Shield of the Rose

The clear weather finally passed. Winter in Monstoke was marked by heavy snowstorms continuously from after the initial snowfall all the way until the following spring.

The cloud cover overhead hung thick and heavy, blotting out the sun and turning the sky a dismal grey. Goose-feather snowflakes fell relentlessly, painting the landscape in pure white.

Staring at this endless white for too long induced a subtle sense of nausea, and the high-altitude chill penetrated even his sealed combat suit beneath his armor.

Pushing his observation scope to maximum magnification, Richie steeply pitched his hang glider downward, diving out of the cloud layer in a single swift motion.

Below lay a sprawling city. Though smaller than the capital, Peines, it was far larger and more prosperous than his hometown, Glasslovar. Yet right now, aside from a few intact structures in the city center, the vast urban expanse lay in complete ruins.

It was a true wasteland—hardly a standing wall remained, replaced by massive mounds of brick, rubble, collapsed pillars, and shattered beams.

Crete was the provincial capital of Quinnco and the central hub of the central-southern region. Once the headquarters for the Fourth Theater Command, it had served as the focal point of fierce contention when the war broke out.

Hundreds of thousands of troops and thousands of knights had locked horns here for over a month, ultimately reducing the metropolis to rubble.

Yet despite its destruction, its strategic value remained entirely undiminished.

The moment he broke through the clouds, Richie rapidly gathered intelligence.

Enormous military encampments ringed the city’s periphery, while major intersections within were heavily blockaded by barricades built from rubble. Former public squares were now covered under massive tarpaulin structures, serving as field hospitals or supply depots.

Richie didn’t rush back into the clouds. He had grown far bolder, aided considerably by the heavy snowfall.

In such blizzard conditions, few bothered to look up at the sky; even if someone did, falling flakes severely obscured their vision.

Circling a quarter of the city’s perimeter, Richie re-entered the clouds, emerging over a different sector moments later.

Changing his observation angle allowed him to peer through the windows of intact buildings to assess their internal operations. Judging by officer uniforms and room layouts, he could analyze each building’s function.

After one complete circuit, Richie had a clear mental picture.

His next task was determining the exact number of garrisoned knights.

Though Crete was a major city, it no longer sat on the front line; the Fourth Theater’s focal point had shifted northward, making Crete a rear supply node.

For an important rear city, a single knight corps at most would be stationed here for defense.

To calculate the number of knights, one simply needed to count their equipment transport vehicles.

Although the Varedin forces had also formed rapid-mobility units modeled after Squad 105—abandoning clumsy equipment transports in favor of roller-skates to traverse rugged terrain—such units remained a minority overall.

Thus, tallying the equipment transports provided an accurate estimate of the garrison’s knight count.

Recording the location of every transport vehicle below, Richie climbed back into the cloud layer.

He had gathered a clear overview: the garrisoned knight corps was dispersed across distinct sectors, with individual squads holding specific zones and a single squadron holding the city center.

Richie didn’t fly far, landing in a valley roughly forty kilometers outside Crete.

Unlike Polmo, the terrain here was less extreme—the hills were modest, and the valley was merely a low expanse between two ridgelines a few kilometers apart.

The moment he touched down, a figure darted out—Randy.

Unstrapping his hang glider, Richie ran toward the woods, where a white camouflage net was suspended. From above, it appeared as nothing more than a snowdrift.

Randy hadn’t come out merely to greet him; carrying a broom, she hastily swept away all landing tracks while backing into the woods.

Snowfall brought both advantages and drawbacks: while new snow quickly buried tracks, fresh footprints remained glaringly obvious until covered.

Sweeping away every trace, Randy backed beneath the camouflage net.

Suddenly, a soft gasp escaped her lips.

“Don’t… I need to contact Calli and the others first,” Randy protested.

Even as she spoke, a large hand behind her unfastened the crotch latch of her suit.

Though her words voiced reluctance, her actions yielded willingly; offering no real resistance after a faint struggle, she let him proceed.

Only Richie possessed the audacity for such boldness—and he hadn’t even taken off his armor.

Richie’s time as a handyman hadn’t been wasted, nor had his reading of armor design manuals. While designing a suit from scratch was beyond him, executing minor modifications was well within his capabilities.

Behind Yiluo and the researchers’ backs, using tools brought from Polmo, he had quietly modified his Yaksha armor.

The Yaksha’s crotch originally featured a fixed armor plate, which he had re-engineered to fold downward, creating a narrow saddle-like seat.

Lifting Randy onto the seat, Richie drove his rigid length straight into her body. Simultaneously, a rapidly vibrating tail inserted into her rear passage.

Ever since discovering its unique utility, Richie had dismantled the tail upon returning, uncovering its secret: a double-walled structure with a loose brass core that vibrated violently when energized.

Replicating the effect deliberately had proven simple.

The current tail vibrated with far greater frequency and amplitude than the original prototype.

Its effect was immediate: the moment it entered, Randy’s vaginal passage flooded with lubrication, trickling down her thighs onto the ground.

Having experienced this several times, she had built up a slight tolerance, preventing her from collapsing as quickly as before.

As for shame, Randy no longer cared. Every woman who had been taken by Richie had tried every erotic variation—their mouths, vaginas, and rears had received countless loads of seed, often leaving them drenched until morning. Even Calli and Dana had records of being driven to incontinence.

Growing accustomed to such intense sexual stimulation meant her desires had grown far stronger than before.

Recalling this, Randy felt a blush of intense embarrassment. Every woman involved with Richie shared the same realization: their sexual appetites had outgrown even Lina’s former insatiability.

During Richie’s absence, they had tried resolving their desires through self-pleasure, only to find the inner fire burning hotter rather than cooling, forcing them to douse themselves in ice water to suppress it. Some had even tried comforting each other, to no avail. As for seeking other men, none entertained the thought—not out of romantic fidelity, but because they instinctively knew no other man could satisfy them.

Randy raised her legs high over the armor’s shoulders, jutting her hips back so Richie’s massive member could penetrate as deeply as possible.

Amidst waves of dizzying pleasure, her mind drifted into a hazy blur.

She wondered how long this relationship would continue and what the future held. Settling down with an ordinary man and building a traditional family seemed impossible for her now; perhaps she would maintain this secret bond with Richie indefinitely.

Suddenly, a realization struck her: she wanted a child.

Unwed motherhood was taboo for ordinary citizens, often drawing judgment from society, but for knights it was entirely normal. A knight’s child was sent to a knight academy for boarding education at a young age, making traditional family structures secondary. Randy reached down, gently caressing his thick length and cupping his testicles.

This member provided women with unprecedented pleasure, yet lacked the most crucial function.

As a intense wave of pleasure radiated from deep within, Randy’s body arched backward, her fingers gripping the armor plating until her nails produced a sharp scraping sound.

Her mind went completely blank.

In that instant of mental emptiness, a vivid memory flashed through her mind.

The secret laboratory hidden within the mountain peak.

Scattered documents, the burning incinerator… every detail floated before her eyes.

A memory crystal disc used for recording data—unlike standard recording devices, its contents could only be read by Psions.

By some strange impulse, she had hidden that crystal disc without telling anyone, later reading its contents in secret.

What she read inside had left her trembling with shock.

She had considered destroying the disc, but right now, she recalled that certain experiments recorded on it seemed capable of resolving Richie’s condition!

---

Around four in the afternoon, the main column finally caught up. With Richie scouting from above, enemy positions and blind spots were mapped with absolute clarity, allowing the column to smoothly bypass the seam between the Fourth and Fifth Theaters.

This area was the most complex sector of the front. In the Fifth Theater, the Alliance had pushed deep to capture Polmo, advancing so rapidly that fifty to sixty thousand Republic troops remained encircled behind their lines. To contain these forces, the Alliance maintained heavy garrisons in their rear. Meanwhile, the Fourth Theater presented a different picture: the Alliance had shattered the main body of the Fourth Theater’s defenders, compressing the survivors into small pockets while facing off against advancing Republic reinforcements.

Thus, the boundary between the two theaters presented a chaotic, overlapping front line. While a nimble unit like Squad 105 could easily slip through—especially with friendly forces receiving them—guiding a massive column through was immensely difficult.

“You arrived too early,” Richie grumbled. According to the original plan, the main column should have arrived after nightfall.

Fortunately, the camouflage netting was vast enough to conceal an entire corps.

“Something feels wrong. Starting this afternoon, Alliance troop movements became remarkably frequent, with columns marching forward as if preparing a major operation,” Dana explained.

With his master speaking, Richie naturally held his tongue.

“Scout Crete again later. Things there might have shifted as well,” Calli assigned Richie another task.

“Are they trying to rescue those two elite corps?” Richie asked.

“It’s possible. But for us, massive enemy movements provide the perfect excuse to avoid rendezvous with our receiving forces,” Lina chimed in from the side. “If we knew this earlier, we wouldn’t have needed to throw your Squad Tribe out as bait.”

“You can’t look at it that way,” Calli said, taking a broader view as squad leader. “Having Squad Tribe impersonate us gives our receiving corps a proper explanation. If sudden enemy reinforcements prevent us from breaking out, no one can hold us accountable.”

Though spoken in her usual cool tone, Calli’s words carried a pragmatic calculation.

Ice had two faces: cold and pure on one side, yet slick and ungraspable on the other.

Only Squad 105 members understood Calli’s true nature, which was why everyone respected her leadership.

“That squad is somewhat pitiable. Isn’t giving them such a task a bit too harsh?” Rosa expressed pity rather than her usual wildness. Squad 105 had often been assigned dangerous tasks by High Command; though they accepted every mission, resentment lingered. Now that they issued orders, commanding others on life-threatening missions made Rosa feel uneasy.

“When did you become so sentimental? Did something go wrong during your training?” Lina asked in confusion.

“Don’t worry, those guys won’t mind,” Trisli walked over with a smile. “The little guy did a fantastic job fooling them all. Didn’t you notice? Squad Tribe looks at you with deep reverence. When we get the chance later, teaching them a few techniques will be more than enough compensation.”

Squad 105 members cared little for external admiration, but Trisli was acutely sensitive to it. Living under the ‘Genius Maiden’ title, she was surrounded by admiring gazes daily and understood the mindset of her admirers.

“Besides, I don’t think they’ll face real danger. The little guy’s combat skills might be average, but his survival skills are top-tier. Since he trained that squad, their survival skills won’t be lacking either.”

Trisli had grown familiar with Richie, knowing casual teasing strengthened their bond.

The genius maiden’s remark left Richie dissatisfied. He hardly considered his skills average, though he didn’t dare argue with Trisli—her strength exceeded even Lina’s, and while he had killed Honorary Knights, fighting Trisli would only result in a beating.

“Alright, stop teasing him. Save your energy for tonight’s operation,” Calli asserted her captain’s authority. Though Trisli held great fame, no one in Squad 105 except Robin paid it much mind.

---

Snow continued to fall, growing heavier after ten at night.

Prior to launch, Richie conducted another aerial recon run.

Whether because Crete was vital or its garrison lacked numbers, the garrisoned knight corps showed no signs of redeployment. Instead, several convoys entered the city at dusk.

Most vehicles carried prisoners of war—around five to six thousand in total.

These POWs were herded into an open-air square, shivering in the freezing wind and huddling together for warmth.

A portion of the prisoners were clearly knights, confined in a special enclosure surrounded by a earthen wall guarded by Alliance knights piloting Iron Crusaders.

Not all vehicles brought POWs; a smaller portion brought one to two thousand wounded Alliance soldiers from the front.

With so many vehicles arriving, Crete’s few clear thoroughfares were completely gridlocked.

Observing these changes, Richie immediately returned to report.

Armed with this fresh recon report, the original plan to rout Crete’s garrison was upgraded to a total annihilation sweep, with the newly arrived POWs serving as the key to success.

With the ultimate objective revised, the plan was overhauled completely. Richie was no longer soloing the HQ raid—four others joined his assault group.

They now had to strike the HQ while simultaneously liberating and securing the POWs.

At ten-fifteen, five hang gliders soared silently over Crete. Aside from Richie’s glider, built from light metal and timber, the other four were crude frames stretched with oilcloth, appearing clunky but functional enough for gliding.

Suspended beneath were five Yaksha suits, each customized with distinct weaponry and structural tweaks.

Yiluo had uncovered over a dozen Yaksha frames in Polmo’s vault, bringing them all along.

Before leaving, the frames were modified, replacing heavy metal components with lightweight materials. Disassembled into parts and stowed in wagons, Yiluo and his researchers reassembled four additional Yaksha suits in half a day, tailoring them to Squad 105’s Aura characteristics after months of testing and maintenance work together.

The four joining Richie were Trisli, Lina, Rosa, and Merlin—the strongest lineup Squad 105 could field, and the pinnacle force of this temporary corps.

Two thin, sturdy ox-tendon ropes extended from Richie’s glider, towing the four behind him.

It was an extremely risky plan, with the flight phase posing the greatest danger.

Though Richie and the four had tested the towing method at dusk—confirming its feasibility from a launch site just twenty kilometers outside Crete—no one could guarantee zero mishaps.

If something went wrong, all five would plunge to their deaths.

Meanwhile, ground forces had taken position outside the scanning grid, ready to charge Crete from multiple directions the moment Richie’s team initiated the strike.

Ground forces selected gentle downhill routes, covering twenty kilometers in fifteen minutes at top speed without conserving energy.

Thus, Richie’s team needed to hold out for at most fifteen minutes.

While drafting the plan, hijacking a convoy to infiltrate had been considered, but the Alliance had adapted to that trick, requiring password and unit verification before allowing any vehicle to approach.

Circling slowly in the night sky amidst falling snow, Richie looked down at the ruined city, feeling a relief settle over him.

The greatest hazard was behind them; reaching Crete’s airspace meant half the plan was accomplished.

Nighttime Crete appeared eerie: only the city center showed clusters of light, while the rest lay in pitch darkness, interspersed with ruined piles resembling burial mounds.

Reaching the airspace directly above the city center, Richie switched on his transceiver.

“Little Bird in position, awaiting further orders.”

Calli’s voice quickly responded: “Any changes on the ground?”

Richie pushed his scope to maximum magnification, scanning the vehicles and armor positions below.

After ten minutes of observation, he reported, “All clear. All targets remain in their original positions.”

“Initiate attack,” Calli commanded decisively.

At the order, Richie pitched his glider downward, diving like a hawk zeroing in on prey. The ox-tendon ropes behind him snapped taut, towing the four gliders into a steep dive.

Two to three hundred meters above the ground, Richie pulled up sharply, releasing the tow ropes as the four female knights detached from their gliders.

Ordinary knights dropping from such a height would suffer severe injury or death.

Yet these four were Ace Knights, each possessing specialized survival techniques.

Rosa and Merlin cultivated wind-attribute Disciplines, so Richie had shared his ‘Wind Control’ technique with them upon reuniting. Though their short practice prevented soaring flight, steering wind currents locally was well within their grasp.

Both spread their limbs, exposing thick canvas webbing attached to their Yaksha suits that caught the air like gliding squirrels, carrying them toward a nearby garrison.

Lina and Trisli employed entirely different methods. Lina’s approach was brutal and direct: she drew her broad knight’s sword—a weapon designed for standard armor that appeared absurdly oversized against the sleek Yaksha.

Holding the massive blade inverted in a dagger grip with both hands, she drove the point downward as she landed.

Targeted below was a five-story building—the most intact structure remaining in Crete, identified by Richie as the enemy HQ during daytime recon.

When the blade tip struck the roof, it didn’t pierce through as expected. Instead, like a massive hammer striking an iron plate, the entire building shuddered, its roof tiles rippling like waves.

Constructed from brick, concrete, steel, and glass—none of which possessed elasticity—the building vibrated like water under Lina’s full-force blow, unable to absorb the energy safely.

First, window glass exploded outward under immense pressure, shattering into countess shards.

No one screamed or fled; the shockwave reached the ground floor long before the glass shattered.

Knights inside the building were caught completely off guard, their blood vessels rupturing from the shockwave despite their physical strength.

Ordinary humans suffered far worse: most died instantly of cerebral hemorrhages as the shockwave swept through.

Those who survived faced a grimmer fate as the structure collapsed inward, layer by layer, burying everyone beneath a mountain of debris.

Dust billowed into the air. Moments later, Lina emerged slowly from the haze, shouldering her massive sword as her gaze swept toward the nearby POW enclosure.

Someone was looking back at her from that direction.

In contrast to Lina’s destructive entry, Trisli’s technique was effortless and refined, lacking any trace of brute force.

Her divine art specialized in ‘Force Manipulation’. Richie’s ‘Mirror Reflection’ was essentially ‘Force Deflection’—impressive in its own right—and Lina’s move was ‘Force Dissipation’.

Deflection required an incoming attack to reflect, making it useless against a defensive opponent.

Dissipation converted external force for personal use, though it still required a conversion process.

‘Force Manipulation’ had no such limitation, directly commanding external forces at will.

The instant before crashing to the ground, her body snapped sideways, shifting her vertical descent into a horizontal glide.

Six Alliance knights stood guard atop the earthen wall surrounding the POW enclosure. As Trisli descended, none had time to react.

In the blink of an eye, Trisli’s blade struck. The point tapped lightly against an Iron Crusader, barely piercing its outer armor plate, yet the underlying vibration transmitted through the tip crushed the pilot inside into a mass of mangled flesh. Borrowing the subtle recoil of the strike, Trisli instantly altered direction, darting toward her next target.

Six knights became six corpses in seconds, their armor showing only faint scratches that were nearly impossible to spot without close inspection.

Sheathing her sword just as Lina emerged from the dust cloud, the two old rivals exchanged a brief glance.

Suddenly, alarms wailed through the night, shattering the silence as Crete’s garrison finally reacted.

Heavy armor footfalls echoed alongside the alarms as Alliance knights deployed into battle.

Standing atop the rubble wall, Trisli swept her sword in a casual arc, sending bricks and debris flying as a five-meter gap opened in the barricade.

The POWs inside had grown restless earlier, guessing their rescuers had arrived even without recognizing the strange Yaksha armor.

Intuitively, the captured soldiers assumed a major force was surrounding the city, with this oddly armoed knight serving as the vanguard rescue team.

Without central command or a temporary leader, the POWs reacted swiftly: captured knights scrambled up the wall, clearing the gap to let ordinary soldiers escape first.

The evacuation proceeded in remarkable order.

Trisli pointed in a direction, shouting, “Don’t panic! Head toward that sector! A large warehouse stands one and a half kilometers away—our forces have secured it. You can arm yourselves there, but you must hold out on your own for fifteen minutes!”

The prisoners streamed in the direction Trisli indicated, with captured knights leading the charge.

A distance of 1.5 kilometers was significant for ordinary soldiers, but knights covered it in moments.

Reaching the site, they found a massive warehouse alongside a garrison barracks. Judging by three transport vehicles parked outside, at least one knight squad had been stationed here.

Yet the barracks lay dead silent. One suit of armor lay collapsed across a roof, its weight caving in half the structure.

Two more suits lay across the front drill ground: one dismantled into scattered pieces, the other intact with no visible marks, though its pilot inside was clearly dead.

Though it had been a surprise attack, eliminating a full knight squad in such short time left the watching POWs breathless.

“Don’t stand there gaping! Grab armor—you all know how to pilot Iron Crusader Mk 2s, right?” Merlin called out.

Nearby, Rosa was busy breaking security locks on Alliance armor, using a fine metal wire tipped with a slender white crystal.

Inserting the crystal into the identity verification port present on every armor suit, Rosa wiped away the original user signatures—a trick inherited from her thief mother.

Squad 105 had only recently discovered her unique talent.

The Iron Crusader Mk 2 was the most common model in the Alliance. As long-time adversaries, Republic knights were well-versed in its operation, and many among the freed POWs could pilot it smoothly.

Over two hundred captured knights were present—roughly equal to the number of knights evacuating from Polmo. Rosa couldn’t unlock all suits immediately, managing to clear only four Iron Crusaders at first.

The freed knights exchanged glances, quickly identifying their strongest pilots, who immediately boarded the unlocked suits.

The moment the Iron Crusader Mk 2s powered up, their presence far surpassed the Yaksha—their massive frames alone inspired confidence.

The four suits charged toward the approaching enemy knights. Though Merlin hadn’t issued orders, they knew they had to hold the line.

Light suits like the Yaksha were ideal for infiltration and rescue, but useless in a static line battle; holding out until reinforcements arrived depended on them.

Three of the four were Ace Knights, while the fourth stood on the verge of the rank—the strongest among the freed prisoners. Facing the advancing enemy column, they maintained absolute composure.

All four wielded double-bladed battle axes—standard issue for Alliance forces.

By the mid-to-late phase of the war, standardized armors dominated the field, and weaponry was restricted to three types: knight spears, long axes, and short axes—reducing logistical strain while providing durable, heavy weaponry.

The Alliance was clearly preparing for a prolonged war of attrition.

With a series of explosive thuds, five shockwaves blasted toward the lead Alliance knights.

These improvised suits hadn’t been calibrated, allowing basic operation and combat, but restricting advanced techniques. Only fundamental attacks like shockwaves and vibration waves functioned.

Knights used shockwaves frequently due to their rapid execution and low Aura cost, though their destructive power was minimal. Against thick armor, a direct shockwave hit caused little damage, so the Alliance knights barely paused as they pressed forward.

Yet at that moment, a sudden gust swept past, followed by metallic tearing sounds.

Merlin engaged. Before landing, she had concealed a Thorn Wire around the warehouse perimeter. In the dark night, the wire—treated with acid to render it dull grey and non-reflective—was completely invisible.

The leading Alliance knights ran straight into her hidden snare.

While the Thorn Wire couldn’t inflict severe damage on heavy armor, it damaged vulnerable joints like ankles and knees.

That sufficed to be lethal. Battlefield success relied on coordination, and the four veteran knights working with Merlin seized the opportunity instantly.

Whirling their battle axes into blinding silver arcs, the four plunged directly into enemy ranks.

Since advanced techniques were unavailable, they relied on raw axe strikes.

Meanwhile, another Iron Crusader Mk 2 powered up. Protected by the group, Rosa continued unlocking remaining suits as knights gathered around her, eager to board the moment a lock cleared.

In contrast to the central chaos, outer garrison units remained utterly bewildered.

Four knight squads held the outer perimeter, equipped with Psions who knew only that four Republic armors had appeared in the city center.

They had no idea how the enemy had bypassed the scanning grid, and without the alarms and combat sounds, they would have suspected instrument failure.

Because the enemy count seemed so small, outer garrisons paid little mind, especially since no orders arrived from HQ.

They didn’t know HQ had been wiped out instantly without issuing a single order, nor did they realize the enemy count in the center was rising rapidly as suits were unlocked.

Scanning grids registered enemy armors as red dots, but unlocked Iron Crusaders were Alliance suits, appearing as safe blue markers.

Just as the outer sentries hesitated, numerous red dots suddenly appeared along the outer scanning perimeter.

“Enemy attack! Massive enemy assault!” a Psion yelled.

Outer camps erupted into activity as armor units powered up and spotlights swept across the dark wilderness.

Distant metallic clanks echoing through the dark put immense pressure on the outer sentries.

The scanning grid registered nearly a full squadron of red dots. By standard doctrine, an initial wave deployed at most a quarter of total force as a probe, reserving the main body for the second wave.

The Alliance couldn’t have guessed that these red dots represented the enemy’s total force.

The total count of knights escaping Polmo equaled roughly two and a half squadrons. Deploying everyone in one stroke aimed to catch Crete’s garrison completely off guard—a move that unwittingly led the Alliance to overestimate their numbers.

“Fall back into the city! Abandon the outer line and pull back to the inner ring!” the outer commander ordered.

Had the Republic fielded an entire corps as he assumed, his retreat strategy would have been entirely correct: the inner city’s ruins provided terrible terrain for an offensive.

Yet his core premise was completely wrong.

The knights from Polmo were few in number; facing the garrison in open battle would have yielded a costly victory at best.

Moving into the inner ruins changed everything.

Influenced by Squad 105 and Squad Tribe, this temporary corps excelled at urban combat, featuring a high proportion of light armor equipped with clawed anti-sink adaptations built for Polmo’s marshes. These adaptations allowed them to leap effortlessly across rubble piles that heavy armor feared to tread.

Ignoring Alliance defenders, these light armors leaped from ruin to ruin, tossing walnut-sized spheres that exploded into clouds of thick white smoke.

Within moments, Crete’s outer ring was engulfed in smoke. While rubble zones remained somewhat visible, streets and thoroughfares were completely blinded, resulting in frequent vehicle collisions in the haze.

While outer sectors descended into chaos, the battle in the city center turned brutally fierce.

Massive shockwaves blasted debris in all directions as liberated Republic knights fought furiously to erase their humiliation. Every captured knight had endured unprecedented disgrace, preferring death over recapture.

Knowing their shockwaves lacked killing power, they used them to blow dust into enemy eyes before charging in to strike with battle axes at point-blank range.

It was a suicidal play style.

Under normal conditions, such tactics meant certain death.

Yet the dark night worked to their advantage.

Piloting identical Iron Crusaders, Alliance defenders were thoroughly confused, unable to distinguish friend from foe.

Many Alliance knights shouted “Friendly! We’re on the same side!” right until an axe split their helm.

At that moment, news from the outer perimeter hit the Alliance knights like cold water.

Panic spread through Alliance ranks, with many attempting to break out toward the exterior rather than reinforce the perimeter.

Yet disengaging from the chaotic melee proved impossible.

Countless identical Iron Crusaders scrambled through the center, thoroughly intermingled.

Suddenly, an Iron Crusader Mk 2 latched tightly onto a custom suit belonging to an enemy squad leader.

A deafening explosion erupted as both suits detonated, scattering metal fragments across the field.

Suicidal attacks were rarely considered noble by knights, but to captured soldiers who had suffered unbearable indignity, vengeance trumped survival.

Another explosion detonated elsewhere moments later.

Alliance defenders collapsed into chaos, having never faced such unhinged aggression.

At that moment, dozens of teal light threads shot into the air.

Rosa finally engaged. With 117 Iron Crusader Mk 2s in the warehouse plus nine recovered from the ambushed squad, unlocking them all had taken considerable time.

Rosa’s entry signaled that Merlin was freed from guard duty.

Teal threads struck into Alliance ranks, each hitting a target suit.

While ordinary pilots couldn’t distinguish friend from foe, Squad 105 members possessed a clear marking system: Rosa had marked every unlocked suit with phosphorescent paint visible only through special lenses.

With a series of soft thuds, a dozen struck suits wobbled. Teal threads didn’t penetrate outer plates—a single thread lacked sufficient force—but the shock transmitted inward left the pilots disoriented.

Rosa’s ‘Thousand Threads’ technique was considered one of the finest battlefield divine arts for good reason.

Like Merlin’s approach, Rosa targeted incapacitation rather than instant kills, adhering to the pre-battle plan.

Killing was left to others.

Rosa’s attack exposed her position, prompting four Alliance knights to abandon their opponents and charge her.

A ring of grey shadow suddenly swept outward as Merlin stepped in. Among the five infiltrators, she and Rosa functioned as a paired unit, while Lina and Trisli fought independently and Richie provided aerial overwatch.

Wielding her Thorn Wire, Merlin enclosed a ten-meter radius in a swirling ring of shadow that moved like a living serpent.

One charging knight swung a broadsword at the wire, unleashing a blinding white energy blade that appeared irresistible.

Sparks showered as the Thorn Wire severed, but the two severed segments whipped forward like twin serpents, binding the knight’s arms.

With a series of metallic snaps, the armor’s arms were sheared off at the elbows, dropping to the ground. Simultaneously, a teal thread pierced the unarmored neck joint, killing the pilot instantly.

The severed wire segments re-coiled around each other, restoring the continuous line. The interlocking barbs of the Thorn Wire allowed severed ends to latch securely together, maintaining function despite prior damage.

Restored, the grey shadow swept toward the remaining three foes.

Seeing their squad leader slain in a single stroke, the three panicked. Knowing they were outmatched, they scattered to flee.

Yet fleeing came too late. The dark red glow split into three currents, slithering across the ground to intercept them within seconds.

All three responded identically, swinging their weapons to form defensive barriers.

The currents were severed into multiple pieces, yet the segments surged forward, wrapping around their limbs and necks.

Following a series of metallic snaps, all three suits collapsed to the ground.

​