14

While Eld was locked in battle with Danes, Denis had just arrived at headquarters, having pulled back.

There, gathered together, were Captain Babb Bawmas, the commander in charge of this operation, Sergeant Ward, the unit operations adviser, and several other officers.

They were frantically sorting through the reports pouring in from the chaotic battlefield, doing their best to keep track of the situation.

But it was no use—too many of their orders were falling behind, the fighting was advancing too fast.

The moment they saw Denis, all of them visibly startled.

No wonder. Denis was supposed to be leading the charge in this battle. That he was here now meant something had shifted in the front lines—no doubt about it.

“Captain Denis, what are you doing here?”

Babb, the commanding officer, spoke for them all.

—Just checking in on things while I was out here on supply runs.

“So the line where Captain Denis was is stable, then?”

“Yes, Eld and I each brought down one Armunale. Most of the enemy’s pulled back across the river, so we’re at a standstill for now.”

“That’s good news.”

Everyone—Babb included—let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding.

In the chaos of the battlefield, it’s hard to tell what’s true. To have this much certainty was a stroke of luck.

Babb studied the map, cross-referencing the intel he’d just received.

“Central’s pushed up to the riverbank. But north and south still haven’t closed in. If we push too far in the middle, we might get flanked.”

“Problem’s the reinforcements from Gamma and Epsilon haven’t shown up. Something must’ve gone wrong?”

"Enemy contact, or something else entirely. But if they’re not coming, we’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got here. Captain Dennis."

Dennis nods at Bob’s words.

"Once resupply’s done, I’ll swing north. The center should hold with Eld alone—so we’ll shift the rest of the Armunale south. Should be fine."

"Captain Ward, you agree?"

"Yes. But the Abnomule fuel’s running thin, too. We’ll need to start bringing some back gradually for refueling. That’ll thin the line a bit—keep an eye on that."

"Understood. I’ll send word to the units."

Bob dispatches the orders, and Dennis turns to leave the command post. Ward calls out from behind him.

"Captain Dennis—there’s word from the north. Something massive, glowing. Might be..."

"Could it be the generator explosion?"

"Possible. Be careful."

"Thanks."

Turning away from the command post once more, I head back toward the machine.

My unit’s techs have already finished refueling and are now patching up the damaged parts.

"How long till we're good to go?"

"Could launch anytime. But the joints are worn out—don’t push it too hard, okay?"

"Can’t promise anything. But I’ll try."

When the fighting starts, there’s rarely time to worry about wear and tear.

But if that’s what leads to losing… well, can’t ignore it.

I tuck the mechanic’s words into the back of my mind as I climb into the cockpit. Power up the machine, then bring over the sword and shield I’d left nearby.

"Alright, moving out. I'm heading south. You lot stay near headquarters and help with the other unit's maintenance. Gonna be swamped with fuel runs from now on."

"Understood. Good luck."

I return the salute through the monitor, even if it's just a flicker on the screen.

Then Dennis headed south.

◇

A little before Dennis set off south, something stirred in the north.

Reinforcements had arrived.

"One unit heads to headquarters. Report your delay and the damage done. The other two stay on escort duty."

'Got it.'

Three Abnomyle units broke formation from the squad and began moving toward headquarters.

I watched them on the monitor, checking the enemy's position at the same time.

They're being pushed back a bit, but nothing too bad yet.

Just made it in time, I guess. Already starting to sketch out the next steps.

The fighting’s too chaotic to line up properly. But sending reinforcements off one by one? That’d be stupid.

Then—

“Four-ship squads. We’ve got the numbers. Surround them, finish them off. Always keep an eye on your teammate’s back. In this mess, you never know where the next hit’s coming from.”

Following Wat’s orders, the Abnomylee units formed four-ship teams.

Running close, bumping shoulders, checking in with each other.

“This is our job—take down the enemy in this combat zone. We’ll do it right. Just like the Captain said.”

‘You got it!’

One Armunale and the Abnomylee unit surged into the thick of battle.

The enemy squad, naturally, panicked.

The southern front was holding, barely—though in the chaos, even that wasn’t certain anymore.

No idea where my squad leader or my comrades were. Just fighting whatever came at me, blade to blade. Then—out of nowhere—a side attack.

No time to react. The one locked in front, still grappling, got their cockpit pierced clean through—no mercy.

Even the machines that managed to fall back into the fray got crushed under the sheer weight of fresh reinforcements. Pushed back, inch by inch, toward the riverbank.

And then—Armunale, fresh from headquarters, began to join in, slowly, steadily.

The tide turned all at once. The south was lost. The riverbank was ours.

The cheers rose up, and both Armunale’s captain and the Abnomüle pilots alike let their guards down, sharing in the joy of victory.

Farther north—unaware, that beast which should’ve been stopped by Jean was coming at full speed, hunting for prey.

◇

What Dennis saw as he headed south was a heap of Abnomüle wreckage—and Armunale, broken beyond recognition, as if it had been crushed by its own weight.

No enemy in sight. No sign the line had fallen back.

Still puzzled, he advanced through the battlefield, cautious. Then, from inside a wrecked Abnomüle, a pilot crawled out, half-dead, slumping against the hull.

“Hey—what the hell happened? Where’d the enemy go?”

—There was only one enemy. Black… some mercenary’s machine. Barely anything but that sword on its right hand. And still—

The soldier spoke of how a single machine had wiped out the entire southern detachment.

Even more shocking—this machine had fought and killed both Imperial Abnomüles and the mercenary Armunale without mercy.

“Where’d that mercenary go?”

“Central sector. Figured the Empire was getting pushed back, so he went to help.”

“But he fought Imperial machines too, didn’t he?”

“I don’t know! But he wiped us out. That much is true!”

I let the soldier’s words hang in the air. No point digging deeper here.

Either way, those mercenaries attacking our unit are still the enemy. If the Empire hits them too, even better.

But if they’re heading toward the center, they’re probably planning to cause trouble there. The center’s nearly under control thanks to Eld. Having them stir things up from behind? That’s the last thing we need.

“Are all the other enemy units gone?”

“Yes. Originally, we were pushing hard here too. When Captain Eld came over temporarily, we managed to cut their numbers down quite a bit. Then those mercenaries went wild.”

“So that’s the gap we’re seeing.”

Denis figures the light spotted up north was probably the work of those mercenaries. And if that light was from a generator explosion, the chances of reinforcements from the north just went down to nothing.

“I’m heading straight to the center. It’ll be tough, but get this message to headquarters.”

“Tough, but I’ll push through.”

The soldier staggered up, hand pressed against his armor like he was trying to hold himself together.

Even if it’s an Abnomyle, he’s got guts—must’ve earned that pilot’s seat somehow.

Denis steered the machine straight toward the center.

And then he sees it—combat so brutal it’s almost a mockery.

Quiet as a stroll through the grass. But behind that machine? The shattered remains of Abnomyles—pilots’ seats pierced, torn apart, crushed. One by one.

Only a single curved blade on its belt. The blade itself slick with oil, dark as blood, droplets oozing from the tip.

“You’re the merc who wrecked the south.”

“That machine—”

The voice returning is still young. Female.

“Huh. So the Guard Knight’s here. Means the Eight Generals are history. Guess they were just name-brand after all.”

“They were strong. I’d’ve lost if I’d been alone. But I’ve got solid allies, you know?”

“Ally, huh. So it’s still just strangers you’re leaning on.”

“No one’s truly independent.”

“True enough. But there’s no one here you can count on.”

Shaking the oil—dark as blood—from the curved blade, the enemy machine swings its sword toward Dennis’s frame.

“Plenty of them. Always got someone watching my back.”

“Then I’ll just knock you flat on your face.”

The two machines charge forward at once.

Dennis already in the three-swords-one-shield stance, ready to overwhelm the enemy in a flurry. The opponent’s got only one blade. Even with magic, if it comes close enough, its options get slim.

The two blades slammed together, a sharp crack echoing through the air.

In the clash of guards, Dennis aimed his left-arm blade at the cockpit.

The blade struck the side of the sword, sliding past under his armpit.

“Hmph.”

“You think you can push me around just ’cause I’ve got no weapon? Armunale’s a whole body made of blades, you know?”

The arm that struck the sword’s belly extended, seizing Dennis’s machine by the chest.

Fingers slipped into the gap in the armor, twisting, pulling hard.

“Gh—”

Dennis braced his machine at once, but as if anticipating it, he was shoved back instead.

Staggering two, three steps backward, he held his balance, ready for the next move.

The enemy machine turned its left arm toward him, slowly.

Magic.

By the time I’d decided, Dennis tipped the machine backward, two, three steps. Right after, an ice spear shot past overhead.

Getting to his feet, blade swinging to keep the enemy at bay.

“Phew. Still strong. But I’m not losing, not today.”

Dennis switched the system controls, shifting the piloting mode to half-manual. The machine wobbled slightly.

The tremor reached the enemy machine—and a voice came through.

“Hm. So there are more usable ones showing up.”

“Huh?”

“Back then, it was just Eld, me, and a few others like Folz.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Aw, didn’t notice? I’ll tell you then.”

The voice—female—rose a notch, surprised.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Layla. The traitor to the kingdom they call you traitor-princesses.”

“You’re the one…”

Denis and Jean hadn’t faced Layla directly during the assault on the capital—her machine had been destroyed by Forze long before.

Since then, the design and armor of her machine had changed completely. Just a young woman wouldn’t stand out—there were plenty of female pilots like Rezett around, after all. No one had noticed.

“Then again, self-introductions are done. Shall we begin?”

Like Denis’s machine, Layla’s shuddered slightly.

That was the signal. Both machines surged forward at once—faster than before, no need to compare.

They crossed paths.

Denis’s machine lost a chunk of its shin armor. Layla’s machine showed a thin line flickering along her left arm.

They spun, reversed—then met again.

Clashing like swords, sparks flying, shielding both machines from the next blow.

“Still strong, I see.”

Denis muttered to himself in the cockpit, pouring every ounce of strength into it.

This was beyond belief—no way this was the skill of someone who’d failed the knight选拔 last year, even at the academy.

He knew Eld’s strength all too well. And Leon and Batis, who’d passed that same year, had clearly risen to prominence since becoming knights.

Some even called this generation the ‘gem generation,’ but then—there was that impossible, uncut stone mixed in.

“But!”

He forced every last spell in the machine to activate, pushing the specs to their absolute limit.

Every joint in his body screamed in protest. But he had to win—here, now. His heart roared, not just as a former guard, but as a knight.

His machine surged forward, spinning faster than Rayla’s by a hair.

“Hmph.”

Rayla watched it all, calm as ever, from her monitor.

By the time Rayla looked back, Dennis’s machine was already there—its blade aimed straight at the cockpit.

“Die!”

“Not happening.”

She met the thrust with her curved blade, deflecting the tip aside.

The reverse-hand sword came in, but she held her guard firm, targeting his right wrist instead to stall his movement.

Left arm lunging in, as expected—she tapped it with the flat of her blade, just like before.

But Dennis wasn’t making the same mistake. This time, he angled his blade’s flat up and down, guarding against the strike.

But—

“Mobility Jujitsu, Crescent Moon Form.”

By the time she noticed, Dennis’s machine was airborne—sailing through the air in a perfect arc, like a crescent moon, slamming down onto the ground from behind.

“Ghah!”

The impact knocked the breath out of Dennis in the cockpit, his ribs pressed flat by the harness.

On the monitor, the tip of the descending curved blade came into view.

He jerked the lever instinctively, blocking with the shield.

But the awkward angle—too much strain—sent a glitch through his left arm.

Check it: a red alert flashed at the shoulder joint. Severe damage.

Then the blade came again.

He couldn’t block with the shield—the left arm was red, unresponsive, like a broken puppet.

No time to waste. He abandoned the guard, jolted the machine sideways, and twisted clear of the vital point.

Still, the blade pierced the left shoulder—already damaged, now stitched straight into the ground.

He purged the left arm instantly, then used the recoil of the body’s shake to swing the sword.

Laira backstepped out of the sword's reach and readied her blade again.

Denis stood up in the meantime, checking the machine’s status while keeping an eye on Rayla’s movements.

This might just be perfect, actually.

Full manual. The words flicker through Denis’s mind.

Using the left arm like that—was supposed to bring out the peak performance. But for Dennis, who’d always fought with three swords and a shield, ditching his left arm? That was unthinkable.

But now—

But the challenge never came.

Two colored smoke plumes shot into the sky—Imperial side. They painted the air beyond the river, where we’d crossed.

"That's..."

“Evacuation order from the Empire,”

Layla, watching on the monitor, hesitated over the command.

As for Layla, she could keep going just fine like this. Even if surrounded—she’d have no trouble breaking through. That’s what she thought, anyway.

But there’s one presence that nags at me.

If the knight here holds the title of strongest in the kingdom, then who’s holding the line at the river’s edge?

Someone worth trusting to lead the front.

Layla knows only one such person.

Eld.

If he shows up, even Layla would have to retreat—she’s certain their clash would end in a death struggle.

“Guess there’s no help for it.”

Layla’s decision was instant.

She slid the curved blade back into its sheath, then strolled off, calm as ever, beginning her retreat.

Denis hesitated—should he press forward now? But after watching Layla’s skill, and weighing the situation, he judged the risk too high.

She’s a mercenary, after all. Maybe she can be bought. Even if she won’t join us, we could at least make sure she doesn’t stand against us—

But I’m a knight.

As long as Dennis holds fast to his knightly pride, he couldn’t possibly let the enemy slip away like this.

Dennis made up his mind—he leaned the machine down. Instantly—

“Stop it.”

Layla locked the machine’s legs in place and spoke sharply.

“You’re not the only one who can handle full manual.”

Those words froze Dennis’s legs.

And while he watched, Layla slowly pulled back.

Next time preview

The empire, having received the order to withdraw, was now nearing a temporary end to the fighting in the buffer zone.