Smoke drifted low across the southern districts of Kyushu.
The initial chaos of landing had passed. Defensive lines had formed. Supply corridors were secured. Federation banners marked captured intersections. What had begun as a risky gamble was stabilizing into controlled expansion.
At the center of the battlefield, the Shenhu advanced.
Inside the cockpit, Li Xingke observed the shifting formations with measured focus. The early Britannian counteroffensive had been sharp—almost unnaturally so—but it had lost momentum. Chinese artillery saturation had forced the enemy to widen their engagement radius. Several key urban chokepoints were now under Federation control.
"Southern axis secured," an operator reported. "Enemy units retreating inland."
Xingke nodded once.
The most dangerous phase had passed. The landing had succeeded. Their numbers were overwhelming. Britannian units, though elite, could not sustain prolonged attrition against ten thousand deployed Knightmares.
"Advance two kilometers," Xingke ordered. "We press before they reorganize."
The Shenhu moved forward, iron ropes moving with incredible precison. A Britannian unit attempting flanking maneuver was bisected cleanly. Another was disabled with a precise strike to its propulsion core. Nearby Federation pilots steadied at the sight of their commander leading from the front.
Momentum shifted.
Britannian resistance, once cohesive, began yielding ground sector by sector.
It was then that radar signatures appeared.
Three units.
High altitude. Rapid descent vectors.
"Unidentified aerial Knightmares approaching from the north," came the alert. "Flight configuration confirmed."
Xingke's gaze flickered upward briefly.
Reinforcements. Of it couldn't be that simple.
"They're heading straight for me," he said quietly.
"Three targets, converging fast. Engage only if necessary. Maintain formation."
The pilots were the former 3 leaders of the Pureblood faction.
Jeremiah Gottwald.
Villetta Nu.
Kewell Soresi.
Xingke evaluated quickly.
The first Knightmare struck with a calculated burst of fire, cutting through two nearby Federation units before they could react. The second moved above, anticipating escape vectors and limiting the Shenhu's maneuvering options. The third hovered slightly back, monitoring the engagement and timing its attacks to exploit openings. Xingke's assessment was simple: they were skilled, fast, and disciplined. Individually, manageable. But together, they were overwhelming.
He adjusted the Shenhu's trajectory, targeting the first attacker. Blade arcs tore through the air, striking at the Knightmare's propulsion, but the trio avoided decisive damage, covering each other seamlessly. Xingke attempted a flanking maneuver, slicing toward the Knightmare he believed most exposed. Yet, every adjustment was countered. Their movements were precise, almost anticipatory. He did not know why, only that their coordination was unnaturally perfect.
Minutes passed as the battle escalated. Xingke forced a series of attacks—denting armor, tearing away stabilization fins—but the three assailants adapted instantly. One would cut off his retreat, another strike from above, the third force a lateral shift. The Shenhu moved relentlessly, but the three Knightmares forced him onto the defensive.
Seeing an opening, Xingke decided it was time. He had kept a specialized maneuver in reserve—one he considered unstoppable against any opponent who did not know him. He activated the Shenhu's full energy output, charging a concentrated radiant strike. The beam coalesced, brilliant and unyielding, directed toward the Knightmare he intended to eliminate first. He anticipated their reaction, calculated distance, and timing—it was perfect.
But the Knightmare twisted. Just enough to avoid the blast. Xingke froze. The Knightmare's pilot, Villetta, had moved before the attack fully manifested. His strike, which would have been fatal under any normal circumstance, passed harmlessly. For the first time, he realized his assumption had been wrong. The enemy was not only skilled—they were aware of danger in a way that defied explanation.
Jeremiah and Kewell pressed the attack from either side. The Shenhu was forced into evasive maneuvers, but the energy surge had destabilized its systems. A coordinated assault from the three Knightmares left no option for recovery. Jérémie pinned the Shenhu's arm while Kewell disrupted propulsion from below. Villetta descended, her Knightmare's weapon igniting a radiant wave that struck the Shenhu's core. Systems overloaded. Warning lights blared. The Knightmare shuddered violently. There was no escape.
The Shenhu detonated in a brilliant flash, consuming the cockpit and flinging debris across the beachhead.
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Across the battlefield, Federation command networks hesitated.
Confirmation signals failed to return.
Shenhu's transponder vanished.
For several critical seconds, no replacement authority asserted control.
Britannian units moved immediately.
Hidden inland reserves advanced in coordinated waves. Artillery long held in concealment opened fire on supply corridors and retreat routes. Artillery focused on the beaches, targeting trapped transport ships. Knightmares and ground units converged, systematically driving the invaders back toward the shoreline. Every avenue of escape was contested, every fallback covered by fire.
Chinese formations attempting regroup were struck at structural weak points.
Without centralized command, overlapping units created congestion along withdrawal paths. Defensive lines fragmented under renewed pressure.
Britannian pilots advanced with calculated cohesion.
They did not overextend.
They did not celebrate.
They compressed.
Sector by sector, they drove Federation forces backward through urban corridors toward the shoreline.
Missile strikes ignited ammunition transports near the docks. Knightmares attempting evacuation were destroyed before boarding cycles completed. Several units fell directly into the sea under concentrated fire.
Attempts at last-stand resistance along the beaches collapsed under aerial strafing.
By late evening, organized Federation presence on Kyushu had ceased.
Surviving vessels withdrew under cover of smoke and debris.
In less that 2 days, the invasion of area eleven had turned into a absolute disaster.
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Far from the battlefield, in a secure command room in the capital, Lelouch Lamperouge reviewed reports. The sequence of events had unfolded exactly as planned.
Casualty projections aligned within expected variance.
Enemy retreat patterns matched contingency model three.
He had calculated that the Chinese Federation would exploit imperial instability following the Emperor's assassination.
The window of perceived vulnerability had been obvious.
So he had ensured it existed.
Coastal defenses had been deliberately thinned in visible sectors. Reinforcements positioned inland. Aerial units held in reserve until full enemy commitment.
The counterattack had been scheduled not at first contact—
But immediately after landing completion.
When troop concentration was maximal.
When retreat would be disorganized.
When psychological momentum favored expansion.
As for Xingke, Viletta, Jeremiah, and Kewell each wielded a potent Geass—an unseen force that completely neutralized the gap in piloting ability, leaving him outmatched despite his experience.
The Federation had not simply been pushed back.
They had been lured into a trap and shattered at the precise moment of their greatest vulnerability.
"Everything unfolded exactly as intended," Lelouch said quietly. "Britannia's power remains unquestioned. The Federation—and the Euro—will think twice before attempting another incursion. I can now turn my attention fully to Pendragon, to the capital itself."
His gaze shifted to a fresh report, delivered by one of his most important pawns—the Second Queen, Schneizel's own mother.
A smirk appeared on his face.