6

“What’s all the fuss?!”

Kluse snapped, glancing down at the battle sounds rising from below.

One of the soldiers rushing up from the lower levels reported, breathless.

“Enemy attack! Enemy infantry broke through the main gate—fighting’s already underway on the stairs to the third floor!”

“How the hell did they get through so fast?!”

“Damn it. Never thought they’d send infantry out like this.”

Maurice rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Ines trembled violently in her chair, her mouth gagged with a cloth.

They’d tied her up the moment she’d started trying to rush out onto the roof to give orders herself—again and again, since just a moment ago.

“Your Highness, any thoughts?”

One of the attendants pulled the cloth from her mouth. Ines let out a long, shaky breath.

“Only two infantry units here, right? One’s out on patrol… doesn’t that leave us a bit thin?”

"Are we abandoning this fortress? But if the stairs are blocked, getting out’ll be a real pain."

Ines and the others were on the fifth floor. Right above them was the rooftop, and since there were no emergency staircases, escaping meant breaking through that blocked stairwell. Sure, you could lower ropes from the windows—but then you’re just a target for someone outside. That’s not safer. It’s worse.

“Hmm… then maybe we should go ourselves.”

The first to speak in the tense silence was Ange, Ines’s bodyguard.

Maurice suddenly snapped to attention at her words.

“Ange, how many support maids are left right now?”

“Two floors are blocked, right? If everyone’s fled up here, there should be twelve of them. If they’re holding the line where they are, that leaves just three—including me.”

The Armunale team’s support maids had gathered at this fortress—mostly handling meals for the soldiers and tending to sudden injuries. But the kitchen and treatment rooms were all crammed onto the first floor. They wouldn’t just abandon their posts, so the three up here are likely the only ones left.

“Three? That’s pushing it, isn’t it? Even if they’re support maids, the enemy’s a unit capable of launching a surprise attack right here. Better to assume they’re elite.”

“Three should be enough to hold the line, at least for now. The younger ones down below will probably drive them off on their own soon enough.”

They weren’t just sitting tight and waiting. They’d been trained to pounce the moment the enemy showed a crack in their defense.

“Hmph… I don’t think we can afford to be that optimistic.”

“Ange, you do it! If we hold them off, we might just have a chance, right?”

“Chance? More like we’re certain to—”

“Then please. Hold the enemy force back with your support maid.”

“Understood. I’ll go get the support maid, then. Please stay in this room—Ines-sama’s guard will be thinning, so don’t go wandering out.”

“Like I’d want to go out if I can’t!?”

The chair rattles under Ines’s protests. Ange smirks, already stepping out the door.

She arrives at the landing between the second and third floors—now under defense. Soldiers were barricading themselves with desks and chairs, fighting off the Overd troops trying to climb up.

“Hey, you! This is too dangerous—get back!”

One of the soldiers spotted the three support maids—Ange and her crew—coming in quick little steps, and he called out, flustered, “Hey, you! This is too dangerous—get back!” They barely glanced his way. Ange and the others reached the front line.

“Ange, what’re you gonna do? Taking them all out’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

That’s Sara, the green-haired senior support maid, asking.

“Besides, dousing the fortress in blood’s not ideal. Cleaning up’ll be a nightmare.”

That’s Ilmire, the senior with black hair and twin drills, saying it with a shrug.

Both are seniors—well, technically—but Ange’s the rookie among the support maids. Still, since she’s assigned to guard royalty by rank, she’s in charge here.

“Let the younger ones handle it. They’re more numerous. If we stop them here, they’ll take care of the mess on their own. That way, even if it gets messy, we can blame it on them!”

‘That’s the spirit!’

"Let's reinforce the barricade for now. I'm not much good with anything but fire, you know."

"Leave that to me. Ice Line Dicaptor Setup, initiating!"

"Then I'll handle the existing enhancements. Earth Wall Octapler Setup, initiating!"

Ange's two companions begin chanting their spells. In an instant, the joints of the stacked tables and chairs are reinforced with ice, making them far less likely to collapse. Then, from the floor of the staircase, a wall of earth rises—thickening the barricade and sealing off the stairs entirely.

The enemy naturally tries to blast through with magic, but the barricade, reinforced by the overlapping layers of eight and tenfold enchantments, doesn’t give way easily.

After a few blasts, a small hole finally forms—only for it to be sealed instantly by another spell, as if nothing had happened.

"Th-thanks for that..."

"We'll handle the wounded ourselves. We'll stay here and guard the position."

"Ah, uh... you guys, what exactly..."

The soldiers stared at the trio of stunningly beautiful girls—suddenly appearing, then instantly halting the enemy's advance—as if they'd been caught by a fox's trick.

"First Guard Armunale Battalion, Second Princess's Personal Guard Support Maid, Ange."

"Sixth Armunale Team Support Maid, Sara."

"Twelfth Armunale Team Support Maid, Ilmirl."

"Together, now!"

"...Huh? What?"

Ange and Ilmirl blinked, left utterly flat-footed by Sara's sudden cue—no warning, no rehearsal—and turned to each other, mouths open.

"Come on, just go with the flow!"

"Uh... that’s a bit tricky."

"Besides, you know, the enemy’s not giving up yet, so..."

If you pay close attention, you can hear the sound of magic breaking something on the other side of the wall. But there’s no sign of a hole forming in the earth wall.

“Breaking something else?”

“Maybe the whole fortress?”

A murmur ripples through the soldiers at Sal’s words. But Ange cuts in fast.

“War fortress, right? Not gonna collapse from a little damage. Not unless they knock down every pillar on the first floor. Which they can’t—there are kids down there. And besides, the sound’s not that far off.”

The noise is right next to the wall. If they were wrecking the first-floor pillars, it should be louder, farther away.

“So… making another entrance?”

“Could be. They’re using magic too. Maybe guarding the windows?”

“Just slice ‘em when they come through. Easy enough.”

“Could one of the soldiers free up for a moment?”

“Ah, yeah…”

Like they were picking at sweets while chatting, the support maids tossed out sharp words one after another, leaving the soldiers behind, just nodding and following orders.

The soldiers pressed close to nearby windows, watching, alert. Watching, Ange thought, while another idea took shape.

“Hey… even if we can’t do it all, could we break part of it?”

“What?”

“This fortress. Say, just the stairs?”

“That’s possible… wait—could you mean—”

Their eyes snapped to the stairs. In an instant, the reinforced barricades the support maids had built came crashing down, falling straight down.

Then—boom—clouds of dust surged upward, thick and sudden, swallowing the whole view in an instant.

Ange and the others instinctively covered their faces and stepped back from the stairs. From beyond came the sound of soldiers running, along with a voice shouting, “Got it!”

“Dropped the barricade—right down to the floor.”

“Ah… no way we’re cleaning this up now.”

“Still, the order from Lady Ines is to hold this position, so sorry, boys, but we’ll be doing the cleaning ourselves.”

Ange slowly drew a large knife from beneath her maid’s dress. In response, Sara and Ilmire pulled out their rapiers and morning stars from their skirts.

“Wow, Ilmire-chan, that’s a cute morning star!”

“Paid extra for it. Made sure it wouldn’t look silly when my skirt flares—no shame allowed.”

The morning star Ilmire held was adorned with ribbons and gems, more like a glittering display than a weapon.

Salah’s rapier, on the other hand, was all practicality—simple, no frills. Except for the bear plushie glued to the arm guard, like a child’s toy clinging on for dear life.

And Ange’s big knife? She used it every day—chopping vegetables, gutting game. No fancy modifications. Just plain, old, functional. But the edge? That was top-tier, sharp enough to slice through air.

The moment all three had their weapons ready, enemy soldiers burst out of the smoke, swords drawn.

“Haaah!”

“Die!”

“Got you!”

One soldier lunged at each of them, face to face.

Ange blocked the blade with her knife, then slammed her fist straight into the gap in the armor below her ribs.

Meanwhile, Sal’s rapier pierced a shoulder. Ilmire’s morning star cracked through chest armor.

In a blink, all three were down—writhing, groaning, collapsing at their feet.

“Skill level… eh, so-so?”

“Maybe you were a bit careless?”

Irmire tilted her head, looking down at the man whose chest plate had shattered completely.

“We’re the cute ones, after all.”

Ange chuckled, shaking her head at Sara’s words.

“Says the one who says it?”

“I’ve got confidence in my own face.”

Sara yanked her rapier free, then kicked the soldier who’d dropped his sword hard in the neck.

Her gaze snapped to the smoke ahead the instant the man went limp. There, the other soldiers were already locked in combat.

“Alright, let’s wrap this up quick—no need to get messy with blood, okay?”

“Nah, we’re done. The stairs are ruined. Gonna rebuild it, right?”

“Yeah… handling this kind of thing? It’s tricky.”

“Ugh, fine! Speed it up, then!”

“Hai!”

They burst forward, and Ange lunged at a nearby soldier. A sword swung out from the side blocked her attack.

“Hmph.”

“Ah, so you’re the famed support maid, are you?”

The soldier wore armor slightly more ornate than the others.

“Captain, maybe?”

“That’s right. We’ve got to take you down fast. You’re going to die.”

“Think you can?”

“Only one way to find out.”

He charged in. Ange quickly activated her flare booster, hovering back, then shot forward the instant he swung down.

He raised his sword—Ange planted her foot on it.

“What?!”

“Steel plates in my boots, darling. Basic knowledge.”

The knife shot forward, sinking into his shoulder. He dropped his sword.

The man stepped back, hand pressed to his shoulder, and began chanting a spell, firing off an air bullet.

But wind magic was the kind Ange had seen most often. Even if it was hard to see, she could read the trajectory from the gap between incantation and release, from where his eyes were fixed, from the angle of his hand. She dodged it.

“Dodge it?!”

“Even if you tried your whole life, you’d never hit me!”

Using the flare booster, she leapt upward, twisted midair, and planted her foot on the ceiling. Pushing off, she accelerated, bringing the knife down hard at the man’s face.

He rolled aside at the last second, scrambling to his feet—when something cold pressed against his neck.

“Game over. Surrender.”

“There are still soldiers inside. One man stopped won’t—”

“Don’t you hear the sound below?”

“Huh?”

A tinkling, girlish chatter—cackling, really, like a bunch of girls swapping secrets. The sound was drawing nearer, step by step.

A thought flickered in the man’s mind.

“Impossible.”

“Hey, you okay over there? We cleared the first floor, but—”

“Exactly. The rest are all right here.”

“Damn it.”

The broken staircase. One after another, girls leapt up from it, conjured by magic. All in maid uniforms, all clutching nasty-looking blades or blunt weapons. Some even had aprons, or red smudges on their cheeks.

“Secured this side! Status below?”

“Food’s safe!”

“Wounded in the treatment room—safe too… they’re alive!”

The maid’s report stopped there, as if “alive” was the only thing that mattered. Then a sharp tap on the head, and a yelp: “Ow! That hurt!”

“Other places were pretty torn up, but no problem! All the bombs set into the pillars? Dismantled and stashed in the weapon storage—safe and sound!”

“Got a bit too enthusiastic, one of the kids—bits of meat scattered everywhere, but no problem!”

“…Well, that’s a problem from a maid’s point of view…”

Ange thought, probably the one who’d gotten splattered with blood, as she gave her next order.

“Alright, the little ones start cleaning on the first floor! No meat bits or blood showing when Lady Ines comes down!”

‘Yes, ma’am!’

“Leave the living to the soldiers—clean this up, then we’ll head back.”

‘Yes!’

Handing over the prisoners to the dazed allies, Ange and the others rinsed the meat and blood away with water conjured by magic, then returned to their posts.

◇

Facing me: my Pespilarge, and Melora’s Pulstrage.

Between the two, eight wires crisscrossed and tangled like a spider’s web.

Melora’s Pulstrage yanked at the wires, trying to rip them loose. But my Pespilarge held firm, pulling back just as hard—tug-of-war, no give.

“Real nice of you,” I said.

“Hah, now you can’t run. Not you. Not me.”

That’s the flaw with wires—sure, you can snag someone, change course mid-flight. But that same trick? It means you’re just as likely to get caught.

Especially when you’re facing someone with the same kind of gear. Didn’t you figure that out?

No—no, you must’ve seen it when the two wires first locked.

But I had to use my weapon to block your attack. No choice.

Pespilarge—the thing with the main axis—and all those other weapons strapped to it. Who’s got the edge? You can’t miss that, can you?

I pull out Perfilizzi, aim it at Pespilarge. Try to dodge sideways, but I yank the wire and mess up their move. Then I fire.

The bullet, with full acceleration, blows the shoulder armor clean off.

I was aiming for the cockpit—must’ve been shielding with their shoulder mid-motion. Lucky break, though. The armor flying off meant the bullet veered just enough. No damage to the shoulder itself.

I squeeze the trigger again.

But the next round’s dodged completely. Pespilarge lunged straight at me, just tilted the frame a hair.

If they’d known I was aiming for the cockpit… they could’ve dodged, too.

I’d considered using the Hujā shotgun, but at this range, drawing my weapon would just let them close in.

Then let’s settle it with fists!

I made the machine strike a fighting pose, catching their punch right on the arm.

Then I jabbed them in the ribs.

Pulstrage blocked it with their hand, then reached out toward my face.

Getting my head monitor smashed in close quarters? Not a chance. I grabbed their extended hand, then seized the other one the same way.

“Didn’t expect you’d go head-to-head with Armunale like this.”

“Especially not right in the middle of a battlefield!”

I strained, pressing hard, trying to crush their grip—but even Armunale’s strength wasn’t enough to break their hold.

Then, break the joint instead.

Right after I thought that—same thought, apparently—their arm swung down, trying to twist my wrist while pushing in with their own, aiming to snap my fingers clean off.

I held on tight, stepped back, and yanked them forward.

Their balance wavered for a split second. I lunged—foot sweep.

Pulstregi hopped lightly, dodged the kick, let go, and came in with a punch.

Too fast. Too close. No time to block.

The fist vanished into my face—my machine rocked hard.

“Gh…”

I gritted my teeth, swallowed the bile rising in my throat, steadied myself, and swung back.

“Gonna miss that.”

Pulstregi sidestepped with a light step, slipped past my guard, and drove their fist straight at my cockpit.

I pitched the machine sideways and slammed straight into Pulstregi, dodging the punch.

Then I looped my arms around their waist and locked on tight.

“What’re you doing?”

“My gear’s not just guns.”

I stomped on their foot, aimed the pile bunker at the ankle, and let it fly.

“What?!”

One hit—ankle shattered. Pulstregi staggered, lost balance. Melow tried to recover, but their lower leg was already falling apart. Couldn’t steady themselves.

When I let go of their waist, they collapsed face-first into the dirt.

I pressed down hard, stomped the enemy unit, and fired the pile bunker again.

“Ggh—”

The cockpit shifted slightly, but I heard that sharp crack—glass breaking. The impact must’ve cracked something inside.

Not gonna end here—!

Two wires tangled together, swords locked. Close enough like this, even tangled, you can still swing them.

I picked up the one that had fallen, raised it high.

“No. This ends here. Today, I finish the war with the Empire. I’m sick—sick of just killing each other, just flying and stabbing! Enough!”

The sword came down—pierced Pulstrage’s cockpit, killed the enemy’s controls.

“Meola In Lelita—I took him down! The Empire’s greatest threat—I wiped him out! This is it! Fatal Army, push forward—now!”

My shout—right then, the central Fatal unit surged forward. The shock from the First Seat of the Eight Knights being taken out must’ve shaken them. Overdo’s forces broke apart, retreating all the way back toward the enemy lines.

I’d love to jump into the line and help take over headquarters, but unfortunately what I’ve gotta do now is untangle this mess of Grondia Repech. Oh, and while I’m at it, I’ll grab some ammo for the Perfiliezi Rifle and the Hujā Shot Gun too.

Lifting up Pulstreg’s frame, I’m heading back to where Orell and the others are waiting—when a voice calls out from nearby.

“Looks like you’re doing alright.”

“Is that you, Leon?”

The machine looks like one of Overdo’s at first glance. But the weapons? Definitely Fatal’s. And the paint—messy, but mostly white. Even has the royal crest on the chest.

“Yeah. Lucky break—picked up an Armunale. Planning to head south, where they’re pushing hard.”

“South’s lively with mercenaries, huh.”

“That’s the gist. Probably they’re there too. Eld’s not looking so hot, is he.”

“Purge them, I guess. But with things as they are, no need to rush. We’ll sort it out properly.”

“Then I’ll finish it before then.”

“Say that—Rayla’s strong, you know.”

“I know. But I’m not staying in fourth place forever.”

That was the rank he’d held during academy piloting drills.

“Don’t die on me.”

“Obviously.”

Leon’s machine bursts forward. I watch it go, then turn back toward the supply depot.

Next time:

Leon heads south alone. What he finds there is a merciless stage, set ablaze by a woman swearing vengeance in the name of love.