11

"Why's an Armunale this far out…?"

The words slipped from Jean Laurent, former Guard Knight.

He was currently moving through the buffer zone, en route to reinforce the fighting forces in Delta Block, which were locked in combat from Gamma Block.

That’s when he happened upon the Armunale unit he’d just destroyed.

But something about the unit unsettled Jean.

It was too easy—too effortless.

No Armunale, the usual commanding unit, was in sight—none at all. Worse, the Armunale forces had barely any proper weapons. Just a single sword and a mounted cannon, at best.

With gear like that, they couldn’t even hope to take down a base, let alone defeat a properly armed Armunale squad.

"Captain Jahn, the enemy's wagons were empty. No signs of anything being unloaded, so they were probably empty from the start."

"Empty? No fuel, no ammo?"

"Yes. There were two wagons with supplies, but that’s all. The other four were completely empty."

Just creepy as hell.

Before Jahn could even process that, two Armunale units approached.

One was Watz’s from the fifteenth squad—managed to catch up somehow from the capital. The other was Moskov’s from the eighteenth.

"Recovery complete. Just burn them now, though it’s a shame."

"Same here—situation assessment done. No major damage, seven minor hits, but none of them affect combat readiness."

"Understood. Let’s get this done quick."

If I could, I’d haul that wrecked Armunale back and scrap it for parts—but we’re in the middle of a mission. Too precious to waste time hauling it back to base.

So, following the newly issued disposal manual, we’re torching it.

Three Armunales fire up in unison, pooling their magic to incinerate the wreckage in one blast.

“Should be clean now. Problem is… why’s this unit even here?”

No reason for a unit like this to be here, not without a reason. Something brought them. Something.

“Any progress on the interrogation?”

“Told them to keep it quick—no time to spare. But… they’re all amateurs, really.”

We didn’t bring any interrogators or torturers along for this op. So it’s taking longer than it should.

“If this drags on too long, we’ll cut the losses and push forward. The fighting’s already started, after all.”

The operation was supposed to begin at sunrise. The sun’s already fully cleared the mountain range—better to hurry, no sense dawdling.

Then, a soldier came panting up to the trio, feet skidding on the ground.

“T-the worst, sir! We know their plan! They’re aiming to bomb the base! Before the battle in the buffer zone, they said they’d drop Avilabombs along both the Gamma and Epsilon lines—to keep our forces scattered! This unit here? We’re the recovery team for the pilots!”

“Hmph. So that’s how it is.”

Jean clicked his tongue. The Empire’s timing was rotten.

We might’ve held the base just fine if the attack had started a little later—sure, the forces were spread thin, but that worked in our favor. Had it been a little later still, we’d’ve had no chance at all to stop the invasion.

But now, with the units down, the base’s defenses are thin. We’ve been working on anti-air guns for Avila Bombs, but we’re still relying too much on Armunale’s magic.

If we keep going like this, the base’ll definitely take damage.

But if we pull even a fraction of our forces back to defend it… who knows what’ll happen to the current assault.

Timing couldn’t be worse.

“Sir… should we divert some units to defend the base?”

Jean hesitated a moment after Watts’ question, then answered.

“No, send only a messenger to the base—tell them to stand by and prepare to evacuate. We’ll keep moving south, just like the plan, and flank the enemy.”

『Understood.』

Following Watts’ decision, they resumed their southward advance.

And just as the battlefield began to hum with tension, one black Armunale stepped into their path.

“A trap?”

“No. It’s just one. We’ll take it ourselves.”

Watts and Moskov drew their blades instantly, assuming battle stance.

The Abnomule forces lurking behind them braced for action, ready to move at a moment’s notice—except for Jean, who trembled with rage, staring at the machine.

“That’s the mercenary who attacked the capital.”

“Wha—? So that’s him…”

“The battle maniac of the Elshard Mercenary Company—Forze.”

Ignoring their shock, the man himself, Forze, spoke to Jean with a nostalgic tilt to his voice.

“Huh, so you know about that? You were in the capital back then, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I remember it well. I was the Guard Knight of the late Second Prince—killed by you!”

“Oh yeah, that flashy machine that charged in. Got any better since then?”

“You—!”

When the capital was attacked, Jean had lashed out at Forze in blind fury over the prince’s death—and gotten effortlessly cut down in return.

Back then, inside that shattered machine, how many tears I shed. And swore—right then and there—I’d kill that machine myself.

Drawing sword, raising shield.

Jean’s fighting style was simple. Just the textbook stuff—sword and shield, the way they taught it at the academy.

But he’d mastered it. Fully.

Sticking to the basics, no shortcuts, no tricks. That’s what made his piloting skill real.

Back then, I lost myself to anger. But this time? Not happening.

Back then it was four against one. Now it’s three to one? Eh, give it your best shot. I’m counting on you!

Crouching low, the Forze unit rockets forward in a sudden lunge.

Jaan steps out ahead of the group, raising his shield. The other two machines swing wide, flanking.

Then—impact.

Blocking the overhead slash with his shield, he jabs his sword forward.

The blow glances off the enemy’s shield, but that’s enough—locks both arms in place.

“There! Now!”

“Take this!”

The two circling units unleash lance-type magic at once.

Two spears streak straight ahead—just before they strike Forze’s frame, the ground heaves up, a wall of earth rising fast.

The spears crash into the wall and vanish in mist.

“Too bad!”

Forze lets out a laugh, lets go of the sword blocked by his shield, and leaps high, straight up.

Then he kicks off the earthen wall he conjured, soaring even higher.

“Look!”

A barrage of ice lances from above. Jan dodges sideways, weaving past the spears, putting distance between them.

“Still got that weird style.”

“You’re just too predictable. If you’re only gonna do what I expect, go ahead and die already!”

White smoke rises from Forze’s landing frame.

“Limitia Perfeesii activated.”

Explosive acceleration from a four-point stance on the ground—clearly exceeding Armunale’s top speed.

But Jan’s seen this before.

He won’t fall for the same trick twice.

He raises his shield, bracing for the first strike.

Stepping forward just a hair, throwing off their range, stealing the space for their next strike.

Then—shield bash, then magic.

Folzeh’s machine, already off-balance, couldn’t dodge. He barely blocked with the shield, but the impact still sent him sprawling backward.

Every move, a replay of what he’d imagined a thousand times, remembering Folzeh’s own rhythm.

And now, perfectly executed—Jan felt it settle in his bones.

“I’m still in this!”

“No more gaps!”

“Now!”

The two machines, circling left and right, lunged at the fallen Folzeh machine, swords raised high.

But Folzeh had been waiting.

“Got you!”

For a split second, Folzeh’s machine wavered—like smoke in the air. Then, in the next instant, it was upright again, crouched low, its extended leg snaring Watts’s machine by the ankle.

“What?!”

“Take this!”

The second machine, closing in, brought its sword down in a slash.

The cockpitless machine tipped slowly, settling onto the ground.

“First one down!”

It was Moskov’s machine—Kingdom’s.

The cockpit had been pierced by Folzeh’s arm. A shred of fabric clung to its claw, blood dripping from the tip.

“Now the second!”

“No more!”

Just as the cruel claw aimed at Watts’s machine, Jahn cut in from the side.

Folzeh swung his arm, flinging the impaled machine straight at Jahn.

“Moskov!”

Jahn caught the机体 mid-air, but it was a mistake.

Folzeh thrust his arm straight into the torn-open cockpit of the wrecked machine. Naturally, the target was Jahn’s cockpit.

“Jahn—”

“Sorry, Moskov.”

Jahn realized what Folzeh was aiming at, just as Watts screamed. He threw Moskov’s machine up as a shield, blocking the attack.

Then, he lunged his sword through the wreckage.

The blade shot out past Moskov’s machine, aimed straight at Folzeh’s cockpit.

Just shy of the mark, Folzeh’s machine jerked sideways—evaded.

“Haha, stabbing a dead comrade’s machine? That’s cold.”

“You’re one to talk!”

“I’m your enemy, after all!”

Folzeh’s machine leapt up like a spring—launching itself straight at Jean’s machine.

Jean deflected Moskov’s machine aside, then blocked the attack with his shield.

“Still protecting a dead comrade? How long can you keep that up?”

Folzeh pressed his rush, but Jean just stood there, shielding himself with that one shield.

“Captain Jean!”

Watts shouted, regaining his footing and lunging in—but Folzeh didn’t flinch. One kick, and Watts’ machine went flying.

“Still weak, huh? You’ve gotten a little better, I’ll give you that!”

“Think you can keep talking down from up there forever? That’s a mistake!”

Jean kept blocking, reading the rhythm of the attacks.

And just after dodging the next strike, he shoved the shield forward with a sudden lunge.

“Huh…”

The shield lunged forward at the perfect moment, slamming hard into Fortze’s机体 in the chest and sending it staggering. In that split second, Moskov’s机体 was laid flat on the ground, and the sword was drawn.

“Captain Watts, you alright?”

“Yeah… I’m fine. I’ll flank them.”

“No—Captain Watts, take the unit south. We can’t delay reinforcements any further.”

The battle’s still going on in the delta block, right now. Delaying the reinforcements any longer and the pincer move we planned from the start won’t work.

Two separate flanks arriving one after another? That’s nothing compared to hitting them from both sides at once. If this could mean victory for the nation, then failing the plan wasn’t an option.

“But taking this one alone…”

I know. It’s tough—but I’m not thinking it’s impossible. I didn’t earn my rank as Guard Knight by accident, you know.

……Understood. Good luck. All Abnomyle units follow me.

Watts led the Abnomyle forces southward, keeping a sharp eye on Forcze’s movements. Meanwhile, Jean watched Forcze’s every twitch, but the enemy showed no sign of moving.

You’re letting it pass.

It’s weak. A mass-produced model’s not worth crushing. What I want to eat… is you alone.

You’re fighting not for the empire’s victory, not for your own unit’s gain—but just for your own desire?

That’s just me. Come on, let’s get started. Don’t disappoint me, now?

Again, white smoke burst out as Forcze charged forward. Jean raised his shield and met the assault head-on.

◇

While Forcze clashed with Jean and the others, down south from the main battlefield, another fight was about to begin.

On one side, the kingdom’s encircling force—just like Jean’s group, they’d shattered the enemy unit they’d met and sent messengers racing back to base.

Leading them was Elekzia Kutzlroad, the eleventh Armunale unit commander—once, for a time, she’d marched alongside Eld.

Beside her stood one Armunale. Batis’s machine, twin greatswords strapped across its shoulders.

Only two Armunales in total. But in exchange, the Abnomule unit had grown to one hundred forty—more than a full unit ahead of the northern force. In Camentria, still under imperial occupation just half a year ago, that was all they could manage.

And facing them, standing in their path, was a single black Armunale.

But the machine still carried the air of a royal one—plain, unadorned, like something out of old days.

Only one thing hung at its left hip: a single curved blade. Nothing else.

No shield. No flying weapons like a harmonica pistor. Just that.

"Who the hell is this mercenary? Never seen one like it."

"Me neither. But standing alone like that? That’s got to mean they’re confident, right?"

"Exactly. Stay sharp—two of us, we take him down."

"Got it."

As both machines readied, the mercenary’s machine drew its sword.

The blade gleamed sharp, catching the morning sun and casting our two silhouettes across the ground.

"Let’s go!"

"Right behind you!"

We circled around, flanking the enemy from both sides, then charged in.

The enemy glanced briefly toward Elexia, then turned and sprinted straight for the Batis machine.

"Oops. Came this way. Well, that’s a smart move—though, frankly, not the one I’d’ve picked..."

Batis swung his greatsword. The enemy machine dodged it with ease, and the blade slammed into the ground.

Right after, an explosion rocked the earth—so violent it couldn’t just be from a blade piercing dirt.

And then, the sword that should’ve been buried in the ground sliced back, fast as a knife being flicked.

The enemy machine tilted slightly, startled, shoving itself sideways.

The blade barely missed, arcing wide behind Batis’s machine and smashing into the ground.

“Nice dodge. But I’ve got another one coming!”

He raised the greatsword high. At the same moment, an explosion flared along the blade’s back, and the force of it sent the edge hurtling down.

The enemy’s stance was still off-balance. Trying to block with that thin curved blade? It’d be cleaved clean in half.

Batis felt it—solid, sure, right in his bones.

But the great sword suddenly veered off course—slammed clean past the enemy machine’s flank.

“Huh—”

In return, the enemy’s curved blade lunged forward, aiming straight for Batis’s cockpit.

He ducked back instinctively, and the enemy machine swung around mid-rise, turning its sights on the approaching Elexia unit.

“Hah!”

The Elexia unit’s weapons were just a regular sword and shield.

The enemy caught the sword with their curved blade, then stretched out their free hand—grabbing the Elexia’s shield.

“What—?!”

They yanked the shield in, then shoved it hard back out.

The Elexia staggered, off-balance, stumbling backward—but managed to keep its footing. Still, the opening was fatal.

But the enemy didn’t press forward. Instead, they raised their left arm, fired an air bullet straight through the Elexia’s head—shattering the camera.

I swung my sword back over my shoulder, cleaving through the leg of the Batis unit as it raised its blade.

The Batis unit, joint shattered, toppled sideways and crashed into the ground.

“Gah!”

“Batis!”

Elexia flung her Water Lance in a panic, pushing the enemy unit away from the Batis machine, then steadied herself and charged at the enemy, shielding the fallen Batis with her own frame.

The enemy parried the strike with its curved blade, then stepped lightly—like a dancer—around Elexia’s side, reached back with its left arm, grabbed the enemy’s back, hooked a leg, and yanked it down to the ground.

The motion flowed smooth—no wasted motion, like the machine was just copying a human’s movement.

Batis recognized that motion.

In a sea of men, she deflected the blade without yielding, struck at the feet, and even in moments that looked like certain defeat, she read her opponent’s counterattack before it came.

That was unmistakably Layra’s style.

“Layra! You’re Layra, aren’t you!”

“Layra? The traitor princess?”

“Oh, you noticed, did you?”

Her voice came back—Layra’s voice, clear as ever.

“Why are you even here?! You’re—”

“A mercenary. Hired by the Empire.”

“…Seriously a mercenary? And now fighting against the kingdom?”

“Must’ve heard it from Eld, huh? Or are you one of those people who won’t believe unless they see it with their own eyes? Then why not believe it now?”

Batis flinched—his fist slammed against the wall of the cockpit.

Right here, right now—my own body’s been broken. Even with two against one, I couldn’t land a single blow on Rayla. My knees shattered. Can’t even stand.

This, right here, is proof enough that Rayla betrayed the kingdom.

"Why... why is this happening?"

"Save it, Eld. I’ve heard that line too many times. No time. Let’s finish this."

Batis gritted his teeth, holding back tears. Rayla ignored him, the machine lurching forward.

Raising the blade, aiming to bring down the grounded Electsia—suddenly, the machine shot upright, spinning around in one motion, swinging the sword back.

The blade split Cleance clean in half—flying in from Rayla’s rear.

"What’s this supposed to mean?"

"No, no, we’re helping. You’re up against two machines—hard enough already, right?"

What lay ahead of Rayla’s machine was two black Armunale units. Both bore the mark of a sword piercing a skull. No mistaking it—the sigil of Du Librepul.

“Clearly aiming for me, weren’t you?”

“No, no, I wasn’t. The one that was down started twitching weirdly. Got spooked and fired.”

“Hmph. So, let me ask again—what’s your business?”

“I’ll say it once more. Came to help. Stealing your moment, huh?”

“Look around. I don’t need help. Go on home already.”

One was crippled, barely able to stand. The other—had been down for the count if not for that clumsy interference.

The fool had thrown a wrench in things, letting Batis get back to his base. But that didn’t change a thing.

To Rayla, Ellexia wasn’t even worth the effort.

But the mercenaries showed no sign of backing down.

“Can’t do that. They’re getting crushed by the kingdom—honestly, no profit to be had. You’re the traitor princess, right? C’mon, you know how it is. Mercs only fight where they can make a kill.”

“That’s just a fancy excuse for your weakness. Don’t drag me into your mess.”

“Huh?”

“Damn you.”

At Rayla’s provocation, the two Armunale drew their blades.

That was the signal. Rayla’s unit surged forward.

“W- wait, you’re really gonna fight us?!”

“Forgot the Code of Du Librepal?!”

The mercenaries shouted, flustered as Rayla charged straight at them.

They’d fled here in the first place because they’d never survive the main battlefield. And now Rayla had waited—let them grow careless—until the moment was perfect.

They’re not the kind to stand against Rayla when she’s serious about killing.

So she starts with that excuse—

“Accidents happen on the battlefield, you know. Like a generator blowing up.”

“W-what are you—”

“I absolutely hate people like you. I mean, I could puke just thinking about you!”

“Damn it!”

The mercenary swings his blade at Rayla’s machine, giving up on the fight. Rayla dives in close, catches his arm with her left hand, and stabs the curved blade straight into the cockpit.

The machine shatters without a sound. The mercenary beside her freezes—then fires a fire lance out of sheer terror.

Rayla steps back just a little, and activates her air shield.

Magic shield and air shield together—perfect. The fire lance fizzles out, swallowed by nothing.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

“Tch. Always making things complicated, aren’t you?”

The fire lance itself is completely nullified by the double magic shield—but you can’t get close to the machine emitting it. And with the shield wearing down, the concentrated mana liquid (Hyimagia Liquid) is being drained steadily.

Still, the most annoying thing about her isn’t just being attacked—she’s making trouble too.

But that time won’t last long.

Gradually, the magic weakens. Then, finally, the concentrated mana liquid (Hyimagia Liquid) runs dry—and the spell just… stops.

Now, all that’s left is the standard startup charge.

“Finally.”

Rayla sighs, annoyed, and closes in on the enemy machine, driving the blade straight through the cockpit without mercy.

Then—she catches a flicker of movement at her feet. A mercenary, barely escaping the cockpit in time.

The man bolts, sprinting away from her and the others without looking back.

Leyra watched it with cool eyes, then slammed the discarded机体 onto the ground.

She checked the remaining amount of concentrated magical fluid—Hyimagia Liquid—and found it barely above a third.

It was enough to take down Batis and Elekcia here, yes, but since she’d need to move on to the main battlefield afterward, she’d rather keep some reserve.

“Ah well. Batis, sorry, but that’s it for today. Though I’ll be taking what I came for.”

“What’re you doing?!”

“Watch this.”

Leyra stepped toward the机体 with the most magic still left, swung her curved blade down at its generator—

a burst of magic flared, spilling into the air. A clear sign of imminent explosion.

As soon as her機体 planted the sword, she yanked it free and shot off toward the main battlefield at full speed.

Batis remembered the moment the Eight General Knights had blown themselves up, staring at the sight.

“Lieutenant Elexia, we’re in trouble! Get the unit out now, or we’re dead!”

“I know. But you—”

“Damn it, we’ll have to scrap Armunale. Get on board with me!”

“Got it. Hurry up! All other units, full retreat! Don’t worry about consumption! Get as far from here as you can!”

Following Elexia’s order, the Abnomyle unit, watching from a distance, began their retreat in unison.

Batis and Elexia themselves broke into full retreat.

The light spread, then—*boom*—the explosion hit.

A searing heat and wind swept over the area, scorching everything in an instant, blasting toward the fleeing machines’ backs. Then came the second blast.

It was Batis’s machine that went up.

The twin explosions from the Schpreem generators were so bright they could be seen clearly from the main battlefield—brighter than the morning sun, painting the sky over the grasslands with fire.

◇

On the outskirts of the capital, at the kingdom’s Avila Bomb launch site.

A strange Armunale slipped in just before dawn, where a massive number of Avila Bombs had already been launched.

Beneath its feet, Orell and Carine followed on a magi-vehicle.

“Where do we go?”

“Straight ahead. There’s what we’re after, past the usual launch platforms.”

Orell answered Leon’s question with a voice just a little too light.

No wonder—he was delivering this newly finished machine to Eld.

But as the Avila Bombs had just proven, the war had already begun. Eld was surely on the battlefield by now.

If the war hadn’t already started, I could’ve just loaded Eld onto that magic train and carried him straight to the front. But now? Pulling him away from the front would be the worst kind of mistake.

So the plan was set: direct transport to the front line via Avila Bombs.

Sounds insane, I know. But Eld had pulled off something like it once before—enough to tip the scales in favor of the decision.

“But… am I really the one for this? This machine barely even moves right.”

“I know. Don’t worry. I’ve already prepared what’s needed to get it there.”

Orell answered Leon’s uncertain voice with clear certainty.

As they walked deeper into the base, the thing Orell had spoken of came into view.

The first thing Leon saw? A coffin.

Painted white, like the kingdom’s colors, and covered in Avila Bombs except for the front.

“This one’s a career bomb. You stick the机身 inside and launch it. Unlike last time, we’re handing control to someone else, so no need to fiddle with direction.”

“Yeah, that’s a relief, but this… this is just a coffin.”

No matter how many times I look at it, it’s still just a coffin. The thought of crawling inside makes my stomach twist.

Orell just shrugs it off, shoving me along.

“Come on, get in already. Time doesn’t wait.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I follow the motion, sliding the机身’s legs forward and tucking it into the launch case.

Like the hooks in the hangar, it locks into place—clamped tight under both shoulders, like someone’s gripping them from the sides.

Orell heads for the control room. Karine floats up nearby with magic, then signals me with a nod toward the camera. I open the cockpit hatch, and she slides in, smooth as a stone down a stream.

“What’s wrong?”

A note for Eld. I’ve already covered the basics, and I did my best to make it as he asked—but there are still a few little differences, so here’s a quick message about that.

Ah, I see.

The cockpit’s completely different from the old one, so I’d already sent Eld a letter explaining the insides when it was finished. But letters have their limits. There were a few tweaks made after the frame was done, so small details ended up not quite matching.

Leon takes the note from Caline, slides it into the gap beside the monitor, and secures it with a twist.

“And this carrier bomb—Development made it from Eld’s original idea, so you can relax. We’ve had proper test runs with it, so safety’s guaranteed. And piloting? I helped out during the trials, remember?”

Hearing that, Leon relaxed a little. Knowing it had worked before—well, that was a real comfort.

" hearing that, I’m relieved."

"Then, Eld, take care of it. It’s our masterpiece, after all. Make sure it gets there."

"Yes, I’ll deliver it to him, no doubt."

"Karine, time to launch! Get over here!"

"Got it! Then I’m counting on you!"

Karine stepped out of the pilot’s seat and headed into the control room.

Watching her go, Leon turned to the launch preparations.

The storage compartment door slid open slowly, fully covering the front with a metallic clank as it locked into place.

"Switching to generator start mode. Monitoring aircraft check status. All systems green. No issues with the craft."

"Carrier bomb—fueling complete, systems operational, launch angle confirmed. Weather and wind direction both clear."

Then off we go! Carrier bomb—launching now!

At Orell’s signal, the carrier bomb’s booster ignited, slowly gathering speed, trailing smoke as it soared into the sky.

Next time preview

Facing the might of the Eight Knight-Squires’ Third Seat, Eld’s craft begins to break apart—cornered, desperate.

Then, from above, a single Armunale is dropped.

While Dennis and the others buy time, Eld climbs aboard the machine…

Next time previews? Don’t need that nonsense.

※ The main story may change without warning.

Gotta put this note in, or the length’ll go all wonky.