Following in Roselia’s wake, I stepped into a manor swallowed by fire and smoke.
The approach to the entrance was a wreckage, looking for all the world like it had been the target of an airstrike. Garden trees were reduced to charred husks. Fragments of shattered flagstones, ornamental stone statues, and demolished gateposts lay scattered everywhere.
There were scorched handprints and footprints on the walls—and then, they abruptly cut off.
Shreds of meat that had lost all semblance of form lay drying into a dark, rusty red. The pungent stench of iron and burnt hair made me grimace. In the distance, I thought I heard a faint, rattling groan amidst the smoke... but even when I strained my ears, nothing moved.
We hadn't made it in time.
The thunder of gunfire and explosions overlapped in the distance, sending vibrations through the very air. They were certainly being flamboyant about it.
I looked ahead and spotted her.
Roselia.
She forged ahead, her massive frame grinding rubble into dust. With every step that metal prosthetic leg took, the ground beneath us shuddered. She glanced back for a fraction of a second, jerking her chin in a silent command. Her expression was a clear jab: Keep up, slowpoke.
No way in hell I can match your leg strength, I thought. Combat isn't exactly my wheelhouse.
Still, it grated on me to be left behind. I flicked the hem of my jacket and picked up the pace, staying close enough that I wouldn't lose sight of her.
Roselia glanced back again and smirked. It was a satisfied grin, as if to say, "That’s the spirit."
Good grief. Look at that smug face.
Eventually, the heart of the estate—the courtyard—came into view. As we crossed the ruins of a burnt-out fountain, flashes from an intense firefight streaked across my vision.
The party had already started.
Roselia slowed her pace, and I followed suit. Deployed in the center of the garden, using a collapsed flowerbed for cover, was a squad from the Seventh Tactical Control Division. They had set up deployable barricades, and members in black jackets were currently laying down a heavy barrage toward the main building.
However, even a layman could see they were being outgunned. With every incoming shot, the walls chipped and the ground was gouged out. Lines of fire streaked overhead, forcing the squad members to duck and scream over the din.
One of them noticed our arrival, looking up with a grim, wry smile.
"You're late, Boss. The party's already in full swing."
It was a seasoned voice belonging to a middle-aged officer with a cigarette dangling from his lips. A flicker of relief crossed his face.
"My apologies. It seems my invitation was delayed in the mail," Roselia replied. She crouched low and slid through the storm of bullets, her boots skidding across the dirt as she dipped behind the barricade.
I followed her in, catching the man's eye.
Ah, I recognized him. He was one of the guys I’d worked with on a previous job for Roselia. I gave a small wave, and he returned the gesture with another dry smirk.
Behind us, the other squad members maintained a rotating rhythm of suppressive fire. The sharp, ozone-like scent of energy cells and explosives stung my nostrils, and the air itself seemed to warp from the intense heat.
"Our team is holding the relay point here," the man explained. "We’ve got one team inside and another on the perimeter. Both took heavy casualties; they’re currently falling back while trying to protect a few servants. We want to move in and support them—but those bastards are in the way."
He jerked his chin toward the garden. I peered through a gap in the barricade.
There they were.
Two silhouettes moved through the rubble at the far end of the garden. They were wielding vehicle-mounted heavy energy machine guns, swinging the massive weapons around as if they were toys. They wore armored suits, but their movements were fundamentally wrong—their musculature rippled with a fluidity that had none of the mechanical clunkiness unique to prosthetics.
They fired indifferently, their faces devoid of any emotion. They looked less like men and more like dolls.
It was a sickening sight.
"...Are those the targets?" I asked.
"Yeah. Those things can't be human. You can pepper them with lead, and they just keep shooting back with those dead-eyed stares. Whatever they are—androids or prosthetics—their power output is off the charts."
Roselia cracked her knuckles. "Perfect. I was starting to worry this wouldn't be a challenge."
She gave me a sharp nod.
Yeah, yeah, I hear you.
Without saying a word, I reached down and scooped up about a dozen pebble-sized fragments of rubble. The scorched stones were still warm, the heat seeping into my palm.
Roselia’s fingers cut through the air in a series of swift, silent hand signs—the shorthand used by the Tactical Control Division. I’d spent enough time around her to memorize them, much to my chagrin.
I watched her signal and gave a single nod.
The next moment, we both vaulted from cover, splitting off to the left and right.
Dust kicked up as we tore through the shimmering heat. The enemies' focus split. For a fraction of a second, their barrage faltered.
A squad member seized that opening, rising from behind the barricade with a recoilless launcher propped on his shoulder. Before, the suppression fire had been too thick for anyone to expose themselves, but our sudden dash had forced the enemies to divide their attention.
After a moment of hesitation, they swung their heavy energy guns toward us. Bright light began to converge in the muzzles—
"You certainly seem motivated," I muttered.
I flicked the fragments of rubble from my fingertips.
The shards scattered into the air. I focused my consciousness on the debris.
《Target: Ornamental Stone Statue》 《Damage Rate: 99%》 《Repair?: Materials are sufficient》
Multiple system panels flooded my vision, dyeing the world white.
Do it.
The moment I issued the mental command, the floating rubble trembled. The air itself seemed to bristle as the fragments "remembered" their original form. With a thunderous thud, a massive stone statue manifested out of thin air.
"Whoops."
A torrent of energy rounds slammed into the stone. There was a blinding flash and a roar of impact, but the stone wall held. It didn't matter if the statue shattered; I simply repaired it as fast as it broke.
The 《Repairing...》 notification flashed rhythmically in my sight. Every time a crack spider-webbed across the surface, the stone regenerated, the dust and debris pulling back together to maintain the barrier.
Using the statue as a mobile shield, I circled around the flank and manifested another one. Simple structures are easy to rebuild—this was trivial for me.
It all happened in a matter of seconds. The enemies were now completely fixated on us.
"Now!" I yelled.
Behind us, the launcher roared. With a dull whump, an explosive round streaked through the air.
The ground shook, and my vision was momentarily bleached white. A wall of hot wind surged over the barricade, forcing me to shield my face with my arms.
"Pah...!" I spat out the grit that had flown into my mouth.
Beyond the clearing smoke, a single, charred silhouette remained standing at the center of the blast. It was still moving.
"Are you kidding me...?"
Glinting metal peeked through the man’s scorched skin. It was a prosthetic, but the wound was... glowing. A fine mist of white particles was oozing out like blood.
Nanomachines.
Beneath the ruined flesh, a pale light squirmed like a living thing. The man was regenerating—and at an impossible speed.
"Wait a second... Forced-regeneration nanomachines? Those were supposed to have been banned during development."
I’d heard rumors about them. They were designed to reverse neural signals to force cells to regrow instantly. The catch was that the sheer agony of the process usually sent the user into fatal shock... but these men weren't reacting to the pain at all.
As that thought crossed my mind, a heavy metallic clanking echoed through the smoke. Roselia emerged, tearing through the haze. Her arms were riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks—her usual idiotic style of charging in and only protecting her vitals.
I sighed and triggered a subtle repair on her as she passed, keeping it low-key enough that the other squad members wouldn't notice. Feeling the effects, Roselia shot me a beaming, feral smile.
Is she only this reckless because she knows I’m here to patch her up?
I shoved the thought aside and noticed she was dragging something. She held a man by the collar, his shoulders and legs having been completely crushed. There was no blood—he was a prosthetic user, just like his partner.
"Hah! I knew it. This is exactly the kind of fight that gets my blood pumping," she cackled. "Even when I’m protecting my head, the thought of a stray round slipping through is almost... terrifying. God, I love it."
"Don't contradict yourself," I deadpanned. "Is it scary or fun? Pick one."
Laughing, Roselia threw the man to the dirt with a dull thud.
Even in the acrid air, the sight was haunting. Despite having lost half his physical integrity, the man’s face showed no sign of suffering. It was a blank mask. His wounds were already beginning to glow with that same faint, pulsating light.
"Prohibited nanomachines," Roselia noted, her brow furrowing. "The type combined with pain-blocking treatment. But even then, the mental backlash should be enough to—"
She was cut off by a sharp snap.
A line embedded under the skin of the two fallen men’s necks suddenly glowed a violent red. A second later, they ignited.
"What—!?"
Flame flared along their necklines, and the stench of burning electronics filled the air. For the first time, their expressionless faces twisted. It wasn't a human scream of agony, but rather the frantic, high-pitched twitching of a doll receiving a massive electric shock.
"Gaaaa—aaaaaah!"
They shrieked, writhing on the ground as sparks showered from their bodies and their prosthetic armor buckled and popped. Then, they went still.
The squad member with the cigarette ran over and checked the bodies. "...They've flatlined."
The smell of scorched metal was unbearable.
"A chip...?" Roselia whispered, her voice low enough for only me to hear.
"Yeah. Either a control signal or a self-destruct," I replied with a grim nod.
Roselia gnashed her teeth. "So they are connected."
"Looks like it. Let's move."
We exchanged a look and turned back toward the burning depths of the manor. The hot wind raged, scattering embers into the sky, and the sound of gunfire showed no sign of stopping.