The Steam Age: Gears and Bones

Chapter 31

When Perfit rushed out of the hospital, Belfast was already waiting on the steps.

Two plumes of white mist reappeared from the exhaust grille on the back of the Steam Knight's armor. The sound of the steam core's operation rose from a low, idle hum to a high-pitched hiss. The serrated teeth of the chainsaw sword began to spin again in the dim light, and the black bloodstains on the sword were flung into a fan shape by centrifugal force and splashed onto the steps.

From the cellar entrance to the gate, Chertzov had been leading the way. But as he stepped out of the hospital corridor, before he could even report the direction of the breakout, he was stunned by the sight before him.

There were several times more infected people on the streets than before they went in.

From the top of the hospital steps, Perfitt looked out and saw that the entire main street had turned into a slow-moving black torrent.

Infected people were everywhere, densely packed, one on top of another, shoulder to shoulder, as if something was driving them, surging towards the hospital from all directions of the city.

She saw several infected creatures that had been lying on the ruins on the west side eating something suddenly raise their heads at the same time, tilting their heads at the exact same angle, as if they had heard a horn that only they could hear.

Then they tumbled down from the ruins and merged into the black torrent in the street.

Several infected individuals who had been standing in the shadows of the alleyway all day were now dragging their broken bodies across the gravel at an unprecedented speed, completely disregarding their broken limbs and dragging internal organs, desperately crawling towards the hospital.

Something was summoning them. Perfit didn't need the Emerald Record to reach this conclusion—precisely because she had gazed upon the dissipating inscription with her all-seeing eye in the cellar. She knew better than anyone that the darkness sealed away for countless eons had begun to awaken under the stimulation of the golden light.

Ludwig drew his sword and shouted at her, "They're charging! There are too many of them, charge!"

Perfit did not hesitate.

She raised her right hand and gave Belfast the order. Her voice was not loud, but every word carried the cold decisiveness one feels when someone holds a knife to one's back: "Belfast, remove the weapon restrictions."

Use chainsaws as primary weapons, and machine guns as needed for clearing the area. Do not allow the horde of zombies to rush within fifty paces from directly in front.

Belfast switched the chainsaw sword to her left hand and used her right hand to remove the already loaded handheld rotary machine gun from behind her back—the six barrels rotated synchronously due to the transmission shaft driven by the steam core, but had not yet been fired.

The ammunition belt extended from the ammunition box behind the armor all the way to the bolt, gleaming with a cold brass light in the morning glow.

"Stay close to the Steam Knight," Perfit said, turning to everyone. "Don't linger, don't stop. If anyone falls, no one else is allowed to stop. That's an order."

She spoke in a calm voice, as if she were explaining the timing of each step in a laboratory, but Allen, standing next to her, could clearly see that the tips of her fingers holding the dagger were turning white as the blood had been drained away.

The steam-powered knight leaped down the hospital steps, the frozen ground cracking beneath her feet in a spiderweb pattern as she landed. Simultaneously, hydraulic linkages propelled her legs forward, and her chainsaw sword swept from right to left, the hoarse cutting sound instantly drowning out all the howls in the street.

The first few infected were cut in half at the waist, their black blood splattering onto her breastplate and shoulder armor, instantly evaporating into a thin, charred black film on the metal surface due to the high temperature of the steam core.

The rotary machine gun immediately began to rotate and fire, a continuous roar so dense that individual shots were almost indistinguishable. Bullets flew out in a fan-shaped barrage of copper-cased shells from the hospital entrance, the casings rolling to the ground and striking the gravel with a continuous metallic clang.

Any infected person who tries to push their way through from the front is either torn to shreds by the chainsaw sword or riddled with bullets.

The pile of infected corpses on the street grew from a few bodies to a half-person-high wall of flesh and blood in just a few breaths.

But too many infected people were coming from the side.

The steam knights were advancing so fast that the knights had to jog to keep up. Suddenly, a large group of infected people appeared from behind the ruins on the east side of the hospital. They had probably been stuck in the alley and had only just found their way.

They moved faster than the infected in the old port, surging forward in layers upon layers without maintaining any distance.

Ludwig was the first to react on the flank, shouting to his Romulus knights as he ran, "Grey Armor, advance! Form ranks! Shields up!"

Five Romulus gray-armored knights stepped out of the formation and planted their feet a dozen paces to the left rear of the column, their shields embedded in the frozen ground and their knightly swords protruding from the gaps in the shield edges.

The first row of infected soldiers made a series of dull thuds as they struck the shield. The shield array swayed for a moment, but then stabilized again. The knight's sword pierced through the gaps in the shield and was pulled out again, each thrust leaving a trail of black blood.

On the right, the swordsmen and the Rose Knights also formed a battle formation. Those without shields were paired up, with one person blocking with their sword and the other wielding their sword to behead the enemy.

The knight's sword traced short, silver-blue arcs in the cold air, making a faint cracking sound—the kind only heard when bone is severed by a sharp blade—as it pierced the necks of the infected. The cracking sounds and the clanging of shields echoed along both sides of the street, overlapping with the roar of the barrage of bullets in front of the steam knight, creating a highly discordant rhythm on the battlefield.

The Ross veterans lined up behind the knights and fired their guns.

Through the gaps between the knights, Perfitt saw one of the veterans stuff a bag of lead bullets into the muzzle of his flintlock musket, pull out a cleaning rod, quickly tamp it down, pull out the trigger, snap the hammer back, and raise his hand to aim.

After a gunshot, an infected person who had peeked out from above the shield was shot in the head and fell straight backward.

But the reloading was too slow. The rate of fire of these old flintlock muskets was determined by the ramrod, the powder bath, the hammer, and countless hand movements that could not be accelerated. The veterans' shoulders trembled, their arms were taut, and even at their fastest speed in their lives, they could only manage two rounds per minute.

When a dozen flintlock muskets lined up and took turns firing, the sound of gunfire was like a tattered net with holes everywhere, unable to stop the infected from all directions.

Meanwhile, infected people continue to arrive.

As he ran, Perfit glanced back. Most of the infected that had rolled over from behind the ruins on the east side had been blocked by the gray-armored knights, but a small group emerged from the drainage ditch on the right, bypassing the knights' formation and cutting into the veterans' firing line from the side.

A Ross veteran had just finished loading his bullets and hadn't even had time to aim when he was hit squarely by an infected that had rolled out of a ditch.

He cursed hoarsely in Ross, reversed the butt of his rifle and smashed it into the infected man's temple, knocking him to the ground. Then he drew his bayonet from his waist and plunged it into the man's eye socket.

He pushed the infected creature away and tried to get back on his feet to return to the line of fire.

But he couldn't stand up.

When he crawled back from near the ditch, his injured leg was clearly dragging on the ground and he could no longer exert any force, so he slowed down.

More infected people had pressed in from behind, dragging him back into darkness.

Perfit heard the hoarse cry.

It wasn't a complete sentence, just a name, a mother tongue, a hoarse cry cut off too quickly.

"For Rose's mother." That was the last complete sentence she heard.

Then the horde of corpses closed in, and the old soldier's tattered uniform was dragged down and swallowed up by the black arms, like a pebble being swallowed into a swamp without making a ripple.

Perfit turned his gaze back to the front and gave Belfast the new instructions.

Her voice remained completely still.

Cherzov stayed at the back of the line until the last Russian veteran ran ahead of him before turning around and catching up with the group.

As he passed the spot where the veteran had been swallowed up, he tilted his head, drew the flintlock pistol from his waist, and emptied the magazine into the pile of infected who were still tearing each other apart.

After he ran out of bullets, he didn't stop to reload; he simply tucked the empty gun back into his waistband, turned around, and continued running forward.

He didn't say anything. He just stepped harder with each step.