10

Before dawn, the forest where the Kingdom Army was hidden was sealed in deep darkness, and the plain where the Empire lay had only faint starlight to guide it.

Normally, it’d still be quiet, just the night-watch soldiers awake— but we on the Kingdom side were already moving, silently.

We kept the machines’ generators off, no noise, just waiting in stillness.

In this silence, we couldn’t use amplified magic for orders, so we followed the plan set at yesterday’s war council.

“Guess it’s finally time to start.”

I muttered, perched on the shoulder of my machine, watching the soldiers move through the dark. Right away, a voice came from Dennis’s machine, parked beside me.

“Yeah. First invasion for us, huh…”

Dennis was already perched atop his machine, ready to go.

I couldn’t see his face, but his voice carried a faint unease—like he wasn’t sure about this whole invasion.

“Don’t like it, do you?”

“Not exactly. It’s just… if we strike now, I fear the war with the Empire might never end.”

“Even the sturdiest shield won’t stop a blade if the other side won’t sheathe it. If we don’t show them we’ve got a sword, they’ll never understand the fear of being cut.”

“Is that the plan?”

“Not yet. We’re only drawing the blade. Where it points… well, that depends on how this battle turns out. And on what His Majesty and Lady Ines think.”

The princess is pushing us to draw our swords too—trying to stand on the same ground as her.

I’ve heard the King’s been working the diplomatic ropes with the Empire, all quiet-like.

Politics should be steering clear of war right about now. So us soldiers—we just pray the plan holds, and do what’s asked of us.

“That’s true. Knights should act like knights.”

“Just take down the enemy in front of us.”

A faint light starts creeping from the mountain shadows beyond the plain. Dawn’s not far off.

And right with it—our signal to move.

“Then let’s both live through this and claim victory.”

“Yeah. Good luck.”

I climb into the cockpit, buckle up.

‘All units, activate generators! Prepare for launch!’

The voice, carried by the amplification spell, echoes through the forest. One by one, the machines hidden in the trees fire up their generators.

With a racket of grinding gears, seven Armunale and a hundred sixty Abnomule generators come to life.

Birds explode from the trees all at once, animals screeching and bolting in panic.

Of course, the Empire heard that too.

The enemy’s movements suddenly quicken—campfires flare up sharp and bright.

But that’s exactly what we wanted.

In the still-dark grassland, the sudden burst of light stands out like a shout. Even more so from up above, right?

“Here they come.”

On the monitor showing the rear upper view, an endless swarm of light dots appears.

They swell in an instant, their shapes rising clear in the morning sun.

Avilabomb made in the Kingdom—developed by reverse-engineering the Empire’s Avilabombs.

Fuel efficiency hasn’t changed much, but it’s a slight upgrade in flight and handling.

And the Avilabombs, all lights blazing, streak straight ahead—cutting loose from their pilots, diving straight into the camp.

Boom. A massive explosion. Flames leap up from the camp.

The enemy’s machines, just now waking, scramble out past the camp, trying to escape the Avilabombs—then turn skyward, unleashing spells to shoot down the rest.

That’s our cue.

‘All units—attack!’

On the signal, the whole force bursts from the woods, swarming the scattered machines.

The enemy fighters, focused on the Avilabombs, are caught off guard—no time to react, just cut down.

Me and Captain Dennis watch from just behind the line.

"Things are going smooth for now."

"Whatever damage we can deal matters. Eld, if you spot an Armunale, don’t hold back—crush it."

"Of course."

There are more Abnomule than us, but the real question is how many Armunales are out there. If just one’s among the scattered Abnomule wreckage, we can swarm it and smash it to bits.

Then—out from the camp, one Armunale tore through flames and surged forward.

It drove its massive lance straight through an Abnomule, piercing it in one breath.

The lance was completely filled with five Abnomule, and then, with a single sweep, it pulled them all free.

"New type, huh."

"Looks like there’s another one in the rear."

I called out to Captain Dennis before he could act.

There, in the midst of flames, was a machine swinging two swords, cleaving through the Abnomyle troops left and right.

"Two of them?"

"Captain Dennis, you’d probably do better with two blades, wouldn’t you? I’ll take the lance."

Dennis’s three-sword, one-shield flurry could easily overwhelm a two-sword style. Besides, with my machine, it’d be easier to dodge a lance strike than a sword flurry.

"Is that so. Then I’ll leave it to you."

"Yep."

I accelerate hard, closing in on the lance-wielding machine in the battlefield. The enemy notices me—shifts into stance, lance and great shield raised, ready to block.

Countering, are we? Not falling for that old trick, I won’t.

I ease off the throttle, draw my blade, measure the distance.

"Hmph. Not just some hot-headed knight, are you?"

You’re quite the seasoned one, aren’t you? More like a man from Kansas, wouldn’t you say?

Given how you move, how you’re armed—chances are you’re one of the Eight General Knights.

“You know Kansas… then you must be the one they call the One-Armed Knight.”

“That’s right. Seems you’re definitely one of the Eight General Knights.”

Calling Kansas by name? Means you’re either equal to them—or higher up. Either way, that settles it. One of the Eight General Knights, for sure.

I raise my guard to maximum, focus every ounce of attention on every twitch, every breath.

“Your machine’s quite different from what I’ve heard—well, whatever. I’m Third Seat of the Eight General Knights, Danes Dora Orelia. By order of the Emperor, I’ll crush you utterly, down to your last shred of pride!”

I nearly spat at the sound of his name.

Third seat? I mean, ain’t that what Ace said—some other-dimensional power level, right? You expect me to fight a monster like that in this thing? That’s pushing it past ridiculous.

But that don’t mean I’m gonna go down easy. This time, thanks to Avila Bomb, we’ve got the battlefield tilted just right. Time’s on our side now.

So what I gotta do is take my time—lure this guy in.

“Don’t think I’m some soft target.”

Amid the spreading flames, we lock eyes, staring each other down, ready for the next move.

◇

Denis, having split from Eld, charges straight for the dual-sword unit and strikes.

The dual-sword unit reacts fast, intercepts Denis’s blow, and locks blades in a clash.

“Huh—no warning?”

“This ain’t no playpen. This is a battlefield.”

“Tell me about it!”

They both brace, push their swords apart, and kick their bodies back. Then, kicking up dust, they charge in again—blades clashing once more.

Two clashes. By then, they’d both known—each other’s strength.

Not some weakling. A real opponent. The grip on Denis’s handle tightens, like a stone in his palm.

He failed to protect the king. He’d accepted being stripped of his Guard Knight rank, being sent to the front line. But the regret—no, the guilt—stayed. A knot in his chest. It never loosened.

Even out here, on the front lines… he couldn’t fight. The enemy right there, nose-to-nose. And all he had to do was guard that damn magic train.

He knew it was an important duty—knew it deep down—but still couldn’t bring himself to accept it. He’d shoved that thought away, buried it in the back of his mind, and just kept going.

That’s exactly why—

“Today, there’s no mercy from me.”

Calm. Cold. A single, unyielding blade cutting through everything.

He linked the hilts of his swords together, then gripped a third in his free hand.

Three swords, one shield. The full-power stance of Dennis, facing the enemy head-on.

“Take your stance. Heard of you before. You’re Dennis, ex-Imperial Guard, right?”

“So what?”

“I’m the Fifth Seat of the Eight Great Knights, Yan Velta Leonel. Let’s settle this—Imperial Guard versus Royal Guard. Who’s stronger?”

As Yan lunged forward, Dennis moved too.

I block Yan’s sword with my shield, deflecting it, then thrust forward—his left-arm blade parries it, but that’s where the true strength of the three swords and one shield lies.

Twist my wrist, aim the blade’s back edge at their elbow.

Oops, that’s a close one.

Yan stepped back a pace, dodging the strike, then lunged forward with both swords at once—as if to return the favor.

Either way, the shield won’t stop it from piercing somewhere else.

So when you stop it, don’t go for the blade—go for the source.

Denis lunged too, mirroring the move—his blade aimed at both of Yan’s arms, meant to pierce before Yan’s strike could reach his torso.

But—

Yan twisted his wrist, meeting Denis’s thrust with his own blade.

The clash of blades sent a jolt through both arms, overloading Yan’s arms—his wrists barely keeping up. The sword flew from his grip, spinning into the air.

“There!’

Denis saw his chance, lunging into the enemy’s guard and swinging his blade.

But it was blocked—by a knife Yan had somehow gripped in both hands.

“Too bad.”

The knife, still holding the sword, swung straight for the cockpit.

Denis barely parried with his shield, twisting aside just in time.

But Yan’s attack didn’t stop.

One step forward, Yan raised his empty hand—then, as if by clockwork, the sword he’d just deflected came spiraling back, catching neatly in his palm.

“First strike!”

The descending blade struck before Denis could block. A shallow cut opened across his machine’s chest.

“You were aiming for it!? You predicted where it’d land?”

“Prediction? Nah. This is how it was supposed to go, old man.”

“Is that your way of fighting?”

“Yeah, you’ve got three swords and a shield—so I’ve got two swords and a bunch of knives. When it comes to sheer numbers of attacks, I’ve got nobody beat.”

If three swords and a shield were a balanced barrage of offense and defense, then two swords and a flurry of knives was pure, unrelenting offense.

While dancing two blades through the air, he slipped in close with a knife and sent throwing knives flying from afar—each strike faster than Denis could count.

“Alright then—how about this? Can you handle my next attack!?”

Yan took a step forward, flung his sword skyward, then tossed a knife from his waist. Snatching the descending blade, he hurled both swords into the air. Two more knives came flying in.

The way he moved—it was like watching a juggling performer.

The two swords floated in the air, always returning safely to Yan’s hands. All the while, knives flew in from every side, trying to block Dennis’s advance.

Dennis blinked, startled, but he deflected every incoming knife with a clean flick of sword and shield.

“This feeling… easier than before.”

He muttered to himself, eyes on Yan’s approaching machine.

True, the attack speed was far beyond his own. But there was still room—enough to read the next strike before it came.

No, actually… he could almost feel himself pushing through the storm of knives.

“Let’s see.”

He pressed the pedals forward. The machine surged ahead.

Yan slowed just a fraction, surprised, then shot forward again, closing the gap between them in a heartbeat.

“Never thought I’d see someone push forward through my attacks—old man’s got guts!”

The moment he stepped into sword range, their blades clashed.

If they stayed locked like that, no throwing knives would come. Dennis thought that for a split second—but then darted sideways, breaking the bind, and just in time too. A knife came plunging down where he’d just been standing.

Yan had been juggling a few knives during the maneuver.

“Noticing that, huh?”

“Hmm. Looks like the training’s paying off.”

The tension in Dennis’s grip melted away, the useless strength fading from his arm.

Trying to circle around behind him—no, too late. The move was blocked.

But this was still his moment to strike.

“Then I’ll take the lead this time. Try and block this—my sword dance of chaos!”

Boosted the generator output all at once and unbalanced the stabilizer.

The frame immediately went wild—but Dennis had it under manual control in a heartbeat.

Then, a lunge, a flash of steel.

Yan blocked with his sword, of course—but this strike was something else entirely, power and speed unlike anything before. Of course Yan’s frame staggered back, skidding hard.

“Power’s up!?”

“Half-manual control. Not just for the young, you know.”

Then came the flurry.

Up until now, it’d been impossible to use half-manual while holding three swords and a shield. The sword dance alone demanded more than enough focus. Add in the half-manual controls, and it was easily triple the usual workload.

But Eld’s training had made it possible.

A slash to the right, a sweeping cut to the left, then a reverse thrust using a spin—each of those would’ve been a one-shot kill for any ordinary knight. That Yan could barely fend them off at all still meant he was top-tier.

But Dennis now surpassed that by a long way.

“Huh… not bad. But—!”

Yan, who’d been barely holding on, started catching up to the pace.

He’d block the blade completely, sometimes slide it aside, even time a counterattack.

Dennis brushed the tip of his sword against Yan’s head, marveling at how much his skill had improved.

Yan was clearly growing stronger in battle—his reflexes, yes, but more than that, his ability to read an opponent.

He wasn’t just dodging after seeing the attack. He was predicting it before it even started, reading the first motion, avoiding it before it happened. That was why he’d chosen such an all-out, no-shield, high-risk style.

—But

"Old man’s attack—already saw it coming!"

The instant Dennis swung his sword from the reverse grip, it was met—perfectly.

But Yan’s instincts screamed. The weight that should’ve surged through his arm… didn’t come.

Too late.

The next moment, a brutal jolt slammed into the cockpit.

"Guh—?!"

The sword he’d blocked—wasn’t even connected anymore. Just a hollow feint, floating there, meaningless.

The real blow came in the follow-through: a flash cut through the waist, then a lunge to the left, driving straight into the right shoulder of the opponent’s Yan unit.

"Too close…"

Denis had wanted to jam the thrust straight into the cockpit, but they’d gotten too close—too damn close. His arm pulled back, but the tip wouldn’t swing toward the cockpit. Instinct took over. He went for the shoulder, cutting off the enemy’s attack on the spot.

“Damn you!”

The Yan unit’s right shoulder pierced, yet it swung its left arm wide, aiming for Denis’s leg. Easy enough to block.

Then came the return cut—cleaving through the joint, severing the limb clean off.

“Now it’s over.”

He yanked the blade free, dragged the enemy machine down, and planted a boot on its chest, pinning it in place. This time, the sword rose high—aimed straight for the cockpit.

“This is how it ends… me, right here…”

The tip plunged through, clean through the pilot, through the machine’s physical processor—sense board—like it was nothing.

Looking down at the lifeless Armunale, Dennis murmurs quietly.

“I’ve finally—no, this is a battlefield. Save the sentiment for later.”

Shaking it off, he scans the chaos around him.

And there, on the monitor—Eld’s machine, pierced through the side, one knee sunk into the dirt.

◇

A little while after the Avilabomb drop. At the edge of the camp, the Elshard mercenary company had their machines powered up and gathered.

“Report damage.”

“Machine’s fine. A bit of gear burned, but mostly intact. All units powered up.”

“Food’s half gone, but water’s still good. Plenty to get us back.”

“Two horses bolted in the last attack, but we can get more from the army’s kapparatte now. Wanna go?”

“Yeah, horses are needed. Bring back as many as you can.”

Eld’s face relaxed just a bit as he took in the damage report, then he barked quick orders to the crew.

The mercenaries’ camp was always tucked in the corner of the campsite. The center was packed with officers and those close to them—kept at arm’s length, really. This time, it paid off. Because Avila Bomb had focused on the center, the mercenary units on the fringe took almost no damage. So now they could regroup fast, and the Abnomyle forces that came rushing in? Already dealt with.

“Hey, Fortze! And Rayla!”

“Yeah?”

“Whaddya need?”

“Check the situation—find out where Rezette is.”

Rezette’s mercenary unit wasn’t fully under our control yet—still just nominally ours. So they should’ve been camped a little farther out, somewhere distant.

Rizet’s already moving. Seems like she’s been smashing up nearby machines.

The front lines are a mess. The Abnomyle’s dug in deep, and the whole thing’s starting to fall apart. But Armunale’s holding strong, aren’t they? Feels like they’re hanging on pretty well.

Two of the Eight Knight-Generals, even if just for show—won’t fall so easily. But that’s not what matters. Our real goal is—

The mercenary group’s riding mount is Eld’s one-armed mech. This isn’t just some hobby of Rizet or Forze’s.

A one-armed mech's got a fat bounty from the Empire—enough to live high for ten years if you bag it.

"One arm’s out of sight. Probably holding back, huh?"

Can’t believe Eld wouldn’t show up at a time like this—maybe he switched machines, though?

"Looks like we’ll have to watch the movements a bit before we figure it out."

"Find it as fast as you can. I don’t think they’ll steal it, but who knows what’ll happen against the Eight General Knights."

"Hmm… actually, there’s something else bugging me."

Folzé shifts the monitor to show the northern sky.

"What is it?"

"Light up both north and south. Looks like someone’s dead."

"North and south?"

"Right—weren’t we told the Avila Bombs would be launched from this side, and a recovery team sent out? If that’s been hit…"

"Another route’s also coming through the buffer zone. Looks like they’re trying to squeeze us from three sides. Probably ran into the recovery team during their move—ended up fighting."

The Empire was dropping Avila Bombs here too—trying to keep their forces from bunching up. Those were meant for a different front, launched around noon. The squads meant to retrieve the Avila Bomber pilots were already moving along their respective routes.

So they weren’t carrying heavy arms. No way they’d stand a chance against the Kingdom’s machines coming in hot.

Which meant—

“Don’t get flanked. Forze, take out the squad coming from the south. Rayla, handle the north.”

“What about Rizet?”

“Let her do her thing. Tell her—no reckless charges, especially with just one arm.”

“Got it. I’ll pass that on myself.”

“Then I’m off.”

Forze’s machine burst forward from the camp like it was skipping stones across water—light, quick, racing south. Rayla, meanwhile, began moving toward where Rizet was already fighting.

He checked it, then sent the next order to the mercenaries.

“We’re pulling back to the far side of the river. Get supplies ready. Once those two return, we’ll resupply right away. Relay that to Rizet’s mercenary band too. Might as well stick together—easier to retreat that way.”

‘Understood.’

The Elshard mercenaries moved out, and like a reply, the other mercenary bands began stepping onto the battlefield, each making their own call. That was the signal—full-scale chaos was coming.

Next time:

Danes, who’d just regained a sliver of knightly pride.

Meanwhile, Eld was locked in a hard fight against the Eight General Knight Danes.

The mercenaries surged forward. The front line turned into a mess.

In the meantime, one Armunale lifted off from the capital city, rising into the sky.