Karelia, in the Kingdom of Valentia, within the County of Aldrich, due to its prime location at a crucial intersection of Valerian Avenue and Serren Avenue, was once a shining city of commerce and trade. In days past, its streets bustled, caravans crisscrossed, wealth flowed in like streams, and its prosperity seemed unending.
But how could such prosperity not attract the covetous gaze of ambitious men?
The walls of Karelia emanated a cold grey in the twilight, and smoke, like ink, spread across the sky, strangling the last vestiges of daylight.
Eleven-year-old Lord Ilena stood atop the city wall, the cloak embroidered with her family crest fluttering in the wind. Below, dense enemy ranks swarmed like ants, the dull thuds of battering rams against the city gates, mixed with the clamor of battle cries, hammered at her eardrums.
All this calamity stemmed from the Empire of Essos tearing up the non-aggression treaty signed with the Kingdom of Valentia. Their greedy ambition drove them to extend their sinful hands towards this fertile land. In an instant, war clouds gathered, and Karelia was plunged into dire straits.
Below the city, Imperial soldiers surged like a tide, madly climbing siege ladders, their eyes glinting with greed and brutality. Lord Ilena stood on the ramparts, gazing at the chaotic and brutal scene, yet her mind conjured images of her territory's past prosperity. Those lively markets, those cheerful caravans, were now swallowed by the flames of war. The markets had become ruins, prosperity choked by thick smoke, and even the sturdy city walls had cracks from the siege engines.
On the walls, the family retainers' armor was stained with blood, yet they continued to roar their defiance. Arrows rained down, and enemies fell with screams, but their successors relentlessly surged forward. Lord Ilena tightly gripped the sword left by her father; its cold touch brought clarity: this was the last line of defense for her territory. One step back, and Karelia would be reduced to scorched earth, its people massacred, and the family's honor trampled.
On the battlement, Xila's bowstring vibrated as she shot the enemy centurion from his horse.
Below the city, seeing the morale of the remaining soldiers plummet, the Imperial general could only wave his saber and shout, "Retreat."
The smoke of Karelia had yet to dissipate when Eve sprinted through the ruins. Her battle skirt was stained with blood, and her voice, hoarse from shouting, cried out, "Kyle! Are you alright!?" Her gaze swept over the corpses littering the ground, her heart sinking as if struck by a heavy hammer.
On the battlefield, smoke mingled with the stench of blood, and severed limbs lay amidst broken weapons. Eve finally found Kyle near a scorched palisade. He was covered in wounds but still propped himself up. Seeing her, he forced a smile that was more like a grimace. "We… we somehow managed to survive…" Eve rushed to him, tears mingling with blood, dripping onto Kyle's bloodied armor.
Not far away, Gray stood silently, observing the scene of survival. He knew the war was far from over. The Empire would not cease their assault due to a day's setback; they would only wait for nightfall to once again gnaw at this ravaged land.
Night descended like ink, blanketing the broken walls of Karelia.
Atop the watchtower, the night guard, clad in iron armor, stood straight, his long banner fluttering in the wind. Flames danced on his silvery faceplate, reflecting the splotchy bloodstains on his armor—marks left from the day's siege. Below, at the breach in the wall, soldiers were repairing fortifications under the cover of night. The clanging of bricks, the groans of the wounded, and the faint sounds of enemy movements in the distance wove a taut net.
At the stroke of midnight, the night sky was torn by arrows, their metallic shrieks and battle cries crashing onto the ramparts.
"Enemy attack—!" the lookout's scream pierced their eardrums. Amidst the clang of armor, Marcus, a soldier, spun around and roared towards the fortifications below, "Quick, send word to Lord Ilena! The enemy is attacking the East Gate! Archers! Deploy archers quickly!" His voice trembled but carried an irrefutable fierceness. His damaged shield instinctively came up to guard him as arrows whizzed past his armor, striking sparks off the stones.
The ramparts descended into chaos. Wounded soldiers tumbled from the battlements, and new recruits who hadn't reacted were knocked down by arrows. The enemy, taking advantage of the night, raised their shields and carried siege ladders towards the wall.
"Hurl it down!" the defenders roared, as hot oil and massive stones poured down, instantly eliciting wails of agony. The young soldier Tobias gripped his blood-stained shield, watching in horror as his comrades were dragged away by grappling hooks thrown from the tower. Their screams, mingled with smoke, stung his eyes.
"We can't let them breach the wall!" Xila's figure flashed across the rampart, her silver armor bloodied but still formidable. Tobias violently shook his head, flicking scalding tears onto the stones. He grabbed a broken spear and thrust it fiercely at the climbing enemy soldiers. Amidst the dull thud of the spear entering flesh, he heard the muffled grunts of civilians carrying bricks behind him—this wall was their last desperate defense. Even if the bricks shattered and their bodies turned to ash, they would use all their strength to keep the invaders out.
Beneath the walls of Karelia, the sounds of battle shook the very earth.
"Hah!" Gort swung his sword, forcing an attacking enemy soldier to stagger back. His armor was cracked, blood trickled down his vambrace, but he gritted his teeth and held his ground.
"Hey! Gort, pretty tough, huh!" a rough voice boomed from a comrade, who used his shield to shove off an enemy climbing the wall. Gort had no time to look back; his blade entered flesh again, splashing blood onto his faceplate. On the siege ladder, enemies swarmed upwards like rabid dogs. The defenders' roars, the clang of weapons, and the fire on the walls burned the sky to a dark hue.
"Damn it!" Marcus, covered in blood, his sword chipped, still held fast against the surging enemy. The cries of the messenger on the battlement still echoed in his ears—the West Gate had fallen, and the enemy was pouring into the inner city like maggots. He violently shoved aside a stout man wielding an axe in front of him.Amidst the clash of armor, he glimpsed a comrade fall, a fishy sweetness rising in his throat.
"Kill!" the enemy roared, surging forward, their shields crushing the plume on Marcus's helmet. He gripped his sword hilt, blood flowing from between his fingers. Marcus gritted his teeth, each blow laced with desperation—even in death, he would turn this corridor into a graveyard for the enemy.
"Hold the line!" Lainas's armor was soaked in blood, his throat raw from shouting. The enemy's shields pressed in like a wall, and he felt his ribs about to snap, but he clung to his sword hilt. Blood flowed from his forehead into his eyes. Lainas blurredly saw the similarly ferocious faces of his comrades. Some were pushed off the wall, their screams drowned out by the sounds of "Kill!" He used his last ounce of strength to charge into the enemy ranks. Amidst the sound of cracking armor, he swore to carve out an opening for this suffocating defense.
The defending soldiers were in disarray. Some stumbled and fled, shouting for help, only to be pinned by arrows in pools of blood. Others, barely supporting their crippled bodies, were instantly pierced by enemy blades. Ilena's personal guard captain fought valiantly on the wall, his armor shattered, still desperately holding onto an enemy soldier climbing the wall, blood seeping from his fingertips into the bricks.
The enemy general watched the chaotic defense with a cruel grin. Behind him, his soldiers let out beastly cheers—they were eager to flatten this city, plunder its wealth, and ravage this land.
Once the city gates were smashed, the city within became a bloody furnace.
The two armies clashed, the sound of clashing armor and blades plunging into flesh drowning out all else. Lainas's spear pierced an enemy's throat, blood splashing onto his faceplate. He had no time to wipe it off, immediately bringing up his other hand to block a diagonal slash. Comrades fell one after another beside him, but no one retreated—or rather, they had nowhere left to retreat.
In the distance, enemy cavalry formed ranks, their hooves churning the bloodstained earth. Lainas looked at the iron tide, tightened his grip on his bloody spear, and roared to the remaining soldiers beside him, "Let's fight to the death! Let them know that the soldiers of Karelia have bones as hard as the city walls!" Amidst the roars, this remnant of soldiers charged into the tide of flesh and blood, meeting the cavalry head-on.
Inside the city of Karelia, the neighing of warhorses and the clash of weapons shattered the sky.
When the dawn broke through the smoke, Karelia's last banner fell into a pile of broken bricks.
Morning mist, carrying the stench of blood, drifted over the breach in the city walls. Imperial soldiers' iron boots trampled the corpses of Ilena's personal guards, frost on their armor stained with dark red blood.
In the alleys, surviving civilians were chained together in rows, the cries of children startling crows from the eaves. The old stonemason who had been repairing fortifications last night lay dead on his doorstep, clutching a wooden kite he had carved for his granddaughter, its broken string tangled with bloody rubble. Xila's silver armor lay at an odd angle in the center of the marketplace, its interior filled with congealed blood. The arm that had once protected Ilena now pointed towards the sky at a grotesque angle.
Gray was nailed to the city gate, dried blood meandering down the grooves of the wooden planks, much like the defensive map he had drawn for Ilena the night before. Eve knelt in the ruins, cradling Kyle's body. The morning light crept into her hollow eye sockets, turning her scattered hair into a golden-red hue, as if bestowing a final, false warmth upon the gradually cooling corpse.
The sun climbed higher, its glare blindingly reflecting off the Imperial eagle banner, while Karelia's glory was being thoroughly trampled into the mud with the last cry of a child.
The fall of Karelia sent shockwaves through the surrounding areas. Wealth was plundered, and the city's inhabitants were massacred. Residents within a twenty-mile radius, upon hearing the news, packed their belongings overnight and fled towards the capital along Serren Avenue.
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The column of refugees struggled forward on the muddy track. A heavy rain had fallen last night, and where the wheels rolled, mud churned, dragging the procession to an even slower pace. Amir frowned, his brow furrowed like the character 'river' (chuān), as he looked at the endless stream of refugees and wagons before and behind him. This wasn't a flight for survival; it was a crawl through the domain of death.
One question after another arose, and the refugees' emotions grew increasingly anxious. Arguments erupted, even blows were exchanged. Helpless mothers could only hold their infants and weep by the roadside, the fear of death casting a shadow over everyone.
On this endless road of escape, overturned wagons were everywhere. Drivers were pinned beneath their horses, unable to move, but no one offered aid. Their fate, alive or dead, was left to chance.
The number of wounded and sick continued to rise, and countless people fell behind. But worse was yet to come.
Under the scorching sun, the journey of escape was both mentally and physically exhausting. Whether driving or walking, everyone was utterly worn out. Those who could no longer walk could only sit by the roadside and accept their fate.
Just then, a rapid sound of hooves suddenly exploded from the woods to their left, like muffled thunder rolling across the muddy ground. Amir looked up sharply, only to see dozens of exceptionally fierce horses charging out from between the branches. The men on horseback wore tattered leather armor, wielding rusty sabers and iron spears, their faces twisted into ferocious grins, letting out beastly yells.
"It's Bandits!" someone yelled hysterically. The already tense procession instantly erupted into chaos.
The refugees scattered like an disturbed ant nest, screaming and fleeing, but the mud beneath their feet held them fast. Some, in their panic, scrambled under wagons, others hugged their children and climbed towards the roadside slopes. More fell in the mud and water in the crush, immediately being trampled by those surging behind them. The men who had been arguing moments ago had lost all their composure, only caring about screaming and running forward, leaving the elderly and children behind.
The mother holding her infant trembled violently, instinctively clutching her child tightly to her chest and curling up in the mud beside a wagon, her fingernails digging deep into the damp earth. The infant, startled by the sudden chaos, began to wail loudly, its cries soon drowned out by the sound of hooves, screams, and the bandits' wild laughter.
Amir grabbed a broken wagon axle beside him, intending to block the approaching cavalry, but was violently struck in the shoulder by a horse. He stumbled and fell into the mud, splashing his face. As he looked up, he saw a bandit swinging a saber at an old man who could no longer flee. Blood spurted into the murky mud, instantly forming a dazzling red stain.
The bandits craved wealth, but they craved blood even more. They madly pursued the refugees, cutting with sabers and stabbing with spears. Human lives were like candles in the wind, easily extinguished.
Some bandits impatiently swung their sabers to cut the reins. Frightened horses, dragging half a wagon, bolted, trampling several refugees who couldn't dodge in time, leaving a trail of blurred flesh and blood. The driver who had been pinned beneath a horse was still moaning; a bandit passing by casually delivered a fatal blow, and the faint groans ceased.
The sun still beat down mercilessly on the ground, steaming the stench of blood and mud to an even more pungent degree. Amir lay in the mud, watching the bandits sweep over the procession like locusts, snatching everything they could, then galloping into another crowd. The wagon axle in his hand had snapped into two pieces during the collision. Now, he could only watch helplessly as a woman holding a child was dragged towards the forest by two bandits. The woman's screams were heart-wrenching, yet they couldn't even grasp an echo.
The refugees' resistance was as fragile as paper, quickly crushed. The entire dirt road had turned into hell. Cries, groans, and the dead mingled with overturned wagons and scattered belongings. The mud was dotted with flour, scraps of cloth, and broken limbs.
Just as a bandit's saber was about to strike the mother and child huddled on the ground, a muffled "dong—dong—" sound suddenly came from another direction in the forest, like a giant beast stomping its feet.
The sound grew closer, making the muddy ground tremble slightly. The bandits' shouts ceased abruptly, and even the frightened horses pawed the ground uneasily, raising their heads and neighing. Amir wiped the mud from his face and saw the leaves in the depths of the forest shake violently as a giant yellow metal shape burst forth.
Its massive body gleamed coldly, like a god of war from myth. Its left hand held a submachine gun with a rotating drum, its metal bullets faintly visible; its right hand wielded a sharp double-bladed sword, flashing menacingly in the sun. Its shoulders were broad, its arms thick, its legs solid, and hot gas jetted from its joints. The claw-like design at the base of its feet gave it a powerful and aggressive appearance.
Inside the cockpit, Chén Yàn watched the tragic scene outside through the 360-degree display, his knuckles white from gripping the sensor. Initially, when the refugee column approached these hills, he had simply stopped and observed from a distance, even debating with Argo whether they should make contact with the natives, as this land already had its owners. But soon, when bandits on horseback suddenly appeared in the video feed, he drove the mecha forward almost on instinct.
The bandits, after a brief moment of hesitation, actually charged their horses towards the mecha. They left scratches on the machine's surface with their spears and sabers, further stoking Chén Yàn's anger.
The double-bladed sword on the mecha's right arm instantly activated, faint blue energy patterns flowing along the blade like a flowing galaxy. Facing the charging bandits, Chén Yàn controlled the mecha to swing the double-bladed sword, its sweeping wind accompanied by a roar, like the wrath of a descending deity. Wherever the energy blade passed, the air seemed to be cut, emitting a "hissing" sound. Before the bandits could react, they were cleaved in two, man and horse alike.
The submachine gun in its left hand was equally formidable. The "ta-ta-ta" of its firing was tight and dense. Metal bullets poured out, striking the bandits' flimsy leather armor without resistance, piercing their bodies, and finally exploding into bursts of bloody mist. Although the horses were innocent, they did not escape either, for this was a battlefield, a matter of life and death.
In the eyes of the bandits, a mecha wielding a sword was already an unstoppable force, like a god descending from heaven. What was even more terrifying was its left hand; as soon as the muzzle spat fire, whether man or horse, they would be blown to smithereens. How could they possibly fight this? The bandits, who preyed on the weak and feared the strong, could only abandon their prey and flee. Survival of the fittest—that was the law of survival in these chaotic times.
In a moment, the bandits scattered like birds and beasts, disappearing into the forest and daring not to reappear.
Amir stared dumbfounded at the colossal mecha, completely forgetting his mud-covered state. In the sunlight, the mecha's metal shell reflected a light that was both dazzling and warm.
The mother holding her infant trembled and looked up, bowing deeply towards the mecha, her forehead smeared with bloodstains. She couldn't tell if this was a savior sent from heaven or a god from an unknown world, but this cold mechanical creation was the only hope she could grasp at that moment, allowing a glimmer of hope for survival to shine through her despair.
After repelling the bandits, the surviving refugees flocked to the mecha. Their eyes, filled with awe and reverence, gazed upon it as if it were a war god descended from the heavens. However, communication was impossible, and the two sides could not understand each other. Amir pointed to the injured and then to the mecha, gesturing for help. The mother, holding her child, bowed deeply to Chén Yàn, muttering incomprehensible syllables.
As Chén Yàn fretted about how to communicate, Argo's electronic voice sounded: "Collecting refugee lip movements, body language, and brainwave frequencies to construct a language model... Preliminary analysis complete, basic translation is now available." The cockpit played the simply converted language, and the refugees' words could now be roughly understood.
"Thank you... god... for saving us..." Amir's voice, through the translation, fumbled its way into Chén Yàn's ears. Chén Yàn quickly responded through the speaker: "I am not a god, I am also human. This mecha is my partner." The translated voice spread among the refugees. Although they were still half-believing, a stir arose among them when Chén Yàn opened the hatch, exposing himself to their sight.
Although the bandits had been repelled, the refugees were too exhausted to continue. The sun was gradually setting, and a golden afterglow cast upon the foot of the hills. Before it got dark, the refugees, dragging their severely injured and weary bodies, began to set up camp at the foot of the hills. They believed that as long as they stayed near Chén Yàn and his mecha, they would be safe.
Old tarpaulins and broken axles were used to erect a rudimentary camp. Cries and sighs mingled with the sound of the wind, swirling in the twilight.
"Argo, is there anything else we can do?"
"I regret to inform you that we have only established the headquarters. The other facilities of the base have not yet been completed, and we cannot provide any assistance."
Chén Yàn slammed his fist onto the seat, but Argo did not try to stop him. Instead, it offered a suggestion.
"Anger does not help the refugees' current situation, but there are some things we can do now."
"What things?"
"Collect scattered supplies, build shelters for the refugees. Use the nano-repair device for simple medical assistance. Excavate graves and bury the dead."
"Alright! Let's do it."
Chén Yàn controlled the mecha to begin rescue operations. First, he used the medical equipment carried within the mecha to prioritize treatment for the severely injured. Next, he collected unattended scattered supplies and piled them near the camp, managed and distributed by respected individuals among the refugees. Seeing the dead scattered on the muddy ground, Chén Yàn's heart ached, and he operated the mecha's excavator to dig simple graves, placing the bodies within before covering them with soil. The refugees gathered by the graves, bidding farewell to their loved ones according to local customs.
The sun completely sank behind the mountains. A few small fires were lit at the camp. The groans of the injured and the whispers of the survivors added a somber weight to the night.