Chapter 88
Chapter 88
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 26
Chapter Title: The Imperials Could Use a Little Humor (2)
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The wooden body was straight overall, though about a third of it curved gently.
A metal rod was mounted along the straight section, its front end narrowed into a deep bore.
A trigger hung from the base of the gently curved body.
I pulled back the tightly locked trigger.
Krick.
The thin cord attached to the trigger flicked a thumbnail-sized plate right in front of it.
"...?"
I pulled the trigger a few more times.
Aside from the cord moving back and forth, nothing happened.
It was definitely a weapon, no question.
But no matter how much I examined it, I couldn't figure out how it worked.
Maybe an Imperial crossbow? But there was no prod or lock, so probably not.
Swinging it like a club felt wrong—it was too heavy, and the balance was off.
Maybe it wasn't fully assembled.
Rummaging through the case, I found two small pouches.
One was light, the other heavy.
I checked the heavy one first.
It was filled with iron balls.
They were smooth but dull and grimy-looking—not worth much.
On a hunch, I dropped one into the rod's muzzle.
"Oh."
The ball slid neatly into the bore.
I pulled the trigger.
Krick.
Still nothing.
Smacking my lips, I checked the remaining pouch.
This one was a leather bag soaked in oil, stuffed full of black powder.
It reeked of acrid sulfur and a stinging tang that pierced my nose.
"...Gunpowder."
I'd used it plenty during sabotage missions for the engineering corps.
Finally something familiar—but it didn't make me happy.
A long rod with a trigger, iron balls, and gunpowder.
"What the hell kind of combo is this?"
I still had no clue what the rod was for.
Why am I puzzling this out alone?
After groaning over it for a while, it hit me, and I stood up.
I put the mystery rod and pouches back in their places and left the palace.
"Gah!"
Arriving at the inn in the outer citadel, I found the Doppelzoltner already soaked in booze despite the early hour. They spotted me and freaked out, slamming their faces into the tables.
"...?"
Weird behavior, but these guys were nuts anyway, so I shrugged it off and asked for Nu Man.
"I'll fetch him."
One Doppelzoltner, hands clamped over his face, bolted upstairs. The others, faces still planted in tables, scurried after him.
"Nice."
Even for mercenaries—foreign ones at that—Igor had gone all out renting them such a swanky inn.
"Well, well. What brings such an esteemed guest to our humble dive?"
I waited a moment, and Nu Man appeared, his face slathered in white makeup.
He must've rushed out—his lips and eyes were bare, leaving his pallid mug looking like a corpse.
"I heard the news. Zikjail's Archduke? I've seen him on the battlefield a few times. Tough bastard, but you crushed him flat, they say. The whole continent's in an uproar..."
"Didn't crush him flat. Continent's not in an uproar. Whatever. Take a look at this."
I shoved the box from the Zikjail Principality folks at him, ignoring his fluent Thracia prattle.
"This is..."
"You know what it is?"
Nu Man nodded.
"An arquebus. A damn fine one, too."
"Arquebus?"
"The craftsmanship screams ceremonial piece, not battlefield. Who the hell uses one of these in real combat anyway?"
I waited quietly for his explanation.
"Better to show than tell. Too cramped here, though. You got a horse?"
"Brought it."
"Then let's go. Hey! I'm heading out with the boss for a bit!"
No reply came, but Nu Man didn't care.
"After you."
I grabbed the box and left the inn with him.
"You just stuff a bit of cloth rag in with one of these balls like so... light the fuse, and..."
Sssszzt.
"Plug your ears... nah, experiencing it firsthand ain't bad. Still, best stand back a bit. Yeah, that's good. Here goes."
Nu Man pulled the trigger.
Krick. Boom!
A monstrous roar exploded in that instant.
"Cough, cough. Should've set up a rest, maybe. My skull's ringing."
Nu Man waved away the acrid smoke, grumbling.
"It propels the ball with gunpowder. Hit right, it'll punch through plate armor no problem."
I stared blankly before snapping to and checking the target tree.
"...?"
Not a scratch on it.
"Problem is, hitting that plate's a bitch."
Nu Man stressed it again.
This wasn't his fault—it was the arquebus's inherent flaw.
His tone made it clear: he didn't think much of the thing.
But to me, it was as shocking as first seeing General Langrid's prosthetic arm.
Like a wizard's bombardment spell, shrunken and fired in a straight line.
"...So the Imperial army's armed with this insanity?"
Once I'd recovered, Nu Man sighed.
"It ain't as impressive as you think. Accuracy sucks, as you saw. Fire it a few times, and your shoulder and arm are wrecked. See the smoke? Couple shots, and you're blind."
His words didn't dull my awe.
Bad accuracy? Mass volleys could herd enemies into kill zones.
Strain on the shooter? Rests or stands fixed that.
Smoke? Shoot and maneuver.
"You don't believe me."
Nu Man kept listing its flaws.
"Can't use it in the rain at all. Not like a crossbow or bow that might jam— it flat-out won't fire. Humid weather's the same."
"Bluecoats rust in the rain too."
"That's not the issue... it can blow up in your face. For real."
He handed me the arquebus.
"Looks too finely made to risk on a demo, but hey, boss's request. Any other time, I wouldn't touch it."
One in ten explodes outright; the rest eventually do too.
"Know what we call these among ourselves?"
"What?"
"Cripple makers. Shattered jaws, caved-in faces, burst eyeballs, severed fingers. Landsknechts who've gone cripple playing with 'em? More than a company, and that's just the ones I've seen."
Nu Man spat in disgust.
"You piss someone off lately?"
"Outta nowhere."
"Who else sends a vicious piece like this as a 'gift,' all wrapped up nice? It's 'go cripple yourself' is what it is."
Whoever sent it couldn't have meant well.
I sighed at his rant about grabbing them and crippling them first.
"Can't be."
Because I'd already crippled them.
"Hm."
Like master, like men—the Zikjail crew were all snakes.
Who'd have thought they'd pay the ransom like this.
I wasn't furious or anything, though.
"Anyway, that's the deal."
Plenty of issues for battlefield use. Crystal clear now.
"Over there, they spook horses with it, so it has that much use. Our horses charge through wizard barrages like it's nothing. This thing's useless. Trust me. Straight trash."
By his account, a curious piece of junk.
Still, the arquebus gnawed at me.
The battlefield was tilting against us more each day, everything dragging us down.
This could be one too.
Not a big threat now.
But no guarantee later.
Arquebus. Zikjail. Empire...
Even after parting with Nu Man and returning to the palace, my mind wouldn't settle.
The next day, I requested a private audience with Igor.
"You seeking me out first? Must be something."
We met in the glass garden as usual. Igor's complexion was poor.
He'd complained of nightmares, and it looked like he'd barely slept.
No point dragging things out with a tired man.
"I'll head to the Empire."
Straight to the point.
"...What?"
Igor stared blankly before asking.
"I let it slide this time, but the Empire won't give up Thracia's ports."
The Empire never abandoned what it wanted.
Thracia needed to prepare for war.
Problem was, we were clueless about them.
Iron horses? Tamed dragons? Rumors galore, no facts.
"Impossible."
Igor shot it down flat.
"Too dangerous. I know you've slipped through Astoria, Kazan, and Malta like your backyard. But the Empire's different. Unlike those three, Thracia has no foothold there."
"That's why I must go."
"Even the fastest ship takes four months round trip. I won't allow it."
"But..."
"No. No. No!"
Igor rarely raised his voice.
"I said no!"
I'd expected pushback, but not this heated.
"You need to grasp your own importance more."
As I stood stunned, Igor softened a bit, listing why I couldn't go.
Bottom line: losing me would cripple Thracia.
"......"
I listened silently.
"Hah."
My silence drew a long sigh from Igor.
"You'll go whether I allow it or not."
I didn't reply.
Seeing the arquebus had sealed it.
I had to go to the Empire.
See with my own eyes what lay across the continent—what was brewing.
"You've breached the innermost palace sanctums of three kingdoms despite heavy guards. A kingdom-wide lockdown wouldn't stop you."
"..."
"So you'll defy my command."
"...Forgive me."
Igor glared angrily for a long moment.
"I see now. You didn't come for permission. You came to inform me."
More like to say goodbye, but I held my tongue.
"...When?"
"Soon as I leave here, I'll start preparations and depart the palace."
Struggling to contain his rising ire, Igor turned sharply.
"Safe travels, then."
I started to kneel and exit the glass garden.
"...Six months."
Igor's voice stopped me.
"Your tournament prize: six months' leave. Return within that time."
Essentially granting my request.
"Departure in ten days. I've arranged a ship from southern Bellifiena to Malta. Change vessels there—no Imperial eyes on you."
"...Thank you, Your Majesty."
"...No send-off. We'll meet again in half a year anyway."
I bowed slightly to his back and left the palace.