3

The Abnomüle unit in Beta Block, leaderless after Eld’s sniper shot. Most of them retreated straight to the buffer zone—but some broke ranks, seizing the power they held.

Abnomüle, even if mass-produced, still looked like a fearsome weapon to ordinary folk. A force no one could hope to resist.

Three of them? Not a chance anyone would think of standing up to them in a single village.

This village was about to be torn apart by three Abnomüle, like a band of thieves.

“Are they all gone?”

“Y-yes…”

The village head, trembling, answered the voice coming from the Abnomüle.

“Fewer than I expected.”

“Most of the children have gone to work in the cities lately, with the war going on nonstop.”

That was common enough in border villages.

Even with the fortress standing, it’s always been the way that every few years, Armunale and the infantry would break through.

So the villagers send their children off to the cities as migrant workers once they’ve grown a bit.

Part of me wishes we could just pack up and leave the whole place behind—there’s a deep pull to the soil where we were born, and we’re not allowed to abandon the village anyway, not by order of the crown.

It’s a system meant to keep the border villages supplying food and acting as relay points, while keeping the cities from swelling too much.

That’s why there aren’t many beggars in the cities, and why the peace holds—though the burden falls hard on the frontier villages like this one.

Still, no one’s screaming yet. Probably because we’re getting some kind of help, even if it’s just scraps.

— Tch, can’t help it. Gather up everything we’ve got for food. And the women. All under thirty—those are ours.

"Such... if that's the case, then this village is..."

Oh, so you want to die? Fine by me.

Aubnomyle slowly raised the sword, then brought it down toward a house.

The simple little house blew apart in an instant—just the foundation left behind.

The villagers turn green when they see it.

So, what do we do now?

Understood… I’m sorry, you all—

The village chief said that, trembling, and looked back.

The men looked like they wanted to say something—heads down, fists clenched tight.

The women past thirty let out quiet sighs, yet still sent pitying glances toward the girls marked as sacrifices nearby.

And the women chosen as sacrifices—

“I—no! I don’t want that! Not at all!”

I’m marrying that person!

Someone help me! Why won’t anyone help me?!

The women’s faces turned to shades of despair as they imagined what came after.

One burst into tears right there. Another clung to her betrothed, face buried in his chest.

A third tried to run—only to be seized by the men.

And from the traveler who’d accidentally bumped into the fleeing woman, a hood slipped loose.

A single moment—then the men forgot themselves, caught by the sight of dark, glossy hair falling in a ponytail.

“Huh. Not bad, a real looker. You boys been hiding her?”

“N-no, sir. She’s not from the village. Said she just stopped by, passing through.”

“Traveler, eh. Doesn’t matter. Grab her too.”

“Sorry, but—”

Following the pilot’s command, the village men closed in on the women. They’d resist giving up their own, but strangers? No skin off their noses.

Right after the men lunged to seize the women, having left nothing but words as apology, the women who’d stood frozen till then finally move.

One hand snaps to her hip, and out comes a blade—swift, sudden.

The men flinch, startled by the sword hidden all this time beneath her cloak.

“Huh… figured it’d be easier to crush them after they’d been stolen. Oh well.”

She lets out a breath that’s anything but tense, then unfastens the clasp holding her cloak in place. The fabric flares in the wind, lifting high—revealing her.

Gray academy uniform clinging to her frame, sword in hand, ponytail whipping behind her, eyes sharp as glass aimed straight at Abnomyle.

This woman—once a graduate of the academy, vanished without a trace—was none other than Rayla.

“You… you’re really gonna fight us? Think you can take us all?”

"Cut it out—just gonna get yourself hurt."

"Sorry, but you're not worth my time."

Rayla leapt from the ground, using the man in front of her shoulder to spring higher.

She shot straight through the wall of villagers, racing toward the Abnomüle.

The pilot, startled by the sudden move, instantly swung his sword toward Rayla.

But by then, Rayla had already slipped inside the blade’s reach, ducked under the Abnomüle’s legs, and circled behind.

"W-where?"

"Right behind you!"

"Too late."

One of the comrades called out, and the pilot flinched, turning too late—Rayla was already clinging to the cockpit hatch.

"Probably right here... got it."

A sharp *click*—the Abnomüle’s hatch popped open.

"W-why?"

A voice, stunned, came from inside the cockpit.

Was it the Abnomyle, or something like it? The mechanism’s almost the same as the Armunale, really.

Layla answered with a smile as she climbed into the pilot’s seat. Then she wrapped her arms around the man’s neck and twisted it hard—like turning a doorknob.

A dull thud—then all the strength left the man’s body.

"O-oh, hey, you alright?"

Answer me, will you?

The other pilots are calling for a reply, but the man’s already gone.

Lira quickly unfastened the belt securing the corpse to the chair, then tossed the now-free body out beyond the pilot’s seat.

“Huh…”

“C-could it be… him?”

One pilot, seeing the corpse of their comrade flung aside, broke and pulled back their machine in fear. The other pilot raised their sword—determined not to let the machine be taken—began tearing it apart.

But that move came a step too late.

Just before the descending sword reached the machine, Layla raised the Abnomyle’s left arm and fired the cannon at point-blank range.

Boom—two heavy thuds rang out.

First, the cannon’s discharge. Second, the impact of the shell smashing through the cockpit of the machine raising its sword.

Watching the last one tilt slowly, then fall, the final unit turned and fled.

Layla aimed her cannon at it—fired.

The shell arced through the air, slicing through the fleeing machine’s leg.

“Honestly, your aim’s terrible. Barely any range at all. And before that—this machine’s not even got its shock absorbers or auto-balancer working properly, is it?”

She muttered under her breath as the machine nearly flipped sideways from the recoil, inching slowly toward the damaged leg-mounted Armunale.

Then, she jammed the sword straight into the cockpit.

“Good thing I learned manual control. Didn’t think I’d be using it like this.”

The Armunale was built so shoddily that, to save on magical energy, even the physical calculation units—sensboards—and internal mechanisms had been pared down to near nothing. Without manual control to boost or cut output, you couldn’t even operate it the same way as an Armunale.

That was also the flaw in the Abnomule—when the pilot operated the Armunale with the same instincts, the physical processor (sense board) couldn’t keep up, causing lag, and at the same time, the internal mechanisms misfired from poor control, warping the movement.

The pilots had to steer the thing slow and careful, locking it in place before firing the cannon. No wonder it’d be called a dummy.

Laira sighed, shaking her head at the machine’s weakness, dragging the wreck back toward the village.

The villagers there—every last one of them—were staring at Rayla with plain, unhidden awe. She’d taken down three Abnomyle machines all by herself.

Even though I didn’t much care for the villagers—after all, I’d nearly been sacrificed myself—I had no intention of doing the same to them.

Stepping down from the machine, I walk toward the village chief.

"危机总算过去了。"

"Ah... thank you so much. I don't even know how to properly thank you..."

The chief, his face pale as a ghost, bows so deeply his knees nearly give way.

"Thank you? Then give me water and food. Just get it ready as soon as you can."

"If that’s all, I can have it ready right away."

"Thanks. And one more thing—I’ll be taking this machine with me. But the other two, the ones I wrecked? You can do whatever you want with them. Break them up for scrap, sell them to the town, or hand them over to the army—your call."

One’s just the right size, so I’ll take that one. The other two are too heavy to carry, though. I’ll just refill the ammo I used, then hand the rest over to the villagers.

"Truly, thank you. May I... ask your name, if it’s not too much trouble?"

"Leila."

"Miss Leila, please rest at my home tonight. I’ll have food ready by morning."

"Thank you. I’m touched, but I’d rather be on my way soon. Food’s all I need."

"Understood. I’ll have it ready at once. Hey, you lot!"

The mayor barked orders, and villagers scrambled back to their homes, gathering whatever rations they had left. To them, Leila was no different than those ragged soldiers from just minutes ago. If food was all she wanted, she was cheap enough.

Leila took the provisions, jammed them into the empty space beside the pilot’s seat, and left the village behind.

The news that Jakarta Base had been bombed from the sky reached the town where Princess Ines was waiting—fast.

"What’s the damage?! Is the base still intact?!?"

"Base operations are unaffected. Two hangars and one dormitory were burned, but the base itself is unharmed."

"Yeah... good. Then let's get the supplies moving, as planned. The base’s running low on stock, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, that’d be a real help. Oh—there’s a request from the base too. They want a raw plate."

"A raw plate? Why on earth?"

A raw plate was the unworked state of a physical processor—what we call a sense board—before data was etched into it through a special process.

Not as rare as generators or concentrated mana fluid (Hyimagia Liquid), but still expensive enough that you didn’t just ask for one on a whim.

"They say the Armunale stationed at the base had to unleash a near-total magic barrage, just to fend off the bombardment. It melted the sense boards in the process. They’ve got spares on hand and are doing repairs, but if they’re hit like that again... the Armunale won’t be usable."

"Is that so? Then I’ll see to it right away. How many stock plates do we have here?"

"Seven."

"Then send them all. I’ll have Fortran send over new ones to replace them."

"Understood."

"Anything else you’d like? If supplies are running low, I’ll do my best to help."

"No, nothing from command. In fact, they were very grateful we got your princess’s knights sent over. Without him, this base would’ve fallen."

"Is that so? Then it’s good they were able to help."

Ines smiled, nodding slightly, satisfied that her knight had performed as she’d hoped.

Ines had a secret plan—something she’d told no one. To make it work, she’d needed a knight worthy of a thousand men, and a freedom to move without restraint.

And now both of them are right in my hands.

So I’m staying here, even though the order’s come from the capital to return—kicking it aside, like it’s nothing.

“I’d really like to go to Jakarta, if I could.”

“That won’t do. You’ve made a promise with Sir Eld, haven’t you?”

The maid standing beside Ines shot that down at once.

“Yes, that’s why I’m giving orders from a safe place. But I want to fight alongside you.”

“Your Highness’s wish—it warms a soldier’s heart. But you’re irreplaceable. If something were to happen to you, even by the slimmest chance… we couldn’t bear that burden.”

“I know. Then at the very least, I’ll pray—pray that fewer souls are lost in this war.”

“If Your Highness prays, I’m sure the gods will hear. I’ll go arrange the carriage right away.”

Please…

The soldier exits the room.

Ines stands from her chair, eyes fixed on the window.

Outside, soldiers dart about, loading supplies onto wagons.

Watching them, Ines sorts through her thoughts.

First, the current state. The α and β blocks—somehow—we held them at the first defensive line. But beyond that, the defense lines have been pushed back all the way to the second.

Right now, we’re holding firm at the second line, with reinforcements arriving, but pushing back? Nearly impossible. The main reason? The enemy’s new weapon.

The Abnomüle and the Avilabomb. Those two are terrifyingly powerful. They could turn the whole war upside down.

The Abnomüle’s already been studied—most of it’s figured out. They’ll probably start mass-producing it here soon. Since we’re ahead in developing live-fire weapons, we might even have the edge if they deploy it. But if they can analyze our gear, they’ll make the same thing, no problem.

So we’d be locked in that endless cycle. Again.

But right now, that cycle isn’t happening. Because the enemy’s got the Avilabomb.

Use the Abnomüle’s sheer numbers to push them back to their base—then blast the place to hell with the Avilabomb. After that, just take it over with more Abnomüle. Simple.

And that’s exactly what nearly took Jakarta. Eld’s quick thinking and the new weapons saved us—barely. But expecting the same miracle at every other base? That’s asking too much.

The enemy’s army was still pressing in—had to keep them at bay while the Avila bombs came down, pushing the physical simulator—what we call a senseboard—right to the edge of melting, just to shoot them down. Then, after that, there was the new wave charging in, and we had to hold them back too. Without a specialist like Eld, it’d be impossible. Plain and simple.

But at the same time—there was hope.

My knight had turned that reckless mess around. Wasn’t that exactly the one-man-against-a-thousand warrior I’d been waiting for?

“If he’s here. No, not just him—only him.”

The situation had gone far beyond what we’d planned. Too many things out of control. Ines sat back down in her chair, pulled out a blank sheet, and picked up her pen. She’d have to reissue orders to Eld and the others.