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"Sixty-two. Good of you to come, students. Sixty-three. I’m the commander here, Sam Solomon. Sixty-four. Though the time’s short, there’s still plenty to learn. Sixty-five. Please absorb as much as you can—use it well."

Sam, still doing squats, speaks, and no one has a word to say. Not that they know what to say. Worse, they don’t know what to *do*!

Look at him! Leon, who’s usually so cool, is tensing up so hard you can see it in his face! Batis is clutching his stomach, trying not to laugh. Rayla’s staring at the commander with eyes so cold they’re practically freezing. That look? That’s dangerous. Still, he’s the highest-ranked knight in Jakarta, so... whatever.

As you’ve introduced yourself, Commander Sam Solomon holds command over Armunale operations here in Jakarta. Armunale units generally operate in separate groups, but the commander decides where they go and what their missions are.

So, when Armunale units are sent out from the capital or Fortran to various locations, that’s under the orders of the Grand Commander or the King. Then, the finer details—how many units to deploy, where, when—those are left to the base commanders.

Meaning, this old man. Despite his beefy look, he must be sharp at strategy. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be running a frontline base like this, where the Overd Empire keeps throwing scraps at us.

“Commander Sam, I’ll be depending on you from now on, along with the students.”

“Mm, one seventy. Starting tomorrow, we’ve got tours of the base planned, I believe. One seventy-one. I’ll be stepping out of the base for business, so I can’t come along—but I’ll assign a guide. One seventy-two. If you’ve got questions, ask that person. One seventy-three.”

“Thank you. Then we’ll be off.”

The instructor wrapped up, turning to leave the room—when suddenly Commander Sam froze mid-squat.

“Mm, then, students. I look forward to meeting you all as knights.”

‘…………Yes!’

How could you not want to meet him as a knight after hearing that?

He’s odd, sure—looks like a proper oddball—but there’s something about the way he speaks, something that pulls you in. That’s probably what people mean by charisma.

We left the command facility, heading toward the dormitory where we’d be staying tonight. It was a four-story building, not far from the command center at all.

Other knights and maintenance crew were using the place just like us, giving us these fond little looks every time we passed—probably all sent here from the academy, just like us.

We stopped on the ground floor of the dormitory.

“Now, about room assignments.”

The instructor looked at Rayla. Rayla tilted her head, puzzled. Was she really being looked at? Lately, surrounded only by men, had she forgotten she was a woman?

“Rayla, if you’d prefer, we can give you a single room.”

Rayla blinked. Now she understood why she’d been stared at.

“Then I’m fine with sharing. Don’t treat me differently because of my sex. If anyone tries something, we’ll all return the favor—double.”

“Hmph. Cowards…”

A chorus of groans rose from the students.

The instructors know how sharp Rayla’s swordplay is, and how strong she’s gotten over the past two years—her movements are sharper now, her blade’s gotten deadlier. Try sneaking up on her at night? She’ll cut your son off before you even blink.

“Then again, if you’re saying that, I’ll have you bunk in the four-person room. Only two of those rooms were ours to begin with, so it’s only fair.”

Makes sense, really. We’re moving as a group, so lodging’s gotta be the same, right?

Wait—hold on. That’d mean if Rayla asked for a single room, the rest of us’d be jammed into a four-person room? Six people, one room?

“First group: 2001. Second group: 2002. Meet here tomorrow at seven. Breakfast together, then we’ll tour the base.”

‘Understood.’

“Alright, that’s it for today. You can wander around the dorm area, but don’t cause trouble. Dismissed.”

"Good work!"

Same words to wrap up the class, and group activity ends here.

"Alright, let’s head to the room first."

"Sure."

"Off to the night streets already?"

"You just said that. We’re only allowed to wander around the dorm area for now. Haven’t even got a pass yet. Can’t leave the base, can we?"

"Like that..."

A little like being dragged by the collar, we make our way to the room they gave us.

Time slips by quick—next morning.

Breakfast was at the base’s mess hall. Tasted pretty good. Standard buffet style—just as solid as the academy’s. Gotta eat well when your body’s your main weapon. Food’s important.

Stepping out of the mess, we head toward our first stop: the first hangar. That’s where we’re meeting the guide.

We’d barely reached the hangar when a slender man stood waiting by the entrance. He spotted us and came over on his own. Probably our guide.

“Pleased to meet you, academy students. I’m Arnold Riot, deputy commander of the Jakarta command. I’ll be leading you today, so I hope we get along well.”

Polite as could be. Nothing like that commander—back there, he couldn’t even finish his introduction without doing a squat.

After each of us gave a quick hello, we all stepped into the first hangar.

There, two Armunale units were stored.

“These are the Armunale currently undergoing maintenance—the twenty-first and twenty-sixth Armunale squads.”

Both were stripped bare, their armor removed, their inner workings laid open like a child’s toy.

These two units just returned from patrolling the buffer zone. About a month’s worth of duty. We’d go around in rotation—checking the buffer zone, then the villages touching it, making sure everything was quiet. Most of the squads assigned here do that. This time, no skirmishes at all, which is nice. But lately, the Overd’ve been stirring up a lot more. So we’re running into them fairly often. Usually end up in a draw, come back with neither side getting the upper hand.

A draw, huh… well, worst thing’s losing the unit. That’s probably why both sides are careful.

“We’re not attacking, even though we’re under assault. Sometimes the villagers complain about that. But we never send Armunale units into Overd territory. Know why? Batis, you tell me.”

“Could be… the Overd Empire’s got more Armunale units than we do, yeah?”

Right now, there are thirty-six Armunale units active in the Fatal Kingdom. Three or so added since two years ago.

According to what the instructor said, my unit’s been making a name for itself.

Both the Overd Empire and the Fatal Kingdom know roughly how many units each side has. And thanks to spies and scout squads, they’ve got a pretty good idea of where most of them are.

But my unit? It was found by accident in the mountainous backlands, far from Overd territory. The Empire doesn’t even know it exists. Still, if it ever gets into town… Well. The information’ll reach them sooner or later.

Sam, hearing we’d gotten a new unit, came up with a lightning strike plan—fix that machine and send it to the front before the enemy even knew what we had. Just slapped together with spare parts, a quick job, really—slapped on an outer shell, shoved a generator in, and called it done.

The commander gave the go-ahead for the plan—and then the Empire lost two units to an unexpected assault by machines not listed in their intel.

Even if we managed to capture two, the Empire still has far more machines than we do.

The Empire’s machines—just the ones we’ve managed to track—number forty-five. If we hadn’t captured any, there’d be forty-seven of them floating around.

True, with that many machines on the field, breaking through would be tough. But realistically, fewer are actually moving—there’s the city’s guard duties, border patrols with other nations, all that. Not every machine has to face Fatal, so there’s plenty of ways to fight.

But Batis’s answer? Half right, half wrong.

“Sixty points, maybe? How about we hear Leon’s take?”

“Sure. If both sides launch invasions, the villages near Fatal’s border will be wiped out. That’s nothing new in Jakarta. It’s like two beasts tearing each other apart, fangs deep in flesh. Even if we destroyed the Empire, we couldn’t call it a win—too much damage.”

“Yeah… that one’s worth ninety points or more.”

War’s not just about Armunale smashing into Armunale. Each side’s got their own win condition. You’re gonna lose some people—no way around it.

If both sides start invading, defenses get thin. That’s when the Armunale holding the buffer zone right now starts marching straight toward the capital.

Town after town burns. Hundreds dead. You can already see it coming. Still, if the king were a king, he might risk it—throw his people into the breach. But lucky for us, Fatal’s king’s the kind who cares about his people. So he’s sticking with this method: knock back the ones who come at him.

Well, truth be told, we could end the war like this—no need to go on forever. It might take time, but just like I promised Rene, if we take every single one of their machines, we win.

No, we don’t have to take them all. Cut their numbers in half, and suddenly it’s their turn to be on the defense. Their strategy shifts. They’ll have to fight to hold their ground.

It’ll take time, sure. But better than both sides bleeding out thousands—maybe millions—of lives. That’s the real win.

That’s not to say we’re just sitting back and defending, though. You’ll see what’s coming—every day, we’re pushing forward with new weapons, building smarter mobility calculators—those senseboards, you know—boosting fuel efficiency with generators, all to make our frames stronger. We’re gathering intel from all sorts of places, too. The manual controls you came up with? We’re testing if the knights can use them, right now. Just… seems tough going, that’s all.

Hmph. Yeah, manual controls would definitely make things stronger. But you gotta give up something, too. Left hand’s so busy it’s useless.

Even Rayla, Batis, Leon—they’ve all griped about that. Lately, they’ve been trying to figure out how to do manual control with just the feet, at least. Not working out too well, though.

You see, the first machine I ever climbed into didn’t even have a left arm to begin with. Ended up fighting in my very first battle like that. So I figure, why fix what’s already working? Not that I’ve lost a single one since the direct combat training started three years ago. Not yet, anyway. If I did lose… well, then I’d have to think about it, wouldn’t I?

“Let’s take a walk along the catwalk, then. You’ve never seen the machines up close in the hangar, have you? There’s all sorts of handy things in here, built in for convenience.”

Arnold, the deputy, started climbing the hangar’s stairs. We followed right behind him, moving deeper into the hangar.

Looking down at the machines from the catwalk felt… fresh. Different.

That’s about all I can say about the tour. I’ve been on top of machines before—same level as the outside view, plenty of times. But seeing the machines themselves up close? That’s rare. Kinda nice, actually. But that’s it. I can’t ride one, after all.

As a mechanic-in-training, maybe the tools in the hangar would make my mouth water. But for us pilots-in-training? Show me a crane, and I’m not exactly dazzled. Well, I’d be happy if I could actually operate one. But no such luck.

So, quick and simple—on we go, touring the command center, strategy meeting rooms, training halls, medical bays, all that.

Pretty much all clustered near the command hub, with the less important ones tucked farther out. The magitech vehicle garage? Just a little dot in a corner of the base, all by itself.

“Now then, did the places we’ve seen so far feel a bit… underwhelming?”

Arnold, deputy commander, says with a grin—like he’s read our minds.

“Well, kids aiming to be pilots usually like flying Armunale, that’s just how it is. But if they’re just after being near Armunale—well, even if they’re set on being pilots, most end up switching to maintenance or sensory board operations by second year. Safer, by far, and honestly, a lot less painful.”

True enough—aside from rare cases like Rayla—everyone still here’s got a real fondness for flying Armunale.

More like, you can’t keep going unless you love it. The training’s relentless. Muscles twitch from exhaustion, scrapes never stop. And still, you’ve got to keep studying to keep your grades up. No breaks. Not really. Maybe seven days a year, if you’re lucky.

Truth be told, just wanting to hang around Armunale won’t get you anywhere.

“Now, I think you lot might actually enjoy the next place we’re headed.”

Arnold, the deputy commander, pointed at a building—about the size of a storage shed.

“The next stop’s the New Tech Research Tower. Where they build and brainstorm new Armunale weapons and mobility systems—those senseboards, you know.”

Ah. Different from the other places. This time, it’s not just some show-and-tell. These new weapons and senseboards? They’re things we’ll actually use.

If it’s cutting-edge tech like this, I *have* to see it. Hell, I’d love to try it out.

After all, if it’s being developed now, chances are… by the time we’re full pilots, years from now, this very thing’ll be in our hands.

The other members—something about their expressions shifts, suddenly stiffening like they’ve been snapped taut. Arnold, watching, lets out a quiet chuckle.

As we approach the research wing, the number of soldiers visibly increases. Must be the latest tech—security’s tighter than elsewhere, that’s for sure.

We follow Arnold into the first floor. Nothing there but a hallway stretching into the distance.

He tells us to wait a moment and disappears into the adjacent room, returning with a stack of papers.

“Sign here,” he says, sliding one toward us. “This is a pledge not to speak of anything you see here, anywhere else.”

We each take a sheet, flipping through it with a quick glance. Should probably read every word, right? But that’s not really my style—no point memorizing every tiny rule, really.

The gist of it matched what the deputy had explained—pretty much what you’d expect.

Don’t talk about anything you’ve seen or heard outside the research wing. And no writing down information—no notes, no scribbles.

Yeah, obvious stuff.

But if you break any of this? Prison time, up to the worst case—death.

Discussion outside the research wing’s a bit harsh. Can’t even chat about it back in the dorms. Just sit alone, stewing in silence, trying to figure things out…

Well, can’t help it. If you want to keep secrets in this world, you’ve gotta go all in.

We each signed our names and handed the papers over to the deputy.

Once she’d collected them all, she tucked the stack back into the next room and led us down the deeper corridor.

We walked down the corridor and opened the door. There, beyond a single lattice screen, was a storage chamber stretching sideways.

No—probably not quite right. No hangers to secure the Armunale, no full body placed there. Just limbs—arms and legs, severed and fixed straight from the arm.

“This is where they’re researching new weapons. Right now, they’re working on magical flight devices that don’t need spells. You know, firearms. See that hand holding something? Can you tell what it’s gripping?”

The deputy pointed at the Armunale’s arm, fixed to the frame. It was definitely clutching something huge and tube-shaped. Or—better yet—it wasn’t holding it. The object was fastened directly to the arm itself.

Could that be a cannon?

“That’s just a gun, blown up. Got kind of ugly when they scaled it up, but it still works just fine.”

"Why on earth are you pulling out a gun now? That’s ancient history."

Batis tilted his head.

This world, technically, has heavy weapons—just not much of a fuss over them. Villages still used bows, plain and simple, because gunpowder was expensive. Most of the time, a bow did just fine.

But here, heavy weapons don’t carry the weight they did back in my old world. What with magic being so… handy. Try it once, and you’ll see—magic beats a gun every time. No gear to carry, no maintenance, no resupply. Just point and go. Naturally, we use magic.

So not many bother studying them. It’s only recently we figured out how to make bullets for matchlock guns. Honestly? If you’re gonna waste time loading a gun, you might as well just blast magic instead. That’s the way things are. And I’ll tell you—me, I’m right behind that idea.

Cannons were useful back when Armunale first showed up, I guess. But now that fights are mostly sudden, random clashes, they’re too slow to carry and set up. So both sides just stopped using them.

Right now, heavy weapons are just heavy, clumsy things. Might be useful if you’ve got them mounted on a wall. That’s about the level of usefulness. Batis’s take on it? Probably normal for someone living in this world.

But listen, Batis! You’re supposed to be aiming for pilot—don’t you get it? The point of heavy weapons is *why* they’re there!

Why do you still think Armunale’s fighting with a sword slung at her hip?!

Leon just shook his head, a little sigh in his voice.

“Batis… when Armunale’s in battle, what’s the one thing you need to watch out for most?”

“Sure, it’s the remaining amount of Hyimagia Liquid, right?”

You already know that—so pay attention!

“That’s right. Armunale runs on nothing but Hyimagia Liquid. Magic uses it too, naturally. So when it runs low, you can’t cast spells much. What about heavy weapons, then?”

“Ah—so even with little fuel left, you can still fire projectiles!”

“Exactly, Leon. If we get this working properly, we’ll be able to fight while using far less Hyimagia Liquid. That means each Armunale can cover a wider area—and more importantly, the royal treasury won’t bleed dry.”

Well, firing an Armunale eats up Hyimagia Liquid something fierce—roughly tens of thousands of crowns’ worth per shot. Some say it goes into the hundreds of thousands… or more, maybe.

Even a practice model like the Shockburst costs a few thousand crowns per blast. So if it’s swapping iron balls and gunpowder instead, the treasurer’s probably doing backflips right now.

That said, we’re still ages away from actual use. The bigger it gets, the heavier the gun gets—way heavier than you’d guess. Right now, we can’t even aim without lashing it to our arm. And then there’s the ammo issue, and a whole mountain of other problems. Right, next one, shall we?

Probably fell behind because it wasn’t needed. Back on Earth, I think firearms stayed matchlocks from the ninth to the fifteenth century, didn’t they? Still, once they were needed, once they were valued—boom, they shot ahead in a flash. So if demand for these guns picks up here, too, it’ll inevitably evolve just like before. Maybe even something new—something with magic mixed in.

Then the way Armunale fight each other… well, that’ll change, won’t it?

“Alright, next one, shall we?”

I stare at the barrel clutched in the machine’s arm, picture Armunale trading shots in a storm of fire, and let a smile tug at my lips.