Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Icarus
“What… what the hell is that?”
Aron Dyke frowned.
He couldn’t understand that commoner. They were fundamentally different. Maybe that kind of behavior would be called a “sudden outburst” in lowborn slang. In the end, they were just the type who only knew how to speak for themselves.
It didn’t matter.
The desert was Aron Dyke’s domain.
“Icarus. Move.”
“Activating.”
At the AI’s response, Aron Dyke’s Titan, Icarus, stepped forward.
Aron never let his guard down.
Not in any battlefield. Not once.
Not because he was a natural genius.
But because he refused to believe in being a natural genius.
His opponent was rumored to be a born genius who had surpassed their background. Aron had seen the footage of impossible movements. It had shocked him a little.
But in reality, the only Titan they had ever properly handled was a high-mobility type. That was their weakness.
The desert was the worst possible environment for a high-mobility Titan. Sand dragged down movement, and weak generator output made sustained hovering difficult.
On the other hand, Icarus was built for the desert.
Its massive generator output extended hover time to the limit, and its widened footing prevented sinking into sand.
It was equipped with long-range bombardment weapons, and also had close-range armaments. In a desert alone, Icarus was practically flawless.
Icarus advanced slowly.
He had seen it before. The opponent always rushed at the start of battle. If they tried that in the desert, they would be stuck immediately.
“Sensor reading?”
“Interference from sandstorm. Visual confirmation recommended.”
Most of the continent had turned into a heavy-metal sand desert due to war. Sandstorms constantly disrupted sensors.
But experience could overcome that.
“Fine. I see it.”
Through the sandstorm, the enemy Titan appeared.
As expected, its legs were buried in the sand.
“Got stuck while charging in, huh.”
He stopped both feet and aligned the mounted cannons.
No need to get closer.
“I was too favored by the terrain. We should duel again sometime.”
“Is that noblesse oblige?”
“Obviously.”
BOOM!
The shell fired. Sand exploded into the air, blocking vision. He couldn’t confirm a direct hit, but there was no way it missed.
Aron Dyke believed that for three seconds.
“Why isn’t the simulation ending?”
A sound.
At the same time, one of his cannons was destroyed.
“I don’t like this body.”
“S-sorry about that.”
“No arms, no legs. What is this?”
“I’m really, really sorry. I won’t use it next time.”
There were many kinds of Titan Core builds.
For example, extreme time-limit builds.
A match in Titan Core lasted 15 minutes. If it didn’t end within that time, remaining HP decided the result.
From there, players split.
Those who carefully preserved HP for 15 minutes and those who tried to destroy the enemy in a short burst and move on.
“Deep” was the latter.
That was why this Titan had been created.
A Titan that could only fight for three minutes.
A super-light frame stuffed with a massive generator, stripped of both arms and even legs for weight reduction.
No ranged weapons were used. A single greatsword mounted on the torso was the only armament.
For three minutes, it achieved absurd mobility through continuous hovering. After that, it shut down from generator overload.
It was something that should never be used in this world.
This world was at war. War wasn’t fought alone. There would always be multiple enemies, and a three-minute Titan would be useless.
But simulations were different.
A single enemy. A controlled environment. Limited time and space.
Titan Core was like a game.
Those with real battlefield experience would struggle against something that couldn’t exist in real war.
Just like Aron Dyke, whose cannon had just been torn apart.
“W-what the hell?!”
A communication link opened through the sandstorm.
With a burst of hovering thrust, the Titan circled Icarus. Sand erupted like a storm, obscuring vision.
“WHAT ARE YOU?!”
Clack.
“Deep, he’s going to spray fire!”
I knew.
That was the sound of a standard automatic weapon being readied.
No armor could be spared. Not even a single bullet could be taken. The answer was simple.
Move in a way that couldn’t be predicted.
“Aile, calculate gyro stabilization!”
“I already am!”
The Titan tilted dangerously, just barely avoiding collapse.
Brrrrrrrrt!
Bullets swept overhead. Not a single hit.
And there was no intention of being hit at all.
That was the intent of “I hate it.”
The thrusters flared. The hovering Titan shot forward like a bullet. One of Icarus’s legs was severed. It began to fall.
“Below?!”
Too late, Icarus tried to hover, but it was already collapsing. Losing a leg destroyed its balance.
He wouldn’t allow that.
“Don’t get comfortable!”
KRAK!
He kicked the falling mass back upright.
“Where does a Titan kick like that even come from?!”
No response.
He knew this enemy.
He had fought Dyke-family Titans before.
Hovering desert close-range combat. Sand for cover. Long-range sniper and bombardment finish.
The reason he had created this short-burst Titan was simple: to counter that strategy.
It had been made by pushing that concept to its extreme.
His Titan still moved. That meant it had not yet reached its 3-minute limit.
But Icarus had lost a leg. It couldn’t escape.
“Ghh…”
A burst of acceleration.
His body barely tolerated one. The second made vision blur.
When vision returned, Icarus had lost an arm.
“Aile!”
“Tell me!”
“Repeat!”
“Then you—”
“Repeat!”
Another burst of acceleration.
He destroyed the arm before it could swing.
He tore apart the second cannon before it could fire.
Before it happened. Before it began. Always faster than the opponent.
But Icarus refused to go down.
“Generator down in 10 seconds!”
Time was running out.
Even with a leg gone, Icarus continued to deploy auxiliary frames to defend and counter.
“Stop it!”
“Sudden what—?!”
Aile hesitated.
“Maximize hover distance and stop on command!”
Acceleration. Then abrupt deceleration.
Nausea surged. He covered his mouth, barely holding back vomiting.
And he looked at Icarus.
A wreck.
And yet something that made defeat feel inevitable.
“Experience… that’s what this is.”
This wasn’t a normal game interaction. Everything—ricochets, inertia, acceleration feedback—had to be accounted for.
Things Deep had never known.
But now he understood one thing clearly.
“So this is how much I hate you.”
“I mean… I get it.”
Aron Dyke panted.
“But doesn’t it only matter if you win?”
Come.
As if answering that, Icarus dropped all weapons and exposed its core.
No communication link.
There was no answer.
No way to respond.
“Aile. Manual control—”
“Got it!”
“Acceleration.”
He pushed both sticks and pedals forward.
The Titan surged.
And in that moment, he saw it.
Icarus moving.
Hovering slightly.
A single remaining leg stepping forward.
A kick.
“There’s no such thing as a kicking Titan!”
But if it exists, you just replicate it.
“This actually works, commoner!”
A greatsword pierced through the leg and pinned it.
Both Titans crashed into the ground.
One disabled generator.
One destroyed frame.
A draw.
Or so it seemed.
A hidden pistol deployed from Icarus.
BOOM!
The generator exploded.
The screen went black.
The hatch opened.
“I lost.”
The professor handed him a plastic bag.
He accepted it.
And immediately threw up.