4

The season had passed summer, slipping into autumn with a breeze that carried just a hint of chill.

The endless meadow had shifted from green to brown, and the trees in the forest glade were blazing with color, their leaves turning like fire. A thick carpet of fallen leaves made the ground slick beneathfoot, and twisted roots jutted up from the soil, hiding like traps beneath the surface.

Deep within that forest, two Armunale faced each other, blades locked.

One belonged to Leon. The other to Rayla.

“Leon’s getting pushed back.”

“Rayla’s been terrifying lately. Feels like a mountain spirit’s taken over her.”

The students around Batis nodded, caught by his words.

Not just pilots’ students are here. Since autumn, when they’ve been clashing directly with Armunale units, maintenance students have been showing up on the field too, watching the fights.

And once a machine is damaged, it gets hauled off right away—swapped out for a fresh one in about fifteen minutes.

Simple setup. Pre-assembled parts, except for the generator, which they just shove in after pulling the old one out.

Maintenance students fix the broken bits. Pilots take the repaired machines and jump back into training.

By the third year, both groups were doing more hands-on lessons.

Then—Rayla’s machine moves.

Leon’s machine lightly taps the tip of her blade and then lunges straight into his embrace. But Leon didn’t earn third place for nothing.

He steps back instantly, creating distance, then swings his sword down hard at Rayla’s machine. Rayla’s machine blocks it—right there, the clash turns into a blade lock.

Same performance. Same weight. So the outcome of the lock depends entirely on skill. Just as that thought crosses my mind, Rayla’s machine pulls its arm back—just slightly—releasing tension.

Of course, Leon’s blade presses forward. But it never touches Rayla’s machine.

The sudden impact from below knocks Leon’s arm clean up.

“Shock burst.”

“Yeah—enough force to lift an arm, that’s all.”

Three spells are registered on the Armunale for today’s实战 training. One’s the usual shock burst, another’s a blinding flash to dazzle the eyes, and the last is a magic shield for countering magic.

The magic shield’s flimsy—anyone with Armunale’s strength could break through it easily—but it’s still good enough to dampen magical impacts. This time, it could even nullify a shock burst completely. In fact, most combat-ready units carry this spell, just to avoid fatal hits.

But Rayla managed to knock Leon off balance by timing her shock burst just outside the shield’s activation window.

Leon’s machine, arms flung skyward, left its torso wide open—no surprise there.

The blade of the Rayla machine was pressed right against it.

The tip had the cockpit fully pinned. That’s it.

“Enough!”

The instructor barked into the mic, and both machines slowly backed off, pulling distance, stowing their weapons at their hips before turning back toward us.

In response, the maintenance students scattered into motion around the field.

We’d have to recover both machines, haul them to the hangar, swap out the generator, and get a new one out within fifteen minutes.

Come on! The maintenance instructor’s shout cut through the air, and the students flocked around the halted Armunale.

Rayla opened the cockpit hatch and jumped out—no magic, not even a flicker.

A ripple of unease passed through the maintenance students, but when Rayla landed with a sharp, perfect thud, a breath—part awe, part wonder—escaped them. Then they snapped to attention, realizing they weren’t supposed to be staring, and the mobility crew scrambled into the cockpit.

Leon activated magic as casually as ever and stepped down onto the grass.

“Both of you, good work.”

“Rayla’s winning streak continues.”

“Naturally.”

“Hmph…”

Rayla spoke without shifting a muscle, cold as stone. Leon lowered his head, fists clenching.

Ever since the urban field exercise, Rayla’s demeanor had turned unmistakably colder.

Her actions—pushing everyone away, choosing words that felt like taunts. She’d always drawn disapproving glances before, but lately… it felt like something sharper. Like hostility.

Well, I do love Armunale, and he’s always hated it, so I guess it’s only fair I get treated like that. But still… being suddenly pulled away after more than two years? Kinda lonely, you know.

“Next up—Eld and Batis. Eld’s been steady, undefeated so far, but Batis’s been on a roll lately. Let’s both give it our best.”

‘Yes!’

The instructor glanced at Layra for just a second—then snapped back to the papers in his hands.

I climbed into the fresh, brand-new machine, fired it up.

Beside me, Batis did the same.

We gave each other a silent nod. No words. Just motion—over to the starting line.

“Ready?”

“Eld’s machine—no issues.”

“Batis’s machine—ready anytime!”

“Then—begin!”

The signal came—my machine lurched sharply backward. Right after, Batis’s blade swept past my face.

“Tch.”

The sound-amplifying magic caught Batis’s muttered curse.

Sweet. I’m not so soft as to fall for a trick that easy.

As my machine tipped back, I cranked up the generator’s output and kicked the foot pedals hard, kicking up a spray of dirt.

The machine leapt backward, spinning on just one arm to recover its balance.

“Damn crazy maneuvers, huh.”

“Not so bad. Then—let’s go.”

I reset myself, firing off a shock burst. Naturally, it got deflected by the magic shield—but that was just a way to keep him from hurling magic before I closed in.

I channeled the shock burst at minimum strength, saving fuel, and drove it straight into Batis’s frame.

Batis kept his magic shield up and caught my sword mid-swing.

Then without missing a beat, he lunged his right arm forward and fired magic straight at my left side—the machine’s hand. My left arm won’t move, so it’s only natural.

But I’m not stupid enough to just take it.

I countered his shock burst with the same magic, canceling it out.

That’s why Armunale relies on magic as its primary weapon, even with its fuel issues—because of the freedom of angle.

Guns and cannons? Useless when you’re in close. They’re just blunt clubs once the range collapses. But magic? No angles to lock. No direction to dodge.

You can fire it from any angle, any direction—just don’t wreck your own frame.

Of course, if you’re both at point-blank range, you can just cancel each other out with a counter-spell. No problem.

The shockwave shakes the hull like a loose plank, but that’s nothing. Not really.

I brace my right arm, shove Batis’s sword back just a fraction.

That’s all I need—drop low, sweep with my leg.

Batis jumps clear, but I don’t wait. I fire a shock burst straight up at his airborne machine.

Even with a magic shield, you can’t brace midair. Not really.

He’s shoved backward by the impact. I don’t stop. I run in, thrust my sword forward.

My one-armed swordplay’s come a long way over the past two years.

At first, I tried adapting the techniques I learned from Rene to the机体’s movements—but you can’t really mimic swordplay without using your left arm, so I gave up.

That’s when I talked it over with Rene and came up with this special technique for the Armunale.

It’s a one-armed slash, using movements no human could ever do—full joint articulation on the机体, twisting and lunging in ways that shouldn’t be possible.

“Try it, then!”

My sword thrust was dodged by the Batis machine, which twisted its frame hard to throw off balance.

It landed with a thud, one knee sunk deep into the ground, grinding the earth as it stabilized. I couldn’t follow up—its upper body stayed perfectly balanced, no opening at all.

Only a few months left! I’m not gonna just sit back and play second fiddle forever—neither you, nor Leila, nor Leon! I’m knocking all of you down and claiming the top spot myself!

Fire in his voice. My whole body’s trembling like a leaf in the wind.

But I’m not about to hand over my undefeated streak so easy. Manual control, one-handed swordplay, and my stubborn pride—let’s throw it all at Batis and see who breaks first!

Come on, bring it!

Batis’s machine rises and charges straight at me.

His sword’s aimed at my left side—just like I figured. So I’ll meet it there with a counter!

Crouch low. Ready my blade.

The swing comes in, just as expected—right for my left side.

I flick the flash on straight away—just a split second, but it blinds Batis, cuts off his sight, hides my move. My own machine goes dark too, but changing the arc of a falling blade? Impossible.

I thrust my sword straight into the path it was meant to take.

Clang—violent sound, sharp jolt through the frame. My blade spears into Batis’s arm.

I push it home, use the momentum to yank the machine down, kick up with my right foot.

Full-body kick—cracks the movable camera right off, the head’s gone.

“Gh—aaah!”

The machine tumbles, rolls on, wrenching its arm free as it goes.

When the flash fades, Batis’s machine’s already down—right arm gone, head blown clean off—sprawled in the grass.

I step forward slowly, straddling Batis’s machine, then raise my sword overhead with the hilt in my hand. If I let it fall now, the blade’ll cut right through the cockpit.

“Stop right there!”

The instructor’s voice cuts in.

I slide the sword back into my belt, then reach out toward Batis’s machine.

“You okay?”

“Damn it, you went and knocked me flat on my ass.”

He says it, gripping my machine’s hand to pull himself up. Looks like his body’s fine.

“Still got a long way to go before you beat me.”

“Why’s there such a difference in output, even with the same machine…? I’m running my generator manual too, you know.”

The three of them—Rayla and the others wanting to use their left arms—decided to handle only the balance release and generator output manually.

But I’m adjusting all the heat dissipation, stabilizers, and aerodynamic fin angles myself. That’s the real benefit—manual control of the center-of-gravity system, that’s what counts.

The balancer and generator are linked directly, and the balancer automatically tweaks the generator’s output to force balance. Add in shock absorption from the stabilizers, stability from the center-of-gravity system, and all the other bits and bobs, and only then can the Armunale finally move freely.

I’m using that center-of-gravity system to boost impact force on purpose. Thanks to that, I didn’t just hold my ground against a descending blade—I actually pierced through the Batis unit’s arm.

A human wouldn’t feel much difference from shifting their center of mass by just a few centimeters—but with something as heavy as Armunale, even that tiny shift makes a world of difference. Sure, it throws off balance and makes control a nightmare afterward, but that’s where my arms come in handy. In other words—

“Full Multi’s privilege, huh? If you’re willing to sacrifice an arm, even Batis could pull it off, don’t you think?”

“Too high a price! Aaaah! Damn it! Next time, I’m not losing!”

“Then I’ll just knock you down again and again.”

“Quit yapping and get back here fast!”

‘Sorry!’

At the instructor’s shout, we sprinted the machines back to the assembly point.

After the combat drill ended, the instructors gathered in the staff room to hold a meeting.

The topic? Which of this year’s graduates to select. In other words—among Eld and the others, who to choose.

“Hmph…”

Gazul, the highest-ranking among them, grunted, comparing notes in his hands.

The other instructors tilted their heads, watching.

“Gazul-sensei, is something wrong? This year’s batch seems quite promising—anything on your mind?”

“Ah. Just got word from Headquarters about this year’s knight recruitment quota.”

“How many?”

Everyone here had silently hoped for four.

They’d pushed each other hard, forged a rare, top-tier group in recent memory.

“Three.”

The moment the word left his lips, the air in the staff room thickened.

“Three.”

“Three?”

The instructors murmured the number back, each voice heavy with the weight of it.

“Last year it was five…”

“Yeah, the year before that, too…”

You could understand why someone’d want to say that. Last year, and the year before—thanks to operations out of Jakarta Command—Armunale’s fleet had grown, and with more ships moving and more crews being added, it’d been a year when more trainees than usual had been promoted to full pilots.

They were solid, no doubt about it. Still, compared to this year’s lot? Well, they just didn’t measure up.

“Can’t be dwelling on it. Today’s topic’s simple: which one of these four do we pick? Final confirmation as full pilots comes after the exam in January, but the command staff needs to be ready. So we’ve got to decide who’s our candidate.”

The four—Eld, Rayla, Batis, and Leon—were the only ones that made sense as candidates. But the instructors had to name one of them, the one most likely to be cut, and report it.

Even if picking that one felt like pulling teeth.

“Eld’s the one, isn’t he? Paper test’s second place by two points, and his swordsmanship—well, it’s like night and day compared to last year. He’s got enough strength now to hold his own against a proper flight instructor. Above all, no one else even comes close when it comes to handling the Armunale.”

Eld’s never lost a combat drill since we started. No matter how strange his piloting style, you can’t deny it works.

The Armunale’s rare to begin with, and since each one’s customized—sensors, gear, all that—it’s not like we’re chasing some universal standard. At first, the others might flounder, sure. But they’ll catch on quick enough.

“Yes, I agree. Eld’s definitely the one.”

“Same here.”

Agreement came fast and steady—Eld’s spot as a full pilot was confirmed.

Then came Leon’s name.

“Leon’s fine, no worries. His grades were third, five points behind first. Swordplay’s solid. Calm demeanor, too. He sticks to the basics in piloting, but he’s got his own style in there. Lost to Eld and Layra in matches, sure—but overall, he’s better at reading the situation than they are.”

“Type who rises to the top, huh.”

If Eld was the kind who showed his strength right on the battlefield, Leon was the kind who’d show it from behind—leading, commanding.

The kind who’d take in the whole field, plot the best moves, make things run smoother. That kind of pilot.

Leon’s full pilot status was approved by a solid majority, too.

But the other two? The instructors were split.

“I think we should make Layla our pilot. Can’t have someone like All-Perfect not piloting the Armunale.”

“But she’s too emotional. Lately, she’s been showing less care for the machine.”

“During battle, less care is only natural.”

“But if she’s like this in training, the machine won’t survive the real thing.”

Listening to the instructors’ remarks, glancing at Layla’s Armunale data, Gazul grunted.

Even just watching her movements after the urban drill, it was clear something had changed. But seeing it in the data—now it was undeniable.

Eld’s the only one who’s lost—every other match, a clean sweep. But the unit’s been running at over a hundred and twenty percent load the whole time. After Rayla piloted it, the joints were screaming. She went all-out with output-driven attacks, treating the machine like a disposable pawn more than once.

They say in real combat, your flaws show up twice as much as in practice. Given that, I can’t exactly give her a clean bill of health and send her to the field.

And considering how shaky she was mentally when she first climbed into Armunale—no way I can just nod and say she’s ready.

Batis, on the other hand, was fourth in rank—her piloting skills still shaky in spots—but her drive to improve was nothing short of fierce. She might be a bit light on the surface, but her mind stayed steady. She’d be the kind to brighten up any class, and no matter which unit she was assigned to, she’d keep the mood from souring.

“Every choice has its pros and cons. I suppose that’s what makes us human. But on the battlefield, that kind of thing can get you killed.”

“Tricky, isn’t it?”

“We should talk it through until everyone’s satisfied.”

“Yeah. A shame to decide by vote—she’s too good for that.”

After a thorough back-and-forth, the meeting finally wrapped up about two hours after it began.