Infinite Resupply: The Endless Street Battle
"Everyone, fix bayonets."
Click-clack.
A spine-chilling metallic chorus rang out. In the darkness, dozens of bayonets locked onto their muzzles.
Then the artillery that had been shaking the earth fell silent. An eerie stillness descended without warning.
"……"
The soldiers swallowed dryly and glared into the dark. Just as terror of the unseen enemy was about to close over them like a tide, Hannah's lips twitched.
"…They're here."
She spoke with her eyes closed.
"A lot of them… a whole lot."
I checked the Minimap one more time.
"Heh."
A hollow laugh escaped me.
The tank force earlier had only been the trailer. The entire edge of the minimap was smeared crimson with red dots. They were worming through the wrecked tanks and the shadows of collapsed buildings, driving into our flank. Silent and swift — clearly intending to slit our throats the moment we let our guard down.
Unfortunately for them, however, there were two men here who could peer into their positions as if reading the palm of a hand.
"Klaus."
I picked up the radio. Requesting a marking on their location.
"…Confirmed."
Taang!
The head of an enemy officer moving between the buildings burst apart.
"Gunter."
"Sir, Captain!"
"Three o'clock, the ruined bakery. And the sewer entrance at one o'clock."
I jabbed my finger into the empty air.
"Save the flares. The moment they enter the kill zone, cut them loose on my signal."
"…Are they really there, sir?"
Instead of answering, I grinned and racked the charging handle of my submachine gun.
The red dots on the minimap crawled right up beneath the buildings where our men lay in wait. They believed they had concealed themselves perfectly.
Five meters. Three meters. One meter.
The instant the red dot was about to overlap a green one—
"Now! Fire!"
Taang!
My muzzle spat fire, and screams once more tore through the silent streets of Rosenheim.
"Gwaaagh!"
"An—an ambush! How did they know—!"
From the bakery window and the sewer hole that had seemed utterly empty, Republican soldiers tumbled out, spilling blood.
"They… they were really there…!"
"I fired where the Captain told me and it hit!"
The soldiers stared at me with goosebumps crawling up their arms. But perhaps it had already become routine.
"That's the Captain for you."
"Hey, I told you. Same thing happened in the Ashen Forest. All we gotta do is watch the Captain's finger and shoot where it points."
The soldiers accepted it quickly and resumed the operation.
"Hannah! Next!"
"Second floor terrace, two o'clock! And a large force flanking through the alley at nine!"
Tudududung!
I pulled the trigger without hesitation, and at the end of every trajectory there was an enemy. Each time a red dot on the Minimap was erased, one more Republican corpse piled up in the darkness.
[Krzzt! This is 1st Squad! Vanguard suppressed! They're in a panic!]
[4th Squad here! We smashed the skulls of every one of those bastards trying to flank through the sewers! That's our Company Commander for you!]
Walter's and Franz's reports crackled through the radio.
But they were no fools.
"Smoke grenades! They're blinding us!"
Sizzle—!
Gray smoke blossomed at the mouth of the alley. At the same moment, they came crawling in relentlessly, using the rubble as shields.
Tatadatang!
Fire, and fire again.
But their numbers defied imagination. The corpses piled so high they formed a barricade of their own — and yet more of them clambered over that mountain of dead.
"Hah… hah…."
The soldiers' breathing grew ragged. Barrels glowed red-hot and shimmered with heat haze; shoulders bruised purple from the recoil.
And then, what was coming, came.
Click.
"…Huh?"
Instead of a shot, only a hollow metallic click — the hammer striking nothing.
"D-dammit! Ammo! We're out of ammo!"
"I've got one magazine left! There's too many of them!"
"Spare magazines?! Someone give me just one!"
"I don't have any either, you bastard! I used them all earlier!"
The wall of fire thinned. As the torrent of gunfire that had poured down like roasting beans began to sputter and break, the Republican bastards sensed it like ghosts and pressed in.
"Uwaaaaa!!"
Their war cry drew closer. Grenades rolled inside the building, and we heard the sound of a comrade's head bursting open.
"They're breaking through! They're over the wall!"
"Captain! What do we do!"
I bit my lip.
Status Analysis.
Condition: Ammunition depleted / Extreme fear / Fighting spirit on the verge of collapse.
"Heads down, everyone! If you don't want to die!"
I shoved the soldiers behind cover and hid myself behind the rubble of a crumbling ruin.
Then I frantically scraped together the shattered concrete and twisted rebar strewn across the ground. My nails cracked and my palms tore open, but I paid it no mind.
"Whew…."
My heart pounded like it would burst. My mana circuits were still narrow, and my stamina was at rock bottom. But there was no other choice.
Material Conversion.
Material Conversion (Lv.1)
A ringing filled my ears and the world spun.
Converting the properties of the target materials.
Concrete fragments & scrap metal → 7.92mm crude rifle cartridges
It felt like drawing the blood from my own veins and burning it as fuel. My vision flashed white and bile surged up my throat.
"Gghk…!"
I bit down on the inside of my cheek and swallowed the scream.
Tududuk.
Cold rounds poured down into my palms.
They were a sorry sight. Where the brass sheen should have been sat dull, cement-colored casings, and the bullet heads were lumpy and misshapen. Anyone could see they were defective.
But it was enough.
"Take this!"
I flung a fistful of freshly made rounds down at Gunter's feet.
Sharararuk!!
"Wh-what's this…?"
The soldiers' eyes went wide.
"C-Captain? Where did these rounds come from…?"
"I told you already! Found them in the underground warehouse! What, you got a problem with that?"
I shouted, wiping the blood trickling from my nose with my sleeve.
"H-how long were they rotting down there… the s-surface is all rough and…."
"You… you idiots!"
The curses burst out of me on their own.
"You think now's the time to inspect for defects?! They go off just the same when you pull the trigger!"
I forced the rounds into their hands and grabbed them by the collar.
Charming Speechcraft.
"If you don't shoot, we all die. If you don't want to die, then shoot! Do you understand?!"
My mad, blazing eyes overwhelmed the men of the company.
Charming Speechcraft is stimulating the company's survival instinct.
Doubts about the ammunition's quality have been blocked by their fear of you.
"Y-yes, sir! We'll shoot!"
The soldiers, as if spellbound, shoved the crude rounds into their chambers.
Click-clack.
It was stiff. The dimensions didn't quite match, no doubt. But the bolt closed, and the firing pin struck the primer.
Bang! Taang!
The muzzle flash burned redder than usual, belching acrid black smoke. The powder mix was a mess — nothing to be done about that.
But the stopping power was plenty.
"Gwaack!"
A Republican soldier climbing over the wall clutched his chest and toppled. The stone-made bullet head shattered inside his ribcage and shredded his organs to pulp.
"It works! The bullets fire!"
"Die! Just die, you bastards!"
The soldiers pulled their triggers, sobbing. When a casing jammed and the rifle failed to fire, they kicked the gun to work the bolt back and fired again.
Behind them, I never stopped gathering stones and squeezing out mana like I was vomiting blood.
Material Conversion. Material Conversion. Material Conversion.
Blood from my nose dripped down my chin and soaked into my uniform. My skull felt like it was burning white, and the feeling in my fingers had long since vanished.
Your consciousness is being forcibly maintained.
I was a moving supply depot. A living factory.
If I fell, the line broke. If I stopped, my subordinates died, my comrades died, my women died. And my future ended with them.
"Hannah! Positions!"
I shouted in a hoarse voice.
"Hah, hah… Eleven o'clock! They're… they're coming again!"
"Gunter! Eleven o'clock! Rake them!"
"Ammo! Give me more ammo, Captain!"
I scooped up a bundle of freshly minted, prickly-as-hell rounds and hurled them toward the men.
"Here! Don't waste them, you bastards!"
And then—
"Gwaaaaagh!"
A bloodcurdling scream. I whipped my head around to see a soldier rolling on the ground, clutching his face.
"My eyes! My eyes! The rifle exploded!"
The limit of the improvised ammunition — or perhaps an old rifle that couldn't withstand the chamber pressure. The barrel bent like a wet noodle and the bolt blew out, pulping the soldier's face.
The gap in our firepower became an immediate crisis.
"They're through! The first floor's been breached!"
Seizing the moment, a Republican soldier burst out from around the corner.
Status Analysis.
Affiliation: Republican 4th Armored Division
Rank: Corporal
Condition: Frenzy / Bloodlust
Without a moment's hesitation, I drew the entrenching tool from my hip.
"Move!"
WHACK!
A dull, heavy impact. The blade of my shovel drove squarely into the hollow between his collarbone and neck.
"Khh… kck…."
His body sagged. I wrenched the shovel free and drove my combat boot into his solar plexus.
"C-Captain… L-Lev… his rifle… it exploded…."
A soldier beside me pointed at the fallen man — moaning, his face a mask of blood.
Charming Speechcraft.
"Drop that rifle."
I snatched the blood-smeared rifle from the corpse of the man I'd just killed and threw it over.
"Pick up a dead man's gun and shoot with it! If your gun explodes, stab them with your knife! If your knife breaks, tear them apart with your teeth!"
Leaving the fallen soldier behind me, I grabbed another pile of rubble.
Cruel, you say? No.
What we needed right now wasn't sentiment — it was one more bullet. I squeezed out mana again with eyes bloodshot and blazing red.
Material Conversion.
The night was long. Cruelly, viciously long.
Shoot, kill, make, shoot again.
When the overheated rifles finally jammed for good, the men drove their bayonets in instead.
"Die! Just die!!"
When even the blades dulled, they shattered enemy spines with their entrenching shovels.
Ash dust clawed at our lungs; gunfire and screams shredded our eardrums. There was no room for despair to creep in. We simply moved like machines.
How much time had passed?
"……"
No more red dots were advancing.
The artillery stopped. The gunfire stopped.
"Hannah… Hannah."
I found her by pure habit.
"What time… what time is it…"
"Dawn… 5:17 in the morning, sir."
Five o'clock at dawn.
The darkest hour — the one that saps a man's will dry.
The acrid smoke of burning tanks drifted in thick clouds over the ruins of Rosenheim.
Perhaps it was the release of tension, but my legs buckled and I nearly collapsed where I stood. I waved off the soldiers trying to support me and hunched my way, staggering, into the rubble of a nearby building.
And then—
You have perfectly repelled the enemy's overwhelming second offensive.
You minimized allied casualties and inflicted massive losses upon the enemy.
Your command and unorthodox tactics have shone brilliantly.
As a reward, you have acquired a vast amount of experience.
Was the battlefield's din finally falling silent because my ears had gone deaf? Were the flickering blue lights blinking because my eyes had gone blind?
Rolling up my blood-soaked sleeve, I gazed at the horizon. Beyond the sea of charred steel and blood, a piercingly blue dawn was breaking.
Soon, the sun would rise.