13

This time, the back cover features the jacket art from Volume Two of the printed edition.

If you don’t want to ruin your mental image of the characters, be careful.

“The screen display’s set to default, just like I asked. The button layout’s changed a bit, right?”

I flick my gaze between the notepad in my hand and the pilot’s seat, checking the layout.

Three pedals beneath my feet. One’s the generator output pedal. Another adjusts the machine’s speed. The last one seems to control the body’s tilt.

A loop-shaped belt’s strapped around the tilt pedal, securing my foot. I press it lightly, and the machine leans forward just a touch. Let go, and it snaps back upright.

Left foot locked on the tilt pedal, right foot for output and speed—roughly that kind of setup.

The lever at my hands—compared to the old style, which you grip tight—this one’s twice as thick, more like you’re clamping it with your whole hand. Still, it fits the shape of your fingers just right. Surprisingly easy to hold.

Buttons line up one on each fingertip, two on the thumb, and one switch. Each of these used to be up top on the cockpit panel.

Looks like Karine moved the ones I used most often from my old flight logs right around the lever. Sure makes sense—no need to let go of the controls now.

A warning blares inside the cockpit.

Check the monitor. Eight Abnomule are closing in.

"New kind?"

"Surround them. Pin them down."

『Understood.』

Looks like a well-coordinated unit. That’s probably how they’ve survived this chaos.

But my machine? It’s not just some old Armunale, y’know?

“Grondia Repesh Deployment”

I twist the adjustable control lever with my wrist. The blade fins mounted behind the frame begin to rotate, swinging the tip from over my shoulder straight ahead.

The lock-on cursor appears on screen, snagging the unit I’m targeting.

“Fire.”

With a single trigger pull, eight blades shoot out—piercing through the cockpits of the Abnomyle units. Two machines dodge, barely, but lose an arm and stumble off balance.

The blades retract fast via wires attached to their hilts, snapping back into place on the frame. When I ease the lever back, the fins fold back into their original shape.

This is an adaptation of the Grondia Army—“extendable arm”—a feature once used by one of the royal guards, Remi.

Each sword flies straight toward its locked-on target—no tracking, just a clean, direct strike. But with Abnomyle showing up, we’ll be facing multiple foes at once more often. Having weapons that can hit several at once? That’ll be essential.

“What the hell is this thing?”

“Can it move? Then run. Tell the others about this thing.”

The two surviving units rise up, one stepping forward to shield the other.

The one in back—lost its right arm, so no real weapons left. Looks like it’s planning to retreat and pass word about me to another squad—

“Information’s power. Let me take care of that before you get the chance.”

Flip the switch mounted on the right lever. The Perfilizzi—sniper rifle, connected by arm to the rear tank—slides out from under the armpit, swinging forward into position.

Grip the handle, unlock the arm, and it’s ready to fire—loaded and waiting the moment you pull the trigger.

I raised my arm, aimed at the back of the fleeing machine, and pulled the trigger.

The round shot burst forth with a droning, layered explosion—unique to the multi-stage, centipede-style rapid-fire cannon—punching straight through the pilot’s seat from behind.

Damn it, what the hell are you?!

The last one left—coming straight for us. Realizing there’s no escape, is it planning to charge?

Fine. I wasn’t planning to let you go anyway.

I slid Perfilizzi back into Arm, then drew one sword from the feathered wing on my back.

I accelerate the machine too, closing the gap in an instant. At the moment of crossing, I dodge the opponent’s blade—then slice open the cockpit.

The machine feels a bit heavier. Well, two tanks strapped on—makes sense, really.

Two tanks set up right alongside the wings—patterned after Artifigojue’s magia tanks, each housing a physical processor (sense board) on either side.

Even if one gets wrecked, the other can still keep the machine under control.

I keep the machine rolling, hurtling toward the center of the battlefield. Danes should be holding down the tower shield unit, keeping it from moving.

I take out Abnomyle with a single strike whenever it pokes its nose in, then cut back to the first spot. Two Armunale units are still locked in a furious brawl.

Danes’s machine unleashes its sword dance—Danes’s machine catches every move.

The counterattack lands at the end of the sword dance—but I barely dodge, rolling straight into the next strike. This exchange, this back-and-forth, is nothing short of top-tier fighting.

But even so, the enemy machine that blocks every attack still leaves me with a few glancing hits. Dennis’s unit shows it—scars now, clear and sharp. A hole punched clean through the shield, like a lance had gone straight through. Won’t hold long, that.

“Dennis!?”

“That voice—Eld, is that you!?”

“Newcomer? No… you’re back. That machine—new model? Hmph!”

I call out, drawing his attention, then aim for the enemy’s head with the Perfilizzi. Just in time—he notices, raises the Tower Shield. Blocks it.

In that moment, Dennis backs off, retreating straight toward me.

“What happened to that machine?”

Got it delivered. From here on out, I’ve got this. Dennis—swap out your gear. Fuel’s getting dicey, ain’t it?

He’s been fighting another machine before this one. Probably used up a fair bit of magic by now. That concentrated mana fluid—Hyimagia Liquid—must be running low by now.

“Truth is, it was touch and go. You’re leaving the rest to me, right?”

“Yeah. With me and this—Pespilarge—there’s nothing we can’t handle.”

“Got it. Count on me.”

“Another shift, huh?”

“Fuel’s gonna be a problem soon. But I’m not letting you slip away.”

A grumble comes from the enemy machine. Makes sense. They’ve been fighting nonstop—fuel’s probably getting tight too.

Pulling back to avoid fighting me? But you don’t have anyone like me or Captain Danes to swap out with.

If I can take down three of the Eight Knights right here, it’ll hit the Empire hard—maybe even shake their bones. Call it cowardly if you want. I’m not letting you get away.

Stowing Perfilizii into my arm, I yank one sword free from Grondia Repesh.

Eight feathers—just attached to wires. Unlock the catch, and they’re just regular blades. And when it comes time to retrieve them, just slide the wire down from behind, and the tip snaps right into the hilt. Convenient, really.

“Hmph. Don’t think I’m some easy target.”

Danes drives his lance into the ground to hold himself steady, then pulls out a tube from behind his shield. Slips it onto his waist, secure.

Ah, so even if you can’t connect it directly, you’ve got a tank stashed behind the shield all along.

And just as the fuel injection finishes, the tube pops off on its own, and *clunk*—the tank drops from behind the shield.

“Should’ve stayed put, huh? That was a perfect chance.”

“Shut up. You could’ve moved just fine even in that state.”

Even mid-supply, there was plenty of slack in the tube. And judging by how it was pulled out, it’s definitely retractable. Besides, the moment he raised his lance and kept a close eye on my movements, it was obvious he was ready to counter.

No point in panicking and flailing around, trying to finish the supply too early.

Besides, my own machine’s not in perfect shape yet.

I move my fingers like I’m carving tiny grooves, getting the feel of the control stick into my bones.

This is the first time I’ve ever sat in this machine. I know how to work it on paper, but my body might not keep up.

Right now, the most important thing is to take my time—let it sink into my bones.

I inch forward, checking the enemy’s position, measuring the distance.

No real damage. A few scratches on the shield—nothing worth sweating over. Dennis’s machine doesn’t have a move strong enough to pierce that Tower Shield. Dodging and hitting the core was probably a real pain in the neck.

But with this machine—!

I accelerate straight at the enemy.

I raise my sword, grip the Perfilizzi on my left arm—but actually, that’s not quite right.

It’s called the Hujā. Only three rounds left. And the caliber? Twice that of a Perfilizzi.

The bullet’s launch method isn’t that multi-stage hyper-speed (Centipede Cannon) style—just regular explosive charge.

But the biggest difference is—

aimed at the enemy machine, finger on the trigger.

Bang—fired. The round split midair, scattering into a storm of bullets that swarmed the enemy.

Danes snapped into action, dropping his stance and throwing himself behind his Tower Shield. The shield took a barrage of projectiles.

This is buckshot.

If a Perfilizzi is a sniper rifle, the Hujā’s a shotgun.

“Troublesome weapon…”

“Hah—same to you!”

Enemy machine fully hidden behind the shield? Then my movements are invisible.

Close in on one, circle around to its left.

There was Danes’ machine, knife drawn.

Dodged the thrust, swung my sword in return—like a proper counter.

A light jolt ran up the blade—no critical hit.

After passing through, I reversed course and checked the enemy machine. A small crack showed at the left shoulder.

"Still a pain, fighting a new model."

"Even so, you’ll see it through to the end."

I accelerated again, circling left now, keeping the gun barrel pointed—deterrence.

Holding back their movement, I waited for the opening.

As we passed, I timed it just right—fired the trigger, sprayed buckshot at close range.

The enemy machine took it all on the Tower Shield, staggered from the impact.

That’s when I struck.

Danes lunged with his lance, off-balance.

Off-balance, yet precise. But that’s exactly—

"Easy to dodge."

"Not so much."

The lance tip passed just under my right armpit—then snapped clean in half, mid-strike.

He’d disengaged the lock, leaving only the shaft. I swung, driving the broken end into his armpit.

“Huh.”

Now it was my turn to lose balance. But his lance had no tip left.

I braced the machine, swung my sword—blocked by the Tower Shield.

Damn, that shield’s a nuisance.

Danes retreated, putting distance between us, then slid the lance tip back onto the shield’s reverse side.

In that moment, I stepped back, regaining space, and slid the Hujā back into my arm.

“Movement’s getting sluggish. Fighting in an unfamiliar frame’s a death sentence.”

“Hmph.”

“What’s so funny?”

Yeah, compared to my last frame, my movements are slower. Maybe a bit sluggish too.

But I’ve had enough of this—

“Time to begin. Pespilarge.”

I flick the switch mounted on the front of the cockpit.

The moment I do, the机体's balance control snaps loose—every last bit of wasted tension vanishes from my body.

The machine tilts slowly. Then, as soon as I push forward, it lurches into motion—explosive, wild.

No comparison to anything I've known before.

This is how it's meant to move.

I mutter to myself, watching Danes’s frame through the monitor.

I kept it in full manual the whole time, not trusting my grip yet. But that’s over now.

The layout’s burned into my bones.

No mistakes.

“Wha—?!”

Danes stumbles, startled—but he’s already raising his shield. Quick reflexes. No surprise there. Three-seat reflexes.

But—

When I’m serious? Nothing stops us.

I launch the Grondia Repech while running—straight at the enemy machine. It’s blocked by a shield, but I snatch the sword mid-recovery and hurl it at the enemy’s feet.

Using the blade stuck in the ground as a foothold, I leap right in front of the enemy.

“Won’t fall for that twice.”

Danes raises his shield above his head, catching my machine mid-air.

But that’s not the same machine we had last time, is it?

Four claws mounted on my toes. One of them—*zgung!*—explodes out with a bang.

Pile Bunker. Roman weapon. I’ve got it rigged to my toes.

The steel spike slams into the shield, burying deep, cracking the metal all around.

Danes shifts the shield fast—knocks me off.

I land, crouch low, then sweep the enemy’s feet with a kick.

Danes dodged it with a quick step.

Maybe before, that would’ve put some space between us.

But there’s no escaping me now—I’m running the whole show, hand on the wheel.

Bounced off the ground like a spring, lunging straight into the enemy’s embrace.

Danes blocked the path with his tower shield. But—

I’ll be breaking that shield, then.

Second pile bunker after the roundhouse kick.

The shot, aimed at the same spot, landed just slightly off with the first try.

And with a sharp, crisp crack, the tower shield split clean in two.

"My shield?!"

This is the end of it.

The left arm, already in motion the instant I stood up.

I gripped the handle and shoved the Hujā’s barrel into the enemy’s cockpit.

One last shot. Gonna make it a proper show.

The trigger fired. The enemy’s chest shattered, shards bursting out from its back.

◇

“This light…”

From within the cockpit, Forze felt it.

That blinding glow—exactly the mark of a hero’s end.

“Is that the one-armed one!? No… the Eight General Knight!?”

Either way, a hero of that magnitude dead meant a worthy opponent was standing right there.

So, no choice but to go meet them.

Forze tossed his own crippled machine—arms and head gone—toward the scene.

It had once belonged to the former guard, Jean Laurent.

Now, with no arms and no head, there was nothing left of its former shape. Not even a twitch of movement.

“Wasn’t much fun fighting that one. Time to head back, I think.”

Leaving wreckage scattered across the grass behind, Forze returned to the main battlefield.

Seeking fierce battle and the glow of life—

Next time:

The unit supposed to arrive as reinforcements doesn’t come. That starts to gnaw at the commander’s nerves, little by little.

The enemy, even after losing their eight knight-commanders, slowly regains order across the river.

And the mercenaries, each carrying their own private grudges, stir up the battlefield like a storm.

Book info

July 25th. Armunale Volume Two hits the shelves.

The story’s taking a big turn—definitely worth a read.