As Reed and her comrades raced across the dirt and grass, Isaac watched with bated breath. But, come to think of it, it had been a while since he had last seen Reed in combat. Harburg unfortunately neutralized her during the start of the Machigonne raid, so the last time they fought in a life-or-death situation together would’ve been all the way back when they raided the Melusine. Reed’s prowess in her fight against Panama amazed Isaac back then, and he hoped for the same results here (minus the almost dying part, of course).

The sudden charge of Reed and her followers shocked the closest Restorationists. They stopped for a moment, not expecting a counter-attack, and they paid a heavy price for their hesitation. Rifle fire cut down most of them, with Reed bisected the largest of the closet rebels. As his bloody torso fell to the ground, Reed and the marines continued on. Some of the Restorationists simply retreated back to the forest, while others tried their best to hold their ground. They, too, met bloody ends at the hands of sword and rifle fire.

Reed cut a course towards the left flank of the marines. From the Restorationist perspective, this would be their right flank, and that flank seemed in danger of entirely collapsing from just the efforts of a few people. Back on the train, Isaac and the marines cheered her on. She cut down another rebel, the last in the immediate vicinity. However, the Restorationists in the center now directed their fire on the little group. Clouds of dirt kicked up behind Reed as bullets flew and whizzed by and narrowly missed.

The tanks, too, had taken notice of it. Since they were modified, their turrets lacked the ability to swivel. Instead, the beasts themselves had to turn towards her, taking up precious time and, more importantly, angling their turrets away from the train. By the time the first tank got into position and fired, Reed and her comrades had almost made it. Nevertheless, Isaac gripped the metal in front of him tightly.

The incoming shells moved like they had been shot out of a cannon (which they basically had been). Reed’s destination was a large boulder that stuck out of the clearing like a sore thumb, mostly likely too heavy or too time-consuming to be moved by the laborers that originally made the clearing. Like a gray sentinel, it stood silently, patches on red blood from wounded Restorationists covering its side. Reed slid right behind it as the shells landed; the resulting explosions knocked up huge clouds of dirt and dust that prevented Isaac from seeing her. More shells came, one after the other, turning the clearing into a land of pockmarked craters.

When the dust cleared, Reed remained behind the boulder, twirling the sword in her hand. The marines had made it too, and now waited for their comrades to their part. Derry barked a command that his marines quickly relayed down the train line. The machine gun and rifle fire now slightly shifted course, aiming at the leftmost tank that anchored the Restorationist right flank. The rebels following closely behind the tank were forced to slip behind it, neutralizing their small arms fire for the time-being.

With that, the two marines at the boulder got to work. Isaac had never received heavy weapons training, but he knew the general gist of it. Completely exposing themselves to the enemy, the marines rushed to the side of the boulder so they could face the tank. The covering fire from the train prevented any of the Restorationists supporting the tank from firing on them, but Isaac himself felt chills from the image of marines just working in the open like that.

The first marine knelt, keeping the Stovepipe level on his shoulder. Kneeling behind him, the second marine loaded the rocket - the lone rocket remaining - into the back of the launcher. With swift, nimble hands, he pulled the firing fuse out from the back of the rocket.

But the tank itself couldn’t have been suppressed. Gears groaned and smoke billowed from its exhaust pipe as it turned in the grass, trying to angle its turret at the two marines. Even from the train, Isaac could hear the first marine yelling at his companion to get things moving. The tank fired; everything fell silent. The shockwave knocked the marines over, but the actual shell struck the side of the boulder, raining down chips of stone on them.

While the tank reloaded, the second marine snapped the fuse onto a small metal post on the side of the rocket launcher. “Go!” he yelled, so the first marine went.

Isaac had never seen a fired rocket before. It was just as quick as a shell, but moved in a straight line, sending out a huge plume of smoke from the back of the Stovepipe. When facing a normal tank, the rocket needed to be fired on the underbelly, treads, or rear of the tank since the armor was too thick, but these were modified tractors. Still, though, they only had one rocket, so they couldn’t miss.

They didn’t. The rocket simply slammed into the makeshift tank with the power of an elephant gun hitting its namesake. The turret flew off the top of the tank, crushing nearby Restorationists when it came back down. Steel and shrapnel sprayed the surrounding area and skewered those standing there. Like a pair of big game hunters, the marines cheered at the sight of their fallen prey, now reduced to a smoking, fiery pile of scrap metal and oil spills. The tank anchored the Restorationist right flank; its destruction signified the complete collapse of that side of the attack.

While the marines regrouped behind the boulder, Reed dashed off, the fires glinting off her sword as she sprinted through the grass. A platoon of Restorationists from the center had been advancing toward the boulder when the tank was destroyed; in their hesitation, Reed collided with them head-on.

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The first man, she simply cut down with her sword. She nimbly dodged the bayonet stab of a woman, then sliced her across the back. A man came down a hatchet; she raised her sword and sliced off both of its hands. She caught the hatchet and plunged it into the chest of a rebel struggling with his pistol. The pistol replaced the hatchet; its bullets ripped through the head of another rebel.

The pistol clicked empty, so Reed leapt forward and slid below the legs of a giant Restorationist armed with a machine pistol. Her Domino Sword plunged through his back; when his knees buckled, she stripped him off his weapon and then used him as a human shield when a pair of riflemen fired on her. The machine pistol cut both of them down, then Reed used it to deflect another hatchet attack. She rolled off of him, slicing through the back of his legs, then ducked below a bayonet lunge. Her sword went through the bottom of the man’s jaw.

The next wave of the Restorationists simply decided attacking Reed wasn’t in their best interests and fled. The corpses of more than a dozen rebels littered the field around her; not a single scratch covered her. When she calmly flicked the blood off her sword into the grass, Isaac supposed she really did have the look of a movie star to her. Then he frowned, because no doubt she was purposely trying to cultivate that look in the middle of a life-and-death situation.

Between the fire of the marines behind the boulder and on the train, the Restorationist attack was falling apart. They still did have three tanks, however, yet Reed’s mobility and their own clunkiness prevented any of the shells from hitting her. She approached the next tank and Zola himself, his Reverse Flag spiral flying high in the sky.

Zola tossed off his cloak, revealing a surprisingly thick frame for a preacher. With his black hair and well-trimmed beard, he exuded confidence as he stepped away from the tank. Unlike Symanski, who wore a white glove, Zola wielded a Sigismundian rapier in his hand. Despite the cords and tubes of blood stretching from within his shirt up to the Reverse Flag, his movements didn’t look inhibited in the least.

Neither opponent spoke. Neither of them needed to.

Zola took the offensive. His rapier was shorter, yet lighter, and that gave him the advantage in speed. He lunged forward, keeping his sword horizontally, displaying far more talent with it than his fallen comrades. The rapier was a lunging, stabbing sword of weapon, forcing Reed to backpedal. Her own sword, black as the night sky, was a bulky thing, made heavy by its metal. On the defensive, Reed blocked each strike as they came, but it was clear Zola had the initiative. He feinted one way, then struck towards her face; Reed just narrowly dodged it and leapt away to give herself space.

A thin cut appeared on her face, sending a trickle of blood down to the dying grass.

“You’re a worthy opponent,” Zola called out. Corpses, helmets, canteens, fires, smoke covered the clearing. “Life is just one giant storybook, no? I’d much rather snatch victory from the jaws of defeat than win without a fight. Don’t you agree?”

Reed flicked the blood off her face, then cocked her head and smiled. “We’re speaking the same language here.”

The two opponents clashed again. Reed attempted to go on the offensive, but her slower speed resulted in Zola repulsing her initial attacks. The initiative flipped as Zola took it once more. Her pressed her backwards, forcing her to navigate the maze of corpses, equipment, and oil slicks behind her while still locked in combat. She nearly stumbled over a wounded Restorationist, but she caught herself and stepped out of the way before Zola could plunge his sword through her stomach.

The cord of blood depriving everyone of their cultivation still rose upward from Zola, but his quick strikes prevented Reed from slicing it. Isaac’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the metal; Reed’s blocks grew sluggish, just mere deflections rather than their early repulses. Zola didn’t slow down; in fact, he sped up, his rapier turning into a blur. Another slash appeared on Reed’s face, and then Zola slashed her across the hands, knocking the Domino Sword down to the ground.

He went for the kill. But he lunged, Reed lunged forward as well. The rapier slashed across the side of her ribs, but she collided with Zola, knocking them both to the ground and into an oil slick. While he flailed with his sword, she craned her neck and plunged her teeth through the tube of blood.

The heavy weight instantly lifted itself off the clearing. As the Reverse Spiral flag of human skin now floated away, losing its tether to the ground, Zola knocked Reed away. As she rolled backwards, there was a flicker of Rddhi in the air; she came to her feet with a lit cigarette in her mouth. As Zola stood, she spit the cigarette at him - Isaac wondered what she had written across it - and it landed at his feet in the middle of the oil slick.

The entire clearing filled with Zola’s cries. He dropped the rapier, then fell to his knees; the flames ripped through him, billowing upwards, until he disappeared in a ball of fire. While Zola burned in front of her eyes, Reed retrieved her Domino Sword and dared the nearby Restorationists to attack her.

They didn’t. The nearby rebels cowered, looked at the flames that had once been Zola, and retreated toward the forest. After twirling her sword, Reed sent a sound wave into the nearest tank, utterly destroying it. Another big game had fallen, leaving just two more. Neither looked particularly enthusiastic about joining the fray.

The Restorationists now had a new problem to worry about. With their cultivation no longer negated, Isaac and Babs lead a new charge, battle-hardened and confident marines behind them. The second charge took out the already fracturing Restorationist center; the Restorationist left flank, now rather isolated, began their retreat.

As Isaac slammed his fist into the jaw of a rebel, he sighed in relief. Reed made it out alive, the moment of crisis was over, and the Restorationists were in retreat.

But then there was a spark of Rddhi within the forest, a bright flash of red. The Restorationists stopped their retreat and then cheered. Zou Mei and a second wave of rebels emerged from the forest.