1

Seven years have slipped by since I found the broken Armunale.

Let me give a rough rundown of what’s come before.

What I tackled first was repairing what I could, as best I could.

Armunale, once powered up, had a built-in function to assess its own damage. I used that to figure out where it needed fixing before I could even turn it on.

Truth be told, nearly all the joints were ruined, and since the back hit the cliffside hard, some of the pipes had cracked, and a few cables had snapped clean through.

To fix the back side, we’ll have to dig a hole into the cliff and work from there. So we’ll set that aside for now and start with repairing the joints first.

The armor was welded shut tight—no screws or bolts in sight. So, I used wind magic to carefully cut through it, taking it apart piece by piece, like I used to with those model kits back in my last life.

Then I started checking the exposed Armunale frame from the ground up, picking out the broken bits. Scanned for parts on the left arm that might be salvageable, and places where, without proper tools, we’d just have to give up.

It took half a year just to go through the right leg. Three months on the left. Another three on the right arm. Then another three months for the torso and neck area. By the end, I’d finally gone through the whole thing.

All the while, I’d been using the small coin I’d earned from hunting, slowly gathering tools.

A kid trying to fix an Armunale all by themselves. If word got out, the villagers’d start giving me the eye—like I’d sprouted a second head. So I had to deal with the merchant straight-up, quiet-like. Took some doing, that did.

I was eight, nine at the most back then. Kids don’t go asking for odd tools. Not even close. And if I told him I might need iron pipes, tubes, cables down the line? He’d be sniffing around like a hound on a trail.

Plus, we were out in the middle of nowhere—no one even used iron much. The merchant had to’ve thought I’d lost my mind.

But I turned it on its head. Played up the kid bit.

Made him think I was just some kid starin’ at an Armunale, dreamin’ of buildin’ one of my own.

It was a stretch, but I just grinned like a kid—played up the innocent act, acted like I was just some kid gawking at an Armunale, dreaming of building one myself. That did the trick. He bought it. I’d paid proper, after all.

By the time three years had passed, I’d finished repairing the entire left arm—every single part.

By then, Ange had started helping me fix the Armunale too.

She’d been training magic nonstop, and once she learned how to move herself through space, she started showing up down here, right alongside me.

Her reaction when she first saw the Armunale? Not much. But she liked the place—started dropping by every now and then, tagging along. And before I knew it, she was grabbing tools for me, carrying parts, and somehow ended up helping with the repairs anyway.

The thing that helped me the most while fixing things was Ange’s fire magic. She just flicks flames from her fingertips like a gas burner—no fuss. Without her, I’d’ve been wrestling with cracked pipes and places needing a little weld, that much harder.

And so, time passed. Today marked the eighth year.

We’d finally finished all the emergency repairs we could manage.

“Finally did it! Oh, yeah!”

“Congratulations, Eld.”

Me shouting at Armunale, voice cracking with triumph. Ange clapping beside me.

Ange’s turned fifteen now, and she’s sharpened into a real beauty. Her hands—should be rough from farm work—stay soft somehow. She’s hitting her second growth spurt, all curves and grace. Her mother’s got a good figure too. Ange’ll probably grow even bigger than that one day.

"Thanks to Ange helping out. If it weren’t for her, we’d’ve been stuck with another two years of growing."

"Nah, that’s not true. It was you, Eld, pushing so hard that we got this far. Anyway, aren’t we doing the start-up test now?"

"Yeah, right. Then, Ange, you head up to the cliff’s edge. Can’t tell what’ll happen."

It’s a machine built by amateurs. Might be all crooked inside.

If it moves wrong, that crookedness could send armor flying off—right into Ange. No chance of it being safe. So Ange’s gotta get clear.

"Okay. Good luck."

She let go of my hand, dashed across the riverbed, and began chanting.

"Flare Booster, double installation. Start."

Two transparent things—like boosters—appeared at Ange’s waist. That’s the base of her movement magic.

The boosters spew fire, and that’s how she accelerates.

She climbs the cliff with ease, waves at me once she reaches the top.

I wave back, then climb into the pilot’s seat of the Armunale.

"Alright, let’s hope it starts right this time."

With practiced hands, I open the fuel valve and press the start button. The gauges come alive, and a low hum vibrates up through the seat.

This part’s old hat. I’ve done it hundreds of times over eight years.

Now comes the first time for this particular step. Nerves, maybe—I wipe the sweat off my palms, then slowly press down on the foot pedal.

The generator’s output climbs. The needle creeps upward, inch by inch. The first time I tried this, I blew an error halfway through.

I stare hard at the gauge, watching the needle cross the midpoint—just to be sure.

I pressed the panel down harder, cranked up the output.

"Go, go, go, go!"

As the output climbed, the sound inside the machine shifted—grew louder, wilder.

A roar like a jet engine, the needle surged forward—plunged into the second stable zone.

"Awaken! Armunale!"

This was the first time I’d pushed the start button.

"How’s it look!"

Checking the gauges—output holding steady in the second stable zone, joints moving, not all green, but all yellow, barely functional. Head-mounted camera, online. Hydraulic pressure, no anomalies. Gyro balancer, operating normally. Concentrated mana fluid (Hyimagia Liquid), one-tenth remaining. Estimated operational time: five hours.

"Alright! It’s running!"

System-wise, it’s up and running just fine! No errors spitting out from the gauges. According to the data, this Armunale can actually move!

Then there’s only one thing left to do.

Activate it for real.

“First, the right hand.”

I slowly push the control lever at my side.

Creaking, groaning, the right arm lifts up—level with the ground.

Press the button on the lever, and each finger moves with a solid, sure grip.

“Me? I’m moving a robot! I’m piloting a humanoid machine!”

Pure joy bubbling up from deep inside.

Before I know it, tears are spilling from my eyes. Eight long years. Finally, I’ve made it this far.

“Still got energy left. Then… let’s try standing it up.”

Would’ve liked to refill the Hyimagia Liquid too, if I could—except that stuff’s made only in state-run factories, and I can’t get my hands on any. So I’ve been saving it, and still, it’s running low. Don’t know how much fuel it actually uses when it’s moving, but ten percent? That’s pushing it if I want to get it to work right. Still, if I’m just getting this thing upright, should be fine.

Never practiced steering it up before, but the basics are in the manual—right there, plain as day.

I’ve memorized that textbook by heart. Can recite it blindfolded now.

So I’m good. Just follow the book, and it’ll move like it’s supposed to. A little wobble? The mobility calculator—Sense Board—should smooth that out.

—pushing down the foot pedal with one foot, lifting the slot with the other—

Like tracing the steps of a driving school drill—slow, one by one, sure as can be.

Armunale shifted its feet slowly, in time with it.

Dragging my right leg, bracing with my left, I lean forward and slowly rise up from that stubborn stance.

Left hand’s missing, so balance’s off—though the gyro stabilizer and the mobility calculator (sense board) fix it all on their own.

The view inside the pilot's seat slowly rose, the visible range widening bit by bit.

Kneeling higher still—

"Get up!"

I couldn’t help but shout as I reached the final step. In response, Armunale shot upright with a sudden burst of motion.

Got it!

Maybe it’s not much of a leap for humans, but it’s a giant step for me.

There she is—Ange bouncing up and down on the cliff’s edge. Feels like something out of memory, doesn’t it?

So I reach up and flip the switch, turning on the mic and the sound collector.

Magic. That’s what it is. How it works? The spell etched onto the mobility calculation device—Sense Board—is activated by consuming concentrated magical liquid, Hyimagia Liquid.

Could almost feel like a beam weapon, if you’re from the modern age.

Armunale can only activate spells written on its Sense Board, but thanks to the Hyimagia Liquid, the scale of those spells… well, it’s not even in the same league as what a person could do.

I’d have loved to rewrite this mobile calculation device—this senseboard—entirely and make it my own, but… well, the basic theory book barely says anything about senseboards at all. It’s Armunale’s brain we’re talking about, so probably need a whole lot more specialized knowledge.

“Ange, you hear me?”

“Huh!? Eld’s voice just got loud!”

“Your voice comes through too. That’s this thing’s magic.”

“Whoa, even that’s possible. Oh—wait, congratulations! You finally got it running!”

“Yeah, for now, that’s enough. Gotta check things over after this, make sure nothing’s wrong.”

Sure, I’d love to push it hard—but this isn’t some ready-to-go machine. It was broken when I found it. Got it standing, sure. But you never know what’s happening out of sight.

Take every precaution, under strict safety protocols—don’t even think about turning it on.

"Got it. Then I’m heading over."

"Ah."

I open the hatch, shift my weight from the cockpit to my shoulder.

The view—four meters higher than what I’ve seen before—feels like another world entirely.

And there, Ange jumps down.

"Again, congratulations."

"Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you, Ange."

"Be sure to thank me properly. And give me the greatest gift you can think of."

"I’ll think about it."

She’s asking for quite the favor. A reward equal to fulfilling my dream… what on earth am I supposed to prepare?

Well, that’s something to figure out later.

"Alright, then. Time to get to maintenance."

"Yep."

We leap off the machine, starting the inspection.

In the quiet forest, the sound of giant footsteps echoes.

Each step was slow, deliberate—matching the pace of the soldiers below.

Twenty soldiers in total, all mounted, all clad in identical black armor.

"Really a village up ahead, huh?"

The tall man at the front glared at the thin man tied to the saddle beside him.

The thin man flinched, voice trembling.

"Y-yes. Just a small farming hamlet, only comes once a month to sell supplies..."

"Once, you sold iron, copper wire, special drivers?"

"Yes... that's correct."

He was the merchant who regularly brought goods to Eld’s village.

"Captain, aren’t you overthinking this? A backwater like that making Armunale?"

The voice came from above—sharp and bright, cutting through the black base of the Armunale like a red line drawn in fire.

Young. Bright. Alive.

“Beyond the village, there’s a deep valley. That’s where the front lines were during the old civil war that split this country in two. It’s not strange at all that an Armunale from that time still remains. If we believe this merchant’s tale, it’s probably in decent shape. Might even still have a working generator. Lucky we found this out before the army did. Thank you, merchant.”

“H-huh…”

The merchant, who’d accidentally let slip he sold mechanical parts in a backwater village over drinks, now regretted it deeply.

There’s only one organization in the whole world that could operate an Armunale without getting tangled in the nation’s affairs.

The big mercenary group—Du Librepel.

No home. No base. No leaders. Just a bunch of dangerous freelancers, each one doing whatever they please, guided only by their own beliefs and desires.

But if you speak their name, and follow the rules of Du Librepel, you’re welcome to join. Kind of like a guild, really.

Those who fight. Those who stir up war. Those who steal what they can from the chaos. Everyone here makes war their livelihood, and that’s the only thing they have in common. Hard to deal with, even for a nation.

“With something like that, the captain’d be a real power player! And we’d be rolling in coin—couldn’t ask for more!”

“Exactly. No other unit in Du Librepel’s got two Armunale units yet. We’ll be the first to claim one, and make our name as war contractors—just watch.”

Good to see you’re eager, but don’t forget my cut, now—else—

Without a word, Armunale’s right arm stretched out, fingers brushing the hilt, and the blade swept through the air with smooth, effortless grace.

Despite its massive weight, the motion stirred only a breeze. The horses barely flinched, marching on as if nothing had happened.

Then, suddenly, one of the soldiers trailing behind let out a scream.

“U-uh… aaaaah!”

“What’s wrong?”

“M-my horse’s neck—”

Trembling fingers pointed to the horse the man rode. The neck was severed clean through—as if it had never been there to begin with.

Yet the horse didn’t even seem to notice. It kept walking, headless, carrying its rider, until it tripped on a root jutting from the ground and collapsed.

The rider just sat there, legs gone weak, unable to rise.

“Ferz!”

“Haha, just a little entertainment. But you get it, right?”

“Got it! I’ll give you the finest battlefield there is.”

“Then that’s perfect. As long as you give me a place to fight, I’ll follow you, Captain.”

The voice coming from Armunale was utterly innocent. Innocent, yes—but that very innocence carried a madness beyond measure, sending shivers through the members.