Arc-5 Ch-7

 I watch Leon’s back as he heads toward the hangar.

In the end, I couldn’t stop him.

During the engagement annulment fiasco, I instructed the hired dueling proxy to fight with all their might. Now, the irony and sadness of my own change strike me as I try to stop Leon from fighting His Highness Julius.

If Leon had been at the academy back then, would he have acted to save the foolish me from that time?

I can’t help but dwell on such pointless thoughts. No matter how much I struggle, it seems I’m fated to be unable to sway the heart of man I admire.

I couldn’t stop His Highness Julius from getting close to Olivia, and I can’t hold Leon back from this duel. Frustration at my own weakness builds up.

No matter how much I try, I’m powerless without the backing of the ducal house or the queen’s support. At my feet, Lionel and Ariel look up at me. They must be surprised by Leon heading off to fight. Once Leon gets like this, no amount of words can stop him.

When the Fanoss Principality attacked, he went to the battlefield despite my pleas to focus on defending the Bartfort territory. Even with a royal decree, my tears and begging couldn’t change his resolve.

I thought maybe the children could sway him and tried, somewhat manipulatively, but it ended in futile results. I feel ashamed of my own baseness for attempting to change Leon’s mind with such underhanded methods.

“Mother,” Lionel says.

“What is it?”

“What’s wrong with Father?”

“He’s going to fight.”

“?”

They don’t seem to understand what Leon is doing. Perhaps I should have left Lionel and Ariel at the mansion. Watching their father lose in front of them isn’t pleasant for anyone.

I’ve grown so weak. The old me would have said to risk one’s life for the honor of the nobility. Now, I can only pray Leon returns unscathed. Perhaps sensing my turmoil, the children reach out their hands.

Their soft, warm hands bring a slight calm to my heart. As long as he doesn’t suffer a crushing defeat that shocks the people of Bartfort, it’ll be fine. Thinking of my husband’s defeat as a certainty makes me feel like a terrible wife, and I grow melancholic.

Returning to the guest seats, I see a flurry of activity as various equipment is being set up. Loudspeakers and cameras are being connected, eager to record this fight. I glance at my father-in-law and Colin giving busy instructions, then take a seat in a corner slightly away.

Normally, I’d be overseeing this, but they took over under the pretext of cheering for Leon. My brother-in-law is handling the Roseblade family’s reception. Dorothea, who usually clings to him, is oddly staying close to the earl or Deidere today, which is unusual.

Jenna and Finley volunteered to entertain the other guests, excluding His Highness. Their excessive hospitality reeks of desperate noblewomen past their prime chasing eligible men, which is painful to watch.

Especially since the four men are smitten with Olivia and pay no attention to Jenna or Finley. Their persistence is, in a way, admirable. As I soothe the children, the soldiers and technicians move away from the VIP seats, signaling preparations are complete.

A large display screen, gifted by the ducal house, stands in front. Made with the same technology as airships and armor, it projects the filmed scene. The screen shows an enlarged image of armor standing in the center.

The black armor is Leon’s; the white armor is His Highness Julius’s. As the humanoid armors tilt toward the audience, the children sway excitedly. The armor on the screen looks almost like a doll from the seats—somewhat cute.

“Now, we begin the friendly match between His Highness Julius Rapha Holfort, First Prince, and Viscount Leon Fou Bartfort!!”

Colin’s voice, as the announcer, echoes through the loudspeakers. The armors on the screen face each other and take their stances. Long ago, at the academy’s arena in the capital, the proxies I hired fought His Highness and his four companions in a duel.

It ended in a crushing defeat, and my engagement to His Highness was annulled. If Leon loses this duel, the Bartfort family will align with the royal faction. Only the four who fought in that arena and I know this.

Why does my life always face insurmountable walls? As the armors finish their stances, the earlier cheers fall silent, as if they were a lie. Everyone assumes His Highness will win.

Resigned, I turn my eyes to the black armor on the screen. Its stance is bizarre. It leans forward, as if submitting. Indeed, such an extreme posture makes it hard to target the balloons attached to the armor. But the trade-off is that starting to move quickly is impossible.

He’s likely aiming for the balloons on both legs of His Highness’s armor, but charging straight from such a low posture will only get the black armor’s head struck by a rod.

Everyone frowns at the overly obvious stance. His Highness’s piloting skills aren’t so poor as to fall for such a trick.

“Begin!!”

At the starting signal, Leon’s armor vanishes.

No—it didn’t vanish.

Its speed was so great that my eyes couldn’t follow, making it seem to disappear. Seconds after the fight starts, a booming sound captured by the microphones echoes through the VIP seats.

The ground where Leon’s black armor stood is gouged out, and it’s now crouching behind His Highness’s white armor. One of the balloons on the white armor’s left leg is burst.

What just happened?

No one, likely not even His Highness, can process the scene. The black armor crouches again. Perhaps due to panic or unfamiliarity with the armor, the white armor takes an awkward stance, raising its rod.

Only then do I understand.

It’s a wind-up.

Like a toad or grasshopper coiling before a leap, it’s the same posture. Bundling force in one direction, minimizing waste, and charging the shortest distance. The extreme forward lean is to target the legs while making the opponent’s attack direction predictable.

The raised rod strikes the ground, but the black armor isn’t there. Like a hopping animal, it soars through the air again.

At the same time, the balloon on the white armor’s right leg bursts. No one imagined this scene. Not the prince, not the heroes, not his family, not even me—his wife.

“What are those movements?”

Someone voices the question everyone here shares. Indeed, armor is crafted to mimic human form. Theoretically, it can replicate most human movements. But that’s only in theory.

It’s metal, not flesh; magic, not blood.

The logic of armor’s movement differs from a human’s. Moreover, Leon’s armor is mass-produced. Unlike custom-modified armor, Bartfort's armors are minimally adjusted for shared use by soldiers.

So how is it defying the laws of the world?

The black armor shifts to a new stance, holding the rod with both hands at mid-level. The moment it’s set, it charges toward the white armor. The white armor mirrors the stance, bracing for the charge. A metallic clash shakes the air, and the two armors stand like a single statue.

No—they’re still for only a few seconds.

Slowly but surely, the black armor pushes the white armor back. It’s not a difference in skill—the black armor’s output simply surpasses the white armor’s, a clear and straightforward answer.

Why?

How can there be such a gap with identical mass-produced armors?

“Is Bartfort really not cheating?”

“He shouldn’t be. The mechanics who accompanied him to the hangar confirmed it. There’s nothing suspicious in His Highness’s armor or Bartfort’s.”

“But the black and white armors clearly differ in performance. There’s a huge gap in strength and speed. Experience alone can’t explain it.”

“I’ve never seen a mass-produced armor move like that. Even the latest models couldn’t.”

Their confusion is understandable. After all, my family, the Redgrave house, provided that armor. When Leon married me and Bartfort became a vassal, we supplied armor from the duchy at a low cost as a gesture. There might be slight differences, but such a stark gap is absurd.

“It’s probably tweaking the gauges to adjust output,” my brother-in-law says from the side.

He’s fought alongside Leon the most as the eldest Bartfort son and is a skilled armor pilot himself.

“What the hell is Bartfort doing?”

“I don’t know the details. Apparently, tweaking the magic settings or lowering sensor accuracy can temporarily boost armor performance.”

“That’s insane. That could make it impossible to even walk.”

“Don’t tell me. I tried it his way a few times, but it never worked.”

Armor is a giant humanoid weapon. Though modeled after humans, it can’t move by human strength alone. Some power source is essential to move such a massive object. People use magic as the power source and control it with spells, making armor a mainstay in warfare.

But as armor becomes more advanced, the magic needed for control grows exponentially. Once large and heavily armored, modern armor is now smaller, lighter, and built for speed. Moving armor quickly in various directions, rather than slowly in one, demands advanced technology and skilled piloting.

Tweaking the control magic?

My brother-in-law’s words describe an unthinkable folly by our standards. Armor is a pinnacle of technology; tampering with it risks making it inoperable. Even if his explanation is correct, it’s a theoretical pipe dream that requires meticulous calculations by specialized technicians.

Leon is indeed a better pilot than most knights. But he’s neither a mechanic nor a technician. I can’t believe he’s capable of such a feat.

“It’s unbelievable. Armor relies on multiple spells interacting to function in combat. I can’t imagine Bartfort pulling off such a delicate trick.”

“When he was in the kingdom’s army, he often did his own adjustments due to short staffing. He was good enough to help with others’ maintenance too. Not as good as professionals, but he tinkered in his spare time.”

Unbelievable. I knew Leon piloted armor during his time in the kingdom’s army. As a low-ranking noble from a baron’s family, he told me he fought more as a soldier than a knight due to his injuries.

I had no idea he could do such things until today. While we marvel, the armors on the screen continue their struggle. It’s an anomaly no one predicted.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The sensors are barely functional, the posture control is broken, the joint coordination is shaky, and even holding a weapon is a struggle. Walking or flying requires constant micro-adjustments during combat, and I was terrified of being shot down—left me wanting to cry.

Yet, somehow, that battered armor outperformed others, defeating enemies with surprising strength. I don’t know why, but it was clearly stronger than other armors. Not wanting to die due to poor maintenance, I tinkered with the armor and arrived at a hypothesis.

Armor is controlled by magic, with each spell interacting to mimic human movements. But the amount of magic available is limited. As armor becomes more advanced, the number of control spells increases, reducing the magic allocated to each function.

So, what if I deliberately lowered—or completely disabled—some functions?

I experimented with another functioning armor. The result was the same. Of course, this method has its flaws.

Reducing certain functions means you have to compensate with piloting skill or tactics, and the excessive strain on the armor could damage parts or internal systems beyond repair after a single battle.

But for a temporary advantage or to outmaneuver an opponent, it’s perfect. In fact, this method has saved my life multiple times.

And now, I’m dominating this duel with the prince.

That doesn’t mean I’m confident of victory. His Highness Julius may be losing in strength, but he’s clinging on desperately. I’ve only scored the first points; I can’t let my guard down until I win.

My right hand grips the control stick while my left quickly flips a switch to activate communication. After some static, I hear the breathing of a young man. It’s definitely His Highness Julius.

Even through audio alone, I can tell he’s tense—probably wearing himself out trying not to miss my movements. Well, let’s wear down his spirit even more.

“Hey, Your Highness, what’s wrong?” I taunt.

“…What’s your game, Bartfort?” he responds.

“Just wondering how it feels to talk big and then get outscored by two points.”

“It’s just two points. I can still turn this around.”

“Your breathing’s pretty heavy for that. What, shocked to be cornered by someone you underestimated?”

“I am surprised. I didn’t expect such a difference in movement just from the pilot.”

“Maybe you’re just weak, Your Highness. You didn’t win just because of the kingdom’s money and connections giving you high-performance armor, right?”

“…”

He’s silent, but his breathing gets even heavier. He’s rattled.

“Guess I’ll get serious now. If you don’t want to lose pathetically, I suggest you surrender.”

“I refuse!”

His shout comes as his armor’s thrusters blast air, making it retreat sharply. Trying to create distance and give it a short reboot, huh?

“Not happening.”

I tilt the control stick and pursue. Arroganz’s strike makes the white armor lurch. When a person’s mind and body are attacked simultaneously, their judgment falters.

Sorry, Your Highness, you’re strong—so I have to do this to win. I keep striking the staggering white armor. Right now, I’m undeniably a despicable, lowlife knight.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“The folks in the capital think throwing money at it makes them stronger, huh? That’s the money’s strength, not yours!”

“I won through training! Not the armor’s performance or the kingdom’s funds!”

“But you’re getting cornered by me! So I’m stronger, right?”

“It’s because I’m not used to this armor! Why aren’t you using the latest model you were granted?”

“A truly strong person can win with any tool! Can’t fight without a fancy modified model? Typical capital rich kid!”

The internal communications between the armors, picked up by the cameras, are an unbearable exchange of insults. Given the content, I hurriedly cover Lionel and Ariel’s ears.

Leon’s taunts lack any respect or restraint toward His Highness. They’re the kind of verbal jabs meant to provoke and cloud judgment. Is that really the same man as my husband?

How can he spew such eloquent insults at an opponent but struggle with words of love for me? Leon’s talent distribution is absurdly skewed. Thank goodness this communication is only audible in the VIP seats.

If the entire audience heard it, it would damage his reputation as a lord. More importantly, it’s terrible for the children’s education.

I thought Leon had recently developed some awareness as a lord and father, but I was naive. He’s getting a lecture later.

“Is Leon always like that on the battlefield?” I blurt out.

My brother-in-law gives a wry smile, neither confirming nor denying. It seems this is how Leon behaves toward enemies.

“No, Angelica, it’s not like that. Leon provokes to act as a decoy, rile them up to trap them, or gain an edge in negotiations. It’s not that he’s a bad person…”

His voice grows weaker as he speaks, making it hard to bear. It’s probably a reliable skill in war. A useful wartime ability that’s useless in peacetime. I force myself to believe that.

“He’s underestimating His Highness too much,” Jilk says, and the other three nod.

“Julius isn’t the best among us five.”

“Brad’s better at magic, Chris at swordsmanship, Jilk at shooting, and Greg at raw strength.”

“But Julius has the most balanced overall ability.”

It’s an undeniable fact that the five heroes, including His Highness, are the kingdom’s finest young men. In the past, when pitted against the others in specific fields, His Highness never took first. But he consistently placed second or third.

Brad had high magic but lacked in swordsmanship. Chris excelled in swordsmanship but was average with magic. Jilk was skilled at shooting but lagged in close combat.

Greg was unmatched in melee but weak at long range. His Highness Julius has consistently stable strength among the five. He has no standout strengths, but no glaring weaknesses either. Once he regains his composure, he should switch to a solid offense.

BOOM!

A loud burst echoes, and everyone stares at the screen. The balloon on the black armor’s left arm is burst. But so is the one on the white armor’s left arm. A mutual strike, but proof His Highness landed a precise hit.

“How’s that! First one down!” His Highness shouts.

“Don’t get cocky over one balloon. I’ve already taken out half of yours,” Leon retorts, dousing his triumph. The two armors close the distance again, aiming for each other’s balloons with their rods. The black armor has the edge in strength, but the white armor avoids direct contests, increasing its attack frequency.

BOOM!

Another burst. The balloon on the black armor’s right leg is gone. The white armor’s balloons remain intact.

“Looks like he’s getting his rhythm back,”

“Yeah, once he calms down, it’s the expected outcome.”

“Julius isn’t weak enough to lose to brute force.”

“Here comes the counterattack.”

Their words mirror my feelings exactly. Leon is skilled at piloting, but his opponent is hailed as the kingdom’s savior. The skill gap is clear, and he’s gradually adapting to the brute force. Before I know it, I’m staring at the screen, forgetting even the children.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Got him. I dodge his attack and precisely target the gap it creates. My armor’s standard gear is a shield and sword. I draw the enemy’s attack, block or barely dodge, and land my own.

The rod is my sword, the other arm my shield. The weapon’s different, but the approach is the same. Fighting as usual gives me more than enough chances to win.

The mechanics confirmed no cheating in Bartfort’s armor. As royal mechanics, their word is believable. His armor’s superior strength must come from some trick.

Or he’s drawing out performance I don’t know about. An unfamiliar mass-produced armor, soft ground instead of the arena’s paved floor, and rules unlike a standard duel—there are many disadvantages.

But overcoming them is what makes a hero. Bartfort’s piloting is indeed skillful. His cunning in setting up a restricted duel is impressive. But my past battles have made me grow. Is Bartfort a better pilot than Black Knight Bandel?

Does he have the brute force of the Fanoss Principality’s massive army?

Is he a regenerating super-sized monster?

No, absolutely not. My senses were dulled by this tame fight, unlike a life-or-death battle. Always assume a battlefield, never underestimate, and attack precisely. Bartfort’s armor is stronger, but its attacks aren’t unreadable.

Likely due to the strain of forcing out power, its attacks are simplistic despite their strength. I can predict the attack’s start and trajectory.

The same model armor and weapons work in my favor. To attack, he must close the distance, and his attack range is mine too. If I time his attacks well, I can at least trade hits, or land mine first.

Most importantly, the rule of bursting balloons with rods helps me. To win, I break all his balloons—meaning the attack locations are predetermined. That makes predicting attacks easy.

Sorry, Bartfort.

Looks like this match will end with my dominant victory. I feel bad for nullifying your resolve. But saving the Holfort Kingdom in crisis requires many strong allies. You’re being watched as a valuable asset.

Your strength as a soldier and knight, your experience as a noble, your potential as a ruler. You’re still incomplete. For the Holfort Kingdom, I must win. Even if it means being hated, I must win.

Brace yourself, Bartfort. From here, my counterattack begins.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“That’s probably what he’s thinking, huh.”

His Highness’s armor takes a stance—the same basic one with the left arm forward. His thinking’s so straightforward, almost naive. I hoped to take out about four balloons, but that was too optimistic.

His Highness Julius is strong—that’s undeniable.

He’s a hero who fought the Fanoss Principality’s massive army, the strongest knights, and super-sized monsters in a war where knights and soldiers died in droves.

Of course, my tricks would be countered head-on. We’ve clashed multiple times, but my attacks aren’t decisive, while his are precise. Worst of all, Arroganz’s alarms are blaring in the cockpit, signaling abnormalities.

If this keeps up, I’ll be the one cornered. The sense of impending defeat makes sweat pour from my body.

No choice—I have to change tactics.

I adjust the tampered gauges back to normal. The noisy alarms gradually stop, but that doesn’t mean I can relax. The earlier recklessness has definitely damaged Arroganz’s internals.

I don’t know how long I can hold out. From here, victory depends on enduring and exploiting his openings. I move the control stick and take a stance. Not the earlier crouched or mid-level stance.

I minimize my profile to protect vital areas, lower my stance, and plant my feet to move in any direction instantly. It’s the knife-fighting stance I learned in kingdom army training.

Surprised by my stance, the white armor halts its attack, observing cautiously. His Highness’s strategy is to take my attacks and strike during the exchange. I maintain my stance without attacking, also to reduce strain on the armor.

One step, then another—the white armor approaches. This sluggish pace is unheard of in battles between modern armors. Armors fly through the air, wielding powerful weapons to defeat enemies—that’s the standard.

In the early days of armor in warfare, heavily armored, slow-moving armors that barely flew fought on the ground, trading blows.

Sorry, Your Highness, I’m a beast crawling on the ground. No matter how I yearn for the sky, I have no wings or feathers—just an ugly beast. How does such a beast take down a soaring bird?

By targeting the moment it lands and breaking its wings. I set up this duel with conditions favoring me. If you’d refused my terms or proposed your own, you wouldn’t be struggling like this.

You shouldn’t have fallen for such a dirty trick, but your straightforward nature really helped me out. This time-unlimited duel doesn’t favor either of us.

My reckless moves have worn out both me and Arroganz, while the longer it takes His Highness to finish me, the more mentally cornered he’ll feel. If I move carelessly, I’m done. I need to draw him in and target his openings.

I don’t know how much time has passed; neither of us can find an opening. Casually, I expose my right arm with a balloon. The next moment, the white armor seizes the chance and moves.

But it’s naive. Moving suddenly without accounting for the soft ground throws off its balance.

I align Arroganz’s rod with the white armor’s.

Gently, like guiding it, I shift the force’s direction slightly.

Sliding the rod, I aim for the right arm’s balloon. A roar echoes as the white armor tumbles through the air.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳⁠

Authors Note

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This is the first part of the Leon vs. Julius battle.

As a result of considering combat in armor, Leon's skill tree turned out to be something terrifying.

Well, in the original story, he was slacking off and still managed above-average results, so no problem there. (This is hopeless, lol)

Personally, I love genius vs. ordinary battles, and this is the result of that preference.

What they're doing is essentially a stick-beating game, but I'm going for maximum intensity.

I’d love to hear your opinions or feedback, as it will motivate me moving forward!