KIA. Because the Punishnt Camp doesn't need death benefits, a dead man's rations can be divided among the living, a dead man's number can be assigned to the next unlucky soul. Very efficient."

"And what if a 'dead man' cos back alive?" Eleanor asked.

Pavel looked at her, a strange light flashing in her eyes.

Like sarcasm, yet also like resignation.

"Then there are two possibilities," she said, holding up one finger. "First, desertion, faking death."

She held up a second finger. "Second, captured by the enemy, turned, and sent back."

She lowered her hand. "Either way, the outco is the sa."

"...Execution?"

"Execution," Pavel confird with a nod.

"If you're lucky, it's a firing squad. If you're unlucky..."

"...there are many creative and artistic individuals."

Eleanor was speechless.

She found it even more absurd.

This child was discussing her own possible execution with a tone as calm as if discussing dinner.

No fear, no anger, not even any complaint.

Only a kind of... numb acceptance.

"So your plan is, help cross the battlefield, and then—"

"—then I'll go check if I'm already 'dead'," Pavel interjected. "If not, I go back. If I am dead..."

"...then I'll figure sothing else out."

"What else?"

"I'll figure it out when the ti cos," Pavel said, stretching slightly.

"I'm the kind of person who's good at improvising."

Eleanor looked at her, unsure what to say.

This deal... sounded absurd.

A Victorian Royal Knight cooperating with an Usar Punishnt Camp convict to cross a battlefield.

If discovered by either side, neither would have a good outco. She would be seen as a traitor, sent to a court-martial.

The other would be... well, the other already had no good outco to speak of.

But...

Eleanor looked down at her leg. The wound beneath the bandage still throbbed faintly.

She could feel the damage from the shrapnel—torn muscle, perhaps even a minor fracture.

She could walk, but she couldn't run, and certainly couldn't march for long.

And outside was a slaughterhouse.

Both sides' forces were fighting amidst the ruins; artillery could land anywhere at any mont.

Crossing that hell alone?

Not impossible.

But having a guide was better than not having one.

"Fine," Eleanor finally said.

"I accept your deal."

"You lead, I protect you. Once we're near our lines, I'll let you go."

She spoke each word deliberately. "But if you try any tricks—"

"—you'll kill ," Pavel nodded. "I know."

"Good," Eleanor also nodded. "Then when do we leave?"

Pavel tilted her head, listening to the noise outside. The shelling continued, but the intervals had lengthened.

The most intense phase of the night battle should have passed.

"When the shelling stops," she said. "Should be soon."

"...What's your na?" Eleanor suddenly asked.

Pavel was taken aback.

This was a question she hadn't expected.

"Pavel," she said. "I'm Pavel Ivanovich Sokolov."

Eleanor nodded. "I'm Eleanor von Schwartz."

"Von schwartz?" Pavel raised an eyebrow. "So you really are a noble?"

"Yes," Eleanor's tone held a complex note. "Though right now, I'm just a knight who lost a battle."

Pavel didn't press further.

"Well then, Miss Schwartz," Pavel leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.

"I suggest we both rest before we set out. The road ahead won't be easy."