Chapter 13 - She who they did not know

Once more, Cestela found her vision narrowed to a slit and, by her narrowed to barely thirty degrees of forward visibility. Despite the trees taking on a darker red and brown hue, the summer heat still lingered and Cestela wondered how knights willingly accepted such terrible conditions of wearing a helmet.

Yes, Cestela was wearing a helmet. And much more than that. She bore the entire mana-treated ensemble of the knights. She no longer wore her light-weight coat and monochrome leather gloves which were the rights of those who work in the rear because… she wasn’t working in the rear this time. Without her usual weapons, Cestela couldn’t function properly as a supporter. She found it quite ironic that a tool required another tool.

“Major, we appreciate your support today,” greeted a faceless captain.

They were odd words. On her armored uniform, she wore the mark of major on her chest plate but there was no place reserved for her name and no way for people to identify her dead black eyes and equally-dark, long hair. To the southern battalion, she was simply a major sent from headquarters to assist. But they should have seen her name on the report of supporting units. But Cestela didn’t know that many people didn’t actually know the real name of the Puppeteer of the Battlefield… that would make her seem more human. Plus, she was listed as a knight this time. Stunned by the normal reception, she simply nodded.

“I am Captain Martin, leader of the 2nd South Battalion.”

“… Major Vielle, Central.”

“It’s good to have you here, ma’am.”

Really, how did they not know?

“I must say, ma’am, you have an interesting set-up.” The captain’s remark was met with the agreement of his subordinates. It made sense. Unlike typical knights that equip themselves with one weapon and switch out with the squires when necessary, Cestela adorned six swords. One on each hip and four on her back in a cross-hatch formation.

“I just wanted to be ready for the worst.”

-“Oh! That’s an elite knight for you!” “You think I can get a custom weapon?” “Try fighting a Stéle on your own first!”

‘But they’re no different from your weapons,’ Cestela thought to herself. A single sword can only handle three or four strikes before having to be replaced. The time it takes for a knight to fall back and rendezvous with a squire is the time there’s a hole in the formation. But she felt explaining it would take more effort, so she started walking ahead.

“Formation!” Worried that they were slowing down a Central elite, Captain Martin quickly ranked and filed the knights. “March!”

Similar to giant-class Stéle, mantis-class Stéle were handled a distance away from the iron walls. They rivaled the twice the height of an average human and their scythes were sharp enough to cut into the iron wall like butter. As such, it was of utmost importance that the knights protect themselves with mana. Cestela was confident in taking on mantis-class Stéle even if she didn’t have her preferred equipment; however, she was worried about another unprecedented development fighting the Stéle. The others… not so much.

“I’m surprised that the Puppeteer isn’t here.”

“Heard she finally broke her spools. Thank god. I don’t have to worry about her playing with my nerves like a harp.”

“Haha. Right? Plus, we could die peacefully in the arms of the medic.”

Cestela was slightly pissed… No, she was pissed. Rightfully, so. “You.”

“Ma’am?”

“Are you looking to die out here?” Cestela’s tone was firm and cold. The muffling of her visor gave an additional layer of intent.

Perhaps, the nameless first lieutenant thought he was being tested by a Central elite as he answered back, “I’d give my life for Dernier, ma’am!”

“…” Cestela stared at him. The others had gone silent too and even Captain Martin was concerned but did not speak up. “Do you have a family?”

“Me?... Well, no. Not yet. There’s a girl I’m seeing b-but nothing official.” Someone whistled at his reply.

Cestela continued, “Do you want to see her after this?”

“…” The young man was quiet unsure what the right answer was for a Central elite. “I- I would like to see her again…” His words were soft-spoken and he held his head low expecting reprimand.

“Good. No one would appreciate a statue of their loved ones as a gift.”

No reply. Despite being in formation, all of the knights looked at each other before solemnly nodding to each other.

Captain Martin slowed down to match Major Vielle and whispered to her such that his subordinates could not hear. “I’m sorry about that ma’am.”

“Sorry? Apologies don’t fix things, captain, and I’m unsure what you’re even apologizing for.”

“My men must’ve insulted your companion.”

“My companion?”

“Yes, the Puppeteer of the Battlefield, she is, in the end, another Central elite.”

“… I suppose she is.”

“These men and women are still quite young and go through so much. Grim humor like that calms their nerves.”

“Dying is easy, captain,” replied Cestela. “Living is harder. Don’t let them practice quitting… As much as we want to.” Cestela muttered that last part. Captain Martin didn’t hear it but didn’t feel right to ask for it again. Instead, he ran back up to his original position near the front and they all continued marching towards the Stéle.

The knights were in awe of the Central elite but not in the way they had anticipated. Instead of a secret six bladed martial art, the major fighting style was rather…

“Barbaric…”

The mantis-class Stéle lethality came from their lightning fast swings of their scythes. Even if a knight braced with mana, they would quickly get launched away by the blow. However, Cestela danced in their obelisk faces. Her vision was narrow but her observation was as keen as ever. It was not the first time she fought against the mantis-class. They were made of stone but their bodies still mocked the movement of the living. A retracted shoulder was always followed by a swing. That extra ability of anticipation and prediction that Cestela honed made up for the speed difference between them. While her movements were swift, her attacks were harsh.

Lucian’s work was definitely better than most. As the knights watched how much mana Cestela charged in each strike, they were surprised each sword survived more than one clash. When the battle began, the 2nd South Battalion were frightened at the sheer number of Stéle. But the Central elite was making quick work.

“Switch!” As Celesta disposed an enemy in three strikes she quickly stabbed the damaged sword in the dirt and ordered for a squire to replace it. She had discussed with them prior and emphasized the importance of moving the exchange point further up on the battlefield. But they were scared. Normally, the exchange point was halfway between the supporters and the frontline but she asked for them to meet her all the way at the frontline. They had all refused except one squire simply named Lance. He was short for his age but was confident it made him faster. Cestela was not one to judge.

Lance ran forward and swapped the broken sword in the ground for a new one. As he approached, another Stéle rampaged straight for him; however, its neck was quickly dismantled by Cestela.

“Another one! Switch!”

Her frenzy continued. At some point, Lance began bringing two swords to catch up with her pace. The fight felt shorter than most to Cestela when it finally ended. She turned towards the backline. She had performed remarkably, but couldn’t accept it as such. Four knights were injured and were being tended to by the medics.

Cestela’s mana control had a vital weakness. She was unable to channel her mana in an aura like medics do. But that wasn’t an accurate explanation. She could channel her mana but the extent of her aura was miniscule. So short that it required her to use threads to reach every individual bone, tendon, and vascular hydraulic to provide mana to patients. This extended to weapons too. She could harden them, even move them to her will, but could not produce a mana blade like Solyon could. But she was still a supporter.

She didn’t have her original armaments, but Lucian provided her with an inferior stopgap measure – one single spool of mana-treated iron. She removed her helmet. She couldn’t tell if the murmurs and whispers started when she did or if it was simply easier to hear with that uncomfortable thing off.

“… Major?” As she approached the injured, she recognized the voice of a naïve first lieutenant with a lover that he won’t yet call his lover. He had lost both his leg in a single strike from the Stéle. Unlike Cestela who could quickly consolidate mana, he required to continuously channel without letting go against the mantis-class Stéle. His stamina was bested. The other medics’ eyes widened in surprise and released their healing aura on the man.

“What’s your choice?” smirked Cestela. It was a tasteless joke and one she didn’t care to hear the answer to. Regardless of how he responded, she would’ve done the same. The puncturing of flesh. With only one spool, she could only heal one leg at a time at a much more reduced pace compared to the usual five her armaments allowed her.

Unfortunately for the first lieutenant, the level of pain didn’t change. The fact that the time to heal was substantially longer was torturous. But he didn’t scream. He bit his lip and shut his eyes as if a single ray of sunlight would kill him. Eventually, he tore into the skin of his lip and bled. But such a thing wouldn’t kill him.

By the time Cestela was finished, his mouth was half filled with blood, his face wet from tears, and nose slobbered in snot. But he still turned to Cestela and breathed a rough pace. Cestela didn’t wait for him. She started healing the others. But behind her back, she could hear a whimper, “Th… thank you…major”