Chapitre 60: Star Rail: Starting with a Lyre, Living off Busking [60]
Standing atop a high-rise, Seele was stunned by the sheer scale of the chaos she was witnessing. A part of her was worried they had gone too far.
Watching the upper-city dwellers scatter in panic did bring her some satisfaction, but not as much as she expected. In fact, it was... strangely hollow.
In the past, she'd believed these residents of the higher levels were all smug, indifferent people who turned a blind eye to the suffering below. Yet, as she grew older, Oleg taught her that much of the blame belonged with the Supreme Guardian herself.
The one occupying the Guardian's throne, deceiving everyone, and staining Belobog's legacy of preservation—that was the true object of her hatred.
Since then, though prejudice lingered, she'd learned to temper her disdain, keeping it from clouding her judgment.
Especially after meeting Venti and the young miss of the Silvermane Guards, her animosity had lessened, faded into something she could hardly describe.
Watching the citizens evacuate, guarded by the Silvermane soldiers, she felt a sensation she'd never experienced before.
They're not so different from us, she thought.
Just as the underworld had the vulnerable needing protection and Wildfire to provide it, here in the upper levels, the Silvermane Guards shielded the weak with tireless effort. The soldiers were not imposing warriors, nor did they have superhuman strength; they were simply people, no different from her own.
Her gaze drifted to the gray fortress standing tall under the afternoon light, a weathered elder exhaling its final breaths, each sigh carrying away the last of its warmth.
"…That's where the real rot lies."
In the past, she would've been driven to sneak in and end the witch's reign herself.
But not yet—not now.
Doing so would only ruin Venti's plans and Oleg's careful arrangements.
So, let the tyrant cling to her throne a little while longer.
Seele's gaze softened, her attention drawn to the gaping hole in the sky above, the opening that funneled relentless wind and snow into the city below.
The temperature plummeted, frost settling across the buildings, as the chill seeped into the very air she breathed. For ordinary citizens, it was the harbinger of a blizzard.
Sheltered for so long, they had forgotten the icy wilderness that lay beyond.
They couldn't know that, in the sunless undercity, this chill was an everyday constant, a mere background hum in their lives.
Worse yet, the surge of condensed crystalline elements in the air would inevitably activate nearby Fragmentum zones, even risk birthing a new Fragmentum.
The former would unleash waves of monsters in an organized assault; the latter would mark the fall of yet another sanctuary of human life.
Either scenario meant only one thing—she needed to act.
Exhaling softly, her warm breath dissipating into the icy air, Seele gripped her scythe and leaped down from the building.
---
Outer District
A patrol unit of Silvermane Guards was hard at work, knocking on doors, urging people to evacuate.
A grizzled squad captain barked orders, his voice carrying over the snow.
"Move it, get the children out of here! This area's no longer safe—hurry!"
His squad members pounded on doors, making sure no one was left behind.
This was the outer district, close to abandonment, the buildings shabby and crumbling, often stalked by Fragmentum creatures.
Only those who had lost their homes, were unable to prove ownership, or orphaned children with nowhere else to go made their homes here.
Normally, only one or two Silvermane patrols came through this area each day, and one had already retreated to join up with the squads in the inner city due to the crisis.
This left just one squad attempting to evacuate the entire district—a near-impossible task given their limited numbers.
And to make matters worse—
The captain glanced up at the gaping hole overhead, where a strange, ominous red glow pulsed like a malignant tumor, an omen that filled him with dread.
The dragon's rampage had fractured the protective barrier, allowing the storm to spill in along with a scattering of crystalline creatures. While the swirling air currents created by the dragon's attack prevented most from breaching the barrier, the monster's residual energy lingered, a chaotic force that would shred any who attempted to pass.
Yet, fragments of crystalline matter left behind by these shattered creatures would serve as seeds, signaling new Fragmentum growth.
Once this new corruption took root, it would bloom, an infection spreading through Belobog.
In the captain's line of sight, he could barely make out the edge of the crimson glow radiating from the rupture. The cracks surrounding it almost seemed to pulse with each tremor.
A sickening thought passed through him: if they couldn't eliminate the source, something worse was bound to follow.
Perhaps Belobog was doomed after all.
A bitter smile crossed the captain's face under his helmet.
But even with despair gnawing at him, he knew his duty.
He would save as many lives as he could, get as many as possible to the shelters in the inner city, where survival was more likely.
Otherwise, anyone left here would soon face the onslaught of Fragmentum monsters.
He moved from door to door, pounding and shouting for people to hurry, some old and rundown, others nearly abandoned.
He hesitated at a few derelict homes, moving past only when he found no trace of residents.
But just as he was about to skip another empty house, he heard a faint noise.
Freezing in his tracks, he leaned in to listen, his heart pounding as he waited.
A frail, almost imperceptible sound reached him, and had he not stopped, he would have missed it entirely.
He was sure now—someone was still alive inside.
He yelled for them to step away from the door, then kicked it in. A pungent smell of rot greeted him as he entered.
The home was modest, just a small living room and a single bedroom, and near the doorway crouched a thin, almost skeletal child. A broken bowl lay beside them, fragments scattered across the floor.
Without a doubt, the sound he'd heard had come from them.
Yet, the child's appearance shook him to his core.
Skin stretched tightly over their bones, deep-set eyes, and a pallid complexion; they looked no healthier than the dead.
The hair hung in tangled strands, covering much of their face, while their chapped lips parted, but no words came out. They could only point feebly toward the inner room.
The captain glanced toward the bedroom, where a faint odor of decay seeped out.
On the bed lay a woman's body, her face sunken and lips colorless, her teeth exposed in a grimace.
It had to be the child's mother.
Judging by the corpse's condition, she had been dead for over a week, her body preserved by the low temperature.
The captain grimly assessed the situation, then turned back to the child, ready to leave with them.
But then a strange buzz sounded from above.
He ducked instinctively, backing out of the room, just as a glint of frost grazed his helmet, leaving a trail of icy crystals.
In a flash, he drove his spear forward, the weapon's tip biting into something hard.
Before him crouched a Fragmentum creature, its body laced with frost. How long had it lurked here, sharing a home with the mother and child?
Even as he absorbed this thought, more cries of "Enemy attack!" rang out from the streets.
Peering out through the visor's slit, he caught sight of a small horde of Everwinter Shades crawling out from every corner.
These twisted beings, specters of winter's wrath, raised their axes, gazing at him with malevolent intent.
Among them loomed a hulking, mechanical monstrosity—a Fragmentum beast of great power.
The Silvermane Guard called it the Frost Walker, a corrupted war machine possessed by the Fragmentum.
It resembled the Graybear automatons but was coated in an icy sheen that had grown over its bulk.
Twisted by the Fragmentum, it was a creature with no allegiance to robotics' Three Laws, driven by nothing but a thirst for blood.
Its ironclad head, framed by horns like an anvil, swept across the street. The vents on its chest groaned with an unnatural hunger, and from the ragged hollow in its torso, a distorted growl emanated.
More Everwinter Shades gathered around it, summoned to follow the Frost Walker's lead.
These creatures possessed little intelligence, but in the presence of a powerful leader, they fell into line.
They would obey, albeit clumsily, mimicking the tactics of the living.
Organized combat versus disordered skirmishes differed in one critical way: efficiency.
Once the Fragmentum creatures launched a coordinated assault, the odds of survival dwindled to how long it would take before they grew bored of the fight.
In this life-or-death moment, the captain's thoughts didn't turn to escape or fear.
Instead, his duty was clear—he had to buy time for the civilians to flee.
After all, defeat wasn't the first consideration for a Silvermane Guard, but rather their solemn oath.
From the moment they joined the Silvermane Guard, their lives had been measured in grains of sand, slipping through the hourglass one by one.
It was a truth every soldier knew, a promise sealed in conversations by the fire, a vow they would not break.
To stand as Belobog's shield, live or die alongside their comrades, to protect the people.
While the vow itself held no binding force, it was why this squad stayed behind.
The captain's resolve hardened. He took a final look at the child.
"Can you… walk?"
The child, vacant and pale, stared toward the inner room, giving no answer.
A silent moment passed, and the captain, steeling himself, hoisted the child into his arms.
"Forgive me…but it's not safe here anymore. I'll see to it someone takes you to the inner city. You'll be safer there."
He wasn't sure if he was saying this for the child or himself.
Stepping out, the child slumped weakly against him, defeated.
The captain hurried over to a fleeing man, intercepting him and gently handing the child over.
"Please… take him with you. The Silvermane Guard will cover your escape."
The man hesitated, his eyes darting between the captain and the advancing creatures, but eventually nodded.
As the mob surged, the soldiers formed a line, a wall of shields between the civilians and the oncoming horde.
And with a thunderous roar, the Frost Walker launched its attack, sending the Everwinter Shades forward. Axes gleamed in the dim light, while the Silvermane opened fire. Some soldiers met the enemy head-on, trapped in close combat.
The captain charged first, his target clear—the Frost Walker.
As long as it remained, the monsters would only press harder.
Yet despite its massive frame, the Frost Walker moved with shocking speed.
Its thrusters roared to life, propelling it forward with a brutal, unyielding momentum.
The captain rolled aside, but the Frost Walker's titanic form pivoted mid-charge, digging in its legs and grinding to a halt, metal screaming against pavement.
It swung a massive arm back, coiled like a spring, then hammered down.
The captain barely managed to raise his spear to block, but the Frost Walker's blade bit through it, splintering his weapon and sending him crashing into the nearest building.
The crunch of bones, a twisted arm, his broken weapon—it was all over.
Or so it seemed.
Just as the captain struggled to his knees, a new voice cut through the chaos.
"—Dissolve with the butterflies, ghosts of the old world!"
The cold, sharp voice seemed to ripple with quantum energy, and in a flash of motion, a figure appeared behind the Frost Walker, where its armor was weakest.
With a graceful, deadly flourish, Seele's scythe cleaved into its back, tearing open a jagged wound that gushed frost and ichor.
The Frost Walker lurched forward, its monstrous frame collapsing under its own weight, toppling back onto the ranks of Everwinter Shades.
The air filled with the wails of shattered metal.
Seele had arrived—just in time!
---
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone