8

I dashed through the woods, closing in on where the signal flare had shot up, and the enemy machines came into view right away.

Some long arms swinging wildly, flattening trees all around. A few Abnomyle machines scattered nearby—each facing different directions, not moving forward at all. And all of them staring down at their feet. That meant there was something worth watching right there.

I decided they were soldiers, not machines, and pressed the pedals.

"Who're you fighting?"

Hard to tell, the trees blocking the view—Ange or one of Belgio’s men?

But since they weren’t all facing the same way, more likely Belgio’s troops. So using a spell that’d scatter the whole bunch? Too risky.

I aimed Fire Lance at Armunale, drawing their attention my way.

The spell fizzled out against the enemy’s magic shield, barely scorching their armor.

But now they’re looking this way, right?

“Hmph! That Armunale! The one destroying our nation’s Abnomule, is it!”

“You leave that one to me!”

“Fine! Crushing ants all day—feels nothing, really! Go ahead and crush those fleeing soldiers!”

‘Got it!’

The enemy raised both arms. Then, claws shot out from their fingertips.

So that’s the main weapon of that machine. More unwieldy than a mounted weapon, but if you can master it, it’s usually stronger than any mounted weapon you could wield.

Speaking of which, that Forze fellow had claws bolted straight onto the mech’s arms, didn’t he?

Holding one sword from each of the side-mounted Grondia Repesh, he charged forward, slashing at the enemy machine.

A brief clash—then he swept past, sprinting backward, pausing just far enough to turn and look.

The enemy machine turned too, raising its claws again, slow and deliberate.

Not moving much, is it? But judging by the armament, it’s not clearly magic-focused, nor does it look like one built for counters.

That tail-like thing at the back—what in the world is that? Anyway, I’ll keep an eye on it and test it out carefully.

“Not moving, are we? Then I’ll come to you!”

Just as I’d paused to watch, the enemy machine suddenly lunged forward.

Smashing its tail into the ground, arms hanging limp, it charged straight in.

The enemy machine’s stance was so messed up, I couldn’t guess where the first strike would come from at all.

Normally, I can tell where an attack’s coming from—by the way a sword’s held, or a shield shifted, or a body tensing. But this? Impossible.

Then—

I jammed the pedal down and closed the gap in a flash.

My right sword lunged straight for the pilot’s cockpit.

A thrust’s faster than a block. The enemy’d have to defend against this.

If they moved, I’d know the rhythm of the fight.

“Hahahaha! So transparent! I don’t feel any life in you at all!”

The pilot yelled something nonsense. Then the machine’s tail swung wide.

Not hitting the ground—no, it shot straight through between its legs, right into the path of my sword.

The tip hits the tail, veers off course.

“Hnn…!”

“Here it comes!”

The enemy machine, having dodged the thrust, lifts both arms high like it’s surrendering.

Too much momentum forward—can’t retreat. Can’t dodge sideways either; attacks are coming from both sides. And straight ahead? Of course, the enemy machine’s in the way.

So what now?

After a heartbeat’s hesitation, I go for it—full charge.

Grip the lever tight, plant my feet.

And crash straight into the enemy machine, shoulder-first, rocking the cockpit hard. My machine pushes theirs over.

But the tilt stops instantly.

“Unbelievable grip on life! Marvelous! I can feel it—no hesitation, no fear, just pure, raw dive!”

The enemy machine’s tail was propping up both of us like a pair of stilts.

“Nice little tail you’ve got there.”

“Best weapon for feeling alive! Let me inject some life into you, too!”

The enemy machine, regaining its balance, wraps its long arm tightly around my machine.

No matter how I try to shake it off, it’s locked on—completely stuck.

Grondia Repesh, Perfilizzi, even Hujā—none of them can even deploy.

Normally, we’d be done for. But this machine? Different!

The enemy machine, now upright again, thrusts its tail out from between its legs. Looks just like a man’s thing.

“Ew, don’t stick that out like that!”

My machine’s got auxiliary armor added right to the knees!

I time it just right—lifting my knee—and the spike pierces its tail straight through.

“What? You blocked my Scoopis!?”

“Don’t you dare treat a Guard Knight like some pervert!”

Twisting my machine hard from one leg, I crash into the enemy unit and fall again.

This time, the tail’s pierced too—nothin’ left to hold onto now!

“Ghah…”

“Huh…”

Both machines crash at once—the arm holding Pespilarge snaps free.

Still on the ground, I shove the enemy away, kick it hard, then rise.

“Now that’s what I call a move!”

The enemy rolls across the ground from the kick, then scrambles up.

On its tail, the mark of my knee strike gapes open, sparks flying, and something like liquid drips down.

The way it’s not glowing—doesn’t look like concentrated mana fluid, Hyimagia Liquid. So more likely some kind of liquid meant to damage or hinder my machine.

Better keep that in mind.

Taking just one sword from Grondia Repesh to replace the two I lost, I strap Hujā onto my left arm.

From the way it moved earlier, better keep my distance. Armor doesn’t seem especially tough, so probably best to stay at mid-range and take it down with gunfire.

Seeing me draw Hujā, the opponent shifts its stance.

Leans forward, shoulders jut slightly ahead, long arms pressing into the ground.

Kind of awkward, four-legged gait… like a skinny gorilla?

"Interesting weapon, huh! I know what it is—gun, right! The mechanic who built this thing was all excited, poking at it like it was a toy!"

"Same as knowing, or not? Try me!"

Hujā’s loaded—three rounds. Can’t waste them, but I’m not holding back against Armunale.

I fire Hujā straight at the enemy’s front, just to test its movements.

The bullet splits midair, scattering like shot—spreading out to pounce on the machine.

"Whoa!"

The enemy dives low, crouching deep—flattened like a crushed frog, pressed right into the dirt. The pellets whiz over it, and just as fast, it springs back up.

I don’t wait. I dash sideways the instant I fire, cutting around to its flank.

And the second shot.

"Missed, I’d say!"

The enemy unit slumps back down to the ground. But that was expected—right from the start.

The scattered shot, aimed slightly low to begin with, bursts apart against the earth, but still rains down on the enemy unit.

“Ooh! This fear—feels alive! But weak! Utterly lacking in strength!”

Despite the wounds all over, the enemy unit scrambles up fast and charges forward.

Four-legged, limbs writhing and twitching as it approaches—it’s the kind of thing that makes your skin crawl.

I deploy the Grondia Repesh on my left, launching it straight at the enemy’s face. But with a movement so smooth it’s almost unnatural, the enemy dodges the blade—then lunges straight at me.

“Not gonna get held again.”

I jam the toe of my pile bunker into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust so they can’t judge distance. In the blur, I shift just enough, then fire my third shot of scatter shells.

Crack—crack—sounds like bullets skittering past. I use the noise to guess where they are.

“There!”.

I switch to my Perfilizzi instantly, blasting the predicted spot.

Thud—ground shakes hard. I know it missed, and I back up fast.

Right after, their tail whips right past where I stood.

Spattered liquid rains down on my machine.

“Tch.”

I tried to dodge, but when it’s flung like that, you can’t really avoid it.

I keep firing the Perfilizzi, keeping them at bay, while flicking through the panels.

Something’s wrong with the machine...

I zero in on the wet parts through the monitors and gauges. And then—there it is. Something I don’t like.

“Delay in the neural circuitry?”

The screen shows a lag in signal transmission from the right leg joint—where the liquid’s soaked in.

That kind of delay only happens when the transmission cables are damaged, or the physical processor—sense board—is malfunctioning.

But the leg cables weren’t just cut to pieces a moment ago, not even close to total failure. And the sense board’s running just fine.

So yeah… the liquid must’ve done something.

“Signal inhibition?”

“Ah, you’re sharp! That’s my poison! It paralyzes the machine… slowly, surely… and kills it from within!”

Paralyzing the machine. That’s… seriously toxic.

But only the right leg was hit. And even then, it was just a delay—nothing’s stopped moving yet.

"Hahaha! Now I’ll drill straight into you, my dear!"

"Like hell I’m getting pounded by some freaky thing like that!"

Backpedaling to keep distance, I aim the Perfilizzi at the enemy machine. But its erratic four-legged gait makes it impossible to lock on.

And the delay… it’s worse than I thought. The fact that it still moves at all makes you rely on it too much—like you’re trusting it to do the work.

Especially against something that jerks around like this—reflexes are everything.

"Ugh..."

The lag when you react on instinct—screws up the balance.

That’s all it takes. I lose my footing. The enemy closes in.

The enemy machine looms in front of me, its long arm wrapping around again. And this time, wary of my knee kick, it’s shoved one leg between my thighs, pressing tight—no room to breathe.

“Kuh-hi-hi, time for the infusion, oh-oh!”

Its tail extends behind, trying to jab Pespilarge once more.

Well then—better to fall forward and take it down with me. That’s what I thought—when a small explosion crackled past the enemy machine’s side.

“Eld-sama! Are you alright!?”

“That voice—Megan!?”

“Coming to save the day!”

She fires again. A bullet shoots from the large cannon mounted on Abnomyle’s left arm. This time, straight on target.

The enemy knows it, too. Instantly releases its grip and steps back.

“Damn nuisance!”

Anger flaring at having its attack disrupted, the enemy shifts target—from me to Abnomyle.

Megan raises her sword, startled, but Abnomyle’s no match for Armunale.

I slip in between the enemy and Megan, using Perfilizzi to hold its movements at bay.

“Your opponent’s me!”

The enemy’s claw catches my blade.

“Megan, fall back. That machine can’t handle this one.”

“But, Eld-sama, alone? I’ve learned how to pilot, too!”

“That’s not the point! The specs are too different!”

And it’s a custom unit—some proper pilot’s gotta be in there. A rookie who’s only studied in books? Useless. Worse—

“Just a burden! Get back!”

“…Alright. Good luck.”

There should be some of Belgio’s soldiers around. Help them pull back.

"Thanks."

Megan’s machine descends. I keep an eye on it as I lock onto the enemy craft.

"Wasn’t it nice not having to cooperate? Flesh wall’s super handy, you know!"

"I’m not that far gone, and I don’t need that kind of help from you."

"Oh ho, such spunk! Well, the more stubborn the opponent, the sweeter it is when they finally break, don’t you think?"

"Cut the annoying act already. We’ll settle this now."

"Confident! So confident! Let’s destroy!"

I stow the Perfilizzi as I draw two of the remaining few swords and brace them in both hands.

Only three swords left from the Grondiarepesh’s arsenal now. Gotta retrieve them later, or Aurel and the others’ll have my head.

We freeze, locked in stance. They’re waiting for me to move, I bet.

Fine then—let’s see how they like the bait. I already know your weak spot.

“Here we go.”

I surge forward, closing the gap.

Then I hurl both swords—wielded in either hand—straight at the enemy machine.

The spinning blades fly in, and they block them with a sweep of their arms.

That’s when the opening comes.

I slip inside their guard and drive my knee forward, full force.

“Now, gotcha! That’s the end of you! Feel it—shiver with fear, and know you’re still alive!”

But the tail stops me. Still, expected.

And from here on out—I’m keeping you right on my rails!

I grab both arms with my free hand, yank them down like pulling on a rope.

That length of arm—your weak spot. Move fast, you gotta balance on all fours, and since your insides are packed with weapons, you can’t just yank ‘em off easy.

So when you’re grabbed and pulled, you freeze up—can’t think straight!

“What?!”

By the time my tail blocked the knee, a flood of fluid had already soaked the machine. I know it’ll take a few seconds to kick in. That’s all I need.

I swing my foot down hard, driving it into the pilot seat of the downed enemy.

“Die, pervert.”

“Life! I feel it—really feel it!”

*Crack!* The pile bunker splits wide open—punches right through the enemy’s cockpit.

“Last one, still gross as ever.”

I kick my foot free, then turn to the Abnomyle crowd nearby.

I took down your leader! Resist, and I’ll cut you all down! If you surrender quietly, get out of the cockpit and drop to your knees right here! Any other move, and I’ll destroy you on the spot.

Pespilarge sinks with a single fire lance. Not even worth fighting.

They get it—each cockpit opens, and the pilots climb out, dropping to their knees on the ground.

“Stay put. The Berjio soldiers will be here any second.”

I keep an eye on the troops descending from the monitor, waiting for Berjio’s men to return. Then—up in the nearby tree—a flare bursts into the sky.

“Ange?”

“Good work, Eld.”

Ange leaps onto Pespilarge’s shoulder, riding the flare booster like a spring.

“That creepy guy… you took him down, huh?”

“Too much impact. Gonna haunt my dreams for a while.”

“Was being hugged, you know.”

“Don’t fancy being held by a man.”

“Then I’ll be the one hugging you tonight.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Haven’t had a proper cuddle in ages, what with all the guarding duties.

Tonight, I’m secretly vowing to try harder than usual.

Next time…

Eld arrived safely in the capital, having eliminated Overdo’s influence.

There, the negotiations between King Belgio and Ines were already reaching their climax.

The Belgio arc might wrap up around the next chapter. After a little idle chat, we’ll move on to the new part.