Before every ACPA pilot climbed into their armor and felt that power beyond human limits, they were reminded of one thing: do not become too intoxicated by this superhuman strength and overlook small but lethal threats. Among those warnings, grenades and rockets were emphasized most heavily.
ACPA armor could almost rival a main battle tank, but even tanks could easily be crippled or destroyed by multiple rockets. With bad luck, a single specialized rocket might be enough to destroy one outright.
Grenades were less powerful than rocket launchers, but necessary vigilance was still required. The instant the grenade rolled over, the pilot inside the ACPA made an evasive move. Yet after he dodged aside, he saw that the grenade had not exploded. Instead, it stopped by the roadside, lying alone on the ground.
Dud?
That was the first thought to arise in the armored pilot's mind. Then he saw Carl casually toss another grenade toward his position without even looking.
The weight of the Autocannon was substantial enough that even an armored pilot could feel its heaviness, so he did not try the same move he had used with the sniper rifle—using the Autocannon to strike the grenade in midair. He chose to dodge again.
The armor, together with the flawless evasive maneuver nearly engraved into his DNA through braindance training, completed the dodge once more. But the grenade that struck the ground beside him was still—
"A dud."
This time, the ACPA pilot understood.
The other side was bluffing him.
An indescribable sense of humiliation instantly surged through him. As an elite operative, he had already felt this when his shooting had been suppressed by a street mercenary. He had not expected to feel the same thing again from the same person so soon afterward.
*Just a mercenary, some