Right in front of her.
Eleanor stared fixedly at the opponent's battered cha, cold sweat sliding down her spine.
The sound of tal clashing against tal was deafening. Her lance and that pitch-black longsword were locked in a stalemate in mid-air, the entire fra of her cha groaning under the imnse pressure.
Just what kind of monster was she facing?
She didn't have ti to ponder that question.
Because the second strike was already coming down.
Boom!!
She parried with her lance again, but this ti, 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 slamd the control stick forward, trying to use her cha's weight to ram the opponent away.
But that battered Thug-IV cha dodged with an eerie sidestep, moving with a grace that was completely unlike a one-ard, limping, crippled machine.
Then ca the third strike.
This strike slashed upward from below, following a strange arc aid directly at the armpit of Eleanor's cha—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 cha'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 cha of the Victoriana Royal Knights, a masterpiece forged by the Empire's top craftsn using the finest materials.
And the opponent?
A piece of Punishnt Camp scrap with joints that were about to fall apart.
By what right?!
Eleanor retreated again, trying to open up so distance from her opponent.
But that Punishnt Camp cha gave her no room to breathe.
Its movents were incredibly fast—the mangled right leg should have severely impacted its mobility, but now it seed to completely ignore chanical 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 ca 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 chas in a border campaign at seventeen, and beca 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 tal snapping.
Eleanor's lance was sheared off by a third by that pitch-black longsword.
—!
She had no ti for shock, subconsciously maneuvering her cha to sidestep.
The blade grazed her shoulder armor, leaving a bone-deep crack across her ticulously 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 sa ti.
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 ... let kill them...”
A raspy male voice whispered in her ear.
“My skills are better than yours... let 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 rged 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 ?”
...
-- 【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 chas closed in from all directions, surrounding that Punishnt Camp scrap heap.
But that cha showed no fear.
Its movents were getting faster, fiercer, and more... inhuman.
Sword light was like a storm.
The first Victorian cha tried to ambush from the flank, but that pitch-black longsword swung at an unbelievable angle, decapitating it directly.
Sparks flew as broken tal fragnts danced in the air.
“—Philip!!”
Soone scread in terror over the comms channel.
“Its reactions are too fast! It's not sothing a human can do—”
Before the words could finish, the second cha also fell.
The longsword pierced through its chest armor, the red lines flowing on the blade suddenly lighting up. A scream ca 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 experintal weapon.
It wasn't just a weapon.
It was absorbing sothing.
With every kill, the red lines on the blade would beco brighter, and that battered cha... its movents would beco 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 Punishnt Camp cha suddenly stopped moving.
Everyone held their breath.
The square was dead silent, save for the crackling of burning buildings.
The battered cha stood quietly in the center of the battlefield, surrounded by the wreckage of four Victorian chas.
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 cha's loudspeaker ca a low, raspy laughter.
At first, it was just a chuckle, as if it had discovered sothing 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 ca from one person.
It sounded more like... countless people laughing wildly at the sa ti.
“You guys—”
The voice ca from the loudspeaker, raspy and distorted, like soone rubbing sandpaper against tal.
“You think ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) you can stop like this?”
The cha 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 sothing was struggling to gush out from within it.
Then, the cha moved again.
Faster than before.
Fiercer than before.
Sword light tore through the night sky, and another Victorian cha was split in two.
“No... don't co over here—!!”
Terrified pleas ca over the comms channel.
But the Punishnt Camp cha 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 cha.
“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 mories.
Your souls.
All of it—
Give it all to !!!
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