The Mearea’s repair bay, transformed into a development team’s workspace, buzzed with activity.

Percy, the development team leader, addressed Emma, her image projected on a monitor.

“Lieutenant Rodman, this is the final test. The success or failure of this project depends on the outcome.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

It had been two years since the Mearea had been sent to the Seventh for repairs. The former Frontier Security Fleet, with the Mearea as its flagship, had supported the development of the Atalante.

One light aircraft carrier. One cruiser. Four destroyers.

This was a small force by the standards of the space army, but it was a fitting fleet for developing a single mobile knight.

“We’ve been through a lot, but I’m grateful for your work.”

“Hehehe.”

The development team almost fainted from the cuteness of Emma’s bashful smile.

This young girl was piloting the challenging Atalante, a mismatch that seemed almost comical.

It would have been more natural to assign an experienced, talented knight as the test pilot, but in truth, Emma was the only one who could handle the Atalante.

“The development team will disband after this test.”

“I’ve heard. You’re going back to the Third Weaponry Factory?”

"That’s right. Whether or not we develop a successor to the Atalante is debatable, but we’ll be working on the development of new models.”

The development team would disband after this, no matter the outcome.

It signified the end of the Atalante project.

Percy told Emma, “I plan to make a machine that surpasses the Atalante someday. When I do, I’ll send it to you first, so don't die before then.”

“We haven’t even finished the test yet.”

Emma smiled, a little bewildered, and Percy showed her faith in her.

"I believe in you. I know you’ll succeed. Okay, let’s start the test.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The Atalante, launched from the Mearea’s hangar, was equipped with the Atalante-specific multi-purpose rifle in its right hand.

It was a long, expensive weapon capable of both rapid fire and sniping. It could switch between real ammunition and optical weapons, a valuable tool.

The Atalante, in standard mode, flew towards a rocky area. It aimed its rifle at a target that had been prepared.

It fired while moving, and its accuracy was impressive.

One wrong step, and it could hit a floating rock, causing significant damage to the Atalante.

Firing at a target in such a difficult environment was a major strain on the pilot.

Emma managed to do it flawlessly.

One of Percy’s subordinates spoke excitedly, seeing Emma’s score.

“Lieutenant has a knack for shooting. That’s a great score.”

Emma was average in hand-to-hand combat, nothing special for a knight, but she had a knack for something else.

Her shooting skills had improved recently.

Percy explained, “Naturally. The lieutenant has been doing rigorous training since the modifications. I’d be in trouble if she didn’t get good results.”

She said she’d be in trouble, but her tone was excited.

Percy had seen Emma’s efforts, and she was glad that they had paid off.

Her subordinates exchanged smiles and laughter, and the test moved on to the next phase.

“We’ll deploy a virtual Raccoon unit. Lieutenant Rodman, please enter overload mode.”

“Understood!”

The Atalante began to glow, and a yellow electrical discharge emanated from its joints.

From the Mearea, the Atalante, clearly accelerating, could be seen weaving through the obstacle-filled area.

The Atalante's trajectory left a trail of yellow light, like a line.

Percy crossed her arms.

“I’m not looking forward to seeing what kind of machine they’ll use to oppose her.”

...

Doug, the pilot of the First Platoon, and a member of the Third Platoon aboard the Mearea, was piloting a Raccoon.

His assault rifle was loaded with paintballs, so it wouldn’t be a problem if they hit the Atalante.

But Doug was sweating.

“The girl’s coming, Larry!”

He was nervous because he had seen how dangerous the Atalante was in overload mode.

He had fought against it many times during previous tests, and the Atalante had been formidable.

Larry, in his Raccoon, began to attack.

“I know, I know.”

Larry tried to snipe it, but there were too many obstacles, and he couldn’t take the time to aim properly. His shots missed.

The paintballs hit the rocks, splattering blue paint.

Doug yelled, “I told you to fire randomly instead of aiming!”

Doug’s Raccoon began firing paintballs from its assault rifle.

The surrounding rocks were painted blue, but none of the shots hit the Atalante.

He quickly ran out of ammo and had to change the magazine.

In the meantime, Emma’s Atalante had closed in.

“No mercy, kiddo!”

Doug grumbled. Larry, as if in retaliation, shouted back.

"That's why you get caught off guard, because you waste bullets!”

Emma’s Atalante, with its multi-purpose rifle, fired two paintballs directly at Doug’s Raccoon—in the cockpit.

Doug’s Raccoon was painted red, and the system reported.

“Direct hit on the cockpit.”

“Damn it!”

Doug swore, frustrated with himself. His machine couldn’t move.

As he floated there, he heard Larry’s scream.

“That’s so unfair!”

It seemed that Larry had been caught off guard and shot from behind.

Larry was also stuck, complaining from his cockpit.

“There’s no way to beat that thing! Even with the Raccoon, it’s not even a competition. The difference in performance is too much.”

Doug, now free to talk, tried to reassure him.

“Don’t worry. That girl is the only one who can pilot that machine. If even the Raccoon can’t stand up to her, it wouldn’t matter what machine we used.”

The Raccoon was a state-of-the-art mass-produced machine, exceptionally well-made.

If even the Raccoon couldn’t handle it, it would be useless to bring in any other machine.

“I…guess so.”

Doug checked his seat for comfort.

“Still, it’s not bad. No, it’s a great machine. It’s a big improvement from the Moheeb.”

The cockpit of the Raccoon was more advanced than the Moheeb, the standard for mass-produced machines.

Larry seemed to agree.

“Yeah, it's not bad at all. I didn’t think the newest machine would be this good. But don’t you think they could have done something about the looks? It’s not bad, but it’s not great.”

It was imposing, but not aesthetically pleasing to knights or soldiers.

But Doug had grown to appreciate the Raccoon.

“What? I think it’s great."

“C’mon, you’re kidding, right?!”

While the two of them talked, the test ended.

Comms crackled with complaints from other units.

“If we’re going to fight against a machine that’s meant for knights, they should have brought in some knights.”

“You’re right.”

“They’re not going to send any more knights to a place like this, are they?”

The pilots from their squad were complaining.

Doug thought.

(They’re a bit brighter than before, but they’re not going to be actively training any time soon.)

The ships and mobile knights were state-of-the-art, but the crew was bottom of the barrel.

Doug was more aware of it than anyone else.

(I wish the girl would transfer to a unit that’s more motivated.)

He thought that she would be better off in another unit instead of decaying here with them.

...

The Mercenary Guild headquarters.

A disciplinary hearing was taking place within the mercenary organization known as Valkyrie.

The Grand Commander was interrogating Sirena, the commander of one of the organization’s elite factions, Dahlia.

"Sirena, you’ve caused a big problem for the Mercenary Guild. I never thought you’d go after the Seventh Weaponry Factory. The Empire, the factory, and the nobles—they’ve all been protesting. This is a mess.”

He was blaming her for the trouble she had caused. Sirena looked calm.

“I apologize.”

“Your group has been cut in half. I’m not sure if you still meet the conditions for being a senior organization. What do you say?”

The Dahlia Mercenary Group had lost about a thousand ships in the battle against the Banfield family, but their overall strength was still over half of what it had been.

Sirena smiled confidently.

“We've already replenished our forces. We made some money after the Seventh job, working our usual line of work. We’ve actually grown in number since then.”

She wasn’t lying. It was true.

After attacking the Seventh Weaponry Factory, they had done a job in the middle of a war between nobles.

They had used this opportunity to replenish their ranks.

The Grand Commander smiled.

“It doesn’t matter if you increase the number if it takes forever to train them.”

"We’re doing our jobs. We’ve paid our dues. I don’t understand what more you could possibly want.”

The other leaders glared at Sirena.

They were all part of the Mercenary Guild’s leadership, but that didn’t mean they were allies. They were rivals who fought amongst themselves.

There were many mercenary groups who weren’t part of the leadership and were vying for their position, hoping to knock them out of their seats.

It was a brutal world of competition.

The Grand Commander told Sirena, "Alright, I’ll take care of the complaints from the Seventh. But understand this: you’re not going to be using the Seventh ever again.”

“That’s the plan.”

She had accepted the job knowing that she wouldn't deal with the Seventh again.

The questioning of Sirena eased up, and the topic shifted. They discussed places where conflicts were intense, and Sirena smiled while fuming inside.

(Thanks to those Banfield knights, this has been a real hassle. Chensie is just one person, but the real issue is the guy who led the fleet. Is he a soldier, or a knight? And…)

She couldn’t forgive the girl who held such sweet, naive ideals.

(Emma Rodman—be ready when we meet again on the battlefield.)