Chapter 5: Tournament V - Sabotage

Thunk thunk. Someone was knocking on his door. The man looked up from the reports he had been reading in annoyance. I thought that I had ordered that I not be interrupted? he thought. But then again, if they’re risking my wrath, but the matter must be important.

“Enter,” he said. His deep voice easily passed the thick luxurious wood that formed his door, and the person on the other side came in. 

“Pardon me,” the woman dressed in a maid uniform said as she came in and closed the door behind her. She bowed deeply. “Lord Maxime.”

Lord Maxime’s eyes narrowed when he saw who his visitor was. He put down his pen and leaned forward. “I’ve been waiting for you. So tell me, is it necessary?”

“Apologies, lord. I have not seen the performance. I’ve done what you asked, but please reconsider this.”

He waved his hand. “I’ve made up my mind. Come and watch with me and give me your opinions on whether or not she is a threat.” On his comms, he opened two videos and a stream in parallel. The Vasair’s figure was gallantly on display in all three.

The first video was of the Vasair hunting down and destroying the Bismuth. 

The Vasair dodged from side to side unpredictably whenever the Bismuth fired. Sometimes, it even ducked. The end result was that many of the Bismuth’s shots missed, while the ones that hit were too spread out to penetrate the warrior mech’s armor.

“This pilot—Annabelle, was it—has very good judgement and reactions,” Lord Maxime said. “What do you think?”

The maid shook her head. “I believe the young master can handle it. He won’t lose to just this. Besides, her opponent seems to be much less skilled than both the young master and this pilot. You can’t judge the strength of an elephant by how easily it crushes an ant.”

“Well said. But you do admit the pilot in question is skilled and in possession of good instincts?”

The maid didn’t answer.

After a few more seconds, Lord Maxime fast forwarded the video to the melee confrontation between the Bismuth and the Vasair. When the Bismuth discarded its rifle and charged into melee range with its knives, it dodged the Vasair’s opening overhead chop. 

However, it had underestimated the Vasair’s power. The warrior mech chopped back sideways and took off the Bismuth’s legs, ending the battle.

Lord Maxime knew the cost of doing such a thing, as did his maid. Probably.

Putting so much power into a chop then and immediately dragging the sword in another direction should have permanently damaged the mech’s artificial musculature. Switch the mech with a human and the move would have pulled a muscle or dislocated something.

At least, that’s what he expected to happen.

Reality was different. The damage report told them that mech had suffered only temporary stress, just bordering on the permanent damage.

After a brief moment of silence, Lord Maxime shook his head in admiration. “The pilot walks a fine line, pulling that trick.”

Too little power and the act wouldn’t have been convincing and the rifleman wouldn’t have fallen for the bait. Too much power and the mech wouldn’t have been able to reverse without damaging itself.

It spoke volumes of how the pilot knew how to push the mech right to its limits, but no more, bringing out its maximum potential without damaging it.

The maid could only agree. 

However, just as he was about to move on to the next video, Lord Maxime suddenly slammed his fist onto the table as he realized something important. “Wait! How long has she been piloting this mech?”

Startled by the sudden violence, the maid rushed to check. “Sir, the records say that...only as long as the tournament...” 

He had heard enough, so he cut her off. “Most pilots, even with Grade A aptitude, would have taken days or weeks to reach that kind of familiarity with their mech!” 

Fearing the worst, he began searching through Annabelle’s academic records, focusing on one specific aspect—damage reports. The more he looked, the more of a headache he got.

A pattern quickly became clear: on average, Annabelle finished her spars with much less damage taken than her peers. In her victories, the damage from excessive stress was extremely low, which suggested she never pushed her mech past its limits when she fought.

In contrast, almost all of her high-ranking peers had much higher internal stress damage in their victories. To win, they squeezed as much performance from their mechs as they could. The same could not be said for Annabelle.

If she attained rank 8 while fighting conservatively, then what would happen if she went all out?

Even if she does not overclock her mech, what would happen if she fought an endurance battle where, at the starting line, she was the only one with intact internals?A runner at a marathon near the finishing line who had been pacing herself and jogging while her competitors had been sprinting?

Couldn’t she crush the competition with the sheer amount of power her mech had left?

Looking through the current damage reports, the Vasair was still fighting at near maximum efficiency. Meanwhile, pushing his mech beyond its limits has dropped his son Alecto’s mech to below 90 percent efficiency, and it would only exacerbate faster from there as damage and wear and tear racked up.

The man groaned and massaged his temples. “This is bad. She’s an even greater threat to Alecto than the others. No question about it, we have to get rid of her if Alecto is to have a chance at winning this.”

A look at the stream reaffirmed his beliefs.

Annabelle had practically dismantled her third opponent, barely taking any damage in return. Of course, her opponent was hampered by the terrain, but Annabelle was still an extremely skilled pilot, a fact made more apparent by the minute with each blow she landed without taking one in return.

He even felt pity for the pilot of the spearman mech whose spear thrusts was perpetually being stuffed by Annabelle’s shield—a shield she didn’t even start the battle with! That creativity was another point against her. 

“That’s it.” Lord Maxime reached under the table and pulled out a switch. As he was about to flip it, the maid stopped him.

“Please wait!

“What!”

“Lord, the punishment for sabotaging a mech through its neural interface is... very severe. Are you sure we must do this?” she asked. “Why can’t we believe in the young master?”

Surely he won’t lose, her eyes seemed to tell him.

“The damage isn’t permanent. We’re just going to make her faint. The BME will likely let the matter pass if we don’t go too far and the effort of prosecuting us isn’t worth it,” Lord Maxime said.

But the maid shook her head. “Sir, accidents can happen. Is it worth it the risk?”

Lord Maxime held her gaze for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “We will watch how this battle pans out.”

The Vasair had drawn close to the Avald. From what he could see, the pilot of the Avald wasn’t too much worse than his son. If that girl, Annabelle, wins by too much, then he’ll definitely pull the trigger.

 

“I’m always ready to accept your challenge, Bel,” Annabelle said. Raising her shield and tightening the hold she had on her sword, she charged forward, only to slow down as Belevere raised her spear in a way that she’d never seen Belevere do before.

“What are you pulling?” she asked, though she didn’t really expect a straight answer if Belevere hadn’t told her already.

Belevere just beckoned her with the tip of her spear, waving it up and down tauntingly. “Something I couldn’t before, thanks to all those trees. Not taking into account your resourcefulness was my mistake, but now I’ll pay it all back to you, Anne.”

As soon as she finished talking, while Annabelle was still processing her words, Belevere charged forward. 

Clang! The tip of her spear was smashed aside by Annabelle’s shield. Like before, Annabelle thrust her sword forward, intent on landing a quick blow, but before she could, the Avald stepped back.

“Don’t think I’ll keep standing there for you to hit,” Belevere shouted. Annabelle blinked in surprise. Belevere was being really intense today; she remembered Belevere as someone more mild before.

As Annabelle contemplated pressing the attack, Belevere made the decision for her not to. She didn’t fight the momentum from Annabelle repelling her spear, but took advantage of it to reverse her grip and thrust forward with the butt of the spear.

Annabelle widened her eyes and tried to retreat, but it was too late.

The end of the pole shot forward like a viper, impacting squarely on the Vasair’s chest, cracking the armor and pushed it back. Annabelle stumbled as she tried to regain her balance. She cursed under her breath as the Avald advanced.

But instead of thrusting again, Belevere pulled back her spear, sliding her grip toward the bottom of the staff. Then she swung the whole length of the spear down toward the Vasair’s head.

Annabelle hurriedly put up her shield above her head, but blocking the heavy attack while off balance sent her mech crashing into the grass on its back.

“So that’s what you mean by not having enough room,” she grumbled. Belevere would never have been able to flip her spear like that over and over in those trees. Only on these plains did she have enough space.

“That’s right. As you know, this kind of attack isn’t taught in our courses. I came up with it on my own after seeing your own warrior’s style over and over. I didn’t show anyone this before today, Anne. You’re the first!”

After that full-throated shout, Belevere thrusted her spear forward.

With nothing she could do, Annabelle threw her shield, forcing Belevere back instinctively as something flew at her. The shield clanked against the Avald’s armor, but was quiet. Not much damage had been done beyond maybe a dent or something—Annabelle didn’t have time to check. 

Fortunately, Annabelle hadn’t been aiming for damage. In the brief moment she bought with that throw, Annabelle engaged her mech’s back thrusters to get up, only to find that her fall had crushed those attachments. Mechs weren’t meant to be prone on the floor. 

“Shit,” she said, even as Belevere let out a cry of frustration.

Thinking quick, she threw the sword she looted from the Galinn as well. Belevere probably hadn’t been expecting her to throw her weapon too, so she managed to buy herself another second or so.

At the same time, she disengaged the lock on her two-handed sword—thankfully that component stayed intact—and rolled to the side, just as a spear pierced into the grass where her cockpit had been a moment before.

“Stop dodging. Just die already!” The frustration was thick in Belevere’s voice.

“Attractive proposal. I’ll think about it.” 

As Belevere pulled her spear back to prepare for another go, Annabelle reached out and grabbed the haft, pulling down. 

The sudden weight upsetted the Avald’s balance, and just as Belevere attempted to compensate by increasing her pulling, Annabelle pushed instead, destroying whatever was left of the Avald’s balance. Belevere fell with a yelp. “Damn you, Anne!”

Annabelle ignored her and grabbed for her sword. She managed to stand up just as Belevere did. She hurried back away and readied her sword, putting it on her shoulder.

For a moment, the two just stood there, formulating their next moves.

“You know, it’s a pity we’re not in the jungle anymore,” Annabelle joked, breaking the silence.

Instead of replying, Belevere rushed forward. Annabelle dodged to the side, only to realize it was the wrong move. Instead of going for a thrust like Annabelle expected her to, Belevere swept her spear horizontally, cracking the shaft of the spear against the Vasair’s flank.

As the spear bounced off, Belevere used the space the bouncing created, combined with Annabelle’s dodging, to accelerate another lighter blow that nonetheless managed to score a hit.

“A spear is more than just its tip!” she shouted.

Annabelle grimaced. For a half-wrecked mech, the Avald was really holding up well. Even the fall didn’t manage to take it out. Belevere had really outdone herself this time.

While she’d normally be happy for her friend, this was an important match.

After taking a deep breath, Annabelle stepped forward again, holding the sword in front of her instead of on her shoulder this time. Less force generated with her first swing, safer. Against this new Belevere, she couldn’t be too careful.

The move proved prudent. The moment Annabelle crept past an imaginary point of no return, the Avald burst into movement. The spear slipped forward in the Avald’s grip until Belevere stopped it, holding a quarter away down its length. Then the Avald turned, even going so far as to reveal its back on Annabelle for an instant.

But she couldn’t even take advantage of it. There was no time.

“Please don’t give.”

The only thing Annabelle could do was utter a quick prayer to her weapon. She raised her sword, bracing her hand against the edge as a shield against the tip of the spear that whipped toward her, having gained a devastating amount of speed and momentum from turning almost a full circle. 

Crack!

Shards of metal flew through the air.