Chapter 26: Chapter 26: Victory In Two Months (1/2)
//"Running scans now, but preliminary results show that the mech is operating well above MT parameters! Leon, it's an AC!"//
"Tell me something I don't know!" Leon shouts, boosting to avoid incoming fire as he lets loose with his laser rifle. The enemy mech formation scatters as he opens comms to the Holfortans. "Lion-1 to all border squadrons, we have unknowns in combat! Converge and engage! Fleet, come in!"
"We read you, Marshwell!" Lord Arclight's voice answers. "The Bright Blade is en-route– 20 minutes out!"
"Understood, we'll try to hold out for as long as we can!" Leon responds, switching his laser rifle for a shotgun as Lion squadron blitzes into combat. "Come on, bastards!"
"I will be your opponent, boy!" the lead armor zooms in, dodging shotgun blasts and drawing a physical blade– no different than an upsized greatsword. "Hraagh!"
Leon jinks left, dodging the slash, and fires two blasts into his opponent's right flank. The impact jerks the mech and tears off plating to reveal the underbody of the machine, but the damage besides is minimal enough that the enemy pilot turns with the blow and swings again. Leon quick-boosts backwards, reducing a direct hit to the head part into a light scratch along his AC's upper left chest plate. He boosts backwards, shotgun barking, and grits his teeth as the enemy pilot quick-boosts away from his shots.
//"They have Holfortan armor plating over standardized AC parts that don't match with the design philosophy that Holfort uses for their mechs! Whoever they are, they're not with Holfort!"// Hustler One says.
Leon's shotgun clicks empty and he boosts forward. His energy blade ignites and he slashes forward, the enemy mech blocking the blow with its physical blade.
"I never expected Fanoss to be this daring." Leon says to the enemy pilot. "It's only been a decade since their last defeat– surely they can't be itching for another so soon."
"You are quick to assume we're from the Principality." the enemy pilot answers.
"Don't make me laugh!" Leon scoffs, booster activating and pushing his energy blade against the physical one in the enemy pilot's grasp. "You come flying here from the principality's side of the border, piloting an advanced Armor covered in Holfortan-colored plating, yelling about us Holfortan's being scum– you might as well carve the Principality coat-of-arms on your chest plate and shoulder pauldrons!"
//"...strange. His sword isn't melting or deforming from prolonged heat exposure to the energy blade."// Hustler One hums. //"Scanning now."//
"Perhaps. Perhaps not." the mystery pilot engages his own boosters and pushes back. He angles his weapon and smashes its guard against the 'face' of Leon's AC as both he and Leon separate. "Either way, it is not my place to say."
"Crafty bastard…" Leon growls, switching to his squadron comms. "Lion Squadron, come in! Sit-rep!"
"Lion-4 and Lion-3 are down but reinforcement squadrons are just arriving, sir!" Lion-2 reports. "These pilots are good, real good! They're outnumbered, but we're barely putting scratches on them! We're sorry sir, but we can't assist without losing people in the process!"
Leon feels his heart swell with pride. They remembered their lessons on proper mech tactics. They'd make for decent pilots yet.
"Then don't. Rally with the reinforcements and focus fire on the other Armors. Make sure Lion-4 and Lion-3 didn't go down in vain." Leon grits his teeth, reloading his shotgun. "The lead one's mine."
"Finished speaking with your underlings, boy?" the enemy pilot laughs. "Worry not, I'll be sure to send them after you."
"Bring it, Fanoss Fuckbag!" Leon snarls, opening fire.
=X=X=X=X=X=
Vandel feels the adrenaline thrum in his veins as he boosts forward, trying to close the distance even as the Kingslayer shoots.
Many times he was criticized for his use of a sword and little else. Too dangerous, said the younger members of his elite unit, for a warrior of his caliber. Too foolish, said the more daring members of the court, for man of his experience. And they were right.
Times have changed. Guns and cannons have largely rendered swords obsolete, especially among Armors. After all, why fly in close to fight in melee when attacking from range would achieve similar, if not better, results? It also mitigated risks to the attacker, allowing them to attack without much worry to their own safety so long as they kept shooting at their targets. Wielding a sword in that situation would be significantly more dangerous for the attacker as the target could just shoot back at them as they approached.
But Vandel knows this, and still he persists with the use of his sword. Why?
Because there is no greater feeling than to kill Holfortans using the same methods that their ancestors used to forge their despicable kingdom. To inflict onto them the same pain and shame that they inflicted onto him when they took his wife and daughter from him so long ago…
It was cathartic.
So it is that Vandel Him Zenden has mastered the blade and the dodge, allowing him to weave through incoming fire and close the distance within moments.
With a yell, he swings his blade as he enters melee range. The weapon sweeps upwards, only just beginning to bite into the Kingslayer's armor before it boosts out of reach. He shoots again, but Vandel boosts through the incoming bullets; ignoring the alarms from his Armor about damage accumulation.
It was fine. His Armor can take a few glancing hits. He only needs to land one on the boy and the fight would be over.
"Cease running, boy!" he roars. "Face me!"
His sword sings as it swings, cleaving through the air with the sort of precision only masters had. The boy is quick, dodging his flurry of attacks with deft twitches and rapid boosts that speak volumes of his talent as a pilot, but he's not infallible. Even glancing blows from the disguised Adamantine Edge are catastrophic to any Armor, carving through plating and limbs with the same ease as a hot knife would a block of butter.
The first small cut Vandel lands on the Kingslayer's Armor carves a diagonal gash through the Armor chest plate– deep enough for the pilot to see out of.
This is enough for the boy to finally exchange his shotgun for a proper physical blade as the Kingslayer Blade ignites on his left arm. He enters a dueling stance that has Vandel wary, before surging forward.
He is silent as they duel, exchanging blows as they fly through the air; traversing the full breadth of the surrounding area as their underlings fight. And against all odds, Vandel finds himself pressed backwards under the speed, grace, and ferocity of the boy's assault. The Kingslayer Blade, that white-blue blade of light, hums as its wielder swings it.
But he does not fight as a swordsman fights. His attacks are brutal in their efficiency, and blindingly fast. Indeed, he does not strike often with the blade of light– most of the time he spends on the defensive; using the physical blade to parry the Adamantine Edge and forcing openings in Vandel's guard. And even then, he waits for a proper one that both of them know could end the fight there and then.
His first true strike with the Kingslayer Blade is blocked by the Adamantine Edge, leaving a line of glowing mythril where the Blade's edge had slid over; superficial damage at best but still worrying..
The second is a glancing blow after he parries a slash from Vandel, throwing him off-balance just enough for an upward slash to scrape his front plate and leave a glowing line along the front of his Armor.
But it's the third and final strike that forces Vandel to back away.
Their last exchange has the boy on the offensive, feinting heavily with the Kingslayer Blade while his physical blade tests Vandel's defenses. The Black Knight of Fanoss deflects and blocks where he can, but he dares not parry– fearing a strike from the weapon that ended a war in a mere 4 months.
Then, the boy overextends with a thrust that Vandel parries with a shove. The blue-white Armor lists backwards from the attack and the Black Knight surges forward with an overhead slash–
The boy moves and kicks him.
Vandel is flung back, stunned for a brief second. When he blinks the shock out of his system, he sees the blazing light of the Kingslayer Blade and panic-jinks right. But he's not quick enough, and the Kingslayer Blade bites into the Armor's torso– its heat searingly hot and outright incinerate's Vandel's left arm. He grits his teeth through the agony and boosts away, the boy pursuing at first before suddenly stopping.
Vandel glances at his onboard map and almost laughs. Somehow, he'd crossed the Fanoss-Lura border without even noticing. How fortunate.
"L-Lord Vandel! Your Armor!" one of his underlings shouts through the comms. "Are you alright?!"
He ignores him in favor of addressing the boy.
"Hmph. So it seems the tales about you were not all false." he says, careful to keep the pain out of his voice. "Your duel with the Carkus King was not all luck."
"I like to believe that my piloting skills aren't all bad." the pilot laughs, breathless. "You're not too bad yourself, even if you do handicap yourself by not packing and ranged options. Were I a better shot, I could have killed you ages ago."
"That sounds to me like whining. How unsurprising." Vandel taunts, spreading open his arms. "Come then, Kingslayer. Will you not pursue me? Or perhaps open fire on me with one of your weapons?"
"And potentially start another war with Fanoss? I'm not dumb, pilot." the boy snorts. "But then, you're the one that fled to a place I cannot follow. So please, do humiliate yourself further since you're too cowardly to face me."
"There is no cowardice in living to fight another day." Vandel snarls. "And believe me, we will be fighting again, Kingslayer."
"I have a name, and I know you know it." the boy scoffs. "At least be polite and tell me yours before you flee."
"Hmph, brat." Vandel snorts. "You may call me… Nero."
It was the name of the old Fanossian ruler who led the Principality after they had separated from Holfort long ago, meaning 'black'. It shouldn't take him too long to figure it out.
"The next time we meet will be our last, Kingslayer." Vandel promises, turning around as he orders his squadron to retreat. He's gotten what he came for, no reason to entertain this any longer than he already has. "Be certain of that."
=X=X=X=X=X=
//'The material of his sword matched no known chemical composition in the periodic table, and it had absurd heat tolerance. Its edge was also mono-molecular and highly resistant to dulling– maybe even outright immune to it. Why this 'Nero' character decided not to turn it into bullets or AC armor, I'll never know. Probably New Human nonsense or something."// Hustler One grumbles. //"The Old Corporations would wage wars over that kind of material, and he's made it into a sword of all things. A sword!"//
"Yes, and I very nearly lost an eye to it, Hustler." Leon retorts, letting the doctor stitch shut the gash on his face. "Do you mind shutting up and let me have a moment to think?"
//"...Right. I apologize."// the A.I says, voice a little low.
Lord Arclight's personal flag ship, the Bright Blade, had arrived a few minutes after Nero and his squad had fled Leon and the rest of the border squadrons had flown aboard. They had sustained losses– 7 Armors across 3 Squadrons in exchange for 2 Armors on the mystery squadron's side. A terrible trade, but Leon reasons that the losses could have been higher.
It was 20 custom MTs against 5 mass-produced ACs. Against that high of a force concentration, such a number of losses for 2 ACs would have been a momentous occasion for the unit back in his old life. It stood as a testament to how well he's trained his men that they only lost 7 people and Armors and no more than that.
But injuries were plenty, Leon included; a deep gasp on his left cheek where the edge of Nero's blade had cut into when he landed that one lucky hit on his AC's front plate, carving a horizontal line along the 'chest' area of his mech. He had leaned back as far as he could to avoid the blade, but it still cut deeply into his left cheek– carving a line up from his bottom left jaw and stopping half an inch away from his left nostril.
His Human+ Lite augments had managed to stem the bleeding and immediately numbed the pain, but until they did holy shit did it hurt.
"Whatever. Keep quiet for a bit, Arclight's coming." Leon grunts as the commander of the Luran Invasion force all but runs to Leon. "Evening, Lord Arclight."
"I came as soon as I heard about your injury, Marshwell." the older man says, a little breathless. He winces at the stitching being done on Leon's wounded cheek. "Saint's breath– what happened out there?"
"We were assaulted by a squadron of unmarked Armors that flew in from the Fanoss side of the border. 5 Armors in total." Leon reports. "I ordered reinforcements from the other border units to come in to assist my squadron while I engaged the enemy squad leader alone. Upon closer inspection, I found that the Armor was of foreign make with Holfortan-colored armor plating layered over it." He pauses to let the older man digest what he's said and allow the doctor to finish treatment. "Thanks Doc. We dueled, but the enemy pilot proved really good; he wove through my gunshots and engaged me in melee with a sword."
"...was it a greatsword?" Lord Arclight gasps, paling.
"Yes, though plain and unadorned. But it was sharp enough to cut through my Armor's plate and resist the energy blade I wield with nary a scratch." Leon nods. "He pursued me relentlessly until I gave up trying to gain enough distance to shoot him at range and instead dueled him in melee. His Armor proved weak to my energy blade, though– and eventually I drove him off after landing a good hit on his Armor's torso."
"Did it have a red cape?" the older man practically demands. "Any identifiable Fanossian markings underneath the armor plate? What did he sound like, an older gentleman with a hatred for us Holfortans?"
"I didn't see a cape and there were no Fanossian markings on the Armor proper, but… yes, he did sound like an older gentleman with a particular hatred for us Holfortans." Leon angles his face to let the doctor bandage him. "Lemme guess– he's the Black Knight of Fanoss?"
A hush falls around Leon's immediate vicinity; wide eyes filled with equal parts fear, awe, and admiration being directed his way by his boys, the ship crew, and members of the ship's garrison. Whispers start breaking out as glances are sent to Leon and his damaged mech; pointing and talking about all the lines and cut into it.
"No other Armor pilot wields a sword that can cut through Armors as easily as you say with such skill that they can match even you." the Sword Saint starts pacing. "I had the misfortune of fighting him in the last Holfort-Fanoss war. His skill with the blade far surpasses mine, to the point that I was defeated within minutes. If it weren't for His Highness the King's intervention, I would not be alive here today."
"Hmph. And he's promised to kill me at our next meeting." Leon grumbles, much to the horror of the onlookers. "Oh, grow up– everyone dies in the end! Don't let that fear rule you! Use it to motivate yourself into becoming better so you can overcome it!"
"...you speak truly, Lord Marshwell." Lord Arclight nods. "My boy Chris could stand to learn a thing or two from you. Tell me, what do you think of a stay at the Arclight estate so you can learn the art of the blade alongside my son?"
"I'll think about it after we conquer Lura." Leon deflects. "With this encounter and the confirmation of who's behind it, we'll have to assume that Fanoss is planning something. And if we're caught off-guard because of it–"
"It would complicate the conquest unacceptably. The King's 6-month decree would be thrown into disarray." Lord Arclight hisses. "We cannot allow that to happen. The political ramifications alone would be dangerous, not to mention the risk of another war with Fanoss. Our current forces do not allow us to contest both Luran and Fanossian military forces at the same time, not if we are to maintain our current speed."
"Then we'll simply pick up the pace." Leon says. "We take the Pocket Kingdom before Fanoss pulls off whatever it is they're planning as soon as possible, then reorient just in case they do anyway. It's the only way to be sure."
"We have no idea what timeframe the Fanossians are working with, or what their plan even is." Lord Arclight argues.
"We don't have to know. We just need to be ready for it, whatever it is." Leon argues back. "And to do that, we'll need to conquer the Pocket Kingdom as soon as possible."
"...we're just a month into the invasion. How much sooner do you think we need to conquer the Pocket Kingdom, in light of Fanoss' activities?" the older man swallows, fighting the urge to step back at the fire burning in Leon's gaze.
"We can take Lura in another month." Leon says.
"that's impossible." Harvey automatically responds. "Conquering a kingdom, however small, can't possibly be done in just 2 months."
Leon stares up at the Arclight patriarch, gaze blazing hot in their intensity.
"Watch me." he promises.
Weekly Power Status
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Ranking 
-- Power
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