12

“What’s wrong? You not coming?”

The enemy pilot, holding a tower shield and lance, taunts me, standing firm.

Danes, was it? This bastard’s not moving an inch, all set to counter, yet he’s telling me to come at him? What nerve, huh?

But just standing here like this ain’t getting us anywhere. The others around us are already deep in the fight. Gotta make my move soon.

I shift the machine forward, circling slowly around the enemy unit.

Danes doesn’t budge. Doesn’t turn. Stays exactly where he is.

My back’s wide open like that, but I don’t reckon lunging in from here’ll do much good. Then again, Armunale ain’t even human—maybe a rear camera’d fix that… no, no, no. Weapons’re built for front-on strikes. Can’t just turn your back on the thing and expect to be safe.

So there’s something.

Keeping my guard up, I circle around the whole damn thing. Then—voice from the enemy machine.

“Got the weak point figured out yet?”

That mocking tone—my forehead’s throbbing already.

“Think you’re so slick, huh?”

But I don’t go charging straight in like an idiot.

Once more, half a turn. Try striking from behind.

They’ve gotta see me on their monitor. No grand swing. Just a quick, minimal thrust—straight for the back. Let’s see what you do now.

The enemy machine, deciding I wasn’t feinting, swings its right arm mid-turn.

The lance’s haft knocks the sword’s belly, shoving its path off course.

Then the lance’s blade swings in toward my ribs. I cut my advance short the instant the sword strikes, dropping low and leaning back just enough to barely dodge the blade.

I kick at its feet—of course it blocks with the Tower Shield.

Well, expected. Their reactions are sharp. No surprise there—eight generals, third seat, after all.

But I’m no slouch either. I’m the ace in the kingdom. Ain’t gonna go down easy.

I kick the shield’s base and roll sideways. The lance thrusts out a split second later, punching straight into the ground.

“Nice dodge.”

Danes says, sounding impressed, but that’s what you’d expect.

After all, I know the opponent’s pattern—counter. If I know they’ll move in response to my attack, there’s always a way to handle it.

Just means I can’t land a solid hit while dodging, that’s all.

“Let’s call this watching for now.”

“Then come on. I’ll block every move you make—and pierce you through with this lance.”

Power up the frame. Full performance, no holding back.

The real problem when I attack? That tower shield. Thanks to it, most of my strikes get deflected. And there’s no way I’m going to get around to the back like last time.

Even circling around the same way, they just slide their feet, always facing me straight on.

So they’re serious now, huh?

Then, I’ll just go ahead and clear that big ol’ tower, shall I?

Swerving off course, I close in fast.

The enemy’s got their Tower Shield front and center, lance arm pulled back, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

I charge straight in, kick off hard right in front of them—my machine launches upward, slamming the top of their shield with a solid thud.

The recoil flips the shield upward, just enough for my machine to land right atop it.

Armunale’s full weight. Can’t be held with just one arm, can it?

“Using Armunale for that move… clever— but!”

“What?!”

My machine is fully locked in, and suddenly the lance is thrusting out at me.

I try to dodge on instinct, but it’s too late—my left elbow gets pierced.

I crash to the ground, left arm destroyed, shield gone.

I parry the lance thrusts with my sword, stepping back to keep distance.

But Danes—guess he sees his chance—charges in all at once.

I’m barely keeping up, dodging each jab, but they’re all aimed at the joints, hitting just past the limit of movement. Hard to dodge.

“Damn it.”

The flow’s completely gone to him.

Gotta put some space between us, regroup.

Still backing up, I fire a flame lance at his legs.

Danes ignores my magic completely and presses forward.

Of course, the flame lance still burns his leg armor, even if it’s weakened by his magic shield. But the damage is barely noticeable.

“Think that’ll do much?”

“Hmph. Not just output, huh. You’ve upped the durability, haven’t you?”

Just boosting output won’t hold up an entire machine. You’d need to reinforce it from the ground up—reinforce the frame itself, or it’s impossible.

That Fire Lance earlier? A regular unit should’ve been able to strip armor right off the shield’s surface. But all it did was scorch it a little.

Probably the same as my old machine—fully custom-made from the inside out.

A machine built for fast reaction speed to counter attacks, and toughness to take hits. That’s what this is.

The frame’s reinforced, so it’s heavier. Movement speed isn’t that great. Still, I can keep my distance while backing up. But I’m starting to feel it.

Time to push forward.

He’s starting to get used to the rhythm of this attack, I bet. Which means now’s the time to smash it all to pieces!

Backpedal, then drive forward hard—brake, push through.

Danes hasn’t even fully retracted his lance yet. Tower Shield’s still up, sure—but that split-second window before he can strike? Not gonna let it slip.

Slide my机身 around behind the shield’s right side, then push it outward with my sword.

Would’ve been nice to knock it clean off, but… yeah, that’s asking too much.

Still, now his torso’s wide open.

Got you.

This thing’s not as easy as it looks.

A sudden, brutal jolt rips through my機体—right as Danes’ calm voice cuts in.

The force of the impact sends my機体 flying backward—cracks spiderwebbing across the cockpit monitors, wires snapping out from twisted wreckage.

“What the—?!”

One monitor still flickers, alive. There, right along my機体’s flank, the lance is buried deep. But the handle’s still gripped tight by the enemy機体.

Only the cone-shaped tip is in.

Output sputters—dips sharply. One knee hits the deck.

“Skill’s top-notch. But honestly? Your機体’s a mess. With this junk, I can’t lose.”

Danes walks forward, calm as ever. In the pause, he slides the lance’s shaft behind his shield—*clack*—the blade snaps back into place.

Looks like it was meant to be fired out in the first place. Spare tucked away in the shield’s back, like a trick up his sleeve.

Feeling-wise, it’s more like a shield that’s also a weapon cache—kinda like an Artifigojue.

“Now then, let’s finish this.”

The lance comes in fast.

But its tip gets knocked sideways by a side impact—sweeps past my frame.

I glance over—there’s Dennis, firing magic straight at us.

“Our ace doesn’t go down easy.”

“That machine… is the kingdom’s strongest, Dennis Edgit, right? Wasn’t Yan supposed to be facing it? Did he get taken out?”

Dennis seems to have just finished off another skilled opponent. From what I hear, the other one was one of the Eight Generals too.

“Eld, you still able to move?”

“Managed.”

Fuel’s tanked down, sure—but I can still pull back. Though cutting through this battlefield? That’s going to be a real chore.

“I’ll handle this one. Eld, fall back.”

Sorry—enemy units are launching lances and packing all sorts of weapons into their shields. Be careful.

Got it. Thanks for the heads-up.

Captain Danes lunges at the Danes unit. In the meantime, I slowly rise my machine to its feet and begin retreating.

Then, Abnomyle and the others nearby step in to cover me.

“Covering you.” “Leave the clearing to me.” “Can’t let a hero like you fall here, now can we?”

Sorry about this.

With Abnomyle watching my back, I inch forward through the main battlefield. Imperial Abnomyle units try to ambush us from time to time, but the surrounding machines hold them off somehow.

And when I reach the edge of the battlefield, I run into the one enemy I’d least like to see.

“Oh, now this is a chance, isn’t it?”

There, standing before me, was a black Armunale. Probably some mercenary’s machine. If it was here, that meant it wasn’t joining the fight—it was hunting down stragglers instead.

Clever little coward.

“Tch. You lot get back to the main front. That Armunale’s not worth your time.”

“But—”

“I’ve got this. One mercenary? This machine can handle it just fine.”

“…Understood.”

Abnomule and the others obeyed my order, turning back toward the main battlefield.

The mercenary didn’t even bother with Abnomule—probably figured it wasn’t worth the effort. Just drew its sword and came at me.

“Hmm. What now?”

I said I was fine. Truth is, I’m bluffing. Fuel’s already down to twenty percent. Only one sword left. And that lance still stuck in my side—can’t move like I usually do.

Wait a sec… this is actually getting tight, huh?

But—

"Can't move right if you're this beat up. Just get on with it already!"

The mercenary lunged— I shoved the machine forward, countering with a thrust of my sword.

The enemy's blade pierced just below my shoulder, heading straight for the cockpit—when my own sword punched through their physical calculation unit, the sense board.

"Whoa, scary."

Glancing up, I could see the enemy's blade through the gap in the cockpit. Just a second later, and I’d have been dead.

But seriously, this thing’s done for now.

I was about to ditch the machine and run for it solo when one surviving monitor caught the silhouette descending from above.

"New one?"

Not much I can do in this state, I thought. But the color of the falling machine—white. Looks like one of the kingdom’s. Then again, if it came from the sky, did someone launch it with an Avila bomb? Who the hell’d do something that reckless?

The machine landed right next to me.

I climbed out of the cockpit and went straight to checking it.

One look, and I knew it wasn’t normal.

First thing that stood out—those two tanks strapped to its back. And wrapped around them, like bird bones, were these odd parts. Wait—each one’s shaped like a blade?

And on the tanks, arms were mounted, with something like a Perfilizzi rifle at the end.

Legs had extra armor at the knees—those things could punch through a cockpit just from a kick. And two iron spikes like claws at the toes.

Honestly, this thing shatters everything we thought we knew about Armunale.

I looked at it—my heart started racing.

Yeah, makes sense.

All this firepower, all this added armor—it’s exactly what I asked Orell to build.

The machine landed, slowly rising to its feet, turning toward me.

“Eld, you’ve been through the wringer, haven’t you?”

“That voice… Leon?”

“Yeah. I brought your new machine.”

“Really?!”

The new model stepped closer, opening the cockpit.

I jumped straight inside, face to face with Leon.

“Why’re you here?”

“Just happened to be in the capital, was tagging along with this prototype’s test run. No time to haul it, so they flew me straight here in a career bomb.”

“Is that so.”

“This is a message from Miss Carine and the others.”

Leon handed me a scrap of paper jammed into the gap beside the pilot’s seat.

Then he stepped out of the cockpit and down onto the ground.

“I’m pulling out to safety. Read that note, and go wild.”

“Thanks.”

Leon activated his magic and vanished back toward the forest, leaving the battlefield behind. I climbed back into the pilot’s seat and unfolded the paper.

It listed parts of the revised control system, changes to the gear—then, there it was—

(This generator in this machine? Eld’s the one who found it. Go ahead—have your fun with it.)

"So. Took me a while, didn’t I? But I promised, didn’t I? You’ll fight with me again, right?"

The low hum of the generator, already spinning, seemed to answer—just for a second, a pulse higher.

"Then let’s go."

Grasping the control lever, I pressed down on the output pedal.

"Move! My machine, Pespilarge!"

With the motion, the bone-like wings snapped open—fully, desperately—and the mechanical angel fell into the battlefield, born.

Next time preview

A mechanical angel, born.

But its movements—still awkward, like a fledgling just learning to fly.