It's Made of Cardboard!

"It appears to be made of cardboard!"

From the far edge of the forest, where the trees thinned out into an open field, a mighty war drum came rolling across the land.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM—!

At the same instant, the bellowing war cry of the orcs erupted, shaking the very earth.

"Zagros! Zagros! Zagros!"

Was that the name of an individual orc, or of the tribe itself? I couldn't have cared less. Either way, they were something to be crushed underfoot and driven past as quickly as possible.

[Crackle— Enemy infantry has come within visual range. Collision imminent. …Shall we open the distance and request artillery support?]

Frederica threw out the textbook suggestion. I shook my head.

"No. We won't need support."

I raised my binoculars and studied them closely.

'Status Analysis.' 'Status Analysis.' 'Status Analysis.'

As I spammed the skill like a madman, one figure in particular jumped out at me.

"Hoh."

So that was the ringleader.

"All units, halt. Eyes front."

The tanks screeched to a stop. Beyond the open field, orcs came pouring out of the treeline.

WOOOOO—!

Guided by the frenzied drums and blowing horns, the orcs moved—and before long, several thousand of them stood arrayed in disciplined ranks.

At their center, a hulking orc wearing wolf skins hefted an enormous double-bitted axe. The Great Chieftain, Zagros.

"GRAAAWWWR—! The weak little humans have come ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crawling back! Today, this forest shall become your GRAVE!"

His roar shook the entire forest.

[……Gulp.]

Over the radio, I heard someone swallow dryly.

Elite armored officers or not, faced with a horde of orcs that size, their nerve had evidently wavered.

Then, after a moment—

"Lieutenant Colonel, they're… they're doing something over there."

Hannah narrowed her eyes. She pointed to the far side of the vast open field, where the orcs were clustered thickest.

I raised my binoculars again and studied them. Orcs had gathered around Zagros.

'Status Analysis.'

'A council…?'

Zagros thumped the shoulder of the scrawny shaman standing beside him. The shaman's hands trembled violently as he pointed at our tanks.

'Status Analysis.'

"Great Chieftain! There is no need to fear those iron horses! Only cowardly humans cower within them!"

"Is that so? But are those blackened hides not true iron?"

"Heh heh, I examined them with my magic… that is NOT steel! It is a deception the humans conjured with sorcery!"

"WHAT did you say?!"

Bewilderment flickered across Zagros's eyes. The orc shaman Ak'tor seized on that hesitation and, refusing to let it slip away, cried out:

"Those things are—they're made of cardboard!"

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, Great Chieftain! I swear upon my ancestors' spirits—one swing of our brave warriors' axes will tear them apart like paper!"

'…What?'

I doubted my own eyes. Cardboard…?

"GRAHAHAHA! How cowardly these humans are! They think to frighten us with trickery!"

Zagros raised his massive double-bitted axe high. In his eyes, our tanks were no longer terrifying engines of war—they were nothing but giant tin cans that would crumple at a whack.

"Warriors! Hear me! Those iron shells are fakes—inside, they are stuffed full of meat! Go and peel them open, and enjoy the feast!"

"UOOOOOOO—!!!"

Thousands of orcs let out a unified roar.

And then it began. A full charge of infantry filling the horizon to its very edges—the kind of thing you'd only see in a movie set in antiquity or the Middle Ages. Shields thrust forward, axes raised, they came thundering across the earth.

"A headlong charge."

Another transmission crackled in.

[Crackle— Th-this is Steel Rose! Lieutenant Colonel! They're… they're just RUNNING at us! No dispersal, in a packed mass formation!]

Frederica's voice was flustered. By the logic of an elite officer like her, such tactical behavior had to be utterly incomprehensible.

"Is this your first time facing orcs, Major?"

[…That it is?]

"Then you're about to learn."

[…Learn what, exactly?]

"Just how primitive those creatures are."

[…Pardon?]

For a moment, Frederica made a perfectly dumbfounded noise.

"Major, they believe our tanks are made of cardboard."

[……]

A long silence stretched over the radio.

[…Are you joking with me right now?]

"No, I'm quite serious. So I suppose I'll have to give them a little education."

I casually picked up the receiver.

"All platoons, range eight hundred. Open fire with high explosive and machine guns. Teach them a lesson."

That the age of romance had long since ended.

[…Roger! All squads, OPEN ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠FIRE!]

KRA-KA-KA-KAAANG—!!!

The main guns of the lead tanks roared in unison.

Eight hundred meters. A distance where even sloppy, unaimed shots could hardly miss—and the orcs weren't just bunched together; they were packed shoulder to shoulder.

The moment the high-explosive shells slammed into the heart of the orc column, the laws of physics operated with merciless honesty.

"GRAAAAGH!"

"M-my leg!"

Dozens of orcs around the impact zone burst apart into unrecognizable chunks of flesh, spraying in every direction. The shockwave toppled their formation like dominoes, and shrapnel tore through armor and hide, shredding everything beneath.

"Wh-what…?"

The shaman Ak'tor, commanding from the front lines, looked as if his eyes would pop from their sockets.

The human tanks, which were supposed to be nothing more than slabs of cardboard, were grinding his kinsmen to paste amid a peal of thunder.

"Th-this is…! It's an illusion! This is the humans' vile illusion magic!"

Ak'tor flailed his staff and screamed with all his might.

"Do not fear! Those things are fakes! The pain is fake too! CHARGE! Charge them and tear off their shells!"

Thanks to him—and mercifully so—their madness did not abate. Trampling the corpses of the comrades before them, drenched in blood, the orcs kept coming. They truly believed that the moment the cardboard tore open, the humans inside would surrender in terror.

"All platoons, free fire as guns reload. Don't spare the coaxial machine guns either. This isn't a battle—it's a cleaning operation."

[…Roger!]

RATATATATATATAT! KRAANG! BOOM!

The machine guns mounted on the tank fronts spat fire. Nearly a thousand rounds a minute drew red lines across the air, punching straight through orc chests.

"GRAAK!"

"Im-impossible! What IS this firepower?!"

As the front rank of orcs fell like bundles of straw, the rank behind them stumbled over the corpses—and down onto them fell yet more shells.

KRA-BOOOM!

Only at this point did Zagros finally panic. He'd assumed his warriors' axes would shred the tanks like paper—but in reality, long before a single axe could land, his men were melting away like autumn leaves in the wind.

He stood rooted in place for a moment, then seized the shaman Ak'tor—the one who'd been spouting nonsense at his side—by the throat.

"YOU!! You said this was CARDBOARD?! My warriors are dying, and you call it an illusion?!"

"Gkk! G-Great Chieftain! Th-that is surely… kck!"

Crack.

Zagros snapped the shaman's neck without even hearing the excuse. Shell fragments pattered down over the corpse of a shaman discarded like garbage.

"GRAAAAAH! You cowardly humans!"

Zagros glared in our direction with bloodshot eyes and roared.

"Warriors! Do not retreat! When their magic runs dry, the day is ours! Close in! Get close and CRUSH them!"

Whether it was the Great Chieftain's audacity or simply that there was nowhere left to retreat, the surviving orcs fell into a frenzy and hurled themselves forward once more.

A death-defying charge. Romantic, if you wanted to call it that.

"Major."

[…Yes, Lieutenant Colonel.]

I gave the order in brief.

"Tanks, advance. Run them down."

[…All platoons! Maintain fire on the move! Full speed, FORWARD!]

GRrrrrrumble—!

The wall of steel, frozen in place, began to move.

Dozens of tons of weight kicked off the earth and surged forward. The thunder of engines swallowed the orcs' war cries whole.

"U-urk—AAAAH!"

The orc at the very front slammed into the tank's frontal armor.

WHAM—!

Like a water deer struck by a speeding truck, the orc bounced away without so much as a scream.

Those who followed were sucked mercilessly beneath the churning steel tracks.

Crunch. CRACK.

The sounds of snapping bones and pulverized skulls were swallowed up by the growl of the engines. In the tanks' wake, what had once been orcs lay flattened against the ground in a red smear.

By now, even firing was unnecessary.

Simply driving forward killed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the enemy. Before overwhelming mass and mobility, neither courage nor fighting spirit meant a thing.

"R-run! It's a monster!"

"The blades won't bite! Our axes just bounce off!"

The orcs hammered their axes against the tanks' side armor, but each blow only rang out with a clear kiiing and a spray of sparks. It was, quite literally, a one-sided massacre.

And yet, in the very heart of that chaos—

there stood a single orc who would not retreat.

"YOU DAAAAMNED!"

It was Zagros.