Icefield Starfall

Several hundred kilometers from Antarctica, high in the sky, that human source energy craft still drifted in isolation, caught in its dilemma. The craft’s pilot, who had just been rebuffed and had remained silent under the heavy pressure for quite some time, listened to the battle reports in his ear and finally couldn’t resist glancing back at the old man beside him. The old man was reading the latest battle report. The pilot stole a glance as well. In the blurry photograph, the streaming brilliance of myriad blades bowing in homage made his hands—the steady hands of a craft pilot—tremble slightly. At this moment, this very sight was sending waves surging through the hearts of every human across the world... After looking for a few moments, the pilot could not restrain his gaze, which slowly shifted upward back toward Chen Buer. His expression carried a bit more thought than before, as if to say: *It seems this old man doesn't really understand high-end combat power after all.* "What? What are you fidgeting for? Something on your mind?" The Commander turned his head and glared at him. "No, sir." The pilot hurriedly turned back to stabilize the craft... but two seconds later, he turned slowly once more, asking tentatively, "Um, Major Qing... is he the third Above-Vault, then?" "..." Chen Buer looked at him, his gaze still rather grave, and remained silent. "He's asking if he is! Well, is he? A real Above-Vault?" Over the communicator came Xu Xiaohong's anxious roar. "Judging by the battlefield information transmitted back so far, I cannot say he isn't," Chen Buer finally replied. Then he was. Xu Xiaohong instantly burst into relieved laughter, as if the worry and suppression pent up for so long could at last be vented. Laughing, he jabbed: "Hahahaha! He really is! He actually is! I told you, what the hell do you know about fighting, or about Above-Vault? Just a foul old shepherd, that's all! Hahahaha! A third Above-Vault! The thir... No, wait, if there are three, there will be four!" *** When Han Qingyu's earth-shaking performance on the battlefield was broadcast by the Refusers and confirmed by Chen Buer as an official breakthrough to the Above-Vault level, another person automatically advanced alongside him. His name was Pegmonte. Pegmonte's current mindset had already convinced him that there was scarcely any difference between himself and Han Qingyu. Even if he acknowledged a slight gap, his personality ensured that such a difference wouldn't in the least prevent him from believing he was an Above-Vault too—and that he could pull off some world-shattering maneuvers of his own. At this time, on the Western Front, the Azure elite forces had broken through all the way and finally reached Ellsworth Land—the connecting neck between the peninsula and the Antarctic mainland—where they were organizing an assault against the dajian's final defensive line. Once they breached this line, they could return and reverse the tide of battle across the peninsula. The reforming of lines amidst the charge was hurried yet orderly... Makarov hovered on the fringes, carrying four sniper rifles on his back and holding a spotting scope in his hand, searching across the battlefield for Pegmonte. If there was anything most regrettable and lamentable about the Antarctic battlefield right now, Makarov believed it was that Pegmonte's communicator was broken. Otherwise, had he been listening to the battle reports while fighting, Daie might already have been chopped to death. As it stood, in pursuing Daie, he had chased the creature so relentlessly that he had vanished himself. Makarov had to find Peg and tell him what was happening on the Eastern Front. *** On the Eastern Front. What the Little Prince had observed and worried about was not without merit. Han Qingyu's combat power was not yet stable; maintaining such an ultra-limit burst and the assault of myriad blades bowing in homage for any prolonged duration was indeed exceedingly difficult. He had only barely managed it by capitalizing on the brief window of strength unlocked in the instant Yanxiu manifested. Strictly speaking, that fleeting burst of power was not something he could replicate through ordinary effort or desperation alone. The continuous fading of the molten dragon was the physical manifestation of this strained condition. Therefore, after the homage of myriad blades, his follow-through had already begun to flag. Yet the Stream Blades warriors before him had fought, suffered casualties, and sustained wounds all along the way; they could no longer withstand a direct head-on collision from that super-swarm of dajian... Especially the wedge formation spearheaded by seventeen Red Shoulders—wherever it passed, nothing could possibly withstand it. Wu Xu would certainly step forward to block it, and then he would die. Then Rusty Sister would die. Theodore would die. Weize would die... And so, Han Qingyu had no choice but to use himself as the conduit, triggering an explosive burst from the shattering of the Yanxiu dragon silhouette to unleash a second, far more potent strike... Molten Calamity. Guided by the column sword, Han Qingyu's figure suddenly blasted into the dajian horde, plunging straight into the cluster of Red Shoulders. In the very first instant, both blades struck. Two Red Shoulders crashed to the ground—the one struck by his left blade dead, the one struck by his right crippled. The remaining fifteen Red Shoulders continued pouncing toward him as the boundless dajian swarm surged forward. At the same time, the giant dragon in the sky lowered its head, roaring as it swooped down... Crashing down over them, it shattered. When the dragon silhouette broke apart, a massive halo expanded like a brilliant cloud of shimmering powder, outshining the aurora and enveloping nearly the entire dajian swarm. The thousands upon thousands of dead iron weapons suspended midair rained down in its wake. Icefield Starfall. This was actually a term coined later by foreigners, translated over into Chinese. The people of Huaxia did not particularly care for the phrase "starfall," as it carried an ominous connotation, yet even they had to admit that the name was undeniably fitting. "Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh... Boom! Boom!" Sounds and spectacles resembling a saturation bombardment by heavy artillery, yet wrought entirely from cold dead iron. Thousands of dead iron weapons reflecting multicolored streams of light poured down diagonally in an instant. In the satellite feed of the Refusers, the scene resembled a magnificent meteor shower, countless celestial stones slamming into the earth at speeds far beyond normal limits. People watched as a charging dajian was abruptly impaled through the abdomen by one of their own column swords, pinned to the ground and unable to move. They saw Major Qing's figure standing in the thick of the Red Shoulders, while overhead, an endless cascade of dead iron weapons crashed down in succession before him and all around him. "Qingzi!" Second Lieutenant Shen Yixiu's shout echoed across the icefield. And then, no one could hear or see anything anymore. Deafening rumbles resounded endlessly. The ice shattered, hundreds of fissures snaking from the battlefield all the way to the feet of the Stream Blades warriors. Churned into the air, snow and ice filled the sky, as though in an instant a towering wall of ice and frost had been erected across the plain. *Song...* Wu Xu surged forward. Then a suit of iron armor charged ahead, followed by Theodore, Weize, He Tangtang, Regiment Commander Storm, Black Tooth... All the elite combatants of Stream Blades charged forward en masse, ready to join the fray. Yet in the end, they all halted outside the wall of ice. Over the communicator, Wen Jifei stubbornly demanded that they halt. Unwilling to retreat, they stopped right there. *Hoo!* *Hoo!* No one spoke. The Eastern Front, the Azure Command, the Sole Witness Legion Headquarters of Huaxia, and that solitary human source energy craft still cruising in the sky, its pilot channel... all fell silent at this moment. Asia, Europa, and America... Even in Huaxia, inside the home of the Han family in Fenglong'ao, it was the same: not a single person spoke. *Hoo!* *Hoo!* The entire world breathed heavily before this spectacle. *Hoo!* *Hoo...* *Hoo!* At a certain moment on the Eastern Front, a Stream Blades warrior suddenly heard his own breathing again, and then saw the mist condensing from his breath before his eyes. The thunderous roar of dead iron weapons pounding the earth had ceased. Amidst the shrill, agonized shrieks of "beasts," the icefield returned to "peace." Then, the wall of ice and snow before their eyes began to collapse, settling slowly toward the ground... The falling snow refilled the craters scarred into the ice. It blanketed the weapons that had finally come to rest, including the blades flown in from fallen comrades. It blanketed the mangled corpses of dajian strewn across the ground. It blanketed the foul-smelling blue and blue-red blood that soaked the ice. In this instant, the battle had only lasted a heartbeat, yet the battlefield felt as though years had slipped by. *** "Qingzi." It was still Second Lieutenant Shen Yixiu's voice. At last, they saw Major Qing's figure once more. He stood with his back to them, covered in the marks of battle. Before him, the ground was densely littered and impaled with all kinds of dead iron weapons... If the Icefield Starfall elsewhere had been a scattered barrage, then the area directly in front of Han Qingyu had been a focused bombardment. With himself acting as the focal guide and anchor for the assault, hundreds and thousands of concentrated strikes had rained down until the very end. "...He slaughtered the Red Shoulder pack!" The consensus of the human world was overturned. The seventeen Red Shoulders that had seemed unstoppable just moments ago were now at least half dead, while the rest lay grievously wounded on the ground, incapable of mounting another attack. All accomplished by one man, and a sky full of blades. Everyone watched that silhouette in trembling silence. Even though a vast number of surviving dajian remained on the battlefield—living, moving—they were clearly dazed, disoriented, and utterly bereft of wits. *Should we charge?* Wu Xu wondered. Theodore wondered. *Should we charge?* the soldiers wondered. They were waiting. At last, the silhouette stirred. The blade in his right hand hung naturally, angled toward the ground. He slowly raised his left arm, and his left-hand battleblade flew back from across the battlefield. Han Qingyu caught the blade, gripping it horizontally. Keeping his arm raised without lowering it, he slowly turned his head to the right. He did not turn completely around; in the end, it was merely a glance cast slightly over his shoulder. Nor did he speak a single word. Yet every member of Stream Blades seemed to hear in that glance: *Aren't you coming with me?!* *Song! Song-song-song-song...* All three formations of Stream Blades erupted with source energy in unison. Across the icefield, thousands of red moths to the flame surged and fluttered forward at once. Mid-charge, the three formations coalesced, reforming into a colossal arrowhead wedge that flooded behind his back. "Kill!" they roared. "I vow, I shall march with you, my destiny and blade following where you lead, until your banner stands eternal atop the vault, or I am turned to ash and scattered..." they shouted. Amidst the soldiers' roaring, the Little Prince clutched his wound as he followed, grinning with sly smugness. He had composed those words himself back then, purely because he knew Han Qingyu would despise them, specifically to cringe him out... Yet hearing them now, even he felt moved, his nose stinging and his eyes prickling. Forcing himself back to reality, the Little Prince told himself that being able to disgust him even at a time like this felt so damn satisfying. Han Qingyu had already turned back around. Idly swapping his source energy block, he wore an expression caught between weary tears and laughter as he looked toward the still vast yet disorganized swarm of dajian ahead. *Song!* The moment his source energy erupted, however, he failed to shoot forward. Like a train that stalled on departure, Han Qingyu froze in place. *Pop.* A faint sound, followed by blood. A crimson mist sprayed from nearly every pore of his body. Because his back was turned to the others and he wore a full black combat uniform, this went unnoticed by the vast majority. Except for Wu Xu and the few standing closest behind him. They saw it. Suddenly, they saw Qingzi's clothes become drenched and blood dripping down his trousers, rapidly pooling on the ice below... "Qing..." Rusty Sister's voice choked with hesitation. Yet, *Song!* "Boss Dao has manifested!" Wiping his face with one hand, his power erupting once more, Han Qingyu shouted and charged straight out.