15

“That color…”

I stop the機体’s march, eyes on the twin plumes rising into the sky.

That’s the retreat signal from the Empire. Means they’ve admitted defeat on this front.

Still, can’t let my guard down. No matter what headquarters says, there’s always a fool or two who’ll go wild with rage.

I scan the surroundings, and while I’m at it, check on the others.

Everyone’s breathing easier now, watching the twin plumes. Every機体’s halted, scanning the area.

Yeah, the center’s fine—thanks to me forcing my way through, we pushed them almost to the river. Barely any enemy left. Even the ones holding the bank are slowly crossing over, keeping an eye on us.

Center’s secure.

Just gotta watch the north and south now.

I zoom in, check the north first—already loud and chaotic halfway through.

Even near the riverbank, there were a fair number of friendly units, pushing hard. Feels like the numbers’ve grown quite a bit since the start—might’ve been reinforcements, maybe.

Then what about the south?

Turn away from the other side, zoom the camera in again.

"Fewer than I expected."

Fewer machines overall, on the riverbank, and on both the kingdom’s side and the empire’s side.

Not even half of the northern side, if you ask me.

I keep thinking the retreat’s nearly done— but the signal’s only just gone up, and not a single enemy craft’s crossed the river yet.

So we’re both worn to the bone, huh?

Sure enough, there are plenty of machines lying across the ground. But none of them look badly damaged—more like they’ve taken a single, clean blow to the vital parts.

You really think they could pull that off?

Sure, a top-tier pilot might be able to wreck an enemy machine by just smashing the cockpit. But that’s only for the rare few picked to pilot an Armunale. The pilots of the Abnomule—no way they’ve got the know-how or the experience for that.

So what’s left?

Maybe the two aces just ignored each other and cut down the weaklings around them.

Or… someone else stepped in.

“Let’s take a look.”

Wouldn’t it be nice if this just… ended without a fuss? I’m already turning south, thinking that, when suddenly—back there—something stirs.

I glance back. Looks like Imperial machines are cutting straight through the Abnomule ranks.

Aggressive retreat, huh? I shift my focus that way.

One enemy machine. It dances past the Abnomule lines, sidestepping their desperate attempts to block it, moving with a grace like it’s skipping across the field.

I can’t help but admire the motion.

“Clean, ain’t it?”

No wasted motion—every movement minimizes stress on the frame, built to last through chaos like this. Only one sword mounted, but it uses its hands like a dancer, deflecting every blow, turning the enemy’s momentum against them, always keeping them off-balance, ready to strike from behind.

Where it passed, Abnomule units lie scattered—limbs and joints shattered, just like the southern front.

“Huh. So that’s the mercenary’s ‘no mercy’ style. Empire picked the wrong hire, didn’t they?”

Muttering to myself, I grip my feathered blade with both hands.

Moves slick. Let this one get away, and it’ll be a pain down the line.

“Let’s go, Pespilarge.”

I stomp the pedal, surge forward, and close in on the machine.

The enemy doesn’t flinch as my machine comes at them head-on—just yanks their sword out smooth as silk. A single-edged blade, curved like a Japanese katana.

Without breaking stride, they drag the tip across the ground.

Something’s coming.

My gut tenses—warning bells ring—so I shift course on instinct. Right after—

Doom!

The ground right under my feet explodes. Dirt rockets up, sharpened into spears that pierce the space where the cockpit was.

Distracted by the sword, they launched their real attack from its tip—maneuvering it right under Pespilarge’s feet.

“Nice one.”

Praising their fighting skill straight out, I steer back toward the enemy craft.

Just as the two machines slide into sword range, I swing my right-arm blade.

They block it with their own sword, then reach out with their left hand. Judging by their earlier movements, that left hand must be the key.

I swing my left-hand sword toward the extended limb.

The enemy pulls back instantly, not interested in close combat, stepping a few paces back.

Then, instead of facing me, they swerve their course—making a wide loop toward the river.

Of course I follow, cutting off their path.

“Hey, don’t you run off now.”

“Got orders to withdraw from the employer.”

Hearing that voice reply, my thoughts freeze for a split second.

“Can’t you just… let me go?”

“…Rayla…?”

"Yeah. Eld’s been quite the rascal, hasn’t he? Never thought he’d use his left hand, too."

So he pulled back right away. Even though I was holding the blade, he still reached out—must’ve known I was the one controlling it.

"If it were really Rayla, I couldn’t let you go."

"Even if it’s Eld, running away’s not hard to manage."

"You’re not getting away!"

Spreading my wings, I fire at Rayla’s machine all at once.

Rayla retreats instantly, summoning the sword with magic—but she’s too slow.

I dodge and deflect every strike, but I’ve already set a spell on the tip of the blade, just like last time.

The sword, deflected by Rayla’s curved blade, pierces the ground—and explodes.

The shock jolts Rayla’s machine—her balance wavers. I yank back the feather, ready the Pellifriezi, and pull the trigger.

Da-raan!—the familiar gunshot rings out, almost at the same moment the shoulder armor explodes off Rayla’s mech. I aimed for the head, but her reaction—when she lost balance—was faster than I’d guessed.

And still, she absorbs the impact, rolls it off, and snaps back upright in a flash. Then she charges straight at me, Pellifriezi raised.

I toss the Pellifriezi aside, snatch the sword I’d driven into the ground, and meet her head-on.

“Cut it out already! Once this fortress is built, the war ends!”

“You’re not stopping me! The Empire and the Kingdom still have battles to fight! They need to be worn down more—hurt more—before they learn!”

“That’s the pain I’ve lived through! Why should I hand it on to others? The weight of it—Laira knows that better than anyone!”

“Yes, I do! That’s exactly why I have to show it to the others! If I don’t, we’ll never truly end this war!”

“No! Hatred and sorrow won’t end a war!”

That feeling—it turns into the very force that pulls the trigger next time.

No matter how tired you are, no matter how broken, you still find the strength to pull the trigger. The will to raise your sword. It just… comes.

“Laira, the road ahead is just another endless war—until one side is wiped out!”

“How can you say that, Eld? You’ve only lived as long as I have! How can you be so sure?”

“That’s history! The very thing I studied so hard to catch up to—something I’ve pounded into my skull until I could barely stand it!”

This world—before Armunale even existed—had burned through countless wars between people, again and again.

That means the way things are now… there’s no future waiting for Layra. Not the one she wants.

“Then learn from history! Suffer through it until you’ve learned!”

“Suffering slow like that? You’ll be dead before you learn! Don’t you get how stupid humans are?!”

You think I haven’t seen that stupidity up close? In worlds far ahead of you! I’ve watched it, heard it—more than I can stand.

I lock Layra’s sword with both blades, then snap open the feathers and strike straight at her head.

The feather slices clean through half her skull—shatters the camera.

“Hnngh…”

“Enough of this. Run. Anywhere. If you cross the Empire, even the Kingdom won’t be able to reach you.”

There’s no place for Layla in the Fatal Kingdom anymore. They know her name—traitor princess, wanted dead or alive.

Even if she surrenders herself, death is the only thing waiting. I don’t want her to walk that path. Not if I can help it.

It’s my own foolish feeling. We studied together, shared the same training—of course I care. Even I, who’ve killed more enemy soldiers than I can count, haven’t lost my heart to the point of killing someone I know without a second thought.

But my voice won’t reach her.

“This isn’t how it ends! I joined as a mercenary knowing full well I might die! No half-measures! I’ll bet every last drop of my blood, every breath, to keep this war going!”

“Then—!”

I’ll break that sword so she can’t fight anymore!

I pull back the feathers, gather strength in both arms, and shove Layla’s body away from me.

I throw the sword at the leg joint while she’s off-balance—slams into the ground, stitches her in place.

“Shit—”

Her voice cracks, but it’s too late.

I circle behind her machine, blade swinging.

The machine’s got almost no armor—barely any at all. Just an access hatch to the cockpit on the back.

I slice a single line across her waist from that hatch.

Can’t reach the cockpit. But the tip’s just barely grazing the physical processor—senseboard.

Back in the day, that’d’ve been impossible. Too precise. What made it work? The spatial awareness from the three senseboards linked together—Caline and Orell’s handiwork. And the precision—measured in millimeters.

Laira’s body, brain gone, knees buckling weakly. I reach in through the ruined entrance, grabbing hold.

Then I’m already stepping back, sword raised.

“Found ya! You’re the one-armed one, right?”

One Armunale dives in, straight at us.

Already a familiar foe. Belonged to Forze.

“Fightin’ maniac!”

“Now you’re not just one-armed anymore! So how ‘bout ‘Blade Wing’ instead?”

“Only if you live to say it—today’s your last chance!”

“Haha! You’re fired up today, huh?”

“Today’s the day I don’t let you get away!”

“Come on, let’s have some fun killing each other!”

Me and Forze—our machines slam together hard, sparks flying.

Forze’s whole body was already puffing out white smoke—could tell his machine’s specs were being pushed to the limit. Still, even though I was running it at full manual, I couldn’t keep up with his speed.

But that doesn’t mean I’m helpless.

I unfurl the wings—firing them out in fifteen-degree increments.

Even if you move fast, you’ll have to stop if there’s a blade waiting where you land, right?

But Forze—no hesitation—shifted his machine in a step, straight into my arms. Not even a fraction of a second’s pause in his motion.

I met the charge with a knee strike.

The armored knee, reinforced with extra plating, punched clean through his cockpit.

Forze must’ve noticed the armor—he twisted mid-dive, slammed a hand into the ground, and shifted his angle just enough to dodge the knee.

Slipped past behind, the enemy machine instantly reversed, thrusting out an arm.

Forze’s machine—its claw was as sharp as a blade. Moving faster than should be possible, it swung that arm like a sword, piercing through the enemy.

Too late to dodge now.

I retracted the wing’s extension, used it to catch the claw.

“Huh! Didn’t know you could do that!”

“No time for awe.”

Swung the sword mid-turn, then hurled it straight ahead.

Forze reacted to the flying blade—jumped, lifting the machine off the ground. But the sword passed right through where he’d been.

Because I’d already pulled back the cable I’d attached to the hilt.

And now, right arm raised, was Perfilizzi. If he’s jumping, even something fancy like that should settle down a bit.

Pull the trigger, aim where the cursor sits.

The bullet slams into the side of the Foltze machine, ripping through its flank and spinning it midair.

I pour more fire into it as it crashes backward, kicking up a storm of dust.

Can’t see it through the smoke—but it’s falling on its back. Can’t move fast now, not with that kind of damage.

But this? This isn’t gonna take me down.

I spread my feathers, adjusting my angle to the spot I expect it to emerge from the smoke, based on its motion.

A second later—whirl of dust, and a black beast leaps out.

Exactly where I figured.

I launch my feather, a warning shot. Then I grab two more from the others I’ve already set.

The launched feather dodges easily—but the surprise still lands.

I block the enemy’s claw with my sword—now it’s a test of strength.

“Kukku, you’re strong, just like I thought! No surprise there—your blade wings are worth the hype!”

“Shut up! Cut it out already, you stalker! You little brat, time for bed—now!”

The screech of metal grinding against metal. At the same time, I see cracks forming in the fingers of Fortze’s frame.

If I break first, I’m done for. But if his finger snaps first, I can push through.

Which way to go—no, risking my life on this creep? Too much of a waste.

I yank the sword back fast, breaking his grip.

Fortze lunges in even deeper.

“Got my mark!”

“Too slow!”

I raise my knee, feinting another kick.

Once seen, the attack wouldn’t hit Fortze so easily. I jerk my hand back, grabbing the added knee armor.

But that wasn’t my aim.

I stretch my leg out, toe pressing hard into his abdomen.

“Fire!”

Zugan! A thunderous crack— the pile bunker, mounted like claws, erupts in flame.

The iron stake launches out, punching clean through Fortze’s belly, tearing a hole wide open.

“Uwah!”

The sudden jolt sends Fortze’s machine staggering backward— then crashing to one knee.

From the wound, Magiakid— the magical fluid— spills out in a gush, flaring bright before dissolving into the sky.

“That’s it.”

“Hiding a weapon like that? No wonder the Blade-Wings are terrifying.”

Even now, trapped, the voice I hear is laughing.

Completely cracked, aren’t you?

“Now then, how’re you gonna kill me?”

“If it’s just killing—”

I press the tip of my sword against the chest of the Forze mech.

“—this’ll do just fine.”

I yank my arm back, gather momentum, and thrust forward.

The blade shatters mid-strike, just before piercing the Forze mech.

“Wha—!?”

Even as I stare, stunned, I pivot instantly toward the source of the impact—there, standing in the shadows, is another black Armunale. In its hand, something that looks like a harmonica pistol.

“Can you stand, Forze?”

“Might manage. But running’s out of the question.”

“That’s perfect. Stay back. I’ll handle this—Lizet, the Pleasure’s own, will take care of it!”

Lizet. The mercenary who fought alongside the Eight Generals in the Epsilon Block.

But I’m not letting you have your way—

“Think so?”

“Even now, you’d say the same thing, wouldn’t you?”

Rizet thrust her machine’s left arm forward. Perched on the palm of her hand was a person.

All of them wore the kingdom’s pilot uniforms—easy to tell they were Abnomüle pilots.

“If you keep this up, those seven’ll be minced meat.”

“Damn you!”

The rage is so sharp, I could kill her right now. But I can’t afford to be reckless.

I grip the control lever tight, glaring at Rizet’s machine through the monitor.

“Low trick, that. I don’t like it much.”

“If you hadn’t made such a mess of things, I wouldn’t have had to do this. If that hand gets bloodied, it’ll be my subordinates who clean it up.”

“Such a thoughtful commander you are.”

Folzé slowly rises her machine to its feet.

“How about you, Rayra?”

“Can’t do it. The physics engine’s busted. Just gonna grab the generator and call it a day.”

Rayra, who’d quietly perched on Rizet’s shoulder, spoke with calm ease.

Should’ve nabbed her back then, or sealed off the entrance so she couldn’t slip out.

Too late to regret now—but that was a rare chance, and regretting it’s like trying to lick a melted ice cream.

“Folzé, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Folzé’s machine took slow, careful steps, retrieved the generator from Rayra’s unit, and began pulling back.

“Rayra! I’m saying it one more time—stop the mercenaries, head east! Give it another go! People can start over, anytime, if they really mean it!”

“I’m not done with this life yet. No plans to restart. See you again, somewhere on the battlefield.”

“I’ll free the hostages by the riverbank. Just don’t pull any stupid moves.”

“…Got it.”

All of the Empire’s forces—mercenary included—retreated all the way across the river.

The soldiers and pilots from the Kingdom around me were all high-fiving, cheering, grinning like fools.

But me? I couldn’t quite bring myself to celebrate.

Nothing was really settled.

The war wasn’t over. Layla still wasn’t going to stop her rampage. And I’d blown my chance to settle things with Forze.

All I saw in that hollow, unsatisfied ache was a sky full of stars—bright enough to tell me, clearly, this wasn’t my old world.

Next time…

The Kingdom, having barely scraped through the battle at the buffer zone, pushes forward with building the fortress.

Meanwhile, back at the capital, talks to arrange a truce were quietly underway.

And Eld? He’d finally get to enjoy a little rest—just for a moment.

This chapter’ll run a bit longer—then it’s done.

Next up? The negotiations.

As the Fatal Kingdom and the Overd Empire begin moving toward a truce, those who’d rather see it fail are stirring too—just as quietly, just as surely.