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My consciousness had blacked out, and when I came to, Arkecius’ left leg was gone.

“What in the world happened…?”

Thanks to my constitution, my recovery was fast—that was the only saving grace. Even so, the blow to my head left my mouth and nose filled with the taste of blood. I wiped my nose and lips with the back of my hand, smearing away the blood that clouded my vision in a crimson haze.

“Alfe… Hom…”

There was no sign that they were still engaged with Estea, but neither of their machines could be seen nearby either. With Arkecius’ left leg severed, there was no way it could move around anymore. At best, I could force my torso upright and try to take in the state of the colosseum.

Johnny’s commentary couldn’t be heard—perhaps even he had retreated in the face of such overwhelming power.

The colosseum and the stands were separated by Ms. Matilda’s powerful barrier. I could hear the audience’s unrest, but even that reached me only as faint, hushed whispers.

“…So this is Estea’s true strength…”

It was a technique she had never revealed in any of her previous battles. Not only the ground, but even the walls of the colosseum had been carved apart. The blades of wind she unleashed had branched into countless slashes, gouging indiscriminately outward from the center of the stage.

“…Alfe…”

Alfe’s Lemures lay silent, embedded in the wall of the arena. She had deployed a defensive barrier, but with the light armor of a magic soldier like Lemures, it likely couldn’t withstand the shock.

“…R-reporting the situation… Lemures, operator unconscious—no, still moving! And Arkecius, left leg destroyed, effective judgment—!”

Alfe had shown her grit. She wouldn’t be able to get back up and fight, but that was enough. Even though Arkecius had already lost one effective point, I was still able to remain on the battlefield. Still, with no way to move, my options for defending against Estea’s attacks were severely limited.

If I used Ars Magna, I could launch an attack even without mobility. If Hom was still in the fight, we would have to risk everything on landing some kind of strike. Yet, the crucial part—the figure of Estea—was nowhere to be seen on the display.

“It was a shame I couldn’t finish it, but let’s bring this to an end.”

Estea’s cold voice echoed from somewhere unseen.

*—Am I going to lose here?*

The thought of despair crept into the mind of me who had pursued nothing but victory.

“I won’t allow it!” What swept that despair away was Hom’s dignified voice. “Get down, Master!” Like a gale, Hom fired her thrusters and charged in, striking at Selem Salkh.

“Hom!”

Altered was still intact. Though the machine bore cuts and gashes of every size, not a single effective part had been destroyed.

“I shall be your opponent!”
“As you wish.”

Estea caught Hom’s blow with her blade, and the two began to circle, exchanging strikes.

“ALTEEEEERED! ALTEEEERED has weathered that storm and is now turning the fight around!!!”
“Altered! Altered!”
“Estea! Estea!”

Whether the barrier had been lifted or not, a roar of cheers thundered down upon us once more. Within it, Hom and Estea clashed in near-equal measure, strike for strike.

“Altered—are they gradually shifting into higher gear!? Selem Salkh looks to be just barely starting to get pushed back!!!”

With Johnny back in form on commentary, the colosseum boiled with excitement.

No doubt, it was right after unleashing that great technique. Estea had consumed a tremendous amount of magic power and could likely no longer call forth another. She was clashing with Hom while maintaining her machine on the edge of collapse, managing only the barest control of her aether.

“She is unable to unleash a technique strong enough to finish Altered…”

I muttered it as if to confirm it to myself.

*—At least, not right now.*

It was unthinkable that Estea would be rendered combat incapable from magic power exhaustion. She must have been conserving her strength, holding out for one final decisive technique. Before she could unleash it, Hom would have to finish her. Yet, something was wrong with Hom’s movements.

“Hmmmmm—!? Wh-what’s going on here!? Altered, who should have been holding its ground so well… its movements look to be slowing doooown!?”

Having called countless Zesteller bouts, Johnny’s commentary was sharp. Hom recovered from fatigue faster than ordinary people, and there was no reason for her to run out of magic power. Then what on earth was happening?

“No way…”

I narrowed my eyes on the machine, and realized that the grime clinging all across Altered’s frame wasn’t mere dirt. It was spreading, dripping onto the floor of the colosseum.

*—Black blood oil!*

Estea’s secret art hadn’t landed a fatal blow. But those countless blades of wind had inflicted deep internal damage upon Altered. Beneath the armor that appeared intact, the magic contraction muscles had been ruptured, leaking black blood oil.

Mecha Soldiers functioned by channeling black blood oil through their magic contraction muscles—the way blood coursed through a human body—causing the fibrous tissue to contract and generate output. With less blood flowing through those muscles, the contractions weakened, and the machine’s power output inevitably dropped. And if the loss continued unchecked, Altered would be drained of the very black blood oil it needed to move, and would meet the equivalent of death by blood loss.

“Selem Salkh is surging back again!! Will Altered be overwhelmed by that dazzling flurry of blade strikes!?”

Estea’s recovery was faster than I had imagined. No—perhaps she was deliberately pressing harder, aiming to hasten Altered’s death by blood loss.

“I have to provide support…”

I couldn’t move, couldn’t even stand, but I could still fight.

I planted Arkecius’ left arm into the ground of the colosseum, now turned into a muddy mire. Thick, clinging mud wrapped around it.

Hom was still fighting desperately, never giving in. Then as her parent, all I could do was trust in her and continue to support her with everything I had. That was why—

“This role… only I can fulfill it.”¹