8

Three months since we arrived at Raytarki. Finally, the magical railway line’s reached us.

When the magic train rolled into town, the villagers raised both hands in welcome.

The prearranged flower snow fell from the station roof, scattering like confetti as the princess gave a speech from a temporary platform set up on the station building.

Magic trains weren’t made for war. They’re here to carry people, haul goods, keep our economy moving. But right now—there’s a mighty enemy in front of us. Yes, the Overd Empire. Some of you know what that fear feels like. In the last battle, we lost so much—our homes, our wealth, our families. That tragedy must never happen again. So I’m saying it plainly: we’ll use the magic trains for war. Not to start a war here at home—but to prevent that tragedy from ever happening again. The tracks will stretch into a buffer zone. Beyond that, we’ll build a new fortress. A wall to protect us. A wall to keep the Overd Empire at bay and guard our country safe.

The crowd roared, drunk on the princess’s words.

The way that delicate-looking princess stood there—grieving for the war, grieving for her father, still pushing herself up, desperate to wipe out the threat—it’d probably stir the crowd right to their bones.

Probably she’s been playing that part on purpose.

Then, after the speech ended and she stepped down from the dais, she came back to us.

“Good job. That was a good speech.”

“Good speech? There’s no such thing as a good speech that drives people to war. No matter how you slice it, it’s still just ordering them to kill.”

Her face—just a moment ago so serious—went cold all at once. She headed straight back to the waiting room in the station building, already prepared for her.

I followed her in, and she dropped down onto the sofa like a sack of stones, worn thin.

The attendant set the tea down in front of her at once, and she lifted the cup, breathing in the steam like it could soothe the ache out of her bones.

“You look worn to the bone.”

“Mm. Had a right mess of things to sort through after—organizing the buffer zone troops, liaising with the capital, you know how it goes.”

After the ambush during the magic train inspection, there’d been quite the stir in the capital, thanks to her letter. Apparently, some big merchant guilds had even considered letting their personal guards use repaired Abnomyleus units, and sorting that out had been a real headache.

In the end, civilian ownership of Abnomyleus was banned outright. Instead, they settled it with free loaner magi-carts and discounted magi-liquids.

Afterward, the princess was swamped—drafting orders for the disposal of Abnomyleus across the realm, issuing commands to recover or destroy the wreckage still scattered about.

Today was the ceremony. No way she could stay steady.

“Perhaps a short rest?”

“Hmm, when’s my next appearance, again?”

One of her attendants answered.

“Next is the evening gathering with Jakarta’s governing nobles. Nothing before then.”

“Then I’ve a little time. I’ll take a break. My knight, you’re free to wander. Go play with Ange, why don’t you?”

“Can’t quite, not really. I’ve got a few letters from the capital waiting—I’ve got to reply to them.”

While the princess was writing back and forth with the capital, I was doing the same with Orell and the others back in the city. Mostly questions about the new gear and the cockpit area.

Like, “Would this work like this?” or “Is it okay to attach this here?” Stuff like that. And since I’ve been thinking of a few more ideas later on, we’ve ended up swapping quite a few letters.

“You should play with Ange once in a while. You’ll make her mad otherwise.”

“Don’t worry. I’m giving her a good show every night.”

No battles lately, so I’ve got extra energy. I haven’t forgotten my duties to my wife—well, she returns the favor sometimes, too.

We’re both having fun, so it’s all good. Yeah, no problems.

“Yeah, yeah, passionate stuff. Well then, goodnight.”

“Alright. I’ll come up to see you again tonight.”

The princess left the room, and I headed off to the Armunale headquarters in Raitaqui to get my own work done.

◇

Overd Empire capital. In a chamber of the emperor’s castle, the meeting was underway.

Present were Emperor Gandrois and his closest advisors. Also there, five of the Eight General Knights currently stationed in the capital—positions one, three, four, five, and seven—along with the commanders of the Armunale and Ground Troops units.

They’d been urgently summoned by the emperor based on a report just delivered to the empire today.

“Now then, I’ve gathered you here for one reason. It seems our enemy, Fatal, has been making some rather interesting moves.”

Gandrois said that, and signaled his aide to hand out the documents.

The commanders glanced at them—and instantly went on edge.

"Building a fortress in the buffer zone? Quite the bold idea, aren’t we?"

"Breaking through our attacks just to build a fortress? Are they mad? They can’t even move supplies, let alone hold a line."

"Actually, with a magic train like this, it’s doable. We’ve used them in the south, but never expected them in combat so suddenly. Bold, I’ll give them that."

Just like the Fatal magic train, something similar had already been put to use in Overdo. Not that it mattered much—back home, it was only used for testing in quiet, unwarlike regions. The plan now was to iron out the kinks here and roll it out nationwide.

"Means they’re cornered, all right. But that’s also why we’re being pushed back."

The commanders fell silent at the emperor’s words.

We’d gotten so close to Fatal’s capital, only to be pushed all the way back to the first borderlands now. That’s clearly a failure on the military’s part.

The emperor spoke, hinting at that fact without saying it outright.

“Not blaming you, no. They’ve got their share of noisy ones over there, too.”

“Each line was staffed with former guards, right? That’s—”

“Danes Editt. Jean Laurent.”

The name came from Yan Velta Leonel, fifth seat among the Eight Knight Generals.

Youngest here—only twenty-three—but a prodigy, fast-tracked into the Eight Knights by sheer talent.

And following right after, Danes Dora Orelia, third seat among the Eight Knights, spoke up again.

“And Eld. They call him the One-Armed out among the mercenaries.”

“Whatever. The point is, he’s the one who took down Kansas—even if it was a mutual kill.”

“Eld’s been confirmed elsewhere, so Kansas is effectively gone.”

“Even if he’s just a low-ranked knight—he’s the one who killed Kansas. Makes me want to see a fight.”

“Is that so? Then it’s perfect.”

“Huh? What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

Yan tilts his head, confused.

“Fatal’s been spotted planning a fortress with the Boarhead clan. Intelligence says both Dennis and Eld are stationed there. Yan, you’re going.”

The order lands, and Yan’s face splits into a feral grin.

“How far can I go?”

“Completely. Wipe them out.”

“Understood. This is going to be fun.”

“And you, Danes. You’re heading to Boarhead too. Join Yan—destroy the enemy together.”

The whole conference room buzzed at the Emperor’s rapid-fire words.

Danes tilted his head, a flicker of confusion on his face as he turned to the Emperor.

“Your Majesty, if I may… sending two Eight-Generals Knights? That’s overkill, isn’t it? I’d say Yan alone is more than enough.”

“Overkill’s fine. Let them think we’re overestimating the enemy. They killed my vassal, Kansas. Leave not even a shred of mercy. Crush them utterly.”

“Understood.”

The deployment of the two Eight-Generals Knights was confirmed. The reorganization of their supporting forces began to be discussed.

The number of Armunales, the location of the clash, the timing of the Avilabombs—each was settled. The meeting ended.

Three days after the conference. The capital was alive with a grand departure parade.

At the front, of course, walked the two Eight-Generals Knights.

One machine bore a massive lance and great shield—Danes’s frame. The other carried twin swords and a shield, with several knives strapped to its legs—Yan’s machine.

Two figures stood atop the shoulders of each, showered with cheers from the people of the capital.

Yet the two themselves weren’t exactly thrilled about this parade.

“Hah… such a pain. Just get moving already.”

“Can’t help it. The Emperor himself was worried—the mood in the capital’s been a bit down since Kansas died. If our presence lifts it even a little, well, that’s the best we can do. Still, I’ll say it again—this is a pain.”

Danes grumbled, waving at the crowd.

Behind them trailed three additional Armunale units, and three detachments of Abnomule troops.

From the data gathered so far, it turned out that deploying thirty Abnomule units per one Armunale gave the best operational efficiency. At Overdo, this combination was slowly becoming the standard.

“What about the unit behind us? Just getting in the way, aren’t they?”

Just right for clearing the way. And we’ve got to pick up the pilots from Avilabomb too. Leave them the usual grunt work.

"Yeah, I get that. But still—slowing down like this? Doesn’t sit right. Can’t we just push ahead on our own, huh?"

"Where’s the officer leaving the unit behind? If you’re standing above, you ought to carry your share of the weight."

Yeah, yeah. Can't help it, can I?

Grumbling at each other, we push through the gates of the imperial capital. There, we climb into the pilot’s seat and begin our march toward the Wild Boar Ridge.

◇

“Hmm, the scent of war’s drawing near, ain’t it?”

At an inn in Boar Ridge, Fortze murmurs with a grin.

Laira, seated right beside him, catches the words.

“Just where do you sense that vague hunch of yours?”

“Feelings, vibes, the color of the sky, the smell of the air—plenty ways to sense it. Reinforcements must’ve just left the capital. That’s what’s spilling out, I reckon.”

“Can you really see emotions from that far off?”

“Nah, not that far. But I can just… feel it.”

Fortze presses a hand to his chest, taking a deep breath to calm the thrill.

“Blood’ll spill. Emotions’ll explode—light’ll flood the battlefield, clean and bright. Ah, wonder what kind of light we’ll see this time?”

“Hmph, ease up a bit, will you?”

Laira gave up trying to calm Forzé and reached for her teacup.

Just beside her, Rizet, the hedonist who’d joined the Elshard Mercenary Company, wrinkled her nose.

“Hey, Layra. I’ve always thought that guy was off, but hasn’t Forzé been getting worse lately?”

“Really? When I was around, he was already like that.”

“Is that so? When I last saw him, sure, he liked killing—but he wasn’t this worked up, I swear.”

“Is that right? Captain, what’s your take on this?”

“Now you’re pinning it on me?”

From another table, Elshard tilted his glass, listening in on the pilots’ chatter. Layra turned to him.

Elshard hesitated, then pulled at his memories, frowning slightly.

"Sure, things’ve gotten odd lately. No, wait—was it around the time we met the one-armed one?"

"Eld?"

"The one-armed…?"

The name came up, and Layra’s eyes widened in surprise, while Rizet’s expression tightened.

"First met him six years back, maybe? Could’ve been then."

"Six years ago? Why on earth would you meet him then? Eld said he was from some backwater village, didn’t he?"

"Didn’t you hear? No… well, I suppose you couldn’t have."

And then Elshard told them about six years ago—how he’d heard rumors of Armunale buried in the ruins of the north-south uprisings, and went searching.

"Such things… Eld was already reckless back then, wasn’t he?"

"Impossible. He fixed it himself, and then—first run, crash-landed with that girl?"

"Must’ve fought him a few times since. Each time, it felt like the screws were coming loose."

"So, Folzé’s just another one affected by Eld, huh?"

"Is Layra affected by him too, do you think?"

"Maybe. She’s picked up a lot of piloting tricks from him, and all that. Definitely rubbed off. Though her way of thinking was totally different."

Recalling the academy days, Layra felt her cheeks soften.

Sure, things had been messy—but still, racing the four of us back then? That was fun. We went our separate ways after, but the memories stuck like glue.

Still, that doesn’t mean I’ll let feelings get in the way of a fight.

For my own purpose, I’ll crush any enemy without mercy.

With that resolve tight in my chest, Layra looked up at the sky through the window.

The heavy, brooding clouds—nothing like Folzé, yet somehow still hinting at battle.

Since we’ve got a bunch of new characters all at once, I’ll quick-summarize the old ones and the new ones alike.

Kingdom side

Former Guard Knight

Danes Editt — Used to be the king’s Guard. The one training with Eld.

Jean Laurent — Guard Knight to the Second Prince. Defending elsewhere in a different line.

Imperial side

Emperor Gandrois Vizirberg Ovard

Kind to his own people, strict with everyone else — an old man.

Eight Generals, each with a middle name that matches their rank.

Third Seat Danes Dola Orelion

According to Ais, one of the strongest.

Fifth Seat Yan Velta Lioneur

Young, lion-like type. Full of fire.

Eighth Seat Kansas Ote Dilveria

Exploded during the battle over Crosslue. Died in service.

Mercenaries

Folzé — Mad warrior.

Layra — The traitor princess.

Rizet — The hedonist.

Volume one of Armunale is currently available from MF Books.

http://mfbooks.jp/3822/

We're doing our best to get volume two out around July, so please keep an eye on it.