2

Leaving the conference room, I head straight for the hangar.

The hangar where my machine’s stored—old familiar Hangar Three. Same one where I first brought my machine in for maintenance.

Stepping inside, I’m met with the clatter of machinery and a crane lifting the Harmonica Pistole’s magazine.

“Hey, Eld’s here.”

“How’s the maintenance?”

“Fuel and all the connections are fine. Right now, Karine’s climbed straight into the cockpit, rewiring the physical processor—sensboard.”

“Are we swapping the magazine now?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll handle moving the machine. Faster that way.”

Better to just reload it myself than fiddle with removing the Harmonica Pistole from the back and swapping the magazine. Faster to just do it straight up.

"Thank the stars for that. Hey, Orell! Eld’s gonna swap the magazine right here!"

Ritz called out to the crane operator, the old man, as he stood on the platform. Orell just let the hoisted magazine hang there and climbed down from the crane.

"Is that so! Then I’m done here! Once the job’s finished, you clear off the frame, mind you!"

The hangar mechanic followed Orell’s order and moved away from the airframe. In that moment, I stepped along the catwalk and stuck my face into the cockpit.

"Karine, how’s it going over there?"

"Same here—almost done. This much? Takes no time at all."

She waved the special rod like a pen, writing into the physics processor—senseboard—her fingers dancing over the surface.

"Changing the settings to weak? Just a single character swap. And while I was at it, I tweaked the synchronization with the physics processor—senseboard—so the movement should feel exactly the same."

"Really impressive."

In that short time, she’d patched the script too. That’s some real skill.

Normally, adjusting magic power settings would be like rewriting part of the OS. You’d expect bugs, errors—anything could go wrong. And yet she did it flawlessly, even correcting the tiniest of drifts.

She’s usually the type to hang out at spas in the capital, all flirty and flashy—but in moments like this, you really see the knight beneath the surface.

With that, the excellent Caline covered the physics processor—senseboard—and stepped down from the pilot seat.

In her place, I climbed in.

"Win, if you're gonna do it. If Eld gets his shine, the whole squad gets it too. I want something to brag about to the hosts in the capital, so give it your all."

"Kuk, I don’t fight with the intention of losing. Just wait and see. Closing the hatch."

I checked that Caline had stepped back from the hatch, then flipped the lever to seal it shut. At the same time, I pressed the startup button, and the cockpit panel lit up.

"Still well-maintained, huh."

The display showed a solid, all-green status.

A light flick of the control stick—smooth, familiar feedback. Not a single bit of difference, even after all the parts were replaced.

So that’s how it is. A proper workshop can keep the feel of the stick and foot pedals exactly the same.

"Starting up."

I cranked up the generator’s output and pressed the start button. The machine’s eyes lit up, and a vibration hummed up through the floor—proof it was in fine fettle.

“Feels good, huh? You’re itching to go, aren’t you?”

“Eld, I’m swapping the magazine!”

“Got it!”

Stepping forward from the rack, I pulled the harmonica pistol from my waist.

The magazine stretched sideways like a harmonica. I gripped it and yanked it out from the right.

“Where should I put it?”

“Right in front of me!”

Ritz herself pointed to the spot, so I lowered the magazine slowly there, still holding the one on the crane, filled with paint rounds.

“Got it. Now untie the cord.”

“Yeah, hold on.”

A sharp click—metal against metal—and the cord came loose. I gave the last bit a flick and slid the magazine into place from the left side of the pistol.

Just as the first bullet kissed the barrel, a sharp click—lock engaged. Looks like it’s loaded.

“Then I’m off. Which route should I take?”

“Shortest one’s fine. The soldiers’ve already been notified.”

“Thanks.”

The maintenance crew must’ve warned the guards ahead of time about the aircraft’s move.

I kept walking slowly, and only then noticed the moving siren echoing through the air. Inside the hangar, the hum of generators and the clatter of cranes had drowned it out.

I kept moving, and headed straight for the academy’s private entrance.

The academy’s buildings were walled in, so you had to either exit the town first or use the special gate to get in.

I walked through town, and the gate came into view soon enough.

The fifth floor of the academy building was a massive gate—already open and ajar. From the sixth and seventh floors, which were like walkways, students packed the windows so tightly it looked like the walkways might just fall right off.

Well, you don’t usually get to watch a proper pilot duel—least of all when it’s between two certified pilots. I never saw one myself, not once.

That’s right—my opponent’s the one they say is the strongest in the kingdom. Anyone’d be watching, wouldn’t they?

I step through the gate into the schoolyard, the cheers of the students ringing in my ears.

The grassland spread out before me, the forest beyond it—familiar as a childhood memory. Half a year since graduation, and already I’m caught in some strange, wistful haze.

No good, no good. The match starts now.

I took a deep breath—shook off the sentimentality—and looked ahead. There they already were, waiting for me.

Same model, but the armor’s sharper than a regular Armunale, I’d say. The patterns etched on it are real pretty, too. Probably takes pride in looks, since it’s a royal guard machine, huh?

Anyway, who cares? Either way, it’ll be a wreck by the end of the match. The real question is the weapon.

Right away, you notice the shield in its left hand. Not some plain old shield—this one curves around, shielding the whole left arm up to the elbow. Looks like it’s built to take a hit with the arm, like a guard.

But what really grabs your eye is the tip of that shield. Pointed sharp enough to pierce armor—just getting smacked with it could go right through. Might be safer to call it a sword in disguise than a shield.

Only three swords strapped to the back of the waist? All look like short swords.

Judging by the sheath orientation—two for the right hand, one for the left. Backup in case the shield breaks… Either way, gotta watch out for that two-sword style.

Finished checking the squad leader’s machine, and I slowly maneuvered it into facing position. Then a voice came from the squad leader’s unit.

“Surprisingly fast. I figured you’d take a bit longer.”

“Our mechanic’s top-notch.”

“Indeed. You’ve changed the settings, I assume?”

“Yeah. Match mode—weak setting, paint rounds.”

“Then no problem. Crowd’s gathered more than expected, but they’ll learn something from this.”

“Unless it turns into a one-sided fight.”

“Who do you think?”

“Who knows.”

We traded a light jab, bantering back and forth.

What about the trial?

“Leaving it to the academy’s instructor. Just to be safe, I’m sending someone to fetch the unit—wait a moment.”

Seems like we’re gonna get a few more galleries added, huh.

Glancing toward the school building, already every classroom window held a pair of eyes watching us—just like that.

Just as I arrived, everyone in my squad seemed to have shown up too—sitting on the steps by the schoolyard entrance.

And the captains of the first unit were seated just the same, murmuring something among themselves.

Even so, the distance made her voice impossible to catch.

Eld’s machine’s pretty basic, isn’t it?

"Just got it, haven't had time to really play with it yet. Would there even be time to play with it if I were in the guard?"

Occasionally, they do step outside for inspections—though most of the royal family live within the castle walls. Plenty of time, I’d say.

"That's kind of you. I've got plenty of改造 plans I'd love to try out."

" heard your piloting style's a bit unusual. I'm looking forward to seeing it."

"I'll do my best to live up to your expectations."

We were chatting like that when the instructor climbed into the practice unit and rolled into the schoolyard. That machine brings back memories.

And the instructor himself was muttering through the mic, grumbling at us.

"Seriously, I was told to clear the field for afternoon use—then suddenly I'm stuck judging a match? You're quite the free spirit, aren't you, Deniss?"

"Sorry about that. It's just part of the job. Besides, it's a good chance to see how well Gazzle's students have grown, isn't it?"

From the way they're tossing barbs back and forth, they must know each other fairly well. Can't be the same age—no way they're peers. Maybe Gazzle was the副操縦士 under the squadron commander?

"Ah, you're different. Don't follow the basics when it comes to piloting. Haven't seen you in ages, Eld. Heard you've been making waves."

"Long time no see. Glad to see you're doing well."

"I may not match your energy, but we've still got lessons to run through. Get on with it, quick-like."

"Got it."

"Understood."

Following the instructor's cue, we stepped back a ways and faced each other.

Rules are non-lethal only. Magic power is weak. Use paint rounds. You may attack the cockpit, but always stop short. Break that rule, and no attacking. If you break it, treat it as murder under kingdom law. Victory condition: opponent concedes defeat, or I decide. Both clear on that?

No.

No.

Then, beginning match: First Royal Armunale Division, Grand Commander Dennis Editt versus Thirty-First Armunale Company, Company Commander Eld. Begin!

The signal sounds, and I draw my harmonica from my hip, firing straight at the grand commander’s right knee joint. He draws his sword with his right hand, slicing the paint round clean in half.

Paint splatters, coats the blade.

I’d thought that would be a clean first strike—only to have it deflected so easily, and I wince, just slightly, inside.

Like it was waiting for just that moment, the enemy machine closes in. Not quite as fast as my full manual control, but the same pace as the half-manual controls Batis and the others used.

I bite down on the shock, fire again. This time I aim for the left leg joint—only to have it blocked, clean as a whistle, by the shield.

They’ve read my move before I even make it.

By the time I realize that, I’ve already thrown the harmonica pistol at them.

Then, lining up with the thrown pistol, I fire the flamethrower.

The flame hits the pistol dead-on, detonating the powder and taking out the machine trying to deflect it with its blade.

Should’ve slowed them down.

In that moment, I draw my sword and dash forward myself.

The blast—firepowder wrapped in impact—had definitely slowed the enemy down. But there, once the smoke cleared, was the machine. Sooty, yes, but mostly intact.

“Armor’s tough, huh?”

Even if the power had weakened, just getting blackened from a Fire Lance and explosive burst? That’s odd. My own machine’d have taken some damage.

So the reason must be hidden.

But right now!

Clang—two blades locking.

The enemy blocked my downward swing.

Got the first move. Now keep the momentum—push forward without breaking the flow!

“Nice move. Unexpected choice.”

A voice came from the commander’s machine.

“Then I’ll take my turn.”

My left arm—watched it move. I jerked back, dodging the thrust, then unleashed a tornado at the enemy’s feet.

Dust spiraled up, blinding their sight. But the commander plunged straight through the storm.

I parried the descending short sword—then felt the shield’s tip graze my shoulder, just barely.

I gritted my teeth against the jolt, drove my arm hard to push the sword back, and stepped forward in one motion.

In this close range, a shield’s no good.

“Is this the famed piloting trick?”

“You’re using the half-stance too, aren’t you?”

“Anything that makes me stronger—why not take it? Protecting the royal family? That’s only natural.”

“Exactly!”

Just as I pushed harder, the opponent stepped back on their own.

I pressed forward, channeling my strength, trying to knock the enemy’s blade aside.

Then—gone. The enemy vanished right before my eyes.

“Wha—!?”

Before I could even process it, a sharp jolt hit my back. I realized, mid-fall, that I’d been knocked down.

I rolled instinctively, dodging the descending sword, then scrambled upright.

Just now—what the hell happened? I didn’t see it coming. But one thing was certain: the other’s speed left me in the dust.

No way a full manual could pull off that move. And the commander himself said he was half-manual. Could be lying—but he didn’t strike me as the type to lie about something like that in the middle of a fight.

So what else could it be…?

“Magic?”

“Hmph. Just one hit, and you’re already jumping to that conclusion? The squad leaders didn’t even notice until their machines were crushed.”

"Then I'll show you exactly what kind of magic it is."

"Ha. I'm waiting to see it!"

Our machines move at once.

But my machine lags by a step. The enemy's speed is clearly faster.

I try to figure it out while clashing blades.

No such thing as a speed-increasing spell. So it must be some indirect method—something that builds up speed over time.

Could it be the armor's hardness?

The enemy’s blade is too fast—can’t block everything. Little by little, my machine starts to take damage.

"Ugh…"

"Hah—ah!"

The enemy machine speeds up even more. My machine wobbles again. But this time, I catch it.

I throw my sword away on instinct, flip sideways with one hand, stay upright, and put distance between us.

I draw another sword instantly and fire a fire lance at the enemy unit. But the weak magic gets wiped out easy by a magic shield.

“Nice dodge.”

“Second time around…”

“Huh. I see you’re worth a real fight. Shame I can’t face your full-powered machine.”

“Commander’s more of a battle junkie than I thought.”

I’d expected him to be all knightly and stiff, but now he just looks like someone who loves fighting.

“Otherwise, you wouldn’t be the strongest. Let’s go.”

The commander’s machine—still holding a sword in its right hand—reaches behind its waist and pulls the other hand back. It lines up the hilt of the second sword with the first. There’s a click, and the two blades snap together into one. Then it lets go of the shield and grips a final short sword in that hand. The shield doesn’t fall—it’s attached to the arm somehow, just stays put.

Is this the full power of the Grand Commander?

Swordplay whirlwind. Can I block this with just one arm?

I’ll block it with everything I’ve got.

The two machines move again at once. I pour every last bit of focus into it—pedals, slots, levers, every control—wringing out Armunale’s full potential.

The Grand Commander’s machine swings its blade at nearly the same speed.

I catch the downward slash with my sword, then dodge sideways as the linked blade on the opposite side swings up toward the cockpit—barely clearing me as I backpedal.

I slam in the fire lance instantly—but it’s blocked by the shield, and the sword I’m holding lunges forward.

I can’t parry in time.

I decide on the spot—I drop low and kick straight at the ground. But my foot gets stitched into the dirt by the descending linked sword.

“Hmph.”

“Almost had you! Now—!”

“Not yet!”

My left foot’s sewn into the earth, and the shield’s rushing straight at me. Probably the finishing blow, but I’m not done yet.

I thrust my sword forward, matching the shield’s advance.

My blade slips through the tiny gap between shield and arm, shattering the lock that holds it together.

“What? But—!”

“First one!—Rak!”

Even after losing the shield, the commander swings his arm straight through, hammering the cockpit. The armor doesn’t break, but the jolt rips through the inside like a storm.

I keep steering the machine, shoving my body back into the seatbelt as it shakes me raw. Stop now, and I’m done for.

This time, I swing the sword I stole from the shield straight sideways. What’s ahead is the connecting blade sewing my legs together.

The commander hesitated, I guess, but decided freeing me was worse. He didn’t pull the blade out—just severed the connection and dodged the slash. Fine. That’s fine.

“Second one.”

“No way!”

He shouts, realizing my aim. At the same instant, the awkward twist of his swing tears my leg apart at the joint—screams rip through the air.

“One leg’s gone. That’s it.”

“Now’s our chance!”

“Then finish it!”

The squadron commander's machine swings both swords reversed, bringing them down straight at my机身.

The right sword clanks off my blade—but the left one keeps going, driving through my right arm and spearing into the ground.

"Right hand’s useless now!"

The commander must’ve known my fighting style. That’s why he was certain he’d won the moment he broke my right hand.

But he didn’t really know me, did he?

A slow grin spreads across my face inside the cockpit.

I let go of the lever I’d been steering with my right hand, and reach up instead toward the button cluster above my head. My left hand grips the lever—finally, after so long.

Not that my left arm won’t work. Just that I’ve had no spare hands. No room to spare. If my right’s gone, then my left’ll do just fine!

"Wha—!?"

My left arm suddenly jerked into motion—Commander General visibly flinched.

In that split second, I yanked the sword from my right arm and swung it toward the enemy machine.

Commander General flinched but reacted instantly, jerking the machine back to dodge the slash.

I used the sword as a leg, slowly rising the machine upright.

“Phew… you dodged it.”

“Close one. I was completely caught off guard. So, left arm’s not useless after all, huh?”

“Not useless—just no room to spare. Well then, let’s see about your little magic trick, shall we?”

“Ah? You figured it out?”

“Support magic, right? No offensive spells loaded—probably joint reinforcement, instant acceleration, armor hardening… something like that?”

That was my answer.

Now that I think about it, the commander never once used long-range magic—from the very beginning. Not even a single visible spell, just that one magic shield.

But there were plenty of chances for him to target me from afar. Someone like the commander wouldn’t miss an opening like that. So the only explanation left is that he wasn’t setting up long-range spells at all.

And then there’s the way he pilots—speed like mine, impossible for a half-construct. He must’ve been using magic to boost it.

Probably overloading the hydraulic pumps during the charge, forcing a sudden burst. That’s why it feels like it vanishes for a split second when it hits close up. But that kind of strain should break the joints in an instant. So he must’ve been hardening the armor and reinforcing the joints to compensate.

When I laid out that theory, applause came from the pilot seat of the squad commander’s machine.

“Spot on. Never seen someone answer quite so perfectly before. And standing firm after that swordplay whirlwind? That’s the first time even pilot Eld’s managed it.”

“Hearing that makes my heart lift.”

“Now, I’d love to go on—”

“Stop right there. This state’s no battle anymore. I’m conceding. My loss.”

“Nonsense. You fought well enough. With a commander’s skill, you could’ve won, I’d say.”

“Hmm… who knows? Gotta try to find out.”

“Kuk, let’s leave it at that. Judge, call it.”

The commander nodded, then turned to Gazul, the instructor who’d watched the fight up close, and asked for the match’s conclusion.

“Winner: Dennis Editt!”

At the instructor’s words, a roar of cheers rose from the school building.

The machine was a wreck, but if it had held out this long against the kingdom’s strongest, well… that was enough for now.

Next time we fight, I’ll have you face off with my personal machine.

Then you won’t lose.

I sat in the cockpit, eyes on the monitor showing the grand commander’s machine, and made my quiet vow.

Dennis heard his name called from the cockpit, and exhaled—relieved.

He blinked, surprised at how calm he felt. But then he looked at the monitor and understood.

The screen showed the Armunale, red-hot and glowing crimson.

Even with reinforcement, it couldn’t hold up under so many spells. If the match had gone on just a little longer… it might’ve been Dennis’s machine that couldn’t stand anymore.

And not only had he failed to block the swordplay whirlwind—something no one had ever broken through before—but he’d also lost three weapons. Dennis was already thinking, inside, that this draw was fine, maybe even better than a loss on his part.

But that wasn’t allowed. The fact that the kingdom’s strongest was the king’s personal guard was a matter of national pride. That pride couldn’t be sullied.

“This’ll be a universal model now… or maybe I should be scared when he gets a custom one. But honestly? Kinda exciting too.”

Eld’s future growth, the strength he’d gain with a custom machine—just thinking about it, Dennis let slip a rare smile, one he usually kept buried deep.