Chapter 149
Chapter 149
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 149
Chapter Title: Underground Passage (4)
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[Chapter 148 - Underground Passage (3)]
Gork thought to himself that slaughtering intruders wasn't always a pleasurable task.
Endlessly turning the heavy stone wheel was grueling manual labor, especially when he couldn't see the enemy.
How could he derive any enjoyment from work whose results he couldn't witness with his own eyes?
Yet Gork was a patrol guardian of the perimeter, and his motivation stemmed not from pleasure, but from duty.
Whether the foe was visible or not, his job was to loose arrows without respite until silence fell.
Particularly those beasts that popped up here and there across their kingdom—those with fur on their heads were among the more dangerous breeds.
Most were feeble, but the contraptions they crafted with their tiny hands packed real power: beams of light or fire from their palms, or freakish individuals stronger and swifter than the rest.
To kill them without losses required a half-dozen skilled patrol warriors.
Of course, that was without this launcher.
Thung, thung, thung.
For what felt like ages, he kept firing relentlessly, consumed by the resolve to slay the enemy. Gork began to feel the ache building in his arm muscles.
Just as he was about to signal for a rotation, one of his comrades let out a thin cry.
The sharp voice pierced through the twang of arrows and reached Gork's ears.
"Stop!"
"Hm?"
"Stop firing. The light's gone out."
"Right. The glow vanished."
Gork emitted an agreeing rumble as he halted the wheel. Deep down, he was relieved—he could barely turn it anymore himself.
The launcher that had spat arrows without end finally fell silent. Gork massaged his sore arm muscles and caught his breath.
Then, two other comrades turned to him.
"Check."
"Me?"
"You."
All his comrades pointed at Gork. Partly out of laziness, partly because he was the youngest among them.
Age meant experience, after all, and the elders' word carried authority.
Masking his inner reluctance, Gork nodded in assent.
"I'll... check..."
But in the instant he tried to say he'd go scout, a horrific impact and agony engulfed him. His legs burned with pain, and he howled involuntarily—like a child.
"Kraaaaaagh!"
Looking down, he saw his legs were shredded beyond recognition, not even stumps left.
And right beside him, half-buried in the solid ground: a single javelin.
He couldn't guess it had flown straight at his legs with monstrous force, severing both clean off. The excruciating pain had robbed him of clear thought.
He merely gazed skyward, pointing at something flitting about.
Something faint even to their dark-adapted eyes.
"Up there!"
With those words, Gork lost consciousness from blood loss and shock.
Gork's comrades, witnessing it all from inches away, instantly assumed combat stances.
Veteran patrol guardians, they were adept at improvisation—their response was swift.
They pinpointed the enemy's position and swiveled the launcher upward to counter.
For minds teetering on panic's edge, it was remarkably apt.
"Turned it!"
"Fire!"
Straining to aim the launcher skyward, one placed a hand on the wheel.
Iron arrows began launching.
The salvo rocketed upward fiercely, slowed somewhat by their reduced numbers but still menacing.
Yet not one struck the foe.
'Won't hit!'
The enemy's dark hue blended seamlessly with the shadows when viewed from below.
And unlike ground targets, engaging a flying one demanded threefold the skill in three dimensions.
Hitting with a barrage weapon poor on precision was no mere hope—it was delusion.
Worse, the fixed launcher turned its operators into sitting ducks while cranking.
Realizing this, the patrol guardian halted the wheel and shouted.
"Retreat!"
"Why?"
"Can't win. Call reinforcements!"
No sooner had he spoken than another javelin hurtled from above.
This strike was far weaker than the first: the initial toss had been full-force to test resilience, now adjusted down upon discovering their frailty.
The patrol guardians couldn't grasp that, of course.
It merely skewered an arm, eliciting screams.
"Uwaaaagh!"
"Retreat!"
"Wait—smash it!"
Even in their panic and terror, one snatched a nearby hammer and smashed the launcher.
Its delicate core mechanism warped from a single blow.
"Good—run!"
They hurled themselves into the darkness.
Long denizens of this subterranean gloom, they'd never faced so hopeless, menacing a foe.
A flying creature unleashing such deadly assaults.
Whatever it was, they had to report it fast.
To their great and wise sovereign.
* * *
'Arm hit a glancing blow... I was aiming for the legs. Flying throws still need work. More practice required.'
Surveying the ground from above, Arsen clicked his tongue.
He'd approached mounted on the wing-beast cautiously, fearing danger, but the enemies proved weaker than expected.
Had they arrayed four or more of those gatling-like devices and fired in unison, it might've been dicey—but there was only one.
If multiples had been present, he'd have countered from afar with explosive javelins.
Sensing no path to victory, the foes had hastily wrecked their gatling and fled.
To pursue, Arsen deftly maneuvered Jin, gradually descending.
From ample observation, their physical durability and movements suggested no real threat even in melee.
Still, unknowns could unleash unforeseen attacks—best stay vigilant.
'Fast on their feet, though.'
Their sprint was surprisingly swift—comparable to laden pack mounts, which ranked slow.
Not knight-level, but far superior to ordinary humans.
Of course, not enough to evade Jin's aerial assault.
Even flying slow to dodge pillars, the wing-beast outpaced them handily.
Arsen didn't shout for them to halt.
No guarantee they'd comprehend, and it'd likely just signal incoming attack.
Lips sealed, he queried via ment-link.
[Bakran, any idea what these things are?]
[No clue. Some bizarrely evolved combat golem from down here?]
Tutting at the speculative guess unworthy of a reply, Arsen dove low, nearly skimming the ground, closing in.
He slowed Jin to land, then kicked off with full force.
"Hah!"
Landing, he boot-kicked one's back; it screeched shrilly and crumpled.
Yet despite the racket, the impact felt off—their hides or cloaks resisted well.
He'd meant to shatter the spine and immobilize, but it felt like mere bruising at best.
"Kachua!"
Another cried out.
Was it a comrade's name, or gibberish? It lunged with its blade regardless.
The motion was nimble enough that a careless knight might take a stab.
But Arsen was no average knight.
'This much...'
He deftly angled his vambrace to parry the flat of the blade, deflecting it aside.
Then swung his axe in riposte.
Heeding the prior lesson of their toughness, he put extra oomph into a sidearm blow to the head.
A thud echoed as it collapsed limply.
"Kuh..."
Confirming it out cold, Arsen turned to the one he'd booted.
It ignored its fallen ally, bolting onward.
Arsen hurled a javelin at its back.
The spear whistled through air, piercing its leg.
"Kak!"
Approaching slowly, he found it scrabbling to flee despite the thigh wound preventing standing—face ashen.
No wonder: to them, Arsen must seem a monster.
One soaring through skies hurling spears, then pouncing from above clad in black metal.
Put oneself in their shoes—a nightmare beast from scary tales.
"Take a breather."
Whether it understood or not, Arsen clubbed its head with the axe's flat, knocking it out.
He yanked the javelin free, dragged it back, and propped the pair sitting back-to-back.
Finally, rope from the magic pack dangling off Jin secured them together—captives bound.
"Good..."
Regrettably, the double-leg amputee had bled out.
Leaving it, Arsen returned to summon the others.
* * *
"What odd-looking critters."
Bazkal prodded the legless, unconscious one with a finger.
Anun wisecracked at the sight.
"Won't it bite?"
"Nah, no way..."
As they bantered, Arsen asked Latis.
"Any idea what they are?"
"No clue. The ancient tomes on these tunnels never detailed inhabitants. I figured at worst a few magic beasts..."
Latis looked baffled.
Arsen's face likely mirrored the sentiment.
Those horrific arrow barrages implied civilization—far more advanced than surface humans, wielded by non-humans.
"Boss."
"What is it?"
Rino had called Arsen over.
To his query, Rino replied with a stiff face.
"Checked the blood they spilled. Seems like... these are magic beasts. Or ma-in."
"Too weak for ma-in."
Variance existed, but typically one ma-in matched a knight's prowess.
These fell woefully short bodily.
A half-dozen ambushing might trouble a sloppy knight, but solo? Laughable.
Hearing Arsen, Latis grimaced.
"Then the conclusion's clear. They're magic beasts... civilized ones, capable of crafting and wielding complex weapons."
The notion was dizzying.
"Weak" was knight-relative; versus soldiers or civilians, these mystery folk boasted vastly superior physiques.
And now they wielded civilization's tools?
Should they breach the surface and multiply, the horrors beggared imagination.
Unlike humans confined to domains and castles, they'd claim the entire outer world.
In decades, their numbers could dwarf humanity's dozens-fold, dominating all—not implausible.
Arsen shook off the grim vision and ordered Rino.
"Wake them up."
Hostile magic beasts who'd attacked first merited no gentle rousing.
Rino jabbed a spear into a thigh; the unconscious one screamed awake.
Time for interrogation.