Laos Territory — Testing Yard
"Your turn," Logos said.
Kleber blinked.
"What? For what?"
For a brief moment—
Logos looked genuinely annoyed.
It was subtle.
A small narrowing of the eyes.
A slight tightening around the mouth.
Barely there.
But enough.
Bal stared.
"…Your stupidity just made the lord show emotion in public," he said flatly.
"That is a new achievement."
Desax sighed.
"He means your custom harness."
"Oh."
Kleber straightened immediately.
Masen scratched his beard.
"You sure you can handle command?" he asked.
Kleber shot him a look.
"I may not be the smartest man here," he said, "but I'm not so lacking that you can measure me by that alone."
Masen grinned.
"Good answer."
Logos snapped his fingers.
"Bring it."
Another container was dragged forward.
Smaller than the others.
Cleaner.
The chains fell away.
Locks released.
The lid opened slowly.
"With this," Logos said calmly,
"I present Furcas."
Inside rested a dark-purple war harness.
Not merely armor—
But identity made metal.
Its silhouette resembled an ancient knight reimagined through industrial brutality. The helm was narrow and angular, crowned by two swept-back horns that curved like sharpened wings. The faceplate was smooth and severe, broken only by a dark slit where the eyes would be.
The plating was layered, but elegant.
Built to move.
Not endure.
Where the standard harnesses looked monstrous—
This looked noble.
Dangerous.
Personal.
Masen leaned in slightly.
"Well," he muttered,
"That's prettier than I expected."
Bal narrowed his eyes.
"Looks faster."
Desax studied it in silence.
"Built for aggression."
Logos nodded once.
"Yes."
He looked toward Kleber.
"This is a command-unit harness. Enhanced mobility. Reinforced frame. Reduced weight. Integrated blade system."
A pause.
"And it reflects the one using it."
Kleber stared.
For once—
Actually speechless.
Then he slowly exhaled.
"That sounds dangerous."
"Get in."
The armor opened.
Not like the others.
Not like a mouth.
Not like a trap.
It unfolded.
Welcomed.
Accepted.
The plates separated with smooth precision, exposing the interior frame.
Kleber stepped forward.
Paused.
Then muttered:
"If I die, I'm blaming all of you."
Masen laughed.
"No, you won't. You'll be dead."
"Helpful."
He stepped inside.
The armor sealed around him.
Plates folded shut.
Locks clicked.
The eyes lit.
Then—
It moved.
Smoothly.
Naturally.
The head turned.
The shoulders rolled.
The stance shifted.
It looked less like a man wearing armor—
And more like the armor had always belonged to him.
Masen's grin faded slightly.
"Well."
Bal exhaled through his nose.
"That is not normal."
Desax nodded once.
"It suits him."
The armored hand flexed.
Then Furcas drew its blade.
A long, elegant weapon—somewhere between a cavalry saber and a war sword. The edge was dark, the guard swept back like wings, and faint lines of mana circuitry pulsed along the steel.
Kleber's voice echoed from inside the frame.
"Oh."
A pause.
"Oh, this is nice."
He moved once.
Just a step.
And even that looked fast.
Too fast.
Like the armor had predicted the movement before he made it.
Kleber looked down at his own hand.
Then at Logos.
"You built this for me?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"Why?"
Logos tilted his head slightly.
"You are useful."
Kleber stared.
"…That is somehow the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Logos looked toward Bal.
"Would you like to test yours?"
Bal stared at him.
"You cannot be serious."
"I can tell just by looking at that thing that it is beyond anything else we have."
Logos tilted his head.
"What makes you think I did not prepare something similar for you?"
The final container was dragged forward.
Larger than the others.
Heavier.
The chains around it looked thicker.
Older.
Like they had been taken from ships or siege towers.
Even the soldiers hauling it seemed uneasy.
The lid opened slowly.
Grey armor stood inside.
Massive.
Towering.
Violent.
"Commander Bane unit," Logos said.
"Beleth."
Masen blinked.
"He really named the regular units Bane."
Desax ignored him entirely.
"I believe our attention should be elsewhere."
Bal stepped forward.
For once—
Without a word.
The armor before him was different.
Where Furcas looked like a knight—
Beleth looked like a fortress.
The shoulders were broad enough to block a doorway.
The chest plating was layered thickly enough to resemble siege armor.
The helm was brutal—less a face and more a slab of iron carved into the vague outline of something inhuman.
There was no elegance here.
No subtlety.
Only force.
Bal entered the armor.
The plates sealed shut around him.
Hydraulics hissed.
Locks engaged.
The giant frame straightened.
And suddenly—
The already enormous suit seemed even larger.
A younger soldier swallowed.
"…Saints."
Beleth was not graceful.
Not refined.
Not fast.
Where Furcas looked like a blade—
Beleth looked like the hand that swung the hammer.
Its shoulders were broader.
Its limbs thicker.
Its frame dense enough that every movement sounded like stone grinding against steel.
Masen whistled.
"Well."
"That's a wall with legs."
Desax shook his head faintly.
"No."
A pause.
"It is a battering ram."
Bal's distorted voice emerged from within the armor.
"…My lord."
"How much does this thing weigh?"
"Too much," Logos replied.
Then he gestured toward the weapons rack.
"Use the axe."
Beleth turned.
Reached down.
And lifted a gigantic greataxe forged in the shape of a twin-headed crow.
Even in its hands—
The weapon looked absurd.
Its blade was wider than a man's torso.
The haft reinforced with iron bands and mana channels.
At the far end of the field stood a reinforced barricade.
Timber.
Iron.
Packed earth.
Built to withstand artillery.
"Strike it," Logos ordered.
Bal looked at the wall.
Then charged.
The ground shook.
Every step sounded like impact.
Like a beast moving through stone.
The giant closed the distance with horrifying speed—
Then swung.
The barricade exploded.
Timber shattered.
Iron bent.
Earth burst apart.
The entire structure collapsed in a single strike.
Not broken.
Erased.
Silence.
Then—
A blur of purple moved beside it.
Furcas.
Kleber surged forward with impossible speed, blade flashing once—
Then stopped.
Eight wooden targets behind him split apart simultaneously.
Clean.
Precise.
Perfect.
"Sorry," Kleber said.
"Couldn't resist."
Bal turned toward him.
"Show off."
"Want to test that?" Kleber shot back.
Beleth shifted.
Furcas lowered its blade.
For one brief moment—
The entire yard felt as if it might explode into violence.
"Both of your weapons are too destructive," Logos interrupted immediately.
His voice cut through the yard like steel.
"If either of you lands a direct hit, the other dies."
A pause.
"Save it for after the war."
Masen scratched his beard.
"…That sounded less like an order and more like encouragement."
Logos didn't answer.
Which somehow made it worse.
The two command units stood side by side.
Purple and grey.
Speed and force.
Blade and axe.
And all around them—
The soldiers of Laos stared in silence.
Because for the first time—
They could see it.
Not just the army.
Not just the weapons.
But the shape of the future.
And it was terrifying.