5

Next morning. I made straight for the base. What I had in mind, of course, was the rumored new mass-production model.

The Abnomyle we’d fought as enemies had been dreadfully fragile—boring, really—but I was eager to see how our own technicians had dealt with that weakness.

“Eighth, right? That’s the one in the corner of the base, isn’t it?”

The royal capital’s base had hangars numbered from first to twelfth, all of them first-rate maintenance facilities.

Sure, the hangar inside the palace had first-rate gear too—but space was tight, so even though the maintenance crew insisted it was still top-notch, they said it was still one notch below the base hangars. Still, they claimed it was more than enough for normal upkeep.

Anyway, I’d gotten sidetracked. Among all those hangars, the Eighth was supposed to be the one tucked away in the far corner of the base.

You’d think they’d be running new experiments all the time here—new models always come with their own little surprises. That’s why they’ve tucked this one just a bit away from the main gear, so it’s easier to handle the mess when things go sideways.

I show my badge, the knight’s mark, and pass through one checkpoint after another.

Security’s tight, I’ll say that. Not just for show, either.

And after strolling around the base for five minutes or so, lo and behold—there’s the Eighth Hangar.

Same size as the others—big enough to fit three to five Armunale, roughly.

But now I’m thinking ahead. We’ll need new hangars soon. Once the mass-production line’s up, we’ll be lining up Armunale like logs in a shed. No way around it.

Maybe they don’t need the same kind of careful upkeep as the old ones. Still… can’t just leave them out in the rain.

So, maybe they’re building a big base somewhere else? I’ll ask the princess about it next time.

Thinking that, I step into the hangar.

What meets my eyes is Armunale—giant iron pillar strapped to its left arm.

That’s right. My machine.

“Wait… why’s my machine here?”

My machine should’ve still been in the middle of full maintenance.

“Hey, Eld captain, what’re you doing here?”

Before I can even blink, Orell speaks up from behind me.

“I’m just here to check out the mass-produced models.”

“Ah, that one. Then you want to go that way.”

Orell jerks his chin toward a corner—and sure enough, there it is, a machine I don’t recognize.

Same white paint as Armunale, but the lines are blue. That’s their way of telling them apart, I guess.

The shape’s the same as the imperial models—flat armor plates stacked together, a bit boxy. Way more mechanical than Armunale, which has curves shaped by handcraft.

The thing that stands out, I guess, is the big shield mounted on the left arm, where the cannon used to be.

Looks like three shields put together. Even if you bend the arm, they don’t get in each other’s way.

“Is that the new mass-production model? I figured they’d ditch the cannon, but a shield? That’s new.”

“Guess so. Don’t know the details, so ask the mechanic over there if you want the full story.”

“Got it. Then why’s my unit over here?”

The production model’s got my attention, sure—but this one’s got me even more. Why’s my machine in Hangar Eight?

“That’s ’cause this one’s too special. Full custom Artificious, Eblite Army’s Perfilizzi—then there’s the Duoconnect Physical Computation Engine, the Senseboard, to control it all. None of that’s any use to a regular mechanic. Had to gather the craftsman who ordered it, bring ’em in myself to do the maintenance and give the instructions.”

“Ah, I see.”

Yeah, I guess that makes my machine a whole pile of top-secret junk, then.

So if I want a real full tune-up, the castle hangar won’t cut it. Can’t let commoners in the castle, after all.

“Any progress?”

“Mostly done. Now we’re in the final stage—running test runs and tweaking.”

“Is that so? I could help with the adjustments if I touch the Armunale.”

“Good grief, just getting it to walk was a chore. Ritz was whining something fierce.”

"Well, can't be helped, I suppose."

Trying to move this machine—now basically a full-manual control prototype—like a normal thing? You’d be whining before you even got started.

Step on the pedals normally, and it’d just tip forward like a drunkard. Try to balance it, and you’d end up unable to stop.

You can’t juggle all the controls at once, and this thing won’t even walk right.

"In the end, we had to drag it out with a tow truck, stand it up, move the arms a bit, and barely get the aim right. Honestly, how do you even manage to ride this wild stallion?"

"Because it’s my pride and joy, that’s how."

"Done!—Aaaahhhhh!!!"

I looked up at the machine just as a scream ripped from the cockpit.

And then, out she came—Karine, springing out like she’d been shot.

"Today’s over! Now it’s just drinks—nothing else!"

Stretching out along the catwalk, Karine let the rush of freedom spill through every inch of her body.

“Today’s not even over yet—still morning, isn’t it?”

“Spent the whole night on this. Complex work—said if I stop halfway, I’ll lose track of what I’m doing.”

“Huh. So the physics processor… yeah, definitely needs serious know-how.”

“Oh, Captain. What’re you doing here? Still can’t touch it, right?”

Karine spotted me and leaned over the railing, calling out.

I looked up at her and answered.

“Came to see the mass-produced model. Didn’t even know my own machine was here.”

“Oh, right. Hey—there was something I wanted to tell you.”

She dashed down the catwalk in a hurry.

“What is it?”

“That sensor board on that machine—no one else touches it, got it? Not even in an emergency.”

“Even then? I mean, it’s fine by me, but… even in an emergency?”

We’re a team, sure, but war’s unpredictable. In a crisis, someone might need the sensor board writer on-site.

“Exactly—especially in an emergency. That sensor board’s so weird, even if someone else looked at it, they wouldn’t know what the hell they’re seeing. It’s gone beyond anything I can explain.”

“Really? That extreme?”

“Basic language’s standardized, sure—but once you get used to it, you know you can slip in your own little dialect, right?”

“Yeah.”

I heard that in the Academy, just skimmed the surface.

The language of the physics engine—senseboard—is pretty complicated, but the core is all the same. Still, when you want to do the trickier stuff, most senseboard writers end up building their own little dialects over years of practice.

So it’s said you shouldn’t let just anyone touch a senseboard, especially not someone without a dedicated writer.

“With that machine, there’s the special Duocore system, sure—but I also wove in my own private language all through it. If some amateur tries to fiddle with it, everything just… collapses. Might not even power on after that.”

“Ah. So that’s why. Got it—I won’t let anyone else near the senseboard.”

“Please. Anyway, Captain, you came to see the new model, right?”

"Yeah, so I’ll just head straight to the explanation then."

A voice echoed through the hangar as I stepped toward the new model.

"Starting test run! Technicians, clear the cockpit!"

Was that from the machine’s mic? So the knight for the test run’s already aboard. Timing’s either perfect or terrible.

The technicians peeled away from the craft and came toward us.

One of them, the squad leader by the look of it, spotted me and dipped his head.

"Eld Captain. Checking on your own machine?"

"No, I heard the mass-production model was finished. Came to take a look."

"Haha, right you are. We’re starting the test run now. Feel free to watch."

"Then I’ll take you up on that."

I stood beside the squad leader, waiting for the mass-produced unit to power up.

First, the unit came to life—low generator hums rising, steam puffing from joints all over the frame.

“Sephirah generators, now that’s something else. We’ve been studying the ones we recovered, but honestly, there’s still a lot we don’t get. This time, we just pulled the whole thing straight from the captured unit—same physical processor, same senseboard.”

“Guess that’s how it starts, right?”

“True, but as a technician… kinda stings, knowing we’re still playing catch-up.”

The squad leader frowned, eyes locked on the new unit’s startup sequence.

“Tank valve released. Magi liquid injection—no issues. Generator operational at forty percent—stable. Senseboard link—no anomalies. All meter readings nominal. Startup complete. Engaging mobility now.”

“Please go ahead!”

The first time you fire it up—gotta be the most nerve-wracking, right?

I remember when I first powered up my Armunale. Got my heart racing.

“Abnomüle Prodie, activating!”

So the kingdom’s Abnomüle goes by Prodie, huh? Not bad. Sounds like a proper name.

The generator lets out a sharp, high-pitched hum—power surging up fast. Just listening to the sound, you’d swear it’s the same as a Hyimagia Liquid-powered unit. And this thing’s running on regular Magia Liquid?

Then the unit’s eyes flare green. That’s the sign—startup successful.

“Startup confirmed. No output anomalies. Operating within stable range—wait, no, that can’t be!”

Amid the cheers from the hangar, the pilot’s voice cuts in, flustered.

"Anomaly detected in the transmission circuit! Some unknown program’s running on its own!?"

"What?! Abort the startup test! Cut the generator—now!"

"Can't receive commands from here! This can't be happening—!"

"Reinforce the hangar locks! Don’t let the craft leave the hangar!"

The squad leader dashed forward, shouting orders at the mechanics in a rush.

Amid all that, Karine stepped beside me, her face tight, eyes up at the prodigy.

"Mine-sense, huh."

"What’s that?"

"Didn’t I just say the physical processor—senseboard—sometimes uses its own language?"

"Yeah."

A nod.

"Mine-sense is just an application of that. Since the custom language is hard to parse, we usually just copy it straight over and test it out. Probably the same thing happened this time—except they built in a program that only activates if you don’t follow certain actions. That way, if someone steals it, it’s a failsafe. I think they probably embedded a reply code into the unit’s neural circuitry. That way, accidents are avoided, and the enemy’s storage gets a guaranteed hit."

"Huh. That’s… not good."

Even boosting the hangar’s lock strength had its limits.

Even if it was an abnormality, the sheer force of a giant humanoid weapon was something else. The hangar felt like it might collapse any second.

"Evacuate all personnel. Get out of the storage bay—now."

"Evacuate! Move it, move it!"

When Orell relayed my orders to everyone, the technicians gathered around the unit scattered all at once, retreating from the hangar.

Just as we were about to move, a sharp crack split the air— the hangar holding Prodie finally gave way.

"Get away from Armunale! It's attacking Armunale!"

"What?!"

Not just going wild— it’s attacking Armunale? The closest thing to it is—!

Prodie’s first target, of course, was my machine.

Breaking through the hangar, it lunged straight at my unit, one arm grabbing my cockpit faceplate in a vice grip.

"Aah! My machine!"

"My machine!"

"I just fixed it, too!"

Our shouts echoed through the hangar, but the surroundings weren’t in any shape to care about that.

The maintenance crew scattered from the hangar, ignoring the thrashing Prodie as if it were already dead.

There’s no use crying over it now. No human can fix this.

Only Armunale or the Abnomyle itself can stop the Abnomyle.

But help’s still not here yet. If we keep going like this, my machine’ll be wrecked again.

“Gotta do something.”

I scan the hangar, searching for anything. And then—there it is. One machine still parked inside.

It’s the captured Abnomyle.

“Sergeant!”

“Yes!”

“Can that machine still run!?”

“Yeah. It’s still in the state we captured it.”

“Got it.”

No sooner said than I’m sprinting, using both active wings and air thrusters, straight toward the Abnomyle.

Then—up I leap, and into the cockpit I go.

Four-and-five-screen cockpit—feels like something out of a past life’s game, you know?

“Mostly the same controls, I bet.”

Quickly power up. Twist the hangar lock—break it open.

“I’ll hold it. You get everyone out.”

Shout to the crew. I launch an attack on the Prodie.

The Prodie must’ve decided I’m the threat. It breaks off from my machine and turns straight toward me.

That’s my chance. I lunge, latch onto it, and flood the power to shove it out of the hangar.

But the damn thing won’t respond right.

“Ah, damn it—frustrating!”

Now we’re stuck, locked together. Still, the mechanics are evacuating smoothly.

But I’d rather kick it out into the open. If we stay in here, the whole building might come down.

I cut the power, then back away.

Prodié suddenly went limp—naturally, he stumbled forward—and I took the opening to tackle him.

With a heavy clank, Prodie staggers back. I use the moment to retreat the unit further, moving it outside the hangar.

Thought I was his top threat, Prodie came barreling out of the storage bay after me.

Alright, just need to pin them down now.

But the opponent’s a real pain. Can’t go after the pilot seat—there’s a test pilot trapped inside.

To top it off, this machine’s been acting up—can’t even muster half its usual power.

Not only that—this thing’s reaction speed is far too slow.

The machine moves with a half-second lag after I pilot it. Can’t imagine fighting properly with something like this.

Best thing’s to just hold our ground and wait for reinforcements.

Well, sure, it’s an abnormale, but still—first time in ages riding a robot. Might as well enjoy it, huh?

Two days later, I stood before the lady of the house.

After that, I dodged their attacks as best I could, just waiting for backup.

Then, shortly after, a knight arrived on the scene thanks to a mechanic’s call—secured Prodyé, rescued the pilot. All’s well that ends well.

But something still nagged.

Me piloting that abnormale.

The order had clearly forbidden contact with Armunale—so not technically breaking rules—but still, folks kept giving me that look. Like, “really? That’s how you roll?”

Still, I’ve got my reasons. Let it go on like that? My machine would’ve been scrap metal by now. Someone’d’ve gotten hurt. That wasn’t a choice—it was an emergency.

“By the council’s decision, this whole incident never happened.”

"Say ‘never happened’—does that mean we’re just sweeping it under the rug?"

I tilt my head, surprised by the princess’s unexpected reply.

"Yes. With foreign royalty visiting next week, having such an incident right before their arrival might make our nation’s technological prowess seem… underestimated. So we’ve issued a gag order. This event never occurred. Naturally, if it never happened, then no punishment could befall my knight."

"…I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad. Makes for a tricky reaction."

I say that, and the princess smiles, warm and bright, then pulls out a single sheet of paper.

"Relax. Even if it’s not written into history, it’ll stay in people’s memories. And because of that, a new decree has come down from the throne."

"…I’ll take a look."

I take the paper, glance over the contents.

A ban on synchronized contact between Armunale and Abnomule—and any new models to come in the future…