Beyond the Zenith

Sharpies cleared out any humans that appeared within their line of sight. This was basic knowledge taught in the Coalition. Even the freshest recruits knew this.

Of course, they also occasionally disengage, particularly when surrounded and at a severe disadvantage. If their lives were at risk, they would attempt to escape the encirclement. Killing humans wasn’t their goal. They had their own mission.

This situation, however, was not a breakout. It was a completed clearing operation.

The two Sharpies had disengaged early because the battle was already in its final stages. They had judged that the one left behind was enough to finish off the last few members of Platoon 1123, so they went ahead.

There was no way to know whether the Sharpies had headed toward the trucks by sheer coincidence or if the noise of the engines had drawn their attention. Either way, the reason mattered little.

“Move! Now!” Zhang Dao’an ordered, voice catching in his throat.

Activating his maneuvering device, he spun toward the mountain, but already wounded from the previous fight, he immediately tripped and fell flat on his face. He hastily got back up in a motion that was less an attempt to stand than a crawl.

Before he could even fully right himself, he was scrambling forward on all fours again, tumbling and stumbling in a way completely uncharacteristic of the composed head instructor.

Two of the eighteen instructors had died in combat, their bodies left behind with Platoon 1123. The remaining sixteen piled back into the truck. They had to get back and save their recruits.

The engine roared to life.

At that moment, a blade struck the side door with a clang.

The instructor behind the wheel turned to see the last six members of Platoon 1123. Despite all six being critically wounded, they had followed them.

They leaned against the truck, leaving smears of blood on its side. The one at the front of the group, a second lieutenant, raised his hand and tapped the truck door again with the back of his blade.

“Open up.”

The instructor opened the door, and the six of them practically fell inside, the truck pulling away before they could even slide the door closed.

The instructor behind the wheel activated his maneuvering device to heighten his reflexes, and the truck tore through the winding mountain road at a speed that would look suicidal to any ordinary person.

As the truck lurched and rocked, the six members of Platoon 1123 crawled to the back and sat together on the floor in a huddle, leaning on each other to keep from being thrown about.

“You really don’t have to come,” said Old Cao, the head instructor of Regiment 491. “You’re...”

He wanted to say that they would be of no use in their injured state and that it would be better for them to stay behind and preserve what little remained of Platoon 1123.

But the second lieutenant had leaned back against the wall and smiled up at him through bloody teeth. The sight had Old Cao swallowing his words.

“Platoon Leader Liang didn’t make it. Knowing him, though, he wouldn’t be able to stomach owing a debt like this.” The second lieutenant paused to cough twice.

Thick blood spilled from his mouth, running down his chin and dripping onto his clothes and the floor.

“Hundreds of kids’ lives are at stake. If we don’t go, Platoon 1123 won’t be able to show its face when reporting its designation ever again. Even if we survive, we couldn’t live with it. Not in here,” he added, raising a hand to weakly tap his own chest.

Old Cao could say nothing to that.

The second lieutenant reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Tilting his head with visible effort, he fished one out. By the time he put it in his mouth, his bloody hands had soaked the cigarette red too.

He struck a light, but another coughing fit hit him. Both the cigarette and blood were spat from his mouth, landing on the floor in a wet, sticky mess.

“Here.” Zhang Dao’an lit one and handed it over.

The second lieutenant took it with a small nod of thanks. Wedging the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and went still. He neither moved nor said another word. All he did was breathe.

He was waiting. Waiting to arrive, to deliver the last few strikes of his life—or maybe just one.

His comrades felt the same.

***

Mira had no time to respond to Zhang Dao’an’s request for comms on the internal channel.

A few seconds earlier, she had heard the familiar snap of undergrowth and the strike of dead iron armor on the ground coming from the woods beside the road.

“Activate your devices!”

Less than two seconds after she shouted those words, a Sharpie burst from the treeline at tremendous speed, its pillar sword leveled, and slammed into the side of a moving truck.

The truck toppled. Luckily, the trees on the downhill side of the road caught it before it could roll, and it came to rest at an angle.

The tip-over itself hadn’t caused much harm to the recruits, as they had already activated their maneuvering devices, but the Sharpie’s initial thrust and the subsequent slash tore the truck open and killed six of them.

At the same time, a second Sharpie hit the last truck in the convoy.

The entire convoy ground to a halt.

Han Qingyu was one of the first to climb out through a truck window. He grabbed everyone within reach—Liu Shiheng and He Tangtang—and ran.

“Run! Get off the trucks! Scatter!” Mira screamed at the top of her lungs.

Instructor Chi of the 491st was probably shouting the same thing, but the sheer volume of terrified screaming drowned their voices out.

“Little Qing.”

“Han Qingyu!”

Even in that chaos, Han Qingyu heard someone behind him calling his name.

He turned to see a group of roughly forty to fifty recruits, a mix of both Regiment 425 and 491, with a B+ ranker among them. Instead of scattering, they had clustered together and drawn their dead iron straight blades.

“Form up! Let’s fight!” they shouted at Han Qingyu.

The recruits from both regiments all knew Han Qingyu was an A-ranker.

Han Qingyu’s conflicting feelings in that instant were impossible to describe. Part of him admired their courage, but he also knew, better than anyone, that it would be a slaughter.

He had seen Lao Jian’s Platoon 752 fight a Sharpie and knew their terrifying strength. These were two Sharpies against a group of recruits who had been armored for less than twenty days.

“Run!” he shouted.

Below the road was a dangerously exposed open valley between two mountains. If they could just cross it and climb the slope on the other side, they could at least hide in the trees. Han Qingyu believed at least half of them would survive if they did that. He was certain the nearby district platoons were already on their way.

The two Sharpies moved before his words could even settle in the air.

They simultaneously charged at the group of recruits from both sides, pillar swords in a two-handed grip, angled in crossing arcs in preparation to slice through them.

An entire group of people was about to fall. An entire group of lives was about to be harvested.

Mira’s autocannon roared to life. Her expression was frantic as her Mira 11 let out a continuous barrage from nearby. Its heavy rounds slowed the Sharpie approaching from the left just enough to create an opening.

“Run!” Instructor Chi of the 491st shouted as he charged straight at the Sharpie coming from the right, blade leveled.

The impact shattered his blade. The pillar sword punched through his chest and lifted him into the air.

Instructor Chi hung from the sword. With the last of his strength, he turned his head to the recruits, lips mouthing the words “Run. Run...”

The recruits finally abandoned their illusions and listened to their instructor, scattering as fast as they could.

The one-sided slaughter began. Recruits fell one after another under the Sharpies’ pillar swords.

Han Qingyu led a group to flee, trails of blue light streaking behind them.

“Little Qing!” Liu Shiheng called out, his face chalk-white.

Han Qingyu didn’t even need to look back. He could tell it was close from the rhythmic hammering of a Sharpie’s armored legs against the ground. Death was right behind them.

Running was pointless. They weren’t fast enough. Han Qingyu drew his blade and turned around, ready to make a last stand, when gunfire filled the air.

It was Mira again, with her autocannon. She stood off to the side, raining bullets into the Sharpie.

The distraction worked. The Sharpie’s attention shifted to her.

Mira backed away. As she turned her head, she caught sight of Han Qingyu standing there, staring at her. Smiling, she waved him off like an adult shooing a child through the kindergarten gate.

“Run!” Mira smiled and pointed toward the valley wall. “Run...”

“Run, Little Qing!” He Tangtang cried, grabbing Han Qingyu’s arm and dragging him along.

The group sprinted up the steep slope on the other side of the valley without pause, pushing deeper into the trees. Then, all at once, they noticed that someone beside them had slowed to a stop.

He Tangtang and Liu Shiheng halted in confusion, glancing back. “Little Qing?”

“Take them and keep running,” Han Qingyu said to He Tangtang.

“What about you?” He Tangtang and Liu Shiheng asked at the same time.

Han Qingyu turned around.

He Tangtang, Liu Shiheng, and every passing recruit stopped and followed his gaze.

At the bottom of the valley, roughly six or seven meters below, the Sharpie that Mira had drawn away was charging directly at her.

Mira was alone. Still, she kept backing up while firing, trying to hold the Sharpie’s attention ‌long enough to lead it in the opposite direction, drawing it away from them.

But she was only an E-ranker. Even with nine years of service, she was nowhere near fast enough to outrun a Sharpie. Her bullets couldn’t find a critical point to hit against a head-on charge. In a direct confrontation, her weapon was useless for anything beyond drawing its attention. It couldn’t do any actual damage. Even the suppressive effect was negligible.

The Sharpie closed in on Mira.

Mira kept retreating while firing. Deep down, she already knew she was going to die and had already accepted it.

Too bad I won’t get to be your platoon leader.

In a moment, she would drop the gun and draw her blade to make one last stand.

Han Qingyu stood there, feeling conflicted. I want so badly to live. All I’ve ever wanted is to live. I never wanted to be a hero.But I can’t run away from this.

An image of Mira stepping out to open fire flashed in his mind. The way she had smiled and waved him away played on repeat.

He Tangtang saw this and understood. It was obvious why Han Qingyu had stopped.

“Fine, then let’s all go together. If we die, we die,” He Tangtang shouted, walking toward Han Qingyu.

The other Sharpie had temporarily vanished, and the remaining one was closing in on Mira.

The valley wall was roughly six or seven meters high, practically a sheer cliff of packed earth with a near-vertical drop. It would’ve been impossible to flee on such terrain if not for the maneuvering devices.

More and more people stopped to stare at the lone figure below.

The distance between Mira and the Sharpie was shrinking by the second.

Some drew their blades.

He Tangtang walked toward Han Qingyu.

“It’s no use. Give me your blade. I’ll try,” Han Qingyu said.

He Tangtang hesitated.

“Give me the blade!” Han Qingyu shouted.

He Tangtang threw it to him.

Han Qingyu caught it. Gripping one blade in each hand, both in reverse grip, he turned and sprinted along the ridge of the valley wall.

“The rest of you, keep running!” he shouted back as he ran.

Most of them stayed right where they were.

***

Mira was about to drop her gun.

On the valley wall above, the recruits had lost sight of Han Qingyu. He seemed to have left the ridge and gone deeper in.

“Mira!”

The shout came from where Han Qingyu had vanished. The sound echoed across the valley, stretching on as he launched himself off the highest point of the cliff at maximum acceleration.

His body arced through the air like an arrow, coming down right on top of the Sharpie.

At that moment, his position relative to the Sharpie and Mira formed three points of a right angle, and the line between him and the Sharpie was shrinking fast.

Page one, line one of the Source Energy Maneuvering Device Combat Manual wrote Do not jump. Do not jump. Do not jump.

Han Qingyu was in the air, a blade reversed in each hand, his whole body stretched out, diving straight at the Sharpie.

The Sharpie peered up and saw him. Raising its pillar sword above its shoulder, it thrust directly at him.

Han Qingyu was airborne. There was no room to maneuver, no surface to push off. He was moving so fast that there was no way he could avoid the attack. At this rate, the pillar sword would run him through.

The recruits watched in silent horror from the valley wall above.

“Little Qing...” Liu Shiheng’s tears were already falling.

Mira followed the Sharpie’s gaze up and caught sight of that reckless fool in the sky.

“Shoot!” Han Qingyu’s voice cracked through the air.

Mira immediately understood.

The heavy rounds of the Mira 11 autocannon tore upward at an angle, slamming into Han Qingyu’s legs.

The impact knocked his falling body sideways and tilted his trajectory sharply in midair. This shift was enough for him to barely avoid the Sharpie’s pillar sword.

He grazed past the sword, aiming for its face.

“Die!”

Both blades, held in a reverse grip, plunged into the Sharpie’s faceplate, right where its eyes would be.