Chapter 319
Chapter 319
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Can One Who Has Seen the End of the World Plant an Apple Tree? (24)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
****
Thung! Thudung—thwoong!
Screeeeech!
Screeeeeech!
“The enemy—approaching!”
“No need to report something that obvious. I can see it with my own eyes.”
Kaurladi’s fleet commander, Palger, who held partial command over part of the fleet, nodded as he surveyed the wreckage of the first line—now reduced to a monster’s meal.
“Battle is something you can prepare for more easily the more you know about your opponent.”
Palger responded calmly to the distant specks hurtling toward them, as if he’d seen it coming.
It was Nullak’s fleet’s favorite tactic. The monster controlled by the glutton Nullak through sorcery would shatter the formation, high-ranking warriors would be thrown in to sow chaos, and in the meantime, Nullak’s fleet would close in and crush the disorganized enemy ships. Essentially, a surprise all-out assault leveraging the summoned beast’s breakthrough power and the elite warriors’ infiltration.
Countless enemies had fallen helplessly to this tactic before, but Palger wasn’t particularly worried about what amounted to Nullak’s signature strategy.
Kaurladi’s warrior commanders had relentlessly studied their nemesis Nullak, and thanks to that, they were fully prepared for situations like this. They knew their troop numbers, elites, noteworthy warriors, and sorcerers inside out. Kaurladi’s loyal slaves had laid down their lives for even a single letter of intelligence, granting perfect knowledge of the enemy’s forces.
The grand sorcerer, glutton Nullak, and his sorcery-summoned beast. Once known as the [Maw That Swallows Bellies], a creature treated almost like a taboo, it had been captured by Nullak when he was just a boy of ten and turned into his servant. Though even Nullak, with his immense talent, couldn’t fully subjugate it and ended up fused with it, forever tormented by insatiable hunger, the anecdote alone spoke volumes about Nullak’s prowess as a sorcerer.
Its rampage was unstoppable, and even deploying sorcerers to block it drained their stamina too heavily, making it a net loss.
‘But even that monster has a weakness.’
For a near-spirit creature that had lived centuries, it acted like a beast, crippled by endless hunger. It couldn’t be easily controlled—just shoved at the nearest foes to sate itself. Thus, its use was limited to smashing the front lines.
“The front line was bait ships filled only with bare-minimum skeleton crews anyway. Let it gorge itself and smash them to bits.”
That’s why they’d sent forward oversized junk warships stuffed with slaves and conscripts—hastily repaired with sorcery just enough to survive one sortie. Let it devour as many as it wanted.
With this, Nullak’s greatest asset would be wasted pointlessly, but they’d think they’d broken the enemy’s front.
While the front crumbled. The next attack would be—
Screeeeech!
‘The Cooks.’
The vanguard. Nullak’s most favored warrior unit. His sword sang at the prospect of facing such formidable foes.
The cry of the blade. The most thrilling tension for any warrior.
Whummm-whummm—
Palger stroked his cherished weapon, its low hum calming his excitement.
“Yes, Parsley. It’s been too long since you drank enemy blood…”
In the distance, human figures arced through the sky in parabolic paths. Soon, they’d unfurl their gliders, drift down like falling leaves, and swarm the ships. Just as always. Just as they’d scouted.
And that’s why those fine warriors died in vain. For refusing to change. For growing complacent in their predictable victories.
“Raise the shark-hunter ballistae!”
Clank! Rrrrrumble!
The enemy fleet would be delayed by their great lord’s power, and even upon arrival, stalled again by the front-line wreckage their beast had pulverized. Nullak’s ships, meant to swiftly board amid the chaos, wouldn’t support the Cooks, and the high warriors thrown in for disruption would end up isolated and die miserably. Thus, Nullak would lose valuable melee forces he should’ve recovered, his superior strength ebbing away bit by bit until collapse…
‘Our king will return the unfortunate desert folk—who couldn’t even recognize a king—to sand. Showing them, one last time, what a true king’s grace means.’
The tactical edge born of information asymmetry. The inevitable end prepared for those who knew their enemy and prepared, versus those content with one well-worn tactic.
Screeeeech—!
Palger grinned wickedly at the warrior plummeting ahead of the rest.
“Those who don’t know their enemy deserve to die. Come on, unfurl your gliders if you don’t want to splatter—Nullak’s Cooks!”
Screeeeech—!
The dark-skinned warrior didn’t slow even at 200 paces, hurtling down.
“Huhuhuhu. Not braking yet? What guts—makes me want to cross blades myself…”
Screeeeeeech!!!!
100 paces.
“…Still?”
Against his expectations, the dot wasn’t slowing—instead tracing an elegant parabola, closing in. Less infiltrating warrior, more black cannonball.
50 paces.
Whumm—! Whummm-whummm-whummm!!!
His cherished blade wailed in full lament, and Palger sensed something was wrong.
“Aide! Aide!!! Who is that warrior?!”
“D-don’t know! Not in the records!”
“That can’t be! A whole-body blackening sorcery! How could we miss such a distinctive warrior?!”
The warrior had entered ballista range. Close enough to make out its form, Palger drew his scimitar. It uncurled, limbs extending.
“Warrior unit forward! Crew, brace for impact! Human cannonball!”
“Brace for impact! Shields up front!”
Clank! Clank!
Well-drilled warriors took position at the landing zone, lowering stances and raising shields.
As impact neared, an odd sound emanated from the larger-than-expected warrior.
『…Huuuwoooooooliiiiiiii—』
“E-enemy’s raising a hand!”
“Chanting something! Amp up sorcery defenses!”
Even as a foe, its honed physique inspired awe. Black sheen rippling across its body screamed toughness.
‘Wasting such a superb warrior as a mere projectile. How mad has the glutton gone…’
Palger drew his blade, expecting the warrior’s pitiful end. He’d behead it before impact—as respect for a foe sacrificing like a sentry.
His soul-bound scimitar, Parsley, soared toward the black warrior’s neck.
Splat!
Too thick-necked to sever fully, it half-sliced. Palger sighed. No head trophy; it’d just get crushed.
Kwaaaaaak—!
“…Hm?”
Palger sensed wrongness just before collision. The half-decapitated warrior’s arms and shoulders swelled further, clasped hands swinging.
『Meteeeeroooo—!!!!』
Shwoooooooosh—!
Crunch—
Palger’s trained eyes caught it: the black warrior’s lips curling mid-impact.
Its demonic grin-fist smashed the lead warrior’s shield, pulping him like cheese.
Rear warriors bounced away like cannon shot, and the unresisted fists finally hit deck.
KABOOOOOM!!!
The massive shockwave exploded the prow clean off.
Crewmen panicked amid flying splinters and sand bursts, watching their flagship erupt from one blow.
“Gyaaaaaah!”
“Flagship! Flagship’s hit!”
“Sorcery shields against catapults were perfect! Why?!”
“Drop anchor! Ship’s capsizing!!!!”
…Clang.
“Impossible. My weapon, Parsley… Uuuugh…”
Bounced from the prow into the main mast, Palger swallowed rising blood, staring at his shattered cherished blade.
A warrior splitting a warship barehanded. What in the—?!
…Hack!
“…Who are you? Where did a warrior like you…!”
What was ‘that’? No matter the regeneration sorcery tattoo, how could it launch such an attack after losing over half its neck?
Hearing him perhaps, amid rising dust from the shock, a hulking figure approached.
Wrinkle-white desert robes, too small—exposing glossy black arms and legs. Talon-sharp fingertips. And—
“Owuuu, my bones. Joints twisting backward—novel experience.”
“…What? Make a membrane for gliding? Nah, unlike Hide, I don’t do that crap… Wait, you can now? Tch. Should’ve tried.”
…A mutter, mind clearly off.
Clunk—
“Grrraaah—”
“Lemme see… Flashier clothes than the rest… Commander? Excuse me a sec.”
“Ugh, uuuugh…”
“Don’t be mad. Looting’s the victor’s right and duty, punk.”
Palger couldn’t fathom what sorcery made someone so inhuman.
One thought surfaced in fading consciousness.
‘Nullak hid something monstrous. Must tell His Highness…’
As he’d said, the battlefield law: the unknowing get hit.
The enemy they never knew. And his eternal lord, Kaurladi—loyalty for him.
Palger thanked numb hips from snapped spine, fumbling his broken arm to grasp the horn at his belt.
Fumble. Fumblfumble.
‘D-damn…’
Gone. Commander’s horn. Not just that—seal, hat, cloak, outerwear—all stripped, leaving him in underwear, snatched by the black warrior.
“H-how…!”
“Ah, lend me a bit. Gotta conserve energy for rampaging.”
“Grrraaah…!”
‘Stripping gear right after subduing…’
Contact horn gone. Emergency flares too. Terror filled Palger as options vanished.
‘That toughness. No complacency against subdued foe—blocking comms at source. Perfect killer: strong and cold. Oh, my king…’
“Beware…”
Thud.
Palger lost consciousness, eyes bulging in outrage. His final sight: the insatiable slayer frowning, as if still wanting more.
.
.
.
.
The Professor, seeing that desperate gaze, wondered if getting pickpocketed felt that injust for an enemy.
“Eyes full of story for just dying mad. Should’ve left the clothes?”
[All around were his own men. A honor-bound warrior dying in underwear? Bound to be mad. See? Muttering curses even dying.]
“C-curse? Fuck, did it hex me?”
[Check the neck stump. Saw ’em implant something in brains—might’ve curse-injected on hit.]
“Ugh, creepy bastard.”
Oblivious to such loyalty, the Professor shuddered and kicked the corpse aside.
****
Thrown haphazardly, haphazardly wrecking a ship. Odd start to war, but catching breath and scanning, it wasn’t total chaos.
“Nullak didn’t just chuck me thoughtlessly.”
Drop spot aside, gear telekinetically strapped to his waist pre-toss showed planning.
Leather-and-bone bundle, tightly rolled.
Though Professor went bare, original use was with followers tossed behind.
Whiiiish—
Flap—!
“For the great Desert Lord!”
“Warrior Saladin sank the flagship! We split to the flanks, heighten the chaos!”
“Warriors of the Kamut Clan! Descend!”
Screeeeech!
Screeeeech!
Arcing warriors suddenly split like swallows in fluid curves.
“…Damn cool.”
[Why couldn’t we?]
“Dunno.”
Not amateurs. Elite drop team. No planes, parachutes, not even hills—in desert warfare, deploying airborne assault.
Nullak’s warriors, bound to sorcery, catapults, ballista pillars behind him, unfurled similar leather bundles—gliding leisurely to enemy decks.
Not parachutes… Kite-glider hybrid, like kite-surfing rigs.
Kites riding desert winds. But more: warriors stabbed long handles into rudders and sails on descent. Wind-filled kites yanked sails askew, rudders air-braked useless.
“Helm unresponsive!”
“We’ll collide! Cut the kites! Sever lines!”
“Damn, so tough!”
“Nullak’s warriors guarding kites! These aren’t normals—argh!”
“[Cooks]! Nullak’s elites infiltrated! Call slave warrior unit!!”
Rudders yawed, sails billowed wrong, ships spun and crashed in pandemonium.
Desert outsider like Professor never imagined giant leather kites’ purpose. Desert-born tactics, honed for environment.
“Desert battle… Got its own spectacle.”
Professor grinned sheepishly at his still-folded kite. Probably Nullak’s plan for him too.
Though unequipped Professor ended with manly rip-and-tear.
---------
- Jokasss : Uuu. My inner warrior Saladin don’t know fancy fights. Saladin, smash. Uuu.
- Take a Look : When normal saints work miracles, Holy Saint drops meteors with bare hands!
- Heung An Mandu : Gear’s for the weak!
- Holy : Holy—Meteor!
---------
Mocked in chat, Professor slyly averted eyes from translucent text.
…Reflex. Like rollercoaster drop—eyebrows quiver, cheeks shake, mouth opens, lungs fill, “Waaaaa!” escapes.
[That’s the problem. Your attacks default ‘Holy’ now. Grand bishop’d cartwheel clapping.]
“Ugh. Maybe ’cause I got recent Holy Haram help.”
Grumbling, Professor surveyed wrecked ship in hand, underwear-clad warrior sprawled.
Slightly larger than standard warship, thicker hull.
Flashier garb and turban than grunts, obvious comms gear.
Dust settled; surrounding enemy ships looked even more chaotic amid confusion.
‘Competent pig buddy’s aim top-notch. Dropped a key ship?’
Signal horn in hand, Professor grinned contentedly at crumbling enemy flank.
Infiltrators’ mission: terror and sabotage for chaos. Pry gaps in enemy line.
“That’s my specialty, right?”
Fiddling horn, Professor formed message magic seal.
-Splash.
“Ah, Rakshasha? Rakshasha—”
[Professor? Lost your presence suddenly… Where are you?]
“Uh… Somehow ended up enemy center.”
[…Enemy heart isn’t a ‘somehow’ spot. Heard you’d hold here.]
“Mm…”
[Separate vocal and intent organs? How every word you say gets broken…?]
“Erm… Sorry.”
No rebuttal. Even he’d gawk if the guy who said “Hold together!” vanished for “Somehow enemy center.”
Mercy: no combat noise yonder. No Mutts raid yet.
“How’s your front?”
[So-so. Ships listing like sandbarred, barely advancing sans collapse. Recent sinks were full-speed ships braking, self-destructing.]
“That’s… Bad.”
If Nullak’s fleet delayed, other infiltrators die—even if Professor survives. Plan: warriors chaos, Nullak closes unmolested, flanks Cooks in melee. Delay means chaos recovers, isolates die, wastes elite melee recovery.
“…Rakshasha. Any Kaurladi signals? Flagship-worthy.”
[Deck command signals? Basic orders via spies, but sorcery-horned. Sound jamming tough? Commanders smash first in attacks—hard to acquire…]
.
.
.
.
[…Where’d you get it?]
Sharp girl.
“Uh… Somehow?”
[That means elite Shadow Moon ops barely got shards, but you ‘somehow’ outdid?]
What, blame luck?
[Lucked on incompetent commander? Nah… Kaurladi wouldn’t. Hidden faction parachute I don’t know…?]
“Nah, probably not.”
Recalling underwear commander’s dying glare, Professor silently mourned him.
No genius predicts “Half-neckless black blob lives, one-shots flagship—”
[Combat growth obvious.]
‘Yup. Normally, key items need insane quests.’
Strength. Combat power. Simplest stat, straightest path to clear.
This horn: like Charlotte’s gift after Professor’s Turan bluffs pieced war together.
Background levels differ, so acquisition here: nightmare quest of spies, schemes, deals, kidnaps.
But cross power threshold, items just drop.
Why Thousand Stream Emperor’s brute play barely worked.
“Anyway, got it—use it. List signals. Simple enough to learn quick.”
Rakshasha gaped at nonchalant Professor.
Otman, Notum, Yggdrasil nearby exchanged pleased looks at flailing Rakshasha, gap in reality-sense.
[…Fine. Long/short tones. Front: target. Back: order…]
Thus, beaming party amid resigned Rakshasha’s briefing.
Soon, mighty horn blast echoed from sand-sunk ship’s stern.
****
『Bwooooo—bwo—bwooooooo—』
Clear amid battle din. Then,
Shwaaaaa—
Per command, some ships broke perfect formation, surging forward.
Normal fleet wouldn’t react so fast. But Kaurladi’s differed.
“Let’s see… Kaurladi fleet: commanders, warriors, sorcerers aside—all conscripts, slaves?”
Elites plentiful, but single force vs coalition meant thin regular ranks. Kaurladi filled with exploited civilians as conscripts/slaves. Confirmed firsthand at ‘second step’ oasis city.
Untrained, yet perfectly arrayed: sorcery control. Turn disobedient humans to chess pieces.
Labor-puppets obeying orders.
What if mixed commands to non-thinking dolls?
『Bwoooo—bwooooo—!』
“C-captain! Forward advance order…!”
“Bull! Why us alone mid-this?! Halt ship!”
“Slaves won’t obey! Flagship command overrides ours!”
“Damn! Gimme that horn!”
『Bwooooo! Bwo—bwoooo—!(No front break, furl sails, stop oars)』
『Bwoooo—bwooooo—!(Full speed. Max)』
“Urk, ugrrr…”
“U, uuugh…”
“You slave shits!! Stop oars! Stop I say!”
“U, uuuugh…”
“Advance… Advance…”
“Fuck! Slaves broken! Get sorcerer! Sorcerer!!!”
Captain fumed at unresponsive slaves; reply despairing.
“Th-they’re at full war, sorcerers drafted to Kaurladi’s ritual around main fleet…”
“Damn… Useless crap!”
Slash!
Captain glared at malfunctioning slaves rowing like jammed gears, then beheaded them.
Slave heads fell; one oar stopped.
“Kill ’em all! This speed hits front!”
“B-but! Our manpower!”
“No choice! Captain’s order! Slaughter!”
Slash!
Sslash, slash!
System making fresh conscripts move like elites. Sorcery-locked to orders.
Simple obedience tattoos—no fine control needed. Amid tangled commands, they advanced to die by superior’s blade.
Around Professor’s wrecked flagship stern—such carnage repeated.
By time nearby flagships halted slave riots with proper orders, entire front row: manpower-gutted hulks, immobile.
Kaurladi’s fleet supreme commander doubted report from front.
=========
Frontmost: slave/conscript line pierced by Nullak’s beast.
Row 2: Flagship totaled. Enemy elites ‘Cooks’ sabotage—lost helm/sail control, tangled, mobility zero. Fierce melee ongoing.
Row 3: All oarsmen lost. Stopped dead.
=========
Boom!
“Impossible… Can’t face His Highness…”
“N-not fatal yet! Front expendable, Row 2 hurts but… R-row 3 refillable slaves! Ritual undisturbed, block enemy advance plenty—”
Slash!
Aide unfinished. Six rows, 50 ships each, stronger rearward—damage foreseeable in war.
“But now it’s siege behind a wall…”
Key: entire third row halted intact.
Desert battle needs fluid motion; stopped-ally wall formed.
Blocked support to fighting second row; enemies gained easy push with numbers.
If premeditated…
“Nullak. Heard rumors of desert curse from talent envy, but such devastating talent…”
Opening loss too crippling.
Fellow commander, unimaginable foresight inspired respect.
And regret.
That genius strategist dies pathetically here today. With shock manifold their surprise.
“…Abandon offensive. Order all: retreat slow, buy time.”
Warrior honored by Kaurladi as supreme—worst dishonor. But commander unflinching.
His honor? Dogfood for lord.
All must bend to lord’s will.
“Ritual nears. Desert seems… Lord wishes victory by own hand.”
All converges to one will.
Recalling great will beyond human squabbles, commander closed eyes.
“…Foe of heavenly wisdom. Pity. You came for war; we see beyond.”
Human wit. Might. Sorcery—all worthless before true authority.
Commander’s eyes burned fanatic as true desert power dawned.
Those blind to king face truth at end. Sink, vanish thus.
****