The battle was already raging by the time Frostnova arrived, government troops fighting against the guards of the spy cell. Frostnova watched as a spy was outnumbered and cut apart.
"No ranged troops. They wouldn't be suitable for urban combat like this." Andrey reported.
"That's useful. Thank you." Drawing ice into a razor-sharp crystal, Frostnova smiled grimly. Their choice of troops would prove their undoing.
After all, she wasn't your average Caster, cowering behind a wall of expendable infantry. An unfortunate soldier didn't realize this in time and was executed with an ice bolt to the heart.
"Three around the corner, light shields."
Trusting Andrey's report, Frostnova fired around the corner, eliciting two shouts of pain. Another bolt finished the last of the troops.
"Kill their Caster!" A man shouted, and all of a sudden Frostnova was set upon by another group of troops. One charged forwards with his spear, intent on running her through. He tripped upon a quick ice spike. Stepping over, Frostnova shot him through his neck and ended his life.
"Petrova's hanging back for now. You can use your Arts, though take care."
Frostnova smiled menacingly.
The temperature around the soldiers dropped a few degrees and kept dropping.
"Arts –" A soldier made to say, only to be frozen on the spot alongside his comrades. Frostnova walked over to them, methodically executing them with small blasts of Arts.
"This is too easy." Andrey noted.
"They're not elite troops; far from it. The Ursus army would tear them apart." Frostnova grimaced at a memory that rose, unbidden, to the surface. "For all the country's faults, they know how to fight."
Another soldier charged her, spear in hand. Frostnova casually sidestepped his attempt, touching his side with her hand as he passed by. He barely had the chance to cry out in shock before ice impaled him.
"I've got good news." Andrey said.
"Mhm?"
"They're not expecting reinforcements; all of the local troops are held up attacking other cells. They probably didn't expect you to be here. All they've got is fifty new troops, of which ten are dead already."
"Only ten dead?" A group of soldiers rushed her again, together this time. Frostnova frowned, icicles growing from the walls to bar their path. This group seemed particularly persistent, however, and rushed through.
Frostnova pivoted to the side to dodge a sword that was thrust. Ice grew from her hands and she gripped the blade, the soldier crying out in shock as the metal suddenly lowered to freezing temperatures – and then snapped.
Another sword came for her. It moved slowly, tracing an unsteady line that would only barely cut her if it even hit. Frostnova didn't let it, simply gripping the hand on the sword instead, pushing a wave of Arts through it.
The sword fell from thoroughly frostbitten hands, and Frostnova stepped back again as another soldier swung at her.
"You're a Caster! Why are you this strong in a melee?" The soldier she had frostbitten called out, gripping his injured hand.
Frostnova didn't respond, shooting an ice bolt at him and ending his life.
"Die!" Another called, gripping his shortsword with two hands and striking at her with a painfully telegraphed thrust forward. Frostnova sidestepped it, sighing as she shot him in the face with Arts.
She quickly took in the situation again. Two dead, three remaining; of which one she had disarmed.
This was too easy. She wasn't one for honor or fairness – she'd take what she could get – but this almost felt like a massacre. These recruits – really, all they would've been in Ursus – almost felt like civilians.
"They're breaking in through other entrances. You might be swarmed; the other spies likely cannot hold." Andrey reported.
"Will Petrova be injured?" Frostnova asked.
"He can handle himself."
Petrova laughed as one of the soldiers cried out a battle cry and charged forward. At the last moment, he stepped aside and smashed down with his sword, striking the blade out of his opponent's hands.
The soldier took a good few seconds to react, and by then Petrova's sword was already buried in the soldier's chest.
The group of troops around him took a solid step back, none willing to face Petrova. The spies behind Petrova, emboldened, took a step forward in response.
"Really?" Petrova taunted. "You'll let one Infected kill you all?"
He cast aside his heavy coat, revealing a line of black crystal along his arm. "Is no one willing to fight an Infected?"
The closest soldier's expression twisted into a snarl, and he stepped forwards. "Face me in a duel, scum–"
Petrova tossed some dirt into his face. While the soldier was still pawing at his eyes, Petrova stepped forwards and cut him apart. "Anyone else?"
The soldiers ran. A crossbow bolt caught one in the head, and Petrova patted the spy responsible on the shoulder. The spy flinched back – probably afraid of being touched by an Infected – but nodded nonetheless.
"Petrova, yes?" Another soldier asked. "Where to next?"
"Back into the fray of course!" Petrova laughed again. "This is so much easier than fighting the Ursus Army!"
Without waiting, he rushed towards where the battle was still raging.
"Did he just say Ursus Army?" A spy whispered.
"Really, if all the other armies are this pathetic I'm surprised the Infected haven't revolted yet." Petrova idly thought.
A row of shieldbearers marched through the corridor, their leader letting out a shout as they rounded in on Frostnova. "That's her! Don't let her run!"
"They expect you to run?" Andrey chuckled. "Six shieldbearers, wall formation, three wide and two deep. One swordsman behind them, probably their commander. I think you can handle it."
Frostnova nodded, heart jumping at the praise despite the situation.
Then again, this really wasn't that dangerous. She had singlehandedly taken down Shieldguard squads in training; what was this, in comparison?
Closing her eyes and ignoring the slight weakness in her legs, she drew in her Arts again. A single blast would be enough, in such a confined space. She drew in a chilly breath and let it out again, opening her eyes to see the lead soldier barely a few steps away from her.
She smiled. Perfect.
A ring of concentrated Arts flew out around her, rooting the soldiers to the spot – and leaving them easy pickings for the black ice that dropped from above them, impaling them and their armor.
Frostnova fired an almost disdainful shot at their fleeing leader, killing him. "Cowards and incompetents..."
"Many of them are probably reserves; Leithanien doesn't maintain a very large standing army, so they probably called up whoever they could on short notice." Andrey explained.
"How did they survive for so long, then?" Frostnova asked.
"Very, very powerful Arts. If you hear of a royal guard, ru-be very careful."
"Were you suggesting I run?" Frostnova teased.
"Yeah… sorry."
"It's fine. I was teasing you."
"Since when did you start teasing people?" Andrey asked.
"It's only for you…" Frostnova trailed off, a blush forming on her cheeks. "Hm. I didn't mean it like that."
She was glad when another soldier rounded the corner, eyes growing wide when he saw her – and when ice sealed off the path behind her. With all the ferocity of a cornered animal and none of the finesse, he yelled and ran at her.
A burst of Arts froze him to the spot, and an icicle from the ceiling ended his life.
Explosions sounded through the building behind him, and Petrova spun around, seeing the plumes of smoke rising from the Fifth Cell base.
"Time to go, I guess. Looks like they still managed to wipe most of the base out." Petrova regarded the paltry three spies left behind him, watching him with wide eyes.
"I'm going to find my boss. See ya." Petrova gave them a lazy wave and ran off, ignoring their calls for him to stay. His job was to make sure Frostnova didn't overuse his Arts, not to babysit some untrained saboteurs.
He took a look into Gabriel's office, and was unsurprised to find a knife wound in the nobleman's chest, the nobleman kneeling down, fear in his eyes even in death.
Most likely, he had tried to beg for his life, and was summarily executed. Petrova snorted in derision and left.
"Andrey?" He tried to call.
Arts linked to his mind, and Petrova soon heard Andrey's voice. "I'm here. What is it?"
"You heard the explosions, right? The Fifth Cell is probably done for."
"We heard them. Frostnova's killed the last of their troops, however; we should have free reign of the nearby region." A red line traced on the ground, and Petrova dutifully followed it.
He chuckled. "I'm getting lazy, following your orders like this."
Frostnova leaned against a pile of construction debris, stretching her legs out with a quiet groan.
"What's the plan?" Petrova asked. Alone in the abandoned building, they could finally speak normally – a relief to Andrey. Maintaining his Arts was annoying.
"We return to the others." Frostnova said. "Then, we make another attempt at breaking into the Mausoleum."
"That's simple. And very likely to go horribly wrong." Andrey said in a subdued voice.
"While I don't like Andrey's defeatism, he isn't wrong." Petrova nodded. "This will be very risky."
"I told him that we would get his body back, and I intend to keep my word." Frostnova replied, conviction blazing in those eyes. She looked beautiful even then, but Andrey couldn't bring himself to care.
"We can't win this. We tried once with the Yetis still here, and Kalva stopped us." Andrey pointed out. Petrova grimaced. "Unless we have more reinforcements we can draw upon, this can only go worse."
"I've been holding back my Arts."
"Sister!" Petrova exclaimed. "Remember what Patriot told –"
"I don't care." Frostnova cut him off. "Andrey is dying, Petrova. I have to try and save his life."
Petrova shook his head. "Not by killing yourself."
"I won't."
"It might kill us all, not just you. This isn't just a sacrifice, it's collective suicide."
"It won't." Frostnova glared coldly at Petrova. "I've decided. We will find Fredrich and Levina, then launch another attack."
A long moment passed before any of them spoke. Eventually, Petrova broke the silence with a short laugh. It sounded horribly forced. "Let's go, then. Nothing left to do but fight for victory."
Frostnova nodded, expression having softened. "Mhm."
Andrey focused his Arts on Frostnova only, and spoke. "Yelena. Are you sure of this?"
"I'm sorry. I can't lose you, and to turn back now would be to spit upon the other Yetis' sacrifices."
"I'm not important." Andrey argued. "I'm an amnesiac remnant of the last century, not someone you should sacrifice everyone for."
"I'm important to you. Why can't you be important to me?"
"Not at the cost of everyone else, and perhaps yourself too…" Andrey trailed off, seeing Frostnova's expression grow cold again. "Whatever… let's go. Maybe this will end well."
Frostnova stood up, beginning to slowly walk back towards their home base.
Andrey just hoped she wasn't marching to her death.
AN: I imagine a country almost purely based upon Arts won't have a very powerful "conventional" military. Probably just a bunch of very good Casters.
Frostnova is stubborn, Andrey is trying to argue his point, and poor Petrova is stuck in the middle of it.
Anyways, we're almost done! Just four (maybe three) chapters left, and then I'll probably spend a week or two revising. This shouldn't have taken a full year, but oh well.