VI

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  Arc VI Chapter 23

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  Anno Imperii 05.08.1936

  Her friends had the courtesy to not make her wait. A dozen of them accepted her invitation, piling on her from all directions.

  “Stand fast!!! Defensive posture!” An officer barked, organising the defence. “Don’t let her through! We must contain her!”

  “Show her what the Guard is made of!!!”

  Orders were issued, but the momentum did not favour her friends. Aurora darted faster than they were able to process, circling around them, parrying, countering, attacking, her blade firm in her hands. It happened quickly, in a fraction of a moment. In the blink of an eye, their fate was decided.

  For a change, the flat side of her blade was put to good use. The voices inside her whispered in the heat of battle, tempting her to resort to more lethal means and methods, but she dismissed such notions. The mission parameters left no doubt. This was an exercise, not mortal combat. Lethal use of force was not desired.

  “Dammit!!! Concentrate fire! Fire at will!!!” the officer shouted. “Take her down!”

  Everything exploded. A blur of motion. Flashes of steel. Stray bullets missing their mark. The might of spells and magic. Glimmers of brilliant purple mana. Everywhere at once, yet nowhere. Fluid and swift. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. Her heartbeat escalated. Her breathing accelerated. The world around her faded. It was pertinent to maintain speed and tempo. It was pertinent to retain momentum and initiative. It was pertinent to press her advantage.

  Her blade caught her next adversary by surprise. He never knew what hit him. Literally. Her adversary was swiftly dispatched.

  Aurora shifted her body, her weight to and fro. Parry, deflect, counter, attack. She was relentless. She was merciless. A purple symphony of mana and steel. Three down. Four down. Five down. Six down. Seven down. Eight down.

  Her adversaries fought. They resisted. In vain. They were uncoordinated. They were unprepared. Their fire was imprecise. They hesitated at the crucial moment. They had barely any time to register what was happening, which was intentional on her part. Tempo favoured her superior senses. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. A few remained.

  It was cute how they hoped to overwhelm her, capitalising on their numbers, yet her person eluded them, always a step ahead, always beyond their grasp. Aurora increased her tempo. 13. 15. 18. 22. 27. 33. Her attacks were relentless. Her strikes calculated. Her steps precise. Her breath calm. It was a dance, beautiful yet deadly. A sweep of her leg. A swift strike. A sharp blade. A deft twist. Rifles, blades, pistols, bayonets sent skittering. Broken arms. Broken ribs. Broken spirits. A sea of beaten up soldiers. A row of roughed up sergeants. A few noble sons licking their wounds. A groaning officer. And a lot of wounded pride and egos left and right. It was a slightly painful experience, but such was ... inevitable considering the circumstances.

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  Silence settled over the trench and Aurora proceeded, further advancing on her objective. The mission must be accomplished. The flag must be captured. And so it would.

  A glimmer of purple surrounded her, coating her in a brilliant aura. Aurora increased her pace, her abundant mana reserves fuelling her speed, fuelling her legs. Mana and adrenaline rushed through her veins, coursed through her body. Their effect was immediate. Their taste exhilarating, elating, intoxicating. They revitalised, energised, invigorated her senses. They urged her to continue, to carry on, to fight on.

  Aurora gripped her sword. The enemy was near, but so was she. Following the trench line, Aurora crossed the corner, before being forced to an abrupt halt. It was an ambush. Obviously. One of the nastier kind. The Guard took her under heavy fire. A battery of anti tank guns greeted her, zeroed in on her. Point blank. What a pleasant surprise. 12 guns in total. Positioned circularly. Entrenched. The most recent models. Factory new without a single speck of rust on their gun shields and with a fresh coat of paint, no less. Calibre, 5 cm L/60. Ammunition, presumably APCBC. Possibly APAECBC. Supported by a healthy dose of lead. 8x57. Her friends never disappointed her. Not that she had expected anything less.

  They opened fire the moment she stuck her head out, unleashing hell on her. The rounds and bullets flew, painting the entire horizon pure white. The flashes blinded her. The sheer volume of fire barred her way. Round after round, bullet after bullet clashing against her shielding, against layers of hardened mana, only to deform upon impact. This was her moment.

  Aurora steeled her resolve, opting for a frontal assault, head on, right into the fray like the armoured knights of old. It was time to throw the dice. Admittedly, a rather unsophisticated approach on her part, heavy handed even by her standards, and certainly suicidal for the common rank and file, but restraints in terms of time and space necessitated more drastic measures. Not that resistance was expected to be lighter elsewhere.

  Her shielding took the brunt of the incoming fire, so far, without major complaints and only some minor persuasion required. Her mana was her shield and armour. Her shield was riddled with cracks and perforations. Yet her shielding would stand strong. Not that she had much of a choice without her predictably dying in the process. The position must be taken. The position would be taken.

  Fortunately, the distance she was required to cover was short. Hardly a few dozen meters left. Her mere presence sufficed to make her adversaries nervous. The soldiers kept their nerves, defiant, but their unease was palpable. She could see it in their eyes. They knew that she could not be stopped, only postponed.

  Her shielding weathered the storm of steel, allowing her to navigate through the wall of fire. Rounds and bullets passed by the second, grazing her shielding. Aurora rushed the nearest gun, her momentum and speed carrying her. It was impossible to change course at this point. A handful of metres separated them. A mere second. She was close, so close.

  The crew had one last round to put her out of commission. It was their last shot. It was impossible to miss from this range. She would not be able to dodge. And they knew so.

  The barrel lit up. The propellant ignited. The expanding gases accelerated the slug of metal to supersonic speeds. The round span, the nose rotated, putting their ballistic properties to good use. Her mana hardened in an instant, her magic protecting its mistress.

  The round and her shield collided. Unstoppable force met an immovable object. The projectile struck, the steel grinding against her shielding, shrieking, screeching, abrasive, sparks sent flying everywhere. The round faltered. The tungsten core yielded. Her shield prevailed. The projectile shattered, disintegrated. The projectile failed to penetrate. It was over.

  Aurora darted, her petite feet racing down the gun barrel past the gun shield, the barrel serving as an improvised stepping stone. The gun crew offered no resistance, unable to react, the soldiers manning the gun left petrified, stunned, shocked, their jaws dropping in utter disbelief. Just a moment ago, they had seen her with their own eyes take a shot from point blank. And survive it, no less. Their surprise ... was understandable and well received.

  Her boot crashed into the loader, her heel sending the poor guy flying with sufficient force to knock him out. Painful, but necessary, all things considered. The path was cleared. The impromptu gun line was overcome.

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