2

"The next fork goes left."

"Got it."

The summer sky was high, the temperature pushing past thirty degrees.

But the forest wind brushed my cheeks as I rode, cool enough to keep the heat at bay.

Four months since joining up. The Thirty-First Armunale Unit was on patrol duty in the buffer zone.

"These parts are where enemy Armunale are occasionally spotted. Keep your eyes peeled."

"Yes, sir."

As a second pilot assigned to the Armunale unit, my first job was acting as scout—learning the lay of the land, picking up bits and pieces from the battlefield.

I’d studied the basics at the Academy, sure. But nothing compares to actually seeing it—how the air hums, how the ground trembles underfoot, how the silence before a strike feels like a held breath. That’s when I finally understood: this is a warzone.

"Eld, move a bit more to the edge. You’re too exposed here."

"Sorry."

Benois, usually all flustered and fidgeting with chores, transforms completely when it’s time for a quick scout.

Sharp eyes that read the battlefield. Stealth that keeps you alive. Instincts honed by blood and steel—each one top-tier.

I’m clinging to the saddle, heart pounding, following Benois’s orders like my life depends on it.

The edge of the forest’s shadow—branches sometimes lash out from the trees, and one slip, one blink, and you’re off the horse and on the ground.

And yet Benois moves through it all at full speed, as if it’s nothing. I’ve recalibrated my opinion of him—how many times now, in these past four months?

“Almost to the checkpoint. We’ll stop just before breaking out of the woods.”

“Yes.”

We slow a little, inching toward the break in the trees. Beyond lies the grassland—the whole point of this scout, to see what’s happening out there.

“You’ve gotten pretty good with horses, Eld.”

“Really? I can’t really tell myself.”

“You can tell just by looking at Poll. Less tired than usual. That’s proof you’re not pushing him too hard.”

Both Poll, the one I’m riding now, and Phil, the one Blois is on, are the ones Blois has been tending to. That’s why they’re well-trained—still green, sure, but they’ll follow even my clumsy orders without hesitation.

Back when I first rode a horse at the academy, I was a little scared. Now I kind of get why they’re cute, and I’ve started to understand the joy of riding something that isn’t a machine. Still, nothing beats piloting the Armunale, though.

Just as we caught sight of the break in the trees, I stopped the horse’s pace and dismounted, leading it into the woods.

"Right, from here we walk. You know what we’re looking for, don’t you?"

"Whether there’s hostile Armunale around, and checking the surroundings—mainly tracking machine and horse hoofprints to see how long ago someone passed through."

"Exactly. Then let’s go."

Bnois gives a satisfied nod at my answer, then leaves the horse behind and heads toward the gap in the trees.

These two are sharp as nails and fond of Bnois too—no need to tie them up, they won’t wander off, and they’ll come running if called. Sweet little darlings.

We duck into the shadow of the undergrowth, scanning the meadow.

It’s quiet. No hostile Armunale in sight. A bird sings from afar, but no mechanical hums—nothing like engines.

An Armunale’d make some noise, shake the ground when it walked. We’ll use that—keep an ear out, scan the edges.

“No sign of it.”

“Nothing at all. Quiet as a mouse.”

“Then let’s step out onto the grass, see what we can find.”

“Alright.”

We step out from the undergrowth, move across the open field. Flat, rolling grass—easy to see for miles, not much chance of a sneak attack.

Look down, and every now and then, the earth’s bare between the blades.

“…This is an Armunale’s footprint, right?”

“Yeah. Pretty fresh. Heading north… maybe—could be this time, maybe not.”

Found fresh tracks. Heading north. Our patrol’s going that way too. So it might come down to a fight, if we’re lucky.

Not once in these past four months had the Thirty-First Armunale been in combat. If we run into trouble, this’ll be my first real fight.

“Don’t worry. The captain’s not been a pilot for over ten years for nothing. We’ll be careful, but if we do our jobs right, the captain won’t lose.”

Benoît said that, noticing I was tense. Trying to calm me down.

Right. I’ll do my part. That’s the most important thing now. The only way to keep the unit safe—just a little bit.

“Let’s check a bit more before we head back. If they passed this way, there should be infantry tracks too.”

“Understood.”

We spent another half hour scouting the grasslands, confirmed the general size of the enemy force, then rejoined the captains.

The captains were already waiting at the rendezvous point, had been there all along, just waiting for us.

But Ange and Mirage’s support maid duo weren’t here. They were holding position at a fortress just inside the buffer zone, waiting to move in.

“Captain, reporting.”

“Thanks.”

“Found tracks matching the enemy Armunale and troop movement signs near point 15-G. Heading northeast, then gradually turning north. Likely scouting the route up to point 15-B.”

“Huh. So it’s on the patrol path, then.”

The captain grunted, eyes locked on the map.

In the Fatal Kingdom, the vast buffer zone had been divided into five blocks—alpha through epsilon—for easier operations. And on that map, a grid of letters from A to J and numbers from 1 to 20 marked every square.

The state of the beta-block buffer zone we’re patrolling breaks down into three main parts.

First, the forest between the buffer zone and our territory. It’s there to limit the roads, stop big forces from breaking through. Naturally, there’s a fortress built at the end of each path.

Then, the grasslands—most of the buffer zone. That’s where fights between Armunale units mostly happen.

And lastly, the river forming the border with Overdo.

But it’s not much of a river—just shallow in places, gentle flow, easy to cross on horseback in spots.

The enemy probably came through that shallow part and is moving north through the woods. Their goal’s still unclear, but since their force isn’t that large, Brother Bouvier’s guessing they’re a scouting unit like us.

Still, they’re the ones attacking, we’re the ones defending—big difference in position, that’s for sure.

The enemy unit’s gotta be up ahead—no doubt about it. So there’s only one thing to do.

The captain’s words tightened every face. The air hummed with the stillness before battle.

“Orell, Ritz, and Karine—hold position on 16-E. If no one comes back after six hours, assume they’re down. Return via 15-G. Tell the fortress the Armunale’s breached. Bouvier and Eld—you’re with me as scouts. Lucky we found this spot first. Hit the infantry hard with the first strike, then go straight into Armunale combat.”

‘Got it!’

“And Eld.”

“Sir!”

“First fight for you. Don’t gawk at a dead body. Get lost in it, and you’re dead too.”

“Understood!”

“Five minutes from now—move out. All personnel, prepare.”

The scent of battle was right on our heels.

We’d been moving forward with the rear guard until now, then splitting off.

Just the two of us—me and Monsieur Blois—pushing a little ahead to keep watch.

“Might run into the enemy’s rear guard any moment now.”

“What should we do?”

“Kill them. Before they can cry out.”

“Understood.”

If they raised an alarm, the main force would spot us. So we had to strike first—no choice.

I was still thinking about which spell to use when I caught sight of a horse coming straight at us. The soldier on its back wore Imperial armor.

In an instant, both Blois and I cast our spells at once.

“Wind Cutter.”

“Ice Lance.”

I picked the Wind Cutter—single-use, instant cast, high kill potential, and a real pain to stop.

Benoît must be good with water magic—he shot off an Ice Lance.

The enemy tried to cast a spell too, but my Wind Cutter severed the horse’s neck just as it charged, sliced open the soldier’s belly right off the beast’s back, and cut his spell mid-utterance.

Then the Ice Lance arrived—straight through the soldier’s head, blew it clean off.

“Good. Keep going like that.”

“Yes.”

First time killing someone—done in a flash.

Just before I passed the corpse, I glanced down.

The belly, slashed open by my spell, split clean through armor, guts spilling out.

Benoît’s Ice Lance had blown the head apart—crushed, brain oozing, a mess.

My stomach twists sharp, bile rising fast.

“Eld—think later. Right now, focus on what’s in front of you.”

“Y-yes.”

Benoît’s voice pulls me back. I grit my teeth, choke down the sickness, and stare ahead.

One guard in the rear doesn’t mean only one. And if we take too long, the soldiers we left behind might start wondering why they’re not coming back.

We need to find the main force fast. Get ready for the ambush.

Don’t lose sight of the goal. We’re already in the middle of it.

I hammer my will into my skull. Shut down the thoughts that keep creeping in.

“Vibration’s getting stronger. Armunale’s close. Slowing down.”

Benoît eases the horse’s pace. I follow, and only then do I notice the vibration he mentioned. But it’s still faint—too far off to be anything but a whisper in the earth.

"Such a small vibration—nice job noticing that."

Riding a horse and feeling a tremor like that? He’s definitely got real skill as a scout, that’s for sure.

Since taking on the duty of guarding the buffer zone, my opinion of this guy—Bnois—has been climbing like a snake up a wall.

"Ah, that’s just experience. Besides, when I’m on a mount, I feel like I’m one with it. So I could sense the faint tremors coming through the horse’s hooves."

"Amazing talent, that is."

"Still, not much use for Armunale. Now, enough chatter."

"Sorry."

The vibration grew stronger, so we dismounted and slipped into the woods.

After a while, we spotted a group of infantry dragging a wagon. And leading them was Armunale.

All covered in deep green, with red lines running through like inked calligraphy.

Just two swords hung at his waist. Unlike us, real firearms hadn’t been put to use yet, I guess.

“That’s an imperial machine.”

“Two wagons. At least thirty infantry—just from what I can see. And there’s scouts ahead of the machine, so we should expect forty, maybe more.”

“Shall we inform the captain?”

“Yeah. Eld, take this info to the captain. If we move fast, we can still pull off a surprise.”

“Got it. Be careful.”

Benoît stayed behind, letting the rest of the unit carry on. I turned back the way I came, heading to the captain with news of the enemy.

After about five minutes, I caught up with the captain’s machine, moving in from behind.

"Reporting. Enemy Armunale unit confirmed at 14-C. One machine, about forty infantry, two wagons. According to Bnois, we can still pull off a surprise attack if we strike within five minutes."

"Good work. Eld, fall back to the rear. Join up with the reserve force."

"No, I'd like to go too."

I refused the captain’s order.

"Let me watch the captain’s fight."

"…Fine. But you’re not joining the battle."

"Thank you. I’ll wait in the woods."

With permission granted, I pushed forward, chasing the captain’s machine.

If the machine goes full speed, it can outpace a horse by a mile. The captain’s machine vanished ahead of me in an instant.

Then, just as I watched, fireballs rose around the captain’s machine—then shot downward like burning stars.

A massive pillar of flame shot up, visible even from afar, and black dots rose into the sky.

I only realized it was a person when one of the black dots shot straight toward me.

It landed on the ground nearby—some twisted shape, blackened and burned. Just a moment ago, it had been one of the infantry marching down the road.

“This is war…”

The closer I got, the clearer it became—the aftermath of the captain’s rampage.

A carriage shattered and burning. Soldiers rolling on the ground, wrapped in flames.

Armunale turns infantry into dust. No real fight at all. Just raw, gut-wrenching proof of that truth, spreading out across the field.

Ahead, two Armunale units had already begun combat.

They were trading magic blasts, waiting for a chance to close in.

Magic that can’t pierce a magic shield? Just a show of force. A way to provoke or create an opening. Nothing more.

The moment the fight’s decided? Always when I jab the blade straight into the pilot seat of the other machine.

I edge forward through the forest, keeping an eye on the fallen soldiers around me—trying not to get caught in the magic’s afterglow—my gaze fixed on the two Armunale facing off through the gaps between the branches.