Five

Two hours since the fighting began.

Watching from near the fortress, the tide of battle slowly starts to reveal itself.

First, the north. Thanks to Batis and Leon, we’re making steady progress—clearly holding the upper hand. Our forces are pushing the enemy back, and the fight feels less desperate now. Still, word’s come that Batis has pulled out of the line. Maybe we shouldn’t get too relaxed.

On the south, the situation’s a bit grim.

Maybe it’s just that Dennis is the only one with real skill on the field.

The enemy’s locked onto Dennis, using two Armunale units to pin him down. He can’t move freely anymore. That’s why we can’t find a way to break through.

So the command post’s focused mostly on the south. I’ve seen horse after horse galloping out there—nonstop, ever since just a moment ago.

And the center. You could say it’s evenly matched.

Back and forth, back and forth—nothing much changes.

The first seat I’m watching stays put right in front of headquarters, just like it was from the start.

If he doesn’t move, I can’t either. Come on, hurry up.

I’m sending that thought at him again and again when the south suddenly flares up. Looks like the southern unit let a few breaches through.

Immediate reinforcements rush in, patching the gap—but the force that broke through is already charging straight for the fortress where the princess is.

“Huh. What now?”

Only a few Abnomyle units slipped through. Honestly, if I went myself, I could’ve wiped them out in seconds. But who knows what the first seat’ll do in those few seconds?

I turn back toward the fortress, about to call for orders from headquarters.

There, a forest of cannon barrels stood out—no, not a forest, just too many cannon barrels sticking out to be called anything else.

“Wait, what? Seriously?”

Then—dunnn!—a heavy boom followed in quick succession, and in an instant the fortress was swallowed by smoke.

And the Abnomyle, who’d broken through the defense line, collapsed in a heap, riddled with holes, right where they stood.

“Hahaha! This is the front-line outpost of the buffer zone! The defense system’s not some roadside fortress, now is it? Haa-ha-ha—*cough*—gah, cough—what a thick smoke. Let’s go back inside.”

The princess, inexplicably hyper, said it all and then staggered back into the fortress, wheezing. What on earth was she trying to do?

Well, one thing’s for sure—those fortress defenses are no joke. Probably built to stop Avila Bombs, but if it’s just some Abno Myle, you could still break through, huh.

So I’ll just stay put here.

I settle back into my usual seat in front of the monitor, returning to my watch.

◇

Batis, having pulled back from the front lines, had returned to the makeshift repair station built up in a rush.

Batis’s squad members and the mobile maintenance techs who’d come along were already swarming over the unit, starting repairs. But both arms were beyond their limit—worn down to the point they’d have to be replaced.

“Captain, this’ll take time! Arms need swapping out. Legs—we can probably manage!”

“Please, man! I don’t know jack about repairs!”

"Can you at least get it through your head?! The captain’s unit’s already got joints strained to hell as it is!"

The mechanics scrambled, voices rising in panic as they worked.

In the midst of it, two Abnomyle units arrived, followed by one Armunale. The moment everyone saw it, a wave of tension shot through the crowd.

"Imperial machine!? They broke in on us!?"

The deep green machine stood out unmistakably—Overd Empire. No visible damage, so Batis concluded it had been infiltrated.

"Wait, Batis. It’s me. Leon."

"Wha—? Leon!? Really?!"

Just as the machine powered up, a familiar voice rang out from within. The cockpit hatch slid open, and there he was—Leon, the childhood friend they all knew.

"Leon!? What the hell happened to that machine?"

"I wanted the Armunale too. Took it right out from under the enemy during combat."

Seeing Batis casually chatting like that, the mechanics relaxed—finally certain he was on their side.

"Took it...?"

"Got the Captain to set the table for me. Killed the pilot in a one-on-one and took it."

"Whoa! Now that’s flashy!"

"Hmph. I’m not staying Deputy Captain forever. Figured I’d use this thing during the fight. But if I don’t prove I’m on your side, someone might stick a knife in my back."

"So that’s why you came back."

He’d already been attacked by several Abnomyle units on the way here. Each time, the Abnomyle squad assigned by Captain Watts stepped in to mediate—barely getting him back alive, finally.

"Switch the gear to Fatal's specs. And paint it white—don’t worry about neatness. Just make sure it’s clear it’s Fatal’s machine."

I crouch beside the unit, giving orders to the mechanics.

"Hey, no problem with this one. I’ll vouch for it. Just do what I say!"

The mechanics hesitate, unsure if they’re allowed to move—Batis steps in, assuring them Leon’s one of us. A breath of relief, and they dash toward Leon’s machine like it’s their own.

"Sorry about that."

"Nah, don’t sweat it. So, how’s the front looking? Been tied up with the unit—can’t keep track of the bigger picture at all."

Leon turns to Batis, explaining the current state of things.

The north’s pushing forward smooth as silk, but the south’s getting shoved back—mercenary rabble’s running wild, so Batis grins, all sharp and eager. “Then it’s south we go next, eh?”

Leon cuts him off.

“Messing with Armunale’s placement’s a bad idea. We can move this unit freely, sure—but Batis is tied into the division’s strategy.”

“So we just sit tight in the north, then?”

“Push hard in the north, drive right to headquarters—then the south’ll have room to send reinforcements.”

“Ah, so you’re saying pull ‘em out northward, huh?”

“Exactly. Until then, I’ll be the one holding the south. Don’t take too long—might end up wiping you out myself.”

“Hah, go on, say it.”

I ate the sandwich prepared for nutrient replenishment, and by the time I returned, Leon’s machine was already whitewashed. Though it looked like it had been done in a real hurry—uneven enough to notice from a distance.

And on the chest armor, a makeshift sigil of Fatal had been carved.

Now, no one’d mistake him for anything but an enemy.

“Sorry. I’m glad you’re back.”

“Do your best. We’ll back you up with everything we’ve got.”

“Yeah.”

Leon took the mechanics’ cheers with him and soared back into battle.

◇

At Overd’s command center, the supreme commander, Ezel, rested a hand on his jaw, eyes on the map.

At first glance, the situation looked bad. The north was failing to hold back Fatal’s advance, inching backward under relentless pressure. But the south? Not exactly smooth sailing either.

The southern flank had been breached by mercenary raids—part of the force had broken through, so the first stage of the plan was over. But if we’re pushed back all the way to the second phase, what’s the point?

The biggest surprise? The second seat taken by some unknown knight. That rattled the troops around him—almost broke the northern line completely. We barely held it together with reinforcements and a quick repositioning, but the nerves hadn’t settled.

They say the knight who took the second seat is now in the rear, fixing his machine. Nobody knows when he’ll come back.

It’s a race against time. That’s Ezel’s verdict.

What’s our next move?

We could pull some units from the south—but then Dennis, who we’ve been holding down there, might go wild.

Or we leave the units where they are and concentrate artillery support on the north.

True enough—but it’s already been three hours since the fighting started. Ammo’s running low, fuel’s nearly gone. We’re resupplying in shifts, but we’re due for a full collapse any minute now.

That thought hits me. Time to play the ace.

“Better send in Lady Meola. Gotta draw their eyes somehow.”

I dispatch a runner to First Seat Meola In Lelita, ordering her to go. Her orders: break through the center, then charge straight for headquarters.

◇

Enemy’s moving.

One moment, soldiers swarm beneath the First Seat’s machine—then, just as they scatter, the machine takes off, straight into the battlefield.

Breaks through our center, pushes straight to the front line. Pulls two swords from the scabbards spread across her skirt, swings them wild—left, right, no mercy.

The sword’s connected to wires running from her skirt—same system as my Grondia Repesh, looks like.

No hesitation. The enemy unit blurs past, smashing Abnomylle mid-swing, then charges straight at us. Seems like she’s breaking through enemy lines just to get here.

Well then. My job’s clear.

“Your Highness, I’m going out!”

“Please, do!”

I shout it, and from the fortress, a reply comes back—sharp, quick.

Full power. Accelerate—now.

Unfurl the Grondia Repesh. Wave at the oncoming unit like a greeting—then fire.

The sword flies out—smashed down by both enemy hands.

I yank it back instantly, grab two of them, snap them free from the wires. Close in. Lock blades.

And then—voice from the enemy machine.

"Are you the famed Swordwing?"

"Don't know what kind of rumors you're hearing, but I guess that's what they're calling me."

"Is that so. I have orders from the Emperor. You're to be taken down here, by me."

"I'll defeat you—end the war between Fatal and Overdo."

"Impossible. I and this Puspilarge shall never know defeat!"

"Then today will be your first and last loss. Me and Pespilarge will teach you what defeat tastes like!"

We both channel power into our blades at nearly the same moment, pushing off and creating space.

Then, Puspilarge swings the wire of its sword, spins it lightly, and hurls it straight at me.

I deflect it with my blade, and Puspilarge yanks the wire back, trying to wrap it around Pespilarge.

I drop low, dodge the wire, and pull out Perfiliezi—fire it straight back.

Daran! Darn! The bullets, accelerating in a burst of explosions, streak straight toward Pulsstrage.

Pulsstrage dodges sideways, yanks the wire, and spins back to reclaim the sword. Then charges straight at me.

Guess I’ve got the rifle now, so he’s aiming to drag me into close quarters.

But if he wants to close in, that means he’s got no love for range, huh? No way I’m playing on his turf.

I jump back, spray fire from Perfiliezi rifle in my left hand, Hujā shotgun in the right. No cover here—there’s no way he can dodge all this.

Yet he takes it all. The wire wrapped around his spinning blade.

But even the wire, strained by the bullets, finally snaps somewhere mid-flight. The sword goes flying off in a wild direction.

The enemy machine quickly reels in the wire, then draws another sword.

No shortage of weapons—just like my own. So this is what it feels like to be outmatched like this, huh.

Pulstregue charges in again, blade raised. He’s been straight-line rushes since the start—either he’s got a reason, or he’s just a charging idiot.

I fire again.

He spins the wire just like before, deflecting it. Doesn’t even blink at the flying sword—just keeps coming, no pause, no break.

I decide the second shot won’t make it in time. I shove the gun away and grab the blade.

How’s he coming—

I brace myself, sword raised, watching his move—then he hurls his sword straight at me.

Not again, I think—block it, twist aside, and I’m off, accelerating. Close in, right into the enemy’s chest, swing the blade.

The second blade blocked it. Then the enemy drew another sword from beneath the skirt and swung it down.

I aimed for their left foot and swept low—caught, they leapt back, retreating mid-air. Then, still retreating, they flung both swords at me.

I couldn’t press the attack, and the distance opened up again.

“Gotta say… I’m starting to get the hang of your style.”

Eight swords fanned out across the skirt. The enemy’s using them—reaching, closing in, even defending. All at once.

Honestly? They’re better with wire blades than I am.

No time to retrieve—already reaching for the next one. While I’m dodging the one they just threw, the old ones are being pulled back in.

Step too close. Stand near the wire of a thrown blade? They’ll trip you with it. That’s how they play.

Not someone to let your guard down around. But once you figure out their way of fighting, the counter moves just... come to mind.

"Alright, let's start over."

I flung Hujā toward the enemy blade-wielder, poised to strike.

◇

Shadow lurking in the plain. Before the battle of Armunale Abnomyle, their presence was nothing but a whisper. But because of that, they could sneak up unnoticed.

In the forest on Fatal's side—soldiers of the Overd Empire.

Infantry brought in by a single unit that broke through for just a moment.

No words. Just hand signals guiding them through the trees.

Ahead lies the headquarters of the Fatal Kingdom.

Creeping closer without a sound, watching, listening—just waiting.

Soldiers at the entrance. Infantry patrolling all around, keeping watch. But their eyes—fixed on a battle so vast they’d never seen the like before—had forgotten their duty.

The squad leader checks in with his comrades.

Signals come back from every side—OK. He nods, raises his right hand high, then slashes it down toward the gate.

On cue, the unit hidden in the woods bursts forth.

The Fatal soldiers, startled by the sudden appearance, draw their swords to fight back. But the entrance guards are wiped out in an instant—overwhelmed by a full surprise spell attack.

Then the patrols one by one fall, too. In no time at all, the gate’s taken.

At the same moment, the fortress erupts into noise.

The ambush party had been spotted. But now it was too late—nothing could be done about Abnomule or Armunale.

The force surged straight into the fortress, aiming to seize the command center.

Next time

The side that had allowed the invasion into the fortress—Fatal. With the lower levels overrun, it looked like all was lost. And yet, standing before the enemy unit, were the elite personal support maids of the Fatal Kingdom—the strongest in close combat.

And Eld, ready to settle things once and for all with the first-seat Meola, stepped forward to attack.