9

‘Hah, hah, hah…’

I cleared out the surrounding aberrant mûlere with a grumble, then cooled my head enough to check the situation.

Maybe I pushed it too far. My joints are screaming.

The left wing, Grondiarepesh, severed by Layra’s blow—useless now. Part of the fuel tank’s damaged too, but the fuel’s already transferred to the main tank and the right wing’s tank.

So it’s just dead weight now.

I tap the monitor, purge the left wing Grondiarepesh and the magia tank.

Still… tossing this custom-made piece straight into the battlefield feels kinda bad. The tank’s not beyond repair—could be fixed up fine.

Right.

‘You there, aberrant mûlere unit.’

‘Y-yes!’

I call out to a nearby unit of aberrant mûlere.

“Any retreat units nearby?”

“Two from my squad are scheduled to pull back.”

The unit leader points ahead—there’s a machine missing one arm, and standing beside it, five full-bodied units.

“One’s in that state already, and the other’s tank’s damaged—magia liquid’s nearly empty.”

“Ah, then sorry to trouble you, but could you take this one back to the repair yard on your way?”

“Understood.”

Handing off the Grondia Repesh to the retreating unit, I check the front lines.

Either my rampage or maybe because Layra—what used to be the axis here—got taken down, the northern front’s flipped. The Abnomüler are pushing hard now.

The center’s going smoothly, but the south’s the worry. If Layra’s here, then the one on the other side is probably Folzé.

Batis’s machine ain’t in top shape, and fighting Folzé solo’s probably too much for one person. Better move fast.

With the war’s end starting to peek through, I pushed my machine northward toward the southern front.

◇

“Damn it.”

Cursed under my breath, scrambling across the ground after the black machine.

But no matter how I spun in place, I couldn’t lock it on the monitor.

“There you are!”

I swung the great sword, guessing its path. It looked certain to split the enemy clean in two.

But the instant I was sure—just like that—the black machine twisted hard, dodging the blow.

“Again?!”

“Hahahaha! Good maneuver, but too slow!”

The enemy machine dodged, then shot forward, accelerating straight into my guard. It raised the claw mounted on its arm.

I’ve seen that claw take down more than a few Abnomyle machines. Even Armunale armor won’t survive a direct hit.

Batis blocked the enemy machine’s lunge with his greatsword, shoving it back with a push of strength.

The enemy spun midair and landed, dodging the swing of Batis’s blade.

“Guess Rayla’s sync partners really are all interesting. Even half-manual, they move better than most knights. And they keep up with our speed too!”

“Yeah, ’cause we trained with Eld and Rayla!”

Having grown up around Eld’s full-manual precision and Rayla’s early mastery of half-manual control, it wasn’t hard to handle an opponent using half-manual controls.

“Guess I can’t hold back anymore.”

The mechanics had told me not to use burst speed. Makes sense, given the strain on the joints—but I already knew this wasn’t someone I could beat by holding back.

If it’s dangerous, but I’ll lose if I don’t use it… then what’s the point in holding back?

“Later I’ll give you a proper scolding! Here—take this, you mutt!”

*Zudon!* The blade’s back exploded, the recoil flinging the weapon forward in a sudden lunge.

Folzhe didn’t react in time.

He barely dodged—too late—the tip of the sword tore through his armor.

“Gh…!”

“Not done yet!”

Another explosion. Another swing. Black smoke coiled around the blade as I kept pressing.

Folzhe couldn’t take it anymore. He staggered back, putting distance between us.

Batis didn’t press the advantage. He broke off the attack, regaining his stance.

“Dodged it.”

It’s been a while since someone’s pushed me this hard. Guess that means the others—no, better say the Winged Swords’ peers—are something else, huh.

Eld? Yeah… maybe. Me and Rayla both got hammered by that one. That’s why I wanna get past them. Can’t afford to stumble here!

I love that fire in you! I see a dazzling light—gonna tear right through it for you!

White smoke belched from every seam of the Volzey unit, swallowing it whole.

“Limitia Perfecy activated! Here we go!”

The machine shot forward from the cloud, lunging straight at Batis’s unit.

Batis blocked the incoming strike with his greatsword, then swung the other blade overhead—

Folzé didn’t press the attack hard, stepping back the moment the sword rose, circling around while feinting with little hops, watching for Batis’s opening again.

“Faster than last time. Just like the intel said.”

He’d heard about this white smoke thing beforehand. A spell that draped thin ice over the joints, suppressing friction to push the machine’s performance beyond its limits.

The white smoke was thought to come from the ice instantly vaporizing under friction heat. At the same time, it clouded the eyes, making Folzé’s erratic movements even harder to read.

A real pain in the neck, that spell—but not without its flaws.

First, time. Even if the machine’s performance was pushed to the edge, it was still a flesh-and-blood person controlling it. No one could keep that kind of focus forever.

And even joint membranes can't keep cooling forever. By the time the white smoke’s rising, it’s clear the heat’s not keeping up. Long use? That’ll wreck the joints for sure.

So, either way, if we can just buy some time, this spell’s beatable.

If we can buy time, that is—

“Meh, that’s my specialty.”

Batis’s greatsword wasn’t just for slashing. Thick as it was, it could serve as a shield when held sideways.

Like carrying two shields at once. Defense? Nothing ordinary about that.

“Mercenary! Let’s see who cracks first—wanna bet?”

“Then let’s go!”

The Forze unit, circling around, shifted course and closed in from the side.

Batis blocked its path with his blade, then swung it down hard.

The Forze’s lunge was a feint.

The sudden deceleration sent Batis’s blade swinging wide, slamming hard into the ground.

“Tch.”

“Hah!”

Then, the machine reaccelerated—using the sword as a springboard, it leapt up above Batis’s head.

Batis crouched to dodge the descending claw, then swung his greatsword.

The claw caught it—but from there, the Forze used explosive speed to drive even more force into the strike.

Judging it couldn’t hold, the Forze slid the blade aside, regaining balance as it landed.

“First one.”

“What? Huh!?!”

Before the Forze could finish the thought, its left arm was yanked hard, throwing off its balance.

Batis braced instantly—but the greatsword was wrenched from his grip, pulled away by the left arm.

At the tip of the sword, the Forze’s tail was coiled tight around it.

That’s when it finally slipped free—coiled around the sword’s tip.

The Forze swung its tail, flinging the greatsword far away.

“Now, just one more.”

“You’ve got enough with just one.”

That’s bravado. But not entirely a lie.

A greatsword’s meant to be wielded with two hands. Combine that with the explosive speed effect, and you can slash faster while easing the strain on your joints.

The Forze machine’s always been too quick—hard to land a hit. So this way of fighting? Not useless.

Gripping the blade with both hands, adjusting the stance just slightly. The classic form Batis learned as a child.

“Haaah—!”

Charging forward, bringing the sword down hard at the Forze machine.

Forze chose to dodge, not block—too risky, that explosive speed.

But Batis hadn’t used explosive speed at all. He’d just used the basic form he’d learned as a kid, charging forward, bringing the sword down hard, then raising it up again instantly for the second strike.

“Dangerous, dangerous.”

Still, that too slipped right past.

Swinging a heavy sword leaves a gap right after—same with Armunale. And Batis, having swung his greatsword twice in quick succession, left a wide opening in his torso.

Forze didn’t hesitate. He lunged straight into that gap, rolling sideways at the last second.

Right after, the greatsword—jerked sharply by explosive speed—sliced clean through Forze’s thigh.

“See, that’s how you’re *supposed* to use explosive speed. Close the gap when your stance’s already broken from swinging a heavy blade.”

“Troublesome. But that’s all you’ve got!”

Even as the armor on his thigh was cleaved, Forze stepped forward again.

Batis countered at once, two Armunales locking blades.

Clash after clash—twice, three times—each leaving a little scar, until Forze finally gained distance.

“Kukku…”

“What’s so funny?”

“Funny—no, not funny. I enjoyed it. Killing, being killed, inflicting wounds, taking them, wearing each other down, slowly chipping away at our souls. That light that comes from it—so pure, so beautiful, it’s mesmerizing!”

“Completely cracked in the head.”

Batis judged, from the battlefield, that Forze was a pilot whose mind had shattered long ago.

And calmly, solidly, blade held steady, he watched for the enemy’s opening. All the while, Forze kept talking.

Light grows stronger from the joy of victory. Stronger from the rage of having comrades killed. Stronger from the sorrow of losing comrades, stronger from the thrill of battle! Feelings make the light powerful—and when it peaks, it bursts at the moment of death! Light! I want to see that light! So I’ll kill you! Give me a proper fight—pushing each other to the very edge, trading moments of hope for sudden despair! Come on, you see it now, don’t you? The way my machine’s white smoke has cleared. Holding this form is getting harder… harder every second!

And then Forze’s machine shifted back from four-legged stance to its original two-legged shape.

Drawing his sword from the hip, Forze says:

“Now’s the chance! Only now, with your skill, can you kill me! So—!”

Forze’s machine drops low, settling into stance.

“—Let’s finish this. One last fight.”

I charge forward, blade raised, sprinting toward the Batis machine.

Batis shifts into counter stance. If you’re coming in, I’ll meet you with one strike—sharp, final. Only a greatsword can pull off such a killing blow in a single stroke.

“Die!”

“You die!”

The descending blade. The greatsword rising to meet it.

Just before the two blades cross, Batis’s vision fills with white smoke.

“Wha—!?”

The greatsword swings through empty air—no resistance.

Then, a brutal impact from behind slams into the machine.

I roll backward, catching myself with a roll, crash onto the seat, coughing hard.

“Ghok… what’s…?”

“You thought you won, didn’t you? Perfect timing—your best swing, the day’s finest cut. You thought you’d killed me. But sorry—everything—was—fake.”

Clear skies, white smoke curling. On top of the falling Batis unit, the Forze machine stood, blade held high. The tip aimed straight at the cockpit.

"Everything was pretend. Magic still works. The machine’s perfectly fine. You cut through just one layer of armor. No damage inside at all."

"Wha—"

"Perfect. That look of despair. The light’s gathering. Now, just release it. Show me! Your soul’s light!"

The blade came down. Pierced the cockpit armor, shattered the monitor—then snapped sideways, flung away.

What showed through the wound—unbelievable. The Forze machine stood upright.

All monitors were shattered. No way to see what was around.

But somehow… I already knew.

Only that one could show up at a time like this.

Late as usual.

"Going to interfere again, are we?"

Eld

There stands a single Armunale, blade flung aside.

Armunale, missing one wing, stands before the worst of mercenaries.

Next Time

Eld versus Forze. The final battle.