Arc-5 Ch-6

 Leaving an angry Angelica behind, I exited the bedroom and headed by carriage to the barracks near the military airfield.

The joint training was decided on short notice, and there’s nowhere near enough manpower to prepare everything in one night. When I called out to the off-duty soldiers, I was surprised by how many showed up—way more than I expected. Even in this remote territory, the Saintess and the heroic prince are wildly popular. It’s kind of depressing that they’re more popular than me, the lord who governs this place.

The gathered soldiers started preparations enthusiastically, undeterred by the winter cold or the darkness of night. Unlike when I show up for regular training, they were all fired up at the prospect of being seen by their admired heroes.

While the soldiers worked, I walked around the training grounds under the pretense of inspection, checking the terrain and obstacles from one end to the other. I thought some of His Highness’s men might come to scout, but I didn’t spot a single one. In a remote garrison like this, everyone’s a familiar face, so an outsider would stand out immediately. If they were going to scout, they’d probably avoid times when there are lots of people around. Or maybe they think they don’t need to scout or prepare when it’s just me. That’s kind of irritating in its own way.

After finishing the preparations, I sent the soldiers back and returned to the barracks. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the mansion. I know, I know—I’m the one in the wrong. But I really wanted Angie to understand how I feel.

No strength, no wisdom, no money, no lineage, no status. I’m a guy with nothing, crawling through the dirt, scraping by, and somehow ended up with a status that doesn’t suit me. If it was just a title and a territory, that’d be fine. I could retire citing injury or illness and pass it on to my older brother or Colin. That was the plan, but for some reason, a duke’s daughter married me and we even had kids. If I were cold-hearted enough to abandon my wife and children, I could probably live carefree. I grumble to myself while diligently doing my work, hating my own half-baked diligence.

Being a noble is a job where you have to care about pride and appearances. You adorn yourself with jewels and fine clothes, amass ships and Armors , Knights, and boast about your wealth or the size of your territory.

“I’m amazing.”

“I’m really amazing.”

“So obey me.”

“Submit to me.”

Living a life where you’re constantly intimidating others while worrying about their gaze—doesn’t that get exhausting? I don’t want that. I don’t need any of it. If I were an irresponsible jerk who could abandon his wife and kids, life would probably be easier. But I’m not that kind of lowlife. I love my wife, and I care deeply for my kids. If I said I wanted to become a commoner, Angie and the kids might even support me. But there’s no way Angie could live as a commoner—it’s impossible, no matter how you look at it. The kids are young, so they could probably adapt, but a refined lady raised as a noble since birth can’t be changed.

Compared to when we were engaged, Angie’s gotten used to life in the Bartfort territory, but her upbringing still shines through in her everyday behavior. Without a certain standard of living, a noblewoman would weaken and die in no time. After the war, it’s not uncommon to hear tearjerker—or laughable—stories of noble wives whose houses were stripped and who ended up as prostitutes in the slums. I don’t want to let the woman I love meet such a fate.

The biggest problem is that someone might underestimate me and come after us in the future. Zora and her group held a personal grudge against the Bartfort family—unjustified, but I can’t say for sure there aren’t others like them out there. Even weak, airheaded people like Zora managed to attack and kidnap a viscount’s wife, a baron’s sisters, and an earl’s daughters. There’s bound to be someone out there thinking they could do it better. What’s the deterrent against those targeting the Bartfort family? The easiest way is to make everyone think I’m someone to be feared.

“If you mess with him, you’ll get killed.”

Making others believe that is the most peaceful, bloodless way to keep things safe—just look at the state of the kingdom now. This world is survival of the fittest. To avoid being prey, you have to become strong. It’s depressing to realize I’ve joined the ranks of the nobles I used to despise. Peace and love are supposed to be my guiding principles, but conflict and resentment keep clinging to me. And to top it all off, I ended up fighting with the wife I’m desperately trying to protect. I’m fed up. It’s awkward to go back to the mansion, so I’ll sleep in the barracks tonight.

The soldier on duty looked surprised when he saw me, but I ignored him and headed to the nap room, wrapping myself in a blanket. I at least want to be in good condition for the duel. A good soldier can sleep anywhere, but I’m a delicate guy who can’t sleep easily when something’s on my mind. I just want to eat my favorite food, take a bath, and fall asleep hugging Angie’s soft body.

What am I even doing? I care about my family and want to manage the territory properly to pass it on to my kids. That’s what I think, but things aren’t going well, and I’m troubling Angie while claiming it’s for her sake. I know I’m just spinning my wheels, but there’s a line I can’t back down from. As a man, I want to show off to the woman I love—especially when it’s my wife’s former fiancé. A strong, cool, and great prince is the ideal man women dream of, right? If you asked a hundred people who they’d choose between me and His Highness, all hundred would pick him. Even I’d pick him if I were a woman.

I don’t know why I survived the war. It’s creepy how I became a noble. I can’t understand why Angie married me. It feels like I’ve been swept along by some invisible force to get here—like a leaf boat floating down a river, not knowing when it’ll sink or where it’ll end up. At the very least, I want proof that I’ve earned something with my own strength, and I need the power to protect the happiness I’ve gained. Otherwise, I don’t even know why I was born or what I’m living for. I curl up in the blanket, shutting out my senses, and fall asleep. I still don’t have an answer.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The next morning, the sky was clear—perfect weather for training. I haven’t gone back to the mansion since then, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to Angie. Usually, in our marital spats, I’m the one who gives in first, but this time it’s entirely about my pride, so I’m not apologizing.

Since early morning, I’ve been handling the final preparations for the joint training at the barracks. My dad came from the mansion and brought me some food. It was a bento made by Angie for me. The love-filled bento was perfectly prepared, but it was full of ingredients I don’t like. Looks like Angie still hasn’t forgiven me. After filling my stomach, I continued working with Dad and managed to get everything ready just in time.

As the start time for the joint training approached, people began to gather. First, the Bartfort family arrived. Not just my siblings, but even Mom showed up, which was a bit surprising. Are the women, minus Angie, treating this training like some kind of festival? Angie and the kids came too, but she’s blatantly avoiding me, and I don’t get a chance to talk to her. Papa’s really sad about that.

Next came the Roseblade family. The earl, Dorothea, Deidere, and a few dozen Roseblade soldiers. Their well-maintained, battle-worn equipment speaks to the long history and high rank of their house, unlike the Bartforts’. My brother took the lead in hosting the earl’s family, but Dorothea, who used to cling to him, now hides behind the earl or Deidere like she’s running away. Is this engagement even going to last? Breaking it off means compensation, and our coffers are going to take another hit.

Finally, His Highness Julius, the other four, and a few escort knights arrived. There are still soldiers on the airship they came in, but since today’s event is framed as a joint training between the Bartfort and Roseblade families, they’re staying behind. Honestly, fewer people means less paperwork, so I’m grateful. When the five heroes arrived at the training grounds, cheers erupted from all over. Strong and handsome guys sure have it good. I’ve never once been cheered for like that. Well, during the war, when the Fanoss Duchy soldiers realized I was there, they screamed and ran away. My life, uncelebrated by anyone, makes me want to cry a little, but there’s no one to comfort me.

Today’s event is officially a visit by the Holfort royal family to inspect the Bartfort territory. The Bartfort and Roseblade families just happened to collaborate to take down some air pirates. The five heroes just happened to be cracking down on an illegal organization rebelling against the kingdom. The kidnapping of Angie and the others and the subjugation of the Ladies’ Forest are completely unrelated incidents, of course. If word got out that the Holfort Kingdom’s security is faltering, air pirates would multiply, and other countries might look down on us. A new noble and a prestigious noble family showcasing their training in front of the royal family and receiving praise—what a wholesome event with no hidden agenda, right?

After a brief greeting, the training began. The program included marching, shooting, hand-to-hand combat, logistics, and so on. The Bartfort family’s training is primarily designed for dealing with air pirates, not invasions from other countries. We don’t assume large-scale airship fleet battles or Armors combat. Still, Greg and Chris seemed interested in the close-combat training, and Dorothea was staring at my brother’s training the whole time, so it’s a decent success.

After lunch and a break, the mock battle with Armor—aka my duel with His Highness—begins. Of course, the Bartfort family doesn’t know about it, and the Roseblade family and the soldiers here think it’s half a spectacle. Some soldiers are even betting on the duel between me and His Highness. The odds are overwhelmingly in favor of His Highness’s victory. You heartless soldiers—I’ll make sure to double the intensity and quantity of training later under the guise of “guidance from the esteemed heroes.” Everything’s going eerily smoothly. It’s almost scary.

During the post-lunch break while everyone’s chatting, I head to the hangar. I just feel out of place.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“These are the Bartfort territory’s Armors?”

“All mass-produced models, huh?”

“They’re hand-me-downs from the Redgrave family. When we were granted this floating island, the only Knights we brought were outdated models.”

The Bartfort family owns fourteen Armors in total. We had a few more before, but some were destroyed in the war with the Fanoss Duchy, and usable parts are stored as spares. They’re called hand-me-downs, but these are still active mass-produced models used by the kingdom’s soldiers. The Redgrave family giving us these as part of their daughter’s dowry is kind of terrifying. All of them are maintained and ready for immediate use. Still, His Highness’s entourage is checking them for foul play. It’s like they’re saying, “We don’t trust you,” with their attitude, but I can’t bring myself to get mad. Just like they checked for poison in the lunch, important people have their own struggles.

They’re all standard mass-produced models with little variation beyond minor quirks. The only real difference is the paint for battlefield identification. Suddenly, His Highness seems interested in something and heads toward the back of the hangar.

“Bartfort, you’re not using that one?”

He’s pointing at a state-of-the-art Knight we were granted by the royal family after the war.

“No way. The deal is we use the same model for the duel.”

“That’s the same cutting-edge model I use. It’s got great aesthetics and excellent mobility.”

“It’s basically a bare frame before modifications. It’d take too long to prepare, so it’s a no-go.”

“Then I could adjust mine for you.”

“Your armor’s internal systems are modified, aren’t they?”

Jilk, exasperated by His Highness’s suggestion, cuts in. I’ve only piloted that post-war armor a few times. Dad and my brother tried it too, but none of us could handle it. Its output, mobility, and reaction speed are on a whole different level from conventional Knights. Only someone with talent and money can customize it for personal use. Making weapons specifically for your armor is already a burden for most nobles. Some nobles pour fortunes into their Knights as a hobby, but that’s pure extravagance. A new noble family like the Bartforts, with our modest history, doesn’t have that kind of budget.

“Pick any Knight you like. They’re all about the same performance-wise.”

“…Then I’ll take this one.”

His Highness chooses a white-painted mass-produced Knight. It’s one of the newer ones we have, with minimal wear, so it’s a reasonable choice. A white Knight, huh? I can’t help but smirk. In my dream duel, His Highness was piloting a white Knight against me. The situation’s so similar it feels like fate.

“Then I’ll go with this black one.”

I pick a black mass-produced Knight. Our Knights get reused a lot, but this black one’s the one I’ve been piloting consistently. It’s got some dirt and chipped paint, but it feels familiar, so I keep coming back to it. For this honorable duel, I’ll give you a name—the same as the Knight I piloted in my dream: Arroganz.

“We’ll do a routine check. Since His Highness, a royal, is piloting, we can’t risk any tampering.”

“Go ahead. I’m not some coward who’d use off-board tactics in a duel.”

With my permission, His Highness’s entourage starts inspecting the armors. Come to think of it, mechanics serving royalty get knighted, don’t they? Royals really have it good. Meanwhile, our mechanics, covered in grease, mud, and sweat, brought over various equipment.

“The duel’s pretty much like our knight exams. Balloons are attached to the Knights, and you use a rod weapon to pop them. There are six balloons—head, chest, both arms, both legs. You pass if you pop the required number within the time limit. If your balloons get popped or time runs out, you fail. For this duel, there’s no time limit—the first to pop all the opponent’s balloons wins.”

“Wait, your territory’s knight exams involve this?”

“Since the war with the Duchy, we’ve been granted the right to knight those who serve directly under nobles, within a set limit. I don’t know about other nobles, but we select based on written tests, practical skills, and interviews, regardless of birth.”

“Knighting commoners could cause problems.”

“On the contrary, nobles are useless. They’re just entitled brats who think being born noble makes them knights.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Some noble sons aspiring to be knights did nothing but complain during training. I joined in myself, and while I was handling it fine as the lord, they were whining about being tired, unmotivated, or not eating ‘this kind of food.’ I fired them on the spot and sent them back to their families.”

No matter how much education you give from childhood, someone without ambition won’t grow. The number of knights a noble can employ is limited by their title and territory size, so the Baltfaults can’t hire many. There’s no room for useless people, so we have to train capable ones. Training together and eating from the same pot builds some loyalty. It’s the only way I, a guy with barely any friends, could manage, and it’s worked out pretty well.

“You’d be better off calling the shots in the capital.”

“That’s what we’re about to decide, isn’t it?”

Serving at court doesn’t spark any enthusiasm in me. Just imagining working in the capital, with its lack of greenery, bowing to rigid higher-ups makes my stomach churn. The kingdom’s talent shortage must be dire if they’re considering recruiting a young guy like me. I want to jump ship from this sinking kingdom, but I can’t abandon my family or my people, so I have to keep trying. Don’t I deserve a bit more praise for that?

“Once preparations are done, feel free to take it for a test run. I don’t want to hear excuses about losing because you weren’t used to the Knight.”

“You said it, Bartfort. I’ll show you my strength.”

“You’d better think of an excuse for when you lose to me, Your Highness.”

I’m not letting my guard down—there’s no room for that. For an ordinary guy like me to beat a hero, effort is the bare minimum.

No matter what, my wife and kids are watching, so I’ll use every means available to win. I move away from the mechanics starting their inspections and preparations, as well as from His Highness, and head to the changing room to put on my pilot suit. Unlike combat gear, which excels in blade and bullet resistance, the pilot suit is thick and absorbs impacts, making it quite hot to wear.

Once I’m done changing, I begin stretching, carefully loosening the tension in my body. In armored combat, unexpected things can happen, and your body can freeze up. This stretching routine is a surprisingly effective trick. After stretching, I regulate my breathing and close my eyes. I empty my mind, focusing solely on relaxing my body and breathing repeatedly. I keep myself in that liminal space between wakefulness and sleep, where consciousness blurs.

Knock, knock.

The sound of someone knocking on the waiting room door echoes. It’s time, it seems. I tie my loosened collar and shoelaces tightly, then slip on my leather gloves. I’m fully prepared, brimming with fighting spirit, and I don’t feel like I’ll lose. But ignoring my resolve, the door swings open with force, and a tiny golden furball clings to my legs.

“Father!!”

The voices are all too familiar—it’s Lionel and Ariel. Maybe because I haven’t seen them since yesterday evening, the two cling to my legs desperately, refusing to let go. Why do things always happen at the worst possible moment? I was mentally prepared for a duel, but having my adorable kids cling to me dulls my resolve. I glance toward the door and see Anje glaring at me with a sharp, piercing look. Did I do something to deserve that glare?

“Hey, what’s up?”

“…I just wanted to take a look at the face of the fool about to take on a pointless fight.”

“That’s harsh, wow.”

I take off my leather gloves and stroke the kids’ heads and cheeks. My tension eases, and my fighting spirit wanes, but my motivation surges. Well, my skills aren’t anything special, so it’s probably within the margin of error.

“They were fussing, so I had no choice but to come.”

“I see.”

“Don’t take it seriously. I came quietly because I was worried about you, Leon.”

“Even so, you’ve been blatantly avoiding me. The lunch you packed was full of stuff I hate.”

“I was willing to forgive you, but you’re the one being stubborn, Leon.”

“Alright, alright, I’m the bad guy here. Happy now?”

“There’s not a shred of sincerity in that apology.”

“That’s because I don’t feel bad.”

A weak lord gets looked down on by those around him and targeted by bandits. Someone who’s too scared to fight back will always be the one taken from. To change that situation, you either abandon everything and flee—or face defeat head-on. Even if you can’t beat your opponent, if you keep standing up to them, they’ll eventually tire and back off. This is my territory, and as its lord, I’m the greatest king here. Of course, I’m under the kingdom’s protection, but aside from taxes, military service, and criminal acts, I can push back against interference in my domain. A weak king commands no loyalty. If I let my wife get kidnapped and rely on others to save her, I’d be a failure as a lord.

“Just watch me. I’m gonna slap that pretty prince’s face silly.”

“I’m scared you’ll lose.”

“You’re still going on about that? Even if I lose, they won’t take my life, so relax.”

Unless His Highness is the kind of idiot who’d kill someone he wants to recruit to his side. Or maybe he’d try to crush me under the guise of an accident before I join the duke’s faction. I think that’s unlikely, though. He seems a bit foolish, but His Highness isn’t a bad person.

Running into him yesterday morning at the war memorial was a coincidence. Waiting for hours in the cold to pretend to mourn the fallen just to make a good impression on me is too far-fetched. He genuinely wants to do something for the kingdom, even if his priorities lean heavily toward the royal family—which is the problem.

“None of the proxies hired for the engagement annulment duel won.”

“I’ve heard that before. So you think I’ll lose too?”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt for my sake, Leon. Do you know how much I’ve worried to ensure you can live in peace?”

“I know how much you’ve done for me, Angie. But this is the path I’ve chosen. Sorry for being a foolish husband.”

“I’ve given up. You idiot men can go fight your battles.”

“I won’t lose. I’ve got the power of your love, Angie.”

Angie’s cheeks flush faintly. Come to think of it, I haven’t touched her since yesterday. I shouldn’t go into a fight with regrets, so maybe I’ll give her a hug.

“What’s with that hand?”

“We haven’t done our morning kiss and hug yet, have we?”

“Not now, the kids are watching.”

“Your victory goddess is being cold. I can’t fight like this.”

“Stop it. Don’t get all worked up before the fight.”

I’m gently rejected, and I’m honestly a bit sad. Well, I might’ve been joking too much. I need to focus for the fight ahead, so I should stop here. But as I stand up, Angie hugs me from her side.

“Weren’t hugs off-limits?”

“This is your punishment for making me mad. You’re not allowed to hug me.”

“Then what’s this?”

“I just felt like hugging you. No ulterior motives.”

“I see.”

“Exactly.”

This doesn’t feel like the atmosphere for a duel with a prince. Angie’s body is soft and comforting, but I stay quiet.

“I’m fighting for you, Angie. I’m your knight.”

“What about our kids and family?”

“Don’t tease me. I’m trying to say something cool here.”

“Sorry, it was just too endearing.”

“Tch.”

It’s not cool at all—it’s like a third-rate romance drama. I’m good at trash-talking during a fight, but maybe I should show it through actions instead.

“Just tell me to win. That’s all I need.”

“If I say it, will you stop being reckless?”

“I can’t win if I’m not reckless.”

“Then I can’t say it.”

“Then I’ll settle for a kiss.”

“I’ll give you that after you win, so don’t worry.”

“Then I can’t lose.”

Alright! I’m fired up! Sorry, Your Highness, but you’re about to become my stepping stone! Sure, they’ve saved my life a few times, but that’s that, and this is this!

Let’s do this!

I let go of the kids and psych myself up. Right now, I feel like I could do anything. If it’s a fair fight, I could take down five heroes! Those who bet on His Highness are gonna lose big. Combat isn’t just about talent.

“Leon.”

“Hm?”

“Win.”

“Leave it to me.”

I’m gonna show her how cool I am.

She’ll fall for me all over again, no doubt.

In the best condition of my life, I head to the hangar.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The duel is set to take place on a flat area near the barracks. Originally a cleared forest, rocks and tree stumps are deliberately left scattered. Battlefields don’t have manicured lawns. The ground is uneven, with obstacles everywhere. A duel arena and a battlefield are different; a duel and a battlefield are entirely separate things. What makes me an unconventional noble is that I rose through the ranks due to my achievements in repelling enemy forces in war. Well, it’s not just military achievements.

Though born into a baron’s family, I fought as a soldier—practically a commoner—and became a noble—an exceptional case. As a minor noble, I was fortunate to learn how to pilot armor after joining the military. Back then, most kingdom nobles didn’t fight in armor; they used it to intimidate their people or lounged on the bridge of airships.

The experience of crawling on the ground as a soldier and piloting armor as a knight— Few in the kingdom, especially among nobles, have both. In a world where airships were invented and magically powered armor was created, battles have shifted from the ground to the sky, and the main force from soldiers to ships and armor.

Now, soldiers are only used for occupying floating islands and are looked down on as something poor people do for food and shelter. That doesn’t mean soldiers are unnecessary. War, at its core, is a game of territorial control. In a world where people live on floating islands, land is precious. No matter how powerful the weapons, turning the land to rubble defeats the purpose of war.

His Highness and his ilk excel at offensive warfare—probably only that. They’ve earned merits through adventures, but they have little experience in military strategy. I, on the other hand, spent months holding defensive lines against the invading Fanoss Duchy army, launching surprise attacks on supply lines.

Military operations were routine for me, and outsmarting the enemy was second nature. That’s where I see an opening. My knowledge and experience are, frankly, outdated and musty. They’re unfamiliar to heroes born into wealth, walking at the forefront of the era.

That’s why they’ll work.

These tactics—honestly, just ambushes—will work precisely because they’re unfamiliar to pampered elites who’ve never known heat, cold, hunger, or thirst. It’s a one-time trick, though. Against talented geniuses, the same move won’t work twice.

That’s why I have to win here. My victory lies in “doing what the opponent doesn’t know.” There’s no other way. The mechanics, having finished their checks, are waiting in the hangar. The white armor His Highness chose is already gone, probably headed out first.

The black armor I picked is crouched, waiting. I slip through the open chest armor, sit in the cockpit, and strap myself in. Pressing the startup switch in front, the chest armor closes, and the entire armor begins to vibrate. Magic flows into the armor upon activation, and as the magic unfolds, the sound of metal grinding echoes before the armor slowly stands.

Simultaneously, visual data from the sensors is displayed on the monitor. I lightly tilt the right control stick, and the armor’s right arm moves, its hand opening. Then the left stick—no issues there either. I move forward slowly, making fine adjustments, feeling no discrepancies. I check the gauges and numerical displays on the cockpit’s side—all within standard values. One step, then another, as the armor advances.

No, it’s not just armor. For now, its name is Arrogantz. Flying to the duel site would take seconds, but I walk Arrogantz to get accustomed to it.

Thud, thud, thump.

It looks like normal walking, but I adjust the force and stride to familiarize my body with Arrogantz’s quirks. Not just the legs—I move the arms slowly to check the magic flow and joint movements.

This should do.

Each step Arrogantz takes brings me closer to the destination. As I near the duel site, I take deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. It’s strange—I’m terrified of fighting His Highness Julius, yet my cheeks twitch, wanting to grin. I arrive at a deliberately slow pace, almost provocatively so.

His Highness’s armor is already standing at its designated spot. I circle to my position, walking slowly, checking the ground’s condition, obstacle locations, and distance to the spectator seats.

“Late, Bartfort.”

“Sorry, I got caught up with some things.”

“You’re the one who challenged me to this duel. Don’t be late.”

“Is Your Highness used to piloting that armor?”

“No issues. I’ve been piloting armors like this since I was a child.”

His Highness’s voice echoes through the cockpit via the communication system. He sounds a bit irritated, but it doesn’t seem to affect his piloting. Looks like my stalling tactic failed. I didn’t think he’d fall for such a cheap trick anyway. Upon reaching my position, I face the spectator seats and tilt the armor forward, like a human bowing.

His Highness does the same, bowing to the spectators. Cheers erupt from the stands. Officially, this duel is a friendly match between me and His Highness. Only His Highness, me, his four attendants, and Angie know about the complicated dealings behind it. I can see those five in the VIP seats, slightly offset from the main stands.

“We will now commence the friendly match between His Highness Julius Rapha Holfort, First Prince, and Viscount Leon Fou Bartfort!!”

The announcer’s amplified voice echoes across the area—sounds like Colin’s doing the commentary. My Arrogantz and His Highness’s armor slowly take their stances. His Highness’s armor steps forward with its left arm and leg, pulling its right side back—a classic stance for defending with the left and attacking with the right.

I, on the other hand, lean my armor forward dramatically, moving it slowly until it’s just shy of toppling over. To the spectators, it probably looks like Arrogantz is groveling before His Highness’s armor. Well, appearances don’t matter. Looking pathetic and winning is a hundred times cooler than showing off and losing.

While lulling His Highness and the spectators into complacency, I start my preparations. I twist a dial to lower the magic allocation for posture control. I adjust the output control magic as well. I disable various sensors, keeping only the visual and audio devices active, with communications still connected.

In place of the lowered or disabled functions, I tweak the control stick’s sensitivity to ensure precise movements. As I finish adjusting Arrogantz’s settings and it takes its stance, the area falls silent. One second feels like ten, ten seconds like a hundred—an elongated sense of time. This is it. Crossing a certain threshold, fear fades, and everything feels distant. It’s like there’s another me inside me—a mix of exhilaration and calm fills me.

“Begin!!”

The moment Colin signals the start, I slam the control stick forward.

Arrogantz’s landing thud and the sound of the balloon attached to His Highness’s armor’s left leg bursting ring out simultaneously.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳

Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

The duel begins in this chapter.

In contrast to the otome game or original story where Julius fought duels for his love for Marie or Olivia, in this story, Leon fights for his love for Angie. Picture the armors piloted by Leon and Julius as the mass-produced models from the manga or anime. What Leon is up to will carry over to the next chapter.

The tactics and worldbuilding for humanoid weapons and aerial nations are my own interpretation, so please forgive any loose settings. (sweat)

Today is the release date for Volume 3 of the Marie Route, aka *That Otome Game Is a Tough World for Us*.

I plan to read it thoroughly later.

Addendum: At the client's request, we had Ms. Oruta Matsuda and Ms. Tumi Noutan draw illustrations of Ange in a wedding dress.  

Thank you very much.  

We are currently planning an adult-oriented chapter based on these illustrations.  

The post is scheduled for March 29, coinciding with the release of the final volume of the Mobuseka novel.  

Ms. Oruta Matsuda:   Skeb

Ms. Tumi Noutan: Pixiv  

We would greatly appreciate any opinions or feedback to encourage our future efforts.