Arc-5 Ch-8

 I deflect the opponent's rod with my own, sliding it along their arm. After our attacks cross, I maintain momentum and create distance. While taking my stance, I observe the white armor. Three balloons remain. The balloon on my right arm is still intact.

“Tch.”

A click of my tongue escapes me. The dirt on the balloon confirms the rod made contact but it didn't burst. The reason is painfully clear—my cowardly nature.

I should’ve parried His Highness Julius’s attack with absolute precision. But my final step forward was one—no, half a step short.

I took too much distance, preparing for His Highness’s counterattack. Missing that perfect opportunity to crush him hurts too much. To win this fight, I need to read His Highness’s moves several steps ahead.

I have to pop his balloons before he pops all of mine. It’s as simple as that—yet as difficult as sprinting through a battlefield under gunfire. Brute force won’t work—he’s seen through it. My only lifeline is my slightly greater experience and honed skills.

To make use of them, I need to take that one step, that half step deeper. Gripping the control stick tightly, I force my trembling limbs to steady. Goddamn it, I’m furious at my own lack of guts.

Slowly, the armors we pilot—mine and His Highness’s—begin to move.

The white armor closes the distance, circling to exploit my openings. My Arrogantz mirrors it, stepping in the opposite direction. It’s like a strange, synchronized dance.

Half a step more, and the moment we close that gap, we’ll enter each other’s range. The instant His Highness’s armor lifts its leg, I rush in.

First, I block the landing spot of his leg with Arrogantz’s foot. This creates a slight misstep in the white armor’s movement. His thrust aimed at my chest balloon shifts into a sweeping strike toward my arm.

I catch the elbow joint—the pivot of his sweep—with Arrogantz’s hand.

Seizing the moment when his attack stalls, I thrust at his head. The white armor leans back, almost falling, and retreats.

“You’re not getting away!”

I push Arrogantz forward to keep the distance close. As if anticipating this, he unleashes a thrust. I deliberately don’t dodge, meeting it with my rod.

Without losing momentum, I press forward. We’re locked in a near grapple, the monitor filled with the white armor. His arms and legs come at me, trying to break free.

I dodge, block, and occasionally counter. To the spectators, it probably looks like my black armor is dancing with precise steps. In reality, I’m desperately parrying His Highness’s attacks. His strikes target my balloons with pinpoint accuracy.

For every attack, I defend or block twice, enduring. I predict his next move and restrict his actions. I subtly weave in attacks that skirt the edge of the rules.

This is my only chance—creating openings by force. To win, I’ll use any means necessary, even if they call me a coward.

That’s the true strength of the so-called “Villainous Knight.”

This is a battle of endurance. Will my stamina run out first, with all my balloons popped?

Or will His Highness’s focus break, forcing him to yield?

Do you know, Your Highness?

Unlike war, a brawl has no clear defeat condition.

And I’m surprisingly stubborn. I’ll cling on until the moment I lose consciousness—so you’d better be ready.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Everyone present witnessed something unbelievable.

Leon Fou Bartfort.

The man feared as the “Villainous Knight” is widely known.

Stronger than the average soldier, but his strength and skill are within the realm of normal. His piloting skills surpass those of ordinary knights but fall short of those with natural talent. A ruthless scoundrel who traps and ruins foes with sharp words—the epitome of vile cunning.

That’s how allies and enemies mocked him. Yet this man is holding his own against the kingdom’s heroic prince—nay, he might even have the upper hand.

There’s no flashy, decisive blow. But his precise deflections, blocks, and ability to control the fight while defending are nothing short of masterful.

To the untrained eye, it’s a gritty, inelegant strategy. But anyone who’s ever piloted an armor can only marvel at the feats the black armor is performing.

The soldiers of the Bartfort domain are in awe of their lord’s skill. The knights of House Roseblade discard their scorn for the upstart. The royal guards of House Holfort feel reverence for the young man who stands unflinching against their prince.

Everyone watching this duel is forced to rethink their view of Leon Fou Bartfort.

“Isn’t that a foul?”

Jilk’s words draw frowns from Greg, Chris, and Brad. To an amateur, it might look like the black armor is clumsily flailing, sticking close to the white armor to avoid attacks.

Jilk likely fears that His Highness’s inability to finish the fight will raise doubts about his skill. As a vassal, his concern is understandable. But such words are an insult to the two fighting in this duel.

“Such a dishonorable tactic—punching and kicking the armor His Highness pilots in such close quarters. Doesn’t it violate the duel’s rules?”

“The rules only state that balloons must be popped with the rod. Yes, Bartfort’s armor is touching His Highness’s, but he’s not trying to pop balloons with anything but the rod.”

“He’s clearly tripping and restraining with his hands!”

“If you’re calling that a foul, His Highness has been deflecting attacks with his arms too. It’s unfair to single out Bartfort.”

Greg responds positively to Jilk’s doubts. His Highness was the first to deflect attacks with his arms. If that’s a foul, he should’ve been warned first.

“In swordsmanship, there’s the clash of blades or bare-handed techniques when a weapon is dropped. Calling that cowardly means you’re unprepared for such situations.”

“This is a friendly match! A no-holds-barred fight could tarnish both their reputations.”

“Bartfort’s stance mimics the kingdom’s military combat techniques. If using them is dishonorable, you’re questioning the entire kingdom army’s dignity.”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“Above all, Bartfort’s movements are simply phenomenal. I don’t know anyone who can replicate human martial arts with an armor to that degree.”

Though armors mimic the human form, the differences are countless. They’re controlled with sticks and switches. Even with rough edges, achieving such movements without immense training is impossible.

Bartfort has talent, no doubt—but he must have endured mind-numbing repetition to reach this level.

“Brad, say something. Isn’t this gritty fighting style far from elegant?”

“Sure, there’s no grace in this fight. But what’s the problem?”

“If the royal family struggles against a frontier upstart, it could damage their prestige.”

“Why not just admit it? Bartfort is undeniably an impressive man.”

Brad’s words carry heat—the tone of someone captivated by this duel. Everyone is enthralled by the clash of white and black armors. All pretenses are stripped away, revealing raw truth.

In adversity, a person’s true nature shines. No matter how much someone boasts, people won’t follow someone who flees in hardship. Only those who resist until the end deserve the title of nobility.

“Outmatched in talent, overpowered in strength, yet still scheming and strategizing. It’s proof of his sincerity and hunger for victory. Those who find it unsightly are just cynical losers.”

“Bartfort has never fled from war. Even when retreating strategically, he’s never abandoned the fight. You know that well.”

“A man who tirelessly honed skills he might never use now stands shoulder-to-shoulder with a hero. It’s not just me—everyone loves stories like this.”

Not a single person here would call the man piloting the black armor an ugly, rural upstart. Even those who spoke negatively moments ago are swayed.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

I’ve always found something strange. It’s about armors—these weapons. The guys piloting these human-shaped machines always brag about the latest models, their performance, or the weapons crafted by famous workshops.

A prestigious sword, a high-performance gun. That’s just the weapon’s strength—not proof of your own. I was born into a poor baron’s family in the frontier.

No money for the latest armors, no connections to order custom weapons. All I could do to improve my armor was hone my own piloting skills. Most armor pilots are nobles or knights from noble families—almost no commoners become knights.

Oddly, these born nobles and knights often disdain effort. Don’t they realize that boasting about power and wealth doesn’t prove their strength?

The only way I could get stronger was to train harder, strengthen my body, refine my skills, and gather knowledge. In the kingdom army’s lectures, I learned a bit about the history of armors.

Long ago, battles were fought between airships. To board enemy airships, a method was devised: Wearing armor to avoid being shot down in midair.

Adding thrusters to fly in armor. Carrying large weapons to destroy airships. As weapon firepower increased, they became too large for humans to wield.

Thus, specialized weapons were needed—armors, shaped like humans due to the era’s legacy.

Doesn’t that seem odd?

Only a massive airship can take down another massive airship. Smaller, more maneuverable weapons make sense.

But why make them humanoid and arm them with giant swords or guns?

A small airship with a ram or cannon would suffice. So, what’s the best way to utilize their humanoid form?

I think it’s mimicking human movement. After marrying Angie, I got a discounted mass-produced armor from House Redgrave. Smoother and stronger than the musty old models used by the kingdom’s lower knights.

I trained with it relentlessly.

In the largely undeveloped Bartfort domain, armors often double as heavy machinery. I used that to ingrain the armor’s movements into my body.

Walking, running, jumping, lifting loads, breaking trees or rocks with strikes. I applied those movements when I served as an examiner for the knight certification’s armor piloting test.

Closing distances, deflecting attacks, footwork. When I started seeing results, the Principality of Fanoss invaded again. I tested my accumulated experience in real combat.

I felt my piloting skills improve—but that was it.

Just as it’s hard for an untrained person to kill barehanded, it’s tough to down an armor without overwhelming firepower. No matter how fluid my movements, it wasn’t enough to defeat enemy armors.

The slight sense of achievement was drowned by the futility. Training helped me survive, but no matter how skilled, there was no battle to showcase it. At best, I could teach clumsy novices to move efficiently.

Realizing all that training was inefficient made me laugh dryly.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Life’s a funny thing—when that wasted effort finally pays off. A non-lethal fight with weapon restrictions, no flight, and identical armors? I never imagined it.

Defend or dodge attacks, counter when there’s an opening, dive in when it gets dicey, and if it becomes a grapple, tweak the controls to push back.

To the spectators, it probably looks like the black and white armors are trading all sorts of techniques. In reality, it’s just that cycle repeating.

“Got you!!”

“Too naive!”

Our armors attack simultaneously. Metal arms clash and intertwine.

BOOM!

The sound of a burst echoes through the cockpit. His Highness’s attack pops the balloon on my right arm.

At the same time, Arrogantz’s strike hits the white armor’s right arm. Now, I have three balloons left, and His Highness has two.

Numerically, I have the advantage, but it doesn’t feel like I’m winning. That last attack was supposed to be simultaneous, yet His Highness’s strike landed first.

The longer this goes on, the smoother His Highness Julius’s armor moves.

The first attack catches me off guard.

The second, I barely dodge.

By the third, he’s handling it perfectly.

Eventually, he mimics my moves and lands attacks even better than I do. While His Highness adapts rapidly to the situation, I’m being cornered.

I want to end this before he copies me, but his growth is on another level. If this keeps up, he’ll turn the tables. On top of that, the strain from repeatedly tweaking the controls to force out power is taking its toll.

Several joints are moving awkwardly now. I can’t rely on brute strength anymore. But if I try to outskill him, he’ll likely mimic me.

I have to attack to have any chance of winning, yet he’s the one excelling at offense. He has two balloons left—those two feel impossibly far away.

I dart left and right to confuse him, slipping into his blind spots. It increases my stamina drain and Arrogantz’s wear, but I have to push the attack or I’m done.

Four moves to the right, then two to the left.

Next, two to the right, one to the left.

I subtly establish a pattern in my movements while reducing the count.

The sharper someone is, the more they unconsciously predict their opponent’s moves, finding joy in being right.

I have to exploit that moment to land a strike. First, I make a big detour to the right. His armor turns to face me. I move right again, and as expected, he follows. I crouch slightly, subtly shifting my stance to the left.

His Highness will likely predict I’ll move left. I crouch further, building power, then slam the control stick hard.

The white armor’s reaction lags at my unexpected move. Seizing the opening, I thrust my rod from the side, aiming for the balloon on his less mobile torso.

The white armor turns, but it’s too late.

He can’t dodge in time. I charge straight in.

But the white armor doesn’t dodge.

He aligns his rod with Arrogantz’s.

It’s an imperfect block—my thrust, backed by speed and weight, should overwhelm him. The moment I think that, a chill runs down my spine.

My attack is being deflected?

My thrust’s momentum is intact, yet it’s veered off course. It’s the same trick I used earlier. Applying lateral force to redirect the thrust’s momentum.

His precision is lower than mine, but in that moment, he countered with the perfect technique.

This is bad. If my all-out attack is dodged, I’ll be wide open.

As I scramble to recover my stance—

CRACK!

An unpleasant sound, like something breaking. Each movement of the control stick makes one side lag.

A small warning light flickers, signaling an issue. It’s the leg—the left leg with the balloon.

I fumble with the controls, but it’s not a quick fix.

And His Highness isn’t naive enough to miss my opening.

POP!

A burst echoes, and the monitor shows my left leg’s balloon gone. Seizing the chance, the white armor presses the attack. I have balloons on my head and torso; he has the same.

We’re even in number, but I’m at a crushing disadvantage. I block a strike aimed at my head, but my stance falters.

I shove him back with my arm, but my footing is weak, and it lacks power. The white armor stumbles a few steps but quickly recovers, launching the next attack.

Torso, head, torso, head, head, head, torso.

I desperately block, but I’m cornered in no time.

CREAK…

The right arm gripping the rod slows. It’s finally reached its limit under the strain. I move my right arm to block an incoming strike. A second before Arrogantz’s rod can protect my head, the white armor’s strike hits it.

POP!

I’m down to one balloon. I roll across the ground to create distance. His Highness, judging pursuit too risky, doesn’t follow.

As I slowly raise Arrogantz, the joints scream with metallic groans. In just a few dozen seconds, my advantage has vanished.

I’m numerically behind, my armor is battered from overuse, and my relied-upon skills are being matched. The odds of winning are nearly zero. Most would give up here.

I’m exhausted. Sweat pours uncontrollably, my throat is parched. The sweat feels gross, and under my helmet, it’s a steamy sauna of breath and perspiration. I’m done. I want to go home, sleep, and rest my head on Angie’s soft thighs.

I grit my teeth, suppressing those honest desires.

“I’ve turned the tables.”

His Highness Julius’s voice comes through the communicator. It’s calm, exuding confidence, but his breathing is heavy. He’s quite worn out too, which is my only solace.

“Care to surrender, just for the record?”

“I’d surrender in a war to save my soldiers or comrades. But this is a brawl of pride, isn’t it?”

“A brawl, huh?”

“You know what kind of man I am, Your Highness.”

“Indeed. A splendid fight, Bartfort.”

“Declaring victory already? That’s a bit premature.”

I cut the conversation and ready my rod..There’s still a faint chance to win. It’s slim, like a spider’s thread, but it’s not zero.

Fighting dirty until the end is my style. The trick is maneuvering the situation to my advantage with words and actions. Come on, take the bait.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Bartfort takes his stance. He grips the rod with both hands, raising it above the armor’s head in an overhead stance. One of the most basic stances taught to those trained in swordsmanship.

The slight irregularity in his form is likely due to the armor’s earlier malfunction. It’s an ill-suited stance for the short rod—probably a desperate choice to compensate for the damage.

He has one balloon left; I have two.

Even with the numerical advantage, I can’t afford to let my guard down. Show the slightest opening, and he’ll pounce like a ravenous beast, never letting go.

That’s the man named Leon Fou Bartfort. Only now do I understand my father and mother’s words. Judgment, decisiveness, cunning, skill, experience.

This young man is exceptional, incomparable to nobles who merely warm seats in the capital. If he has any flaw, it’s his low-born status and not being the heir—faults not his own.

That’s why the king and queen took notice, why the ducal house offered their daughter. He must be won over as an ally here and now. The conflict between the royal and ducal houses is trivial. He’s indispensable for rebuilding the Holfort Kingdom.

I cannot lose this duel.

His overhead stance leaves his final balloon exposed. It seems like a reckless, desperate choice.

It’s a trap.

A classic Bartfort tactic—exposing a weakness to control my actions. If we both had one balloon, it could be a gamble for a mutual strike.

But with my two balloons, a mutual strike guarantees my victory. He’s likely gripping the rod with both hands to deliver a full-force blow. The plan must be to destroy my head balloon and follow through to pop my torso balloon.

Can a rod do that? I don’t know.

But I’ve seen the Principality’s black armor, wielding a greatsword, cleave kingdom armors in two. The Black Knight Bandel, the Principality of Fanoss’s strongest knight.

Eerily, Bartfort’s black armor evokes that man’s image. Even as the Principality’s forces fell, he fought on, requiring five of us to bring him down.

That fear makes my body shrink. No, I can’t let it consume me. Bartfort is not Bandel.

One more strike, just one more, and I win. But that decision gnaws at my resolve.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The setup is complete. Now I just need to seize the opening. It was half a desperate bluff, but he fell for it. If he’d pressed the attack, I’d have had no chance—but His Highness overthought it, thank goodness.

I’m channeling the bare minimum power to my legs to keep standing. I hope my damaged right arm has enough strength for one hit to his head.

The left arm is critical—if it fails, I’m done. All remaining magic is diverted to the rear thrusters.

I maintain the overhead stance to hide it from His Highness, slowly building power. The moment the magic is fully charged and he shows an opening, I strike.

I don’t know how long we’ve been fighting. But I know the next strike will end it. Honestly, I don’t care about the royal or ducal houses’ feuds.

I just want to prove I’m a man worthy of Angie.

Picking a fight with a prince for that reason makes me a colossal idiot, and Ange’s anger is justified. My resolve is set. Success means victory; failure means defeat.

Things are best when they’re simple. The gauge indicates the magic buildup. When the needle hits the target value, I act.

Five—still too soon.

Four—I grip the control stick gently.

Three—I take a deep breath.

Two—I exhale slowly.

One—I lock my eyes on the white armor.

The instant the needle hits the mark, I flip the switch. A torrent of magic surges, and the rear thrusters roar to life. I slam the control stick, aiming for the white armor.

This duel hasn’t involved aerial combat. With short-range rods and no long-range weapons, it wasn’t needed. But an armor’s true battlefield is the sky. Aerial combat skills are essential.

Restricted to ground combat, His Highness is like a bird with clipped wings, unable to unleash his full strength.

I exploit his lapse in forgetting flight, trained for ground combat, to land the final blow. Firing a massive, heavy armor with full thruster power in one direction turns it into a humanoid projectile. Most wouldn’t react to such an unexpected move.

The white armor moves.

Even in shock, it launches an attack. Your Highness, you truly are incredible. Time slows. I focus every nerve on the fight, ignoring distractions.

I release my left hand from the rod, gripping it with my right alone. I swing it down at the head balloon in the shortest path. Simultaneously, I counter the white armor’s attack.

It’s a thrust aimed at Arrogantz’s torso balloon. His grip on the rod is shaky from the shock, his aim slightly off. I place Arrogantz’s left hand over the right hand gripping the white armor’s rod.

I twist his wrist hard, redirecting the thrust. It’s a basic kingdom army combat technique. Neutralizing and disarming a knife-wielding opponent.

I replicate that ingrained move with the armor. It’s my first time doing this technique with an armor, yet I feel strangely calm.

Why?

An unexplainable confidence fills me, erasing fear and hesitation. I twist the white armor’s wrist with Arrogantz’s left hand, redirecting its rod toward its own torso balloon.

At the same time, my right hand swings down at its head balloon. It takes seconds, but it feels like dozens, even hundreds.

BOOM!

The next sound isn’t a burst but an impact. A tremendous jolt, like the world flipping upside down.

Alarms blare, and I can’t tell what happened. Exhausted of strength, unable to move a finger, my consciousness fades.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳⁠

Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

This is the second half of the Leon vs. Julius duel.

I chose the most satisfying pattern for the duel’s progression from ideas I’d been considering.

The outcome is carried over to the next chapter.

The battle in the armors is over, but the duel continues just a bit longer.

It’s planned to have a different resolution from the Leon vs. Julius duel in Volume 2 of the original novel, with some added romantic fluff.

Addendum: At the client’s request, illustrations were commissioned from Kameponde-sama, Panton-sama, and Meisamu-sama.

Thank you very much.

Kameponde-sama: Pixiv (Slightly NSFW warning)

Panton-sama: Pixiv (Adult content warning)

Meisamu-sama: Skeb (Adult content warning)

I’d greatly appreciate any feedback or impressions to motivate future work.