Burn, Slav

Gennady had said he did not believe the system of Azure could lead humanity to victory, and even now, he still held to that view. Allowing national governments to control their own source energy armaments, thereby dismantling Azure's structure of authority and reducing it to something like the United Nations—that was the attempt they had chosen to pursue. To that end, they had not hesitated to lend military support to a secular politician, hoping that success in Xiongzhanli would ignite a shift in the global landscape of source energy forces. The outcome had long been decided. They had failed. And now, it was too late for any more attempts. After nearly a century of human resistance, the full-scale invasion of the Great Spike civilization had finally arrived, formally raising its curtain with a probing offensive blanketing twenty-seven cities worldwide. Thinking about it this way, Gennady's heart ought to be filled with despair. And indeed, he felt despair, helplessness, anguish, and grief. Yet none of that changed one simple truth—it did not stop him from fulfilling the final duty of a human super combat power. For this world, for his people, and for all the souls living on the land beneath his feet... he would swing his blade at the Great Spikes, even while bearing that despair. ...Even if he believed the ultimate end was almost certain failure and annihilation for mankind. Their objective was the Winter Palace. With the rushing speed and route flexibility of super combat powers, their own two feet allowed them to outpace any conventional vehicle. "Any regrets?" Stepan suddenly turned his head to ask amid their wind-swift sprint, having just completed his familiarization with the tenth-generation device. This was critical, for the enemy they were about to face was a red-shoulder. The slightest control over the intensity of a source energy surge and the conversion efficiency could decide life, death, victory, or defeat in an instant. "No." Without turning his head, Gennady kept his eyes fixed ahead and said in a calm tone, "In fact, I'm glad we failed." This was the first time they had discussed the matter. Over the months they had been locked away, their cells were adjacent, with palm-sized windows through which they could have called out to one another, but they had never exchanged a word, let alone held any discussion about that defeat. "So you think we were wrong?" Startled by the answer, Stepan was taken aback for a second. "No, I don't think so. It was just the wrong timing. If we had succeeded back then and fronts all across the world were plunged into chaos... and then the Great Spikes arrived," Gennady looked up at the sky overhead, at the colossal swarm of Great Spike airships, and said, "the situation would only be far worse than it is now." As he spoke, Gennady also completed his adaptation to the new device through constant shifts in speed and direction. The improvement brought by the tenth-generation device was greater than he had imagined, which gave him a subtle thrill of excitement. "All right." Stepan nodded in agreement and looked up. Familiar old districts and streets came into view before them. Saint Petersburg was a grand city. In the past, whenever they came here, they would always gather a few old comrades to drink a few rounds at a roadside tavern, and then in the dead of night, wander drunkenly along the freezing, wind-swept streets. Now, the city was ruined. Only the Neva River—into which Stepan had once tumbled while drunk—still flowed peacefully along. "Ura!" "Ura!" Thousands upon thousands of sprinting people and convoy after convoy of speeding trucks advanced in the same direction, heading toward Palace Square. They shouted and roared. Among them were soldiers who had once served under Gennady and Stepan. After the secessionist war ended, even of the fighters who had chosen to follow them, the vast majority had been pardoned of their "primary" guilt... As for that, it was said that the army commander from Huaxia who came to quell the rebellion had staged a "dictatorial" trial before leading his troops back home. He had said: The grunts wielding blades on the ground don't understand that much. And Azure had no power over him. Without looking at the faces of the soldiers, Stepan and Gennady dashed into the streets and the crowd. Then, they overtook one group of people after another. They overtook vehicle after vehicle speeding down the roadway. "Wait, they—!" Along the way, a soldier finally caught a glimpse of their figures and cried out in astonishment. Then: "It's Lieutenant General Stepan and General Gennady!" Piecing together observation and guesswork, someone called it out accurately. In truth, it wasn't difficult, for the Xiongzhanli Front did not possess that many super combat powers. A brief stir rippled through the long columns stretching along the street. Because in addition to being Azure generals and super combat powers, the footnotes trailing behind Stepan and Gennady now also included: traitors, prisoners. They were out. They were charging toward the battlefield. ...That was enough. The commotion lasted perhaps less than ten seconds before the soldiers decisively put an end to pointless emotion and speculation. They began striving to follow in their footsteps, shouting all the while: "Ura! Gennady!" "Ura! Stepan!" "Ura! Generals of Xiongzhanli!" "Ura!" "Ura! Supers of Slavic glory!" Amid the roaring cries, Stepan cast another glance at Gennady. "Say, we'd better decide on something first. If we don't die after this battle, are we really going back to prison?" "I... of course," Gennady paused before replying. "What about you?" "I'm definitely not going back." Stepan's lips parted into a grin. "For combat powers like us, going back is a waste in itself, isn't it?" Earlier, during their conversation with Aleksey, it had clearly been him who said in a resolute tone: Rest assured, if we don't die, we will definitely return here. "I reckon if I truly have nowhere else to go, maybe I can look for Stream Vanguard—that's what they're called, right?" Stepan continued. "Then I plan to tell that kid that it was because of that battle back then, when I was there and was won over, that I chose to go to him..." The lieutenant general, whose reputation had never been stellar, spoke shamelessly. As if he had anticipated this all along, Gennady gave a helpless smile and said nothing. The peripheral melee between the Great Spike hordes and the Xiongzhanli Front unfolded before their eyes. They plunged in, passing by in an instant before the soldiers could even react, slashing through every Great Spike along their path, and charging straight toward the core of the battle. ... Palace Square at the Winter Palace. In truth, the square remained, but the Winter Palace had practically ceased to exist. The colossal architectural complex was almost entirely destroyed, leaving only fractured walls and stone pillars still standing, transformed into something resembling the ramparts and ornaments of an ancient colosseum. The Winter Palace was already a battlefield. Within it, Azure Xiongzhanli Front super combat power Mikhail, leading top combat powers and elite squads, was locked in a desperate struggle to tie down a red-shoulder. Every winding ruin of the shattered architecture served as cover for mounting attacks or retreats. Given the disparity in strength, they harbored no intention of scoring a kill, doing everything in their power solely to draw this red-shoulder in and isolate it here. The hope of achieving a kill lay out on the square. There, another super combat power of the Xiongzhanli Front, Double-S-grade Major General Anton, was leading the strongest top-tiers along with thousands upon thousands of soldiers prepared to lay down their lives, locked in a lethal clash to pin down and slay the other red-shoulder. Among the existing super combat powers of Xiongzhanli, Anton was the youngest, but also the strongest after Ivan. "The odds are still minuscule." "Perhaps we can hold out until our allies from Huaxia arrive." "Perhaps..." Mikhail clutched his bleeding chest—a fresh wound over an old one. During the earlier secessionist war, he had clashed head-on in single combat against Stepan, and that old scar had been left by Stepan. Yet at this moment, Mikhail found himself missing that bastard. *All right, I forgive you,* Mikhail thought. After all, that bastard had always fought with manic abandon, never caring for the consequences. Palace Square. The Alexander Column, built over a hundred and fifty years ago, now had less than four meters left standing at its base. The upper portions were shattered into several segments, collapsed upon the ground. The angel sculpted atop the column had fallen to the earth as well, cross broken, wings fractured. "He" lay amidst the dense bodies of fallen soldiers, stained crimson by the blood flowing across the paving stones. Countless running footsteps swept back and forth, swerving around him, leaping over him. "He" silently watched it all. To the flank, the General Staff Building had already collapsed, leaving behind only a curved segment of semicircular wall, broken and frail, appearing as if it could topple at any second. Along Bolshaya Morskaya Street and Nevsky Prospect, the fearless soldiers of Xiongzhanli continued to shout, surging into the battleground wave upon wave, charging at the hordes of Great Spikes ahead. *Bang!* "Fall back! Don't come over!" Flung sideways through the air, Major General Anton twisted his head and roared in anguish. A squad of soldiers died right before his eyes. Having completed the slaughter, the red-shoulder swung its column sword back, dropped its shoulder, angled its body, and charged at Anton. *Boom!* Anton kicked off the remnant of the Alexander Column. The final section of the stone column flew backward with a howl. Anton rebounded, his source energy erupting in midair. Instead of leaping upward, he angled his body toward the ground during his high-speed trajectory, tilting the war blade gripped in both hands... This turned his slash into an upward swing from the low left toward the high right. He was aiming for the red-shoulder's knees. This left his nearly inverted body largely exposed to lethal danger. Anton cared nothing for that. Because he had to launch the red-shoulder into the air. All the combat and strategy up to this point were aimed at this single objective: getting the red-shoulder airborne near the semicircular remnant wall of the General Staff Building. *Clang!* Dead iron clashed. Anton's war blade was batted back like a golf club striking a ball, smashing into his own body. A horrifying wound opened, blood spurting like a spring. At the same time, his entire body was sent flying backward once more. "Ahhh!" Anton roared in agonizing despair. He was severely wounded. When the red-shoulder pursued him, he would likely die. Yet his torment was not from this, but from knowing that even in death, he had failed to get the red-shoulder airborne. He no longer had the strength to make another attempt. *Whoosh!* Abruptly came the violent rush of tearing wind. Anton turned his head. The broken section of column he had just kicked away was flying back at an even faster speed. Flying straight toward the red-shoulder. *Boom!* The red-shoulder swung its sword, shattering the remnant column. Shattered stone and dust filled the sky... *Boom!* A slash! The slash of a super combat power. "Teacher!" Anton cried in stunned disbelief. Gennady's figure emerged from the rubble and flying ash. With a movement similar to Anton's earlier strike, he lunged forward, swinging his blade toward both knees of the red-shoulder. This time, the red-shoulder had no time to bring its sword back to block. And so, it leaped... Vaulting over Gennady, it slashed downward at the same time, opening a wound across Gennady's back. It was airborne, its entire frame rising into the air... "Kill!" Finally, Anton poured everything he had into a roar. *Boom! Rumble, rumble, rumble—!* The semicircular remnant wall of the General Staff Building shattered on cue. Behind the crumbling wall were 127 sharp-tipped dead iron pillars. Every single iron pillar was over two hundred meters long. At least as thick as a tall man's two hands clasped together. Furthermore, every single iron pillar was being pushed with the all-out eruptive force of at least a hundred soldiers acting together. In this instant, over ten thousand soldiers coughed blood in their explosive burst, charging frantically forward. A hundred and twenty-seven giant javelins... Howled like a tempest, thrusting toward the airborne red-shoulder.