Call Me the Human Turret (2)
Of course, the orcs weren't complete idiots, so the moment I blatantly pulled aggro from every direction and unleashed a storm of bullets as a human turret...
"Chwiik!"
-Thud! Thud! Thud!
They immediately raised their assorted shields to form a phalanx, while others ducked behind wagons and drew bows or crossbows.
They were showing some actual tactical movement, unlike the idiots we'd seen so far.
Of course, even so, the "shields" they carried were just crude things made from solid oak reinforced with nails...
And the ones hiding behind wagons? No way those could stop 20mm and 30mm autocannon rounds that pierced mana shields.
-Tu-du-du-du-du-du-du!
-Pabababang! Crack!
-Boom!
"Chwihiiik!!"
"Kuriihegut!"
"Ppaket!"
"O, ooooh...!"
"Magnificent!"
The phalanx with shields got shredded by the autocannon shells that smashed through, turned into mincemeat by the accompanying 7.62mm and 15mm rounds—not just beehives, but ground-up chunks of meat.
The ones behind wagons turned into emmental cheese riddled with holes, wagons and all. Or they'd explode into rags from autocannon hits, their bodies ending up like porcupines pierced by flying wooden shards.
Another got direct-hit by the RPG I fired to save ammo, vanishing in a fireball with the wagon, leaving just a smear of blood.
Watching that glorious carnage, the party members—who'd doubted my orders at first—stood there with jaws on the floor...
"Incredible! Truly amazing?"
"If you're a mage, you should've said so earlier! Now I feel bad for doubting you?!"
"I had no idea you'd spam that many fireballs and magic missiles."
They mistook my arsenal for some kind of "wands" or "staves," of course.
And they saw the hail of bullets and RPGs as magic spells or skills.
In that slapdash but effective way, we not only wiped the orc escorts but accidentally demolished the wagons too, vaporizing their cargo completely.
"Hey, buddy, next time, can you maybe just take out the orcs?"
"Just the orcs?"
"Yeah, if we're lucky, there might be stuff in those wagons we can swipe."
"Wasn't that why they told us to block the road in the first place? But your firepower's too much—nothing left, cargo or otherwise."
"Well, you guys were acting all skeptical, so I figured I had to set an example."
"...If that's an example, a merciless attack would leave no traces at all."
The party now had rock-solid faith that I'd handle whatever came next.
They even joked—while I reloaded leisurely—that I should leave enough cargo to salvage next time.
Of course, per genre conventions, while I finished prepping, elf thief Mika returned from her recon.
"Big trouble! Another Orc Empire convoy's coming—looks like they're wearing steel armor looted from humans in the war!"
"Hmm?"
"And there's a shaman too—clear signs they're prepped for mage ambushes!"
"This won't be easy."
The second convoy screamed "upgraded" compared to the first.
Of course, even steel plate armor made for orc-sized humans wouldn't be 100mm or 200mm thick...
And even if the shaman kept barrier spells up against ranged magic...
"No worries, I've got ways."
"Ooooh!"
"Overwhelming firepower solves almost everything."
"...Oh?"
Just like I said—pure overwhelming firepower.
Non-magical ranged projectiles? They had zero counters.
So, same as before: party blocks the road, pulls aggro.
Orcs sneer, disembark, approach—or aim bows and shaman staffs from wagons.
The moment I see that...
"Take this, you orc bastards! Every shot's gonna rip you apart!"
"Oooht!"
"Chwiik?!"
"Chwiiiik!"
Just like the first convoy, I climb a boulder, go full human turret, and spray everything.
The second convoy's orcs spotted me, shifted from party to me with sneers and roars...
But that lasted until I squeezed the trigger and went full auto.
Unarmored workers and the shaman? Limbs and torsos exploded on impact.
Armored elites? Plates deflected 7.62mm, even 15mm if lucky.
But exposed flesh? Like shooting a ham with BBs... no, like pulverizing rotten tofu—chunks flying everywhere, gruesome enough to make a human wince.
After a full-power barrage, I eased off to conserve ammo and assess.
Unarmored orcs: disassembled into corpses.
Armored ones hit by 20mm/30mm: gaping holes leaking blood, dead.
Survivors: limbs in tatters, barely breathing.
Did I overdo the massacre? A twinge of doubt hit me.
But that civilized sentiment vanished as the party approached the slaughter.
"Perfect. We'll handle the rest."
"You really held back on the wagons like we asked, yoo."
"We'll sort the bodies and loot, so rest up, mage sir."
They insisted on cleanup: slitting throats of survivors, piling corpses and debris for burning.
"Oh, this armor's intact?"
"Survived your magic baptism—sell it for big bucks."
"Does it work like that?"
"See? These marks prove it withstood magic!"
"Oh, yeah?"
"Damn right!"
"Quality armor's welcome anywhere, yoo."
Reminded me of medieval Earth tales where deliberate bullet marks on armor became "authenticity seals."
And with wagons mostly spared as requested, they grinned ear-to-ear, stomping orc corpses like trash with zeal.
Like I'd felt since floor 6: monsters are monsters—not human.
I nodded, then sat on the boulder, reloading while they tidied the wrecked convoy.
Especially critical: the fast-firing 30mm "Wilson" and 20mm "Pelican" were already running dry.
For total annihilation of the third and final convoy soon, prep now.
To avoid screw-ups, I methodically reloaded.
And for emergencies, slipped a pistol in my coat pocket for instant draw.