Arc-4 Ch-13

“Multiple armors launching from the enemy airships! Repeat, multiple armors launching from the enemy airships!”

“Calm down! First, confirm their numbers!”

The sight reminds me of a childhood memory—accidentally getting too close to a beehive in the forest and watching bees swarm out as I ran in a panic. The armors pouring out from the sides and rear of the enemy airships are a threat on a completely different level from bees. Are they underestimating us by not attacking immediately, or are they cautiously forming their ranks?

Through the bridge’s window, the beautiful pre-dawn blue sky is gradually stained by the steel gray of the armors. The kingdom’s airship is surrounded by a disciplined circular formation, keeping a fixed distance. In contrast, the former duchy’s airship has a slightly disordered triangular formation.

Both are positioning their armors upfront, clearly planning to overwhelm us unilaterally.

“Total enemy armors: twenty-four! No more expected!”

“Twenty-four, huh? That’s cutting it close.”

The four claimed they could take on ten times their number and win.

On our airship’s deck, we have two armors—Greg’s and Jilk’s. Each would need to handle twelve enemies, and the enemy has two airships. By normal standards, it’s an unwinnable numbers gap. Victory hinges on the extraordinary power of the four heroes.

“Enemy count is twenty-four. Greg, Jilk, can you handle it?”

“No problem, Commander. It’s almost too easy,” Greg replies.

“Hurry up—I’ve been itching to let loose,” Jilk adds.

“Bloodthirsty bunch, aren’t you? Chris, Brad, join the airbike ambush.”

“Understood,” Chris responds.

“Leave the vanguard to me,” Brad says.

No turning back now—our strategy is already in motion. It’s about outsmarting them and executing flawlessly. I hand the intercom to Colin and step down from the commander’s seat. From now on, I’m just a foot soldier. Command of the ship is officially Colin’s. I nod to Colin through my helmet and head to the hangar. My heart’s pounding so loud it’s deafening. The moments before battle are always the scariest, the most tense.

“Operation, begin!”

Colin’s shout echoes through the ship. At that moment, my emotions seem to drift somewhere far away.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The sky pirates’ armors slowly close the distance to the Bartfort forces’ airship. They don’t have intel on how many armors the Bartfort family possesses. But there’s a limit to how many a single airship can carry. A standard Holfort Kingdom military airship, like ours, holds about ten. By simple math, we outnumber them at least two to one. Pilot skill, armor type, and equipped weapons are variables, sure. But the raw, primitive power of numbers isn’t easily overcome by half-baked tactics.

To bridge that gap, humans developed martial arts, invented weapons, and devised strategies. Martial arts are the weak’s technique, weapons their tools, strategies their wisdom.

Our victory is certain.

To lawless pirates drunk on the thrill of violence, the airship before them is like a helpless woman to a brute. The hunters can’t contain their desire before today’s prey.

VROOOOM…

The armors’ startup sounds echo through the winter sky. The freezing air, where water droplets turn to ice, mingles with the tension of murderous intent, creating an illusion of frozen time. On the deck, something rises, mostly covered by a tattered, rain-soaked tarp. Its shape is unclear, but they aim to take it down before it fully activates. To the pirates, the slowly moving armor looks like pitiful prey trembling in fear, waiting to be hunted.

BANG!

A pirate armor, unable to wait, lunges forward like a released arrow.

“Hahaha! You’re mine!”

To a greatsword-wielding armor, a human is just a moving chunk of flesh. Even another armor, if hit directly, becomes grotesque avant-garde art. As the pirate raises its arm to sate its sadistic urge—

“…Huh?”

The armor floats in the air, still poised to strike. The screen shows inhuman eyes peeking through the tarp’s gaps. It doesn’t understand what happened. It felt a strong impact the moment it attacked, and now the armor won’t move. That’s all the pilot registers. Those cold, mechanical eyes stare as they grow distant.

The surrounding armors and airships rapidly fade, enveloped by clouds. The pirate doesn’t comprehend that his armor, having lost propulsion, is plummeting to the ground. Without understanding his fate, his soul is freed from worldly ties. The sea of clouds swallows the falling armor, then glows seconds later. Those present finally realize the downed armor exploded before hitting the ground.

“What?”

“What happened?”

In mere seconds, a comrade died. No—was killed. First comes confusion, then terror and rage.

“What are you?”

“Who are you?”

“What did you do?”

The air shifts from murderous cold to the heat of fury over a fallen ally. The armor that killed their comrade moves again. It wields a lance so large it makes the armor look small. The tarp covering the lance-holding hand is already torn. The other hand rips off the remaining tarp covering its body.

At the same moment, the sun rises on the horizon, heralding a new day. Its light dyes the armor red, reflecting and illuminating the surroundings. It’s not the red of dawn staining the earth. Nor the scarlet of blooming flowers. It’s a crimson reminiscent of fresh blood spilling from a body.

A red armor, as if bathed in the blood of its enemies, stands there. Half the pirates panic at the sight. The other half trembles with confusion and the dread of hunters becoming prey. Praise its majestic form. Fear its martial prowess. This is the hero of Holfort Kingdom. The saintess’s guardian—the living lance who slaughtered her enemies most.

“Do I need to introduce myself?”

The man’s voice, mixed with static, is a death sentence.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“We’ve been had!”

A scream-like roar echoes through the former duchy airship’s bridge. Except for those too dull to grasp it, everyone is bewildered by what just happened. A single red armor downed one of theirs. That single fact shatters their mental advantage. They’re not hunters but prey—fools caught in a trap. The young upstart who negotiated played them, betting their lives on a losing gamble.

“What’s that?” Zora asks, her voice vacant.

Her obliviousness to their dire situation is almost a mercy. She’s too dull to feel the terror of facing certain death. The former knight’s frustration peaks. How can she be so ignorant and foolish?

“That’s Greg Fou Seberg’s armor! Don’t you get it? We’ve been tricked by the rogue knight!”

“Who’s that?” she asks.

“One of the five heroes of Holfort! You don’t even know the ones who crushed the duchy and the organization?”

Unable to contain his rage, he kicks a nearby chair. A scream of “Eek!” rises, but he has no time to care.

When did it start? When were they trapped? It was odd from the beginning—noble wives riding a commoner’s scheduled airship for travel between territories. Locating them in just half a day. Negotiating with confidence despite a clear numbers disadvantage. What if it was all a setup? They’ve been dancing in their palm since they targeted that airship.

In truth, it was all a string of coincidences. Dorothea giving Nix a transmitter. Dorothea traveling to Bartfort territory on a commoner’s airship. The Bartfort wives going to meet her. The remnants of the Lady’s Forest and sky pirates attacking that airship. The five heroes of Holfort visiting Bartfort territory. If any one of those hadn’t happened, this situation wouldn’t exist.

But too many coincidences feel like fate—or a meticulously planned strategy. The former knight sees it as a trap. A scheme by valiant heroes and a cunning rogue knight. In battle, underestimating the enemy breeds complacency, while overestimating them stifles action. The heroes don’t miss such openings.

“Gyaahhh!”

A dying scream echoes through the bridge, barely keeping him conscious. In the brief moment he looked away, another of their armors was slaughtered. They need to act now, or their losses will mount. The opponent is indeed one of Holfort’s top-tier heroes.

But they’re not invincible or immortal.

In the war with the Fanoss Duchy, the five heroes never lost personally, but they faced tactical and strategic defeats. Greg Fou Seberg is unmatched in close combat.

So don’t get close.

If they avoid rigid formations, keep their distance, and attack from beyond his reach, even a hero can’t do much.

“Scatter! Keep distance and focus fire!”

Great generals felled by nameless grunts are common in war. Thieves have no need to follow the rules of international warfare. They can kill, steal, and ravage as they please, using any ruthless means to survive.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“They’re moving.”

“Better coordination than expected. I thought we’d down at least three.”

“Things rarely go as planned in battle. Sorry, Greg, but you’re the decoy for now.”

The enemy shifts formation on the hangar’s screen. From a tight formation near their airship, they spread out, maintaining distance. It resembles a bird spreading its wings—a basic enveloping formation from textbooks.

While Greg takes down one armor, the others attack from a distance where his strikes can’t reach, hitting from all directions. Textbook tactics are there because they’re easy and effective. In a one-versus-many, even Greg’s strength will eventually be worn down. If we only had one more armor.

“You’re taking the lead. You sure about this?”

“With those gaps, we’re fine. We’ve got the ship and Jilk’s support.”

“The strategist shouldn’t be saying that.”

“You guys can handle it, but we’re mostly regular folks. This is the deadliest part of the plan.”

The twenty-three waiting in the hangar will ride airbikes through the enemy armors to ambush the airship holding Angie and the others. It’s a tactic from when armors didn’t exist—or when pirates couldn’t afford them. Back then, pirates tied ropes or chains between ships to board them in daring assaults. When airbikes were invented, pirates used them for raids.

It became less common after armors, but even when I was in the kingdom’s army fighting pirates, some still used this method. It’s ironic that I, who hunted pirates, am copying their tactics. Everyone mounts their airbikes and starts them. A soldier presses a button. A loud alarm blares, and the hangar doors slowly open.

The winter air stabs through our uniforms. But what’s coming is a far scarier aerial race. Weaving through enemy armors, dodging attacks, to assault their airship. One mistake, and you plummet to the ground. A graze from an airship or armor means death.

No amount of money could make me want to do this insane obstacle course. But hesitation lets the enemy regroup. This moment, as they shift formation, is our only chance.

I twist the airbike’s grip and move forward. The next few dozen seconds—boarding airship—will be the most dangerous and longest of my life.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“What are those?”

Something emerges from the Bartfort forces’ airship. I strain my eyes to make it out, and as it grows closer, I realize what it is. The moment I recognize they’re airbikes, I shout into the communicator.

“Don’t leave any gaps!”

Spreading our formation to encircle Seberg’s armor backfired. A tight formation could’ve covered the gaps. But they targeted the moment we shifted, and with Seberg’s armor still engaging ours, it’s a bad situation. They’re keeping just out of reach of Seberg’s close-combat-specialized armor.

Coincidentally, that distance is perfect for airbikes to slip through safely. Reverting the formation takes time, and in that window, the airbikes will swarm our airship.

“Stop dawdling! Shoot them down!” Zora orders from behind. The airship’s turrets take aim at the airbikes’ path. But the enemy’s sharp—they scatter the moment they notice the turrets moving. A few seconds’ delay in judgment can shift the battle. The former knight doesn’t have time to stop the barrage.

BOOM! BOOM! WHOOSH! BANG!

“Gyah!?”

“Hey!”

“Uwaa!”

Screams pour through the communicator—all from the sky pirates. Sure, a direct hit from the airship’s cannons would shred an exposed airbike pilot, turning them into mincemeat.

If it hits, that is.

“What are you doing?! You trying to hit our own?!”

“I just ordered you to shoot them down! It’s their fault for missing!” Zora snaps.

“Enough! Leave the battle to us! Stay out of it, amateur!”

The airship’s turrets require skilled hands to aim quickly. Tracking the speed and size of airbikes is nearly impossible. Worse, the enemy is weaving through the gaps between our armors. The result: the cannons miss the airbikes and hit our own armors.

“Focus on the Bartfort airship! Ignore Seberg’s armor and work together! They can’t fight if their ship goes down!”

He issues orders to the allied airship while desperately assessing the situation. Was this their plan? Choosing an airbike ambush over armor combat—did they predict our moves?

Sending only Seberg’s armor to draw attention? The friendly fire just disabled two of our armors. Careless moves will only increase our losses. Then we fall back to the basics of tactics. Armors handle armors. Airships handle airships. Ignore soldier losses and strike the enemy’s base. The former knight’s decision is tactically sound.

The simplest way to counter an enemy is to match their forces. Soldiers for soldiers. Armors for armors. Airships for airships. Armors changed warfare, but few have the firepower to down an airship.

Only another airship can do that reliably. With superior numbers, victory should be straightforward. He wasn’t foolish—just up against a terrible opponent.

“Gaaah!?”

A slowed armor, hit by friendly fire, suddenly explodes. Did its mechanical oil ignite? No, that explosion was from an attack. Immediately after, armors are halted by intermittent strikes. The attacks aren’t strong enough to destroy—just enough to stop movement temporarily.

But the red lance is here. In the seconds an armor is stalled—before it moves again—that tiny gap. The red lance never misses it, streaking through the sky.

“Where?! Where’s it coming from?!”

The source of the one-sided attack is unclear—not from the Bartfort airship’s cannons. Peering desperately through the bridge’s window, he spots something reflecting sunlight. A steel giant, gleaming with a glossy emerald light brighter than treetops. Its long weapon isn’t a spear or a sword but a rifle built for armors.

Anyone who fought in the Fanoss Duchy war would recognize that presence. With even the red armor proving troublesome, this one is despair itself.

“Jilk Fia Marmoria…”

The former knight mutters the name of despair without realizing it.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“Is everyone okay?!”

“All units are intact, as far as we can confirm. They’ll reach the duchy’s airship soon.”

“Then let’s wrap this up quick!”

The static in Greg’s transmission mixes with the sound of enemy armors breaking. Is he shouting over the destruction, or is the destruction drowned out by his voice? The enemy armors are already down to seventy percent of their original number. To heroes who repelled the duchy’s elite countless times, these enemies are insignificant.

“Some armors move well, others poorly. Their coordination is clearly lacking,” I observe.

“The better ones are probably Forest Lady’s survivors!” Greg replies.

“Then I’ll handle the skilled ones. You take care of the weaker ones.”

“Got it!”

Another armor goes down during the exchange. In Holfort, only a handful can stop Greg’s red armor. If someone could, the military would’ve recruited them eagerly. No such strength exists among frontier pirates or the remnants fleeing the capital.

Jilk’s job is to pin the enemy until Greg reduces their numbers. He adjusts the cockpit’s controls, lowering the rifle’s magic output for faster firing.

Fifteen enemies remain. At thirty seconds per takedown, that’s four hundred fifty seconds. He must ensure the Bartfort airship isn’t downed in that time. As Greg takes out armors, enemies try to rush Jilk, who’s pinning them from long range. But before they reach him, they’re sniped and stalled, then finished by a devastating blow from Greg’s armor. Flee the red armor, and the emerald armor locks you down. Flee the emerald, and the red cuts you down.

It’s no longer a battle—it’s a one-sided hunt.

“This is Jilk. Commander, status?”

“We’re holding on somehow!”

“Three hundred seconds to wipe them out. Can you hold?”

“I think we can!”

“Good. We’ll continue the plan.”

“Understood!”

The youthful voice comes through the communicator. Before departing, Bartfort stressed protecting the ship. He’s not someone I get along with, but losing the airship screws us both. I know I’m a jerk, but I’m not so low as to let personal grudges harm allies.

“Seven left!”

Greg’s voice booms through the cockpit. The enemy’s down to less than a third of their original force. Better finish this quickly, just to be safe. Jilk adjusts the rifle’s magic output again, sacrificing speed for power. As the rifle charges with magic, he takes aim and fires.

BANG! TANG! BANG!

Magic-infused bullets pierce armor plating, dealing catastrophic damage. The armors, unable to move, plummet to the ground.

“This is the end!”

Greg’s roar accompanies an explosion, swallowed by the sky. Aerial combat leaves no sound, smell, or heat—just the same blue sky as before. The only trace is faint scratches on the red armor’s lance.

“Let’s go help the little Bartfort in his first battle.”

“Right!”

In less than a thousand seconds, over twenty armors vanished. Nothing worth celebrating—just another quiet victory for the heroes.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Hearing the alarm, the sky pirates rush to the deck. The airship’s weapons struggle to hit fast-moving airbikes. Cannons and magic cannons have limited firing angles, and friendly fire concerns ban their use. It’s like swatting bees clinging to your body. The airbikes dodge nimbly, striking vital points when there’s an opening.

Their speed and size make them hard to hit. So, limit where they can attack. The hangar doors are sealed, leaving the deck as the only landing spot. Wait on the deck, use guns to shoot the airbikes. Pilots are exposed, and vehicles are vulnerable during landing. Under a hail of bullets, even sturdy airbikes become pitiful scrap.

Nearly ten pirates rush to the deck’s entrance. Kicking the door open, they spot the first airbike approaching.

“You’re the first to die.”

A murderous aim locks onto the lead bike. Seconds before pulling the trigger, a black shadow emerges from the airbike.

ZSHAA!

Realizing the shadow is a person, one pirate feels a blow to his head—the last sensation. The pirate’s severed head rolls, blood soaking the deck. The others freeze, stunned, unable to process what happened.

ZSHU! ZSHA!

A silver flash fells one, then another. The blood stench and reflected sunlight reveal it’s a sword. Their brains refuse to accept it—comrades cut down faster than they can aim and shoot. A gun, optimized for killing, outdone by a mere sword?

But they must shoot, or the figure will kill them. In panic, the pirates fire wildly without aiming. The shadow moves, using deck objects as cover. One pirate instinctively uses his gun as a shield against a descending blade.

CLANG!

The gun, made of forged iron, fails to stop the sword, cleaving both it and its wielder. Each move of the shadow sends blood spraying. Those who can’t track the reaper’s shadow feel the cold steel of a blade through their body, becoming corpses.

Cunning pirates back against walls or each other to eliminate blind spots. A sound tactic, but their mistake was forgetting the landed airbikes.

BOOM! BOOM! WHOOSH!

Unable to move, they’re hit by purple magic blasts from the airbikes’ cockpits. Some collapse, some slam into walls and pass out, others are blown off the deck. In less than a hundred seconds, two intruders slaughter over ten pirates. The culprits haven’t even broken a sweat.

“Good work taking the lead. Thanks to you, we landed safely.”

“Where are the others?”

“Heading here now. Were we too quick clearing the way?”

The man wipes blood from his sword with a few swings, checking the blade. A masterpiece, given by a swordmaster to his disowned son seeking martial perfection, it cuts through iron guns without a nick. Feeling eyes on him, he looks up to the bridge’s window, sensing multiple presences. He slowly raises his sword toward them.

“You’re next.”

The gleaming blade, reflecting sunlight, is a beast’s claw still hungry for flesh.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“Chris Fia Arclight… Brad Fou Field…”

The names of the two who stormed the airship slip from his lips unconsciously. His voice is weak, filled with despair. It’s been less than a month since the heroes destroyed their capital headquarters. He wasn’t there, but the heroes’ performance here proves their praise is no exaggeration. The armor unit is wiped out. The airship sent to down the enemy’s is cornered by the heroes’ support. More airbikes are landing on the deck.

Is this the end?

No, it’s too early to give up. They have hostages, and this airship has plenty of expendable pirates. If used well, survival is possible. Act without hesitation—pirates aren’t allies. He turns, but the hostages and Zora’s group are gone.

Blinking in disbelief changes nothing.

“Hey, where are the hostages and Zora’s group?”

“Huh?”

The former knight and a pirate’s vacant voices echo on the bridge. They were so absorbed in the battle they didn’t notice the nominal leader and hostages vanishing. They know exactly what those cowards will do. Fawn over the strong, torment the weak. Ignoring their own crimes, the former knight and pirate leader rage.

“Damn them! They fled!”

“That wretched hag!”

Beep! Beep! Beep!

An alarm blares next.

The god of fate shows no mercy to those suffering calamity.

“What now?!”

“Anomaly on the ship! Likely a fire!”

“The intruders’ doing?!”

“No idea!”

“Damn it!”

The crewman’s damage report turns into a wail.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳

Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

This chapter highlights the four idiots’ brilliance. The five idiots were pummeled by Leon in the original kingdom arc’s duel, but drawing from the republic arc and finale, I aimed for “strong, cool heroes” and “otome game capture targets.” The gap between Leon, a trained everyman, and these reformed geniuses will be significant in future developments. Next chapter shifts to Leon’s perspective, showcasing the rogue knight’s terror.

Addendum: At the client’s request, illustrations were commissioned from Tama-sama and Dolphilia-sama. Thank you!

Tama-sama:   Pixiv

Dolphilia-sama: Pixiv  

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