The transfer orders came through swiftly. Zhongmie was officially assigned to the inner guard's core mech squad. This meant leaving the dilapidated barracks of the peripheral forces and moving into the guard's dedicated compound, located in one of Central City's relatively intact sectors.
The atmosphere here was starkly different. Though the scent of steel and engine oil—the smells of war machines—still hung in the air, everything was far more orderly. The warehouses were visibly stocked with ample supplies. Most striking were the rows of mechs on the landing pads: meticulously modified and painted, they weren't the patchwork junk of the outer units, but true beasts of war emanating a palpable sense of menace.
Following a silent soldier to his newly assigned hangar bay, Zhongmie watched as his "old treasure" was slowly towed in by ground crew. With its exposed wiring and battle-scarred, savage appearance, it stood out grotesquely against the sleek, polished machines around it, drawing sidelong glances and hushed whispers.
He stopped walking, his eyes scanning the new surroundings, when a figure completely captured his attention.
At another bay nearby, a vibrantly scarlet-painted heavy mech—streamlined and dangerous—stood silent: the "Scarlet Rose." And leaning lazily against its massive red foot armor was a woman.
She wore form-fitting black combat gear that perfectly outlined her tall, powerful build. Her fiery red hair was tied loosely into a ponytail, a few unruly strands falling across her smooth forehead and tanned cheeks. A hand-rolled cigarette dangled from her lips, wreathed in faint smoke. Within that haze, her sharp, hawk-like eyes—like precision scanners—were already locked onto the newcomer: Zhongmie.
Her gaze swept over him, lingering with undisguised judgment on his oil-stained and dusty combat gear before moving past him to settle on the truly "ugly" imperial mech being towed in. Her eyes held openscrutiny, assessment, and… a spark of keen, piqued curiosity.
"So you're the 'genius' old Polke won't shut up about?"
She spoke first, her voice carrying a smoke-roughened, magnetic huskiness. Her tone was direct, almost rude, dripping with a condescending air of appraisal.
"The one piloting that… piece of junk dug out of history's trash heap?" She took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled slowly, the smoke blurring the faint trace of a sneer at her lips. "Doesn't look like much. You think its 'bones' could handle even a light tap from my 'Scarlet Rose'?"
That voice, that red hair, that unapologetic forcefulness… It felt like an icy needle, piercing Zhongmie's heart unexpectedly, violently dragging up the deeply buried, painful memory of another girl in a red dress. The warm, sweet smile of that memory formed a violent, cruel contrast with the dangerous, gunpowder-scented figure before him.
He drew a sharp breath, forcibly shoving the rising ache back down into the cold abyss within. He lifted his head, his gaze calm yet unyielding as it met her intensely pressuring scrutiny. He wasn't intimidated by her presence. Instead, fueled by his understanding of his own machine and the value he'd just proven on the battlefield, a cool confidence rose within him.
"It is very old, miss," Zhongmie's tone was flat, devoid of inflection, yet it cut through the surface like a finely honed, cold blade. "But Old Empire tech… sometimes it's brutally direct. And effective." He paused, his eyes sweeping over the ornate "Scarlet Rose." "For instance, its primary frame is 'Meteorfall-grade' high-tensile composite steel. Monolithically cast. Against the standard physical claw strength of a 'Scarlet Rose'… I suspect the worst you'd manage are a few scratches that would just need polishing out."
He shifted his tone slightly, injecting a hint of faint yet unmistakable provocation: "Of course, if you're curious, miss, whether the hydraulic clamps on its forearms could test the yield limit of the Scarlet Rose's shoulder armor… I'd be happy to provide a practical demonstration."
Beate Laurent was visibly taken aback, the ash on her cigarette forgotten. She hadn't expected this sallow, scrawny kid who'd just climbed from the bottom to not only talk back but also instantly pinpoint aspects of her mech's performance specs and fire back with such a sharp, technically-grounded challenge. She looked him up and down again, her gaze sharp enough to flay skin, as if trying to see what he was really made of.
Then, a slow, dangerous, and intensely interested smile curved her lips—like a hunter discovering an unexpected but fascinating prey. She stubbed out her cigarette, tossed it aside, and closed the distance between them in a few long strides. Suddenly they were face-to-face, close enough to feel each other's breath. The scent of high-grade engine oil, gunpowder, and a faint, clean, almost antiseptic smell washed over him.
"Hah," she let out a low laugh, her voice dropping, becoming huskier and more direct. "Interesting. Not just a big mouth, but sharp eyes and a quick mind too. Maybe Polke wasn't just blowing smoke for once."
She was nearly nose-to-nose with him, her intense eyes locking onto his. "Alright. I'll remember you. Zhongmie, was it? Don't disappoint me. And don't die too quickly. I'm actually looking forward to seeing what else that old skeleton of yours can do—how 'brutally direct' it really is."
With that, she turned on her heel with a sharp, efficient motion. Her red ponytail cut a powerful arc through the air as she strode away, heading toward her own brilliantly fiery mech.
Zhongmie stood his ground, watching her retreating figure. Inside, he felt only a cold void, devoid of any romantic notions.
(Lingmo… her red was once warm. But this wasteland bleeds all color into shades of gray and blood.)
(Just as well. A dangerous opponent is more real than a false ally. At least you know the claws are out.)
(Survive. Climb higher. Use everything that can be used. Then, destroy all that deserves destruction.)
The inner guard was ordered to clear out the "Rust-Rats" gang entrenched in the Corroded Canyon. The enemy, leveraging the complex terrain and heavy weapon emplacements, had repelled multiple assaults, inflicting significant casualties. Beate led the charge herself. Though her "Scarlet Rose" was ferocious, it was bogged down in a crossfire, constantly in peril.
As the stalemate dragged on, Zhongmie's voice, calm to the point of iciness, cut through the general comms channel: "Commander. Left-side heat dispersion conduit three. Diameter four-point-five meters. Internal structure is aged but load-bearing."
"Conduit three? That's marked on the map as 'abandoned and structurally unstable'!" a veteran squad leader yelled over the comms. "It's a death trap!"
"The internal bracing trusses are Imperial-era reinforcements. The core structure is sound. It's only the external plating that's unstable," Zhongmie countered coolly. He knew this because he had studied old Imperial construction standards and had scanned the area's geological structure with his mech's sensors during a patrol days earlier. "Give me three minutes and one squad. I can blow their armor plating from the inside."
Beate faced a choice: trust this newcomer's insane plan, or keep sending her troops to die in the frontal crossfire.
"How long do you need?"
"Three minutes."
"Fine! Squad C, go with him! If I don't hear an explosion in three minutes, I won't wait!" Beate took the gamble.
Zhongmie, piloting his mech—still partially exposed, now privately dubbed the "Bare-Beast" by the logistics troops—took the lead. He brutally cut through the conduit grate with his mech's welding torch and plunged inside. The interior was dark, narrow, and reeked of abandoned coolant. Guided by his astonishing intuition for machinery and his memory, he navigated the maze of pipes with precision, cutting straight to the enemy's heart like a scalpel.
Three minutes later, explosions and intense gunfire erupted from within the Rust-Rats' core stronghold. The external barrage instantly faltered. Seizing the opportunity, Beate's eyes lit up. With the Scarlet Rose's engine at full power, she led the inner guard like a crimson lightning bolt, tearing through the compromised defenses.
When Beate stormed into the fortress interior, she found Zhongmie's mech stomping down on the commandeered machine of the enemy leader—one of its arms torn clean off. defeated foes lay scattered around him. He was using his mech's external speaker to interrogate the remaining forces for their defensive layouts.
In that moment, as she looked at that battle-scarred yet fiercely imposing machine, Beate felt something stir within her—something that went beyond mere curiosity.
During the assault on the final major city, "Boulder Fortress," every charge by the inner guard was brutally crushed by the steel behemoth standing at its center—a modified "Bastion-III." Its arms had been replaced with a rapid-fire railgun and a multi-barrel rocket pod, its seemingly endless ammunition weaving a net of death that completely blocked the advancing path. The square was littered with smoldering craters and the wreckage of inner guard mechs; the air thick with the stench of burning cordite and molten metal.
"Damn it! Is that thing's ammo depot linked straight to Ceres?! How is it not empty yet?!" Polke roared over the comms, his mech's arm shield now dented and cracked, forcing him to retreat behind cover once more amidst a shower of pulverized rubble.
"Its firepower configuration is standard 'fortress-clearing' mode, covering all ranges—short, medium, and long. We lack heavy weapons. A frontal assault is suicide," Beate's voice came through the Scarlet Rose's speaker, calm but laced with suppressed frustration. Her mech tried precise shots at its viewports, but the enemy's thick sloped armor easily deflected the beams, leaving only a few glowing scorch marks.
Several assaults had been launched, resulting in nothing but more casualties and scrap metal. Despair began to spread through the inner guard like a plague. The Bastion-III was like Alexander the Great's war elephants at the Hydaspes—an unstoppable, terrifying presence that overwhelmed all challengers with its sheer size and power, utterly confounding these warriors accustomed to the wasteland's guerrilla warfare.
Just as morale was about to hit rock bottom, Zhongmie's icy voice cut through the general comms channel, sharp and clear like a quenched blade, instantly silencing the noise.
"Its left leg. Fifteen centimeters lateral to the third hydraulic joint." His "Bare-Beast" had been lurking in the shadows of a half-collapsed building on the front line, sensors at full capacity, like a stalking predator fixed on its prey.
"What?" Polke wasn't following.
"There's a newly replaced armor plate there. The weld marks are different, color's lighter. The load-bearing structure underneath must have taken major damage and received a battlefield patch job. It's the weakest point on its entire body." Zhongmie's words were measured, each one landing with weight. He wasn't guessing; he was stating an observed fact. It demanded incredible patience and a viciously sharp eye.
"What are you planning?" Beate grasped his intent immediately.
"Feint a frontal assault. Draw its full attention. Especially its head sensors and main weapons. Give me a three-second window." His voice held no fluctuation, as if stating the obvious. "I'll remove its leg."
"Are you insane?! Even if it's a weak spot, its secondary weapons and point-defense systems will shred your 'Bare-Beast' to pieces!" Polke yelled, unable to comprehend the suicide run.
"Therefore," Zhongmie's voice remained even, yet carried a heart-stopping finality, "you need to draw its fire well enough."
It wasn't a request; it was a tactical order.
Without waiting for a response, the Bare-Beast's engine emitted a low, dangerous growl, like a waking beast. Zhongmie shut down all non-essential systems, diverting all power to mobility and arm hydraulics.
"Scarlet Rose! Execute the order!" Beate hesitated for only a split second before making her decision. Trust, in this moment, overrode rational doubt. "Everyone! Full firepower! Hit its face! Don't let it look down!"
Instantly, every remaining inner guard mech surged from cover as if injected with adrenaline! Pulse beams, rockets, even autocannon shells slammed into the Bastion-III's head and main torso in a torrential storm. Beate's Scarlet Rose charged forward boldly, shoulder missile pods firing full salvos, blooming a series of dazzling fireballs across the behemoth's frontal armor.
The Bastion-III's pilot was clearly enraged by this sudden, near-suicidal all-out assault, or perhaps his vision was obscured. The machine let out a muffled roar, its main head sensor swiveling frantically. Its heavy weapons arms swung toward the heaviest concentrations of fire—the Scarlet Rose and the grouped mechs. The rocket pod spewed trails of death; the railgun fired with deafening thunder.
And in that precise moment, when all its "attention" was consumed by the frontal feint—
The Bare-Beast moved!
It didn't take a straight line. It shot forward in an erratic,near-manic zigzag pattern, each change of direction perfectly using the rubble and craters in the square for cover. Its chassis nearly scraped the ground, evading the sporadic point-defense fire. The screech of metal tracks grinding against shattered stone filled the air, exposed cables sparking faintly from friction against the wind at high speed.
Three seconds. Three seconds that felt like a marathon.
As the third second ended, the "Bare-Beast" shot forward like a specter emerging from hell, leaping from behind a pile of ruins in the Bastion-III's left-side blind spot! Its massive mechanical arm swung high, the crudely installed, enormous hydraulic hammer glinting with a cold, savage light in the simulated sunset of the colony world.
"On your knees—!" Zhongmie's roar mixed with the shriek of overloaded hydraulics!
BOOM!!!!
The hammer struck with perfect, devastating accuracy on that newly welded armor plate! The force was so immense that the Bare-Beast's own reverse-jointed feet sank deep into the ground.
CRACK—SNAP!!!!
First came the shriek of twisting, tearing metal, followed by the horrifying sound of the internal load-bearing structure snapping completely. High-pressure hydraulic fluid erupted from the fissures like spurting blood!
The Bastion-III's colossal frame jolted violently, then lost all support. With a groan of defiance, it crashed to its left knee like a felled giant, its immense upper body slamming into the ground. The impact sent a cloud of dust and rubble dozens of meters into the air, shaking the entire square.
Silence. Deafening silence.
Then, Zhongmie's voice, hoarse yet thunderous, shattered the quiet: "Now!"
The next moment, the rallied inner guard poured all their pent-up fury and elation into a storm of devastating firepower, raining it down upon the off-balance, exposed steel behemoth.
The explosions were continuous, culminating in a massive secondary detonation that utterly consumed the once-overbearing "Boulder."
After the battle, Polk was the first to rush over, slapping the scarred armor of the Bare-Beast, babbling excitedly: "Damn, kid! Your brains… your balls… It's like Alexander the Great himself,poking the elephant right in the knee! I'm convinced! I'm following you from now on!"
The surrounding soldiers looked at the Bare-Beast—still smoking, its wiring exposed, yet standing tall amidst the ruins and wreckage—with unprecedented awe and respect.
After this battle, the names "Bare-Beast" and its pilot "Zhongmie" truly became a fearsome legend across the wasteland.
After several key battles, Zhongmie earned the respect of the inner guard and even Aslan's entire army through his terrifyingly calm tactical mind, his near-instinctual understanding of machinery, and his precise, efficient brutality on the battlefield.
In the lulls between training and combat, the days ground forward like rusty gears—slow and rough. But between Zhongmie and Beate, something subtle began to grow. It existed in the tools passed during mech maintenance, in the silence shared over a cheap cigarette during late-night patrols, and in the brief, meeting glances during the intermissions of battle.
That evening, after the routine patrol, Beate didn't immediately return to her barracks to maintain the Scarlet Rose as usual. She called out to Zhongmie, who was about to head to the hangar to inspect the wear on the Bare-Beast.
"Hey." She kicked a small pebble at her feet. Her tone sounded much like it did when giving orders, but her slightly evasive eyes betrayed something unusual. "The Bare-Beast moved sharper today. Looks like Shi Kang's work paid off. The Scarlet Rose's joints have been making a weird noise. You… have a good ear. Want to come listen? And… I've got some actually edible stuff."
It was probably the most awkward "date" invitation Beate Laurent could muster—under the guise of checking mechs and sharing food.
Zhongmie paused. He looked at the sky, then at Beate's "take it or leave it" expression that held a hint of expectation, and nodded. "Alright."
They didn't go to the mess hall. Instead, they climbed onto the outer roof of the inner guard's hangar. The view was wide open, overlooking the desolate horizon and the slightly artificial starlight cast by the colony dome. The wind was strong, whipping at their clothes.
They sat side by side on the cold metal roof, a few energy bars and a small canteen of water between them.
"When I was a kid," Beate began suddenly, her voice scattered by the wind, "my dad—that old sheriff—was strict. Thought girls shouldn't mess with these hunks of metal." She snorted, a hint of rebellious pride in her voice. "So I learned anyway. Sneaked into the police mech hangar at night, touched the control sticks, read the manuals. The first time I secretly started one up, I almost crashed through the hangar wall. My dad caught me and gave me hell."
Zhongmie listened silently. It was the first time he'd heard her talk about these trivial bits of the past.
"But after that, he kinda gave up," Beate continued, taking a bite of an energy bar. "Guess he figured he couldn't cage me. Better to let me learn properly, so at least I could protect myself. He said in this world, holding tight to a steering wheel or a control stick is more reliable than anything else."
Zhongmie looked at the distant horizon and responded quietly, "No matter how tight you hold, things can still spiral out of control." He thought of the storm, the out-of-control mechs, the lives lost. "Machines fail. Enemies ambush."
"Then fix it before it fails! Blow them to bits before they ambush!" Beate shot back without hesitation, her tone brimming with her usual confidence and edge. "Just like your Bare-Beast. It looks like scrap, but you always drag it back up, make it meaner than before. That's skill."
She turned to look at him, red strands of hair flying in the wind, brushing her cheeks. Under the starlight, her eyes shone with challenge and appreciation.
"Honestly," she said, looking at him, "at first I thought you were a crazy fool, piloting that pile of junk. But now… I'm curious. Just how far can you take it? And yourself?"
Zhongmie met her gaze. Her directness was like a hammer, chipping away at his usual shell of silence.
"Don't know," he answered honestly. "But as long as it can move, I'll keep fighting." He paused, then added, as if assessing her mech, "The Scarlet Rose is good too. Fast. Accurate."
It wasn't praise, more a tactical assessment. But Beate understood. In this land that revered strength, it meant more to her than any flowery compliment. The corner of her mouth turned up into a bright, genuine smile.
"Guess you have some taste after all," she hummed, her voice full of satisfaction. She picked up the canteen, took a small sip, and then naturally handed it to Zhongmie.
Zhongmie took it and drank. The water was cold.
They fell silent again, but this silence wasn't awkward. They sat side by side, looking out at the land below—the land her father ruled, the land they both protected and fought for.
Until the night grew deeper, and the wind colder.
"Let's go down." Beate stood up, brushing the dust off her pants.
Zhongmie rose and followed her. The ladder down from the roof was steep. Beate went first; Zhongmie followed above, instinctively watching out for her.
Safely on the ground, Beate turned around. They stood facing each other in the massive shadow of the hangar.
The atmosphere suddenly turned subtle and tense. Beate seemed to reach a decision. She took a small step forward, closing the distance between them.
Zhongmie's body tensed instantly, but he forced himself to stand his ground.
Beate lifted her head and quickly, gently, kissed the spot on his cheek that had been cut by shattered valve casing the other night—now marked by a faint scar.
Her lips were soft and warm, gone in an instant.
"That's… an investment," her voice was lower than usual, carrying a barely perceptible tremble. Her face was burning red in the shadows, but she struggled to maintain composure. "I'm betting you can turn that scrap into a real monster. Don't make me lose my investment, hear me?"
Having said that, not daring to look at his reaction, she turned and almost ran away, her movements slightly clumsy, her fiery ponytail bouncing behind her before she quickly disappeared around the corner of the barracks.
Zhongmie stood frozen, as if struck by a weak electric current. A strange sensation lingered where she'd kissed him. He unconsciously raised his hand, his fingers lightly touching the spot.
In the air, a faint trace of her scent seemed to remain—gun smoke and engine oil mixed together.
He stood there for a long time before slowly turning and walking toward his hangar. His steps were still steady, but if one looked closely, the tips of his ears were burning bright red in the darkness.
That night, something had quietly changed.