- 04. Great Retreat -
"Haaah—"
The next morning. Athena emerged from the shadowed undergrowth with a sigh.
Her face, exposed to the sunlight, somehow looked about a year older.
[Why are you like that, Athena?]
"No, I was just... contemplating whether Automata really need human biological functions."
[Athena, that's...]
She obviously knew why Automata exhibited human biological functions.
It was so Automata could maintain a healthy sense of self and personality, like the dolls in that game with the goddesses of victory.
Still, as a man, there was an unavoidable sense of self-loathing—
"What a mess. What a mess."
Athena shook off the negative emotions with a two-hit combo of sighs.
She surveyed her surroundings.
The sun had risen and brightly illuminated the world, yet the world still looked somehow dim.
Athena walked through a world where an unsettling shadow lay slithering over everything.
Trees and blades of grass stained black, soil with an inexplicable metallic sheen. A cold scent in the air kept plucking at her nerves.
Still, she advanced south while staying alert. At the same time, she continued her conversation with Nike from the day before.
[Athena. While you were asleep, I thought about what you said.]
"Why? Is there some kind of problem?"
[A machine gun... If it's as you described, it would certainly be a tremendous weapon, but—]
In response to Athena's questioning look, Nike trailed off in a slightly ambiguous voice.
[That firearm called a machine gun would be a weapon capable of projecting firepower on a completely different level from the revolver you're using now, wouldn't it?]
"Right? Its rate of fire would be about 1,000 rounds per minute."
[... Then I have no choice but to ask, Athena.]
At Nike's solemn tone, Athena gulped and swallowed hard.
Wh-what is it?
But that question lasted only a moment.
[How do you intend to handle that enormous ammunition consumption?]
"Wh-what?!"
Wait, that's the problem?
There's a broken-ass magic that instantly produces objects out of thin air, and that's the problem?
Of course, back when <Abyss Flood> was a game, MP had definitely existed, and skill cooldowns had existed too.
When Athena had first pulled out the double-action revolver in this other world, she had subtly felt the drain.
But when reloading ammunition, honestly speaking, the drain was at a level she couldn't even feel.
Since it even automatically recovered the spent casings, she'd assumed the Materia consumed per round couldn't be much.
"It's that bad...?"
Athena furrowed her brow, carving a 川 between her eyebrows, and asked again. At that, Nike delivered the cold, cold reality.
[It is that bad, Athena. Based on the .357 Magnum rounds of the revolver you're currently using, the number of rounds you can use in a single battle is approximately 300.]
Having said that, Nike brought up a familiar UI in one corner of Athena's vision.
A simplified illustration of the double-action revolver, and beneath it, a figure reading 6/300, glimmered faintly in orange.
"Only 300 rounds?"
[If the spent casings are automatically recovered and recycled, you have about 100 more rounds of leeway, but if you manufacture additional firearms, your available MP will decrease further. Your natural recovery rate is—about 10 rounds per minute.]
"..."
Who the hell is 300-400 rounds supposed to be enough for?
The iconic machine gun of the World War II era. Nazi Germany's MG42 had a rate of fire of about 1,200 rounds per minute. Even with the rate of fire lowered, it was 900 rounds.
That meant 300 rounds couldn't even properly produce half of its original firepower.
And that was for just one machine gun.
With that, she couldn't even field the two guns that were the basic requirement for crossfire.
Vulcans or miniguns beyond the machine gun, or modern artillery—the god of the battlefield—were dreams within dreams.
[It's a bit awkward to say this, but... your MP capacity and recovery rate, Athena, are below the Automata average. It's faster to count from the bottom.]
"Haaah..."
[To put it in terms of those weeb gacha games you like—you're a mass-produced 3-star fodder character you dismantle for materials.]
"N-no way... There's no way I'm that...!"
[3-Star Normal.]
"If you think about it, I'm basically a defective 5-star right now—a burst-damage unit built for short fights. But if I can get an MP-recovery setup, I'm a late-bloomer who can stand above the heavens!"
Eek! Aah! Eek!
After enjoying a round of back-and-forth comedy with Nike.
She returned to reality.
"Seriously, not a single thing comes easy..."
[That's how reality works.]
So this body's available MP was that pathetic...
'No, normally in this kind of situation, isn't a fat stack of MP the basic isekai bonus?'
Athena cursed the hell out of whoever had dropped her into this world.
These days, the trend in gender-bender stories was brainless overpowered protagonists getting pampered and doted on.
But MP below average?
Below average?!!!
'No, was I asking for something huge?'
No matter how tear-jerkingly sad her MP pool was, shouldn't basic decency require at least enough to pour out crossfire from two machine guns?
Ah—come to think of it, Sandglass Studio. Those bastards had no decency to begin with.
Ugh.
[What will you do, Athena? Praying to God right now won't suddenly grant you the abilities you lack. You can only do your best with what you have.]
"Yeah. I'll have to."
[Should we give up on the machine gun?]
"No. That's not happening."
[But—]
"We'll have to find a way."
Unless she could put a gun in the hands of every single human, a machine gun that maximized firepower per firearm wasn't a choice—it was a necessity.
So rather than giving up on the machine gun, she had no choice but to increase her own total MP or increase her recovery rate.
'It's not like there's no way.'
In the original game, to begin with—
Claaang!
"!@#$#!@@#@!!"
"?!"
[Hm?!]
As Athena was thinking about how to solve her MP shortage, a noise reached her ears.
A sharp metallic ring.
The distinctive sharp clang of steel striking steel.
Judging by how faint the sound was, it seemed to be coming from quite far away.
It was faint even to Automata hearing, which was generally sharper than an ordinary human's.
[Northeast... A considerable number are fighting. What will you do, Athena?]
Nike asked in a calm voice. Since the distance was considerable, if she wanted to avoid it, she could avoid it easily.
No matter how powerful the firepower of her firearms, Athena was alone.
On the other hand, how many troops were entangled in whatever was happening far off in the distance was unknown.
The firepower she could produce with a revolver had clear limits.
Six rounds at a time.
Effective range around 50 meters.
No matter how much she half-cheated the reload speed, there were still gaps—that was an undeniable fact.
When she'd first opened her eyes in this world—the battle had already ended, and the Heuksu moving about on their own had been distracted by the corpses on the battlefield, stupidly charging in separately in groups of two or three, so she'd been able to win easily.
But the place where the noise was coming from now would be different. They would clearly be focused on killing humans.
To put it simply—even if what was over there was the same Beast-Type Heuksu, it would be far more dangerous and lethal.
Nike said nothing to Athena. She simply fell silent, as if she would follow whatever choice Athena made without a word of complaint.
It felt like she was saying it was okay to run away—
"Ha—"
Athena was instead dumbfounded. You think I'm soft?
"What do you mean, what will I do. What else would I do."
Athena drew the revolver from its holster and caressed it as if in passing.
The cold feel of the steel, the hot heat of the rounds contained within, climbed up through her fingertips.
Her trembling hand settled into calm.
"I'm going to save them."
Athena said it as if making a vow to herself.
***
Julius Sunchaser.
After the northern empire fell to the Heuksu, he was one of the countless imperial refugees who flowed into the southern kingdom.
When the black beasts tried to ravage the southern continent, he stepped forward without hesitation and fought the Heuksu, and his distinguished service caught the eye of House Sunchaser, a prestigious family of the southern kingdom, which adopted him.
Afterward, he steadily accumulated merit and became a commander leading a century, then took part in the Black Mountain battle.
At the end of it, he was a living witness who had seen the starting point of humanity's downfall with his own two eyes.
"Goddamn it."
Julius spat out a curse and glared at the enemies before him.
Beside him, the soldiers who had trusted and followed him, the comrades who had gathered their strength to somehow survive together, were collapsing into cold lumps of meat.
Blood overflowed, and steel was dyed red.
Black Mountain... He had somehow escaped that hellish swamp with his unit, but the world was not so easy.
The pursuit continued.
Soldiers fell one by one.
Ordinary humans... no matter how much they trained in the Materia Breathing Method, were ultimately creatures made of soft flesh and red blood.
A fight that dragged on without proper supply or rest would end like this in the end.
"Aaaagh—!"
An enemy's black blade grazed past a wrist, and red blood spurted high.
The soldier whose wrist was severed collapsed with a scream.
"Aines!"
Centurion Julius's personal orderly. A fellow refugee from the Empire.
His combat skill itself was ordinary, but his tenacity and endurance were remarkable, and he had never once dropped his shield on the front line.
But no matter how much willpower he had, with the tendons in his wrist severed, he couldn't keep holding a shield.
Blond hair and blue eyes. A decent-looking guy who had laughed and said that once the Black Mountain battle was over, he'd confess to the girl he had his eye on.
Having lost his shield, he was soon hacked apart by the enemies' follow-up sword strikes and collapsed, spilling blood in every direction.
Watching that sight, Julius swallowed tears of blood.
"That's why I told you not to say shit like that. You dumb bastard..."
The face of the guy who had laughed heartily, saying he didn't believe in superstitions, was now growing cold, and the two eyes that had blazed with the will to live were being sucked into the void.
The collapse of a battle line naturally accelerates.
Once the sturdiest link broke, even those who remained began to crumble in an instant.
"Hrk—"
"Captain... Captain... huu—"
"Grrrk—"
Their blackened faces still resembled beautiful girls as they swung their weapons with utter ruthlessness and no emotion.
No disruption in breathing, no fluctuation from fatigue.
Enemies who killed humans more efficiently than any other enemy, with the same eyes as those lying on the ground who couldn't even close their eyes...
Those who had once been the most reliable of fighting forces had now become lethally dangerous enemies.
Corrupted Automata.
Undead.
In them, there was not a shred of guilt over taking the lives of comrades they had once fought alongside, nor even the twisted fervor of killing an enemy.
An enemy closing in at high speed.
Julius gritted his teeth and raised his sword, but unfortunately, he too had long since passed his limit.
Clang!
"Aagh!"
A single collision.
He lost his grip on his sword from the enemy's attack and fell.
His own martial skill was nothing to scoff at—he had risen to centurion, after all—but he too had fought for the past fortnight without proper supplies or rest.
He had reached his limit long ago.
'Damn.'
He didn't even have the strength to twitch a finger.
'Is this how it ends?'
Julius resigned himself.
How the hell had this happened?
Was it because of the weak, idealistic upper echelon who, when the Automata were first created, had tried to give them worthless pride and self-esteem instead of binding them with forced commands?
Was it because of the idiotic behavior of the frontline soldiers and commanders who nevertheless treated them as emotionless tools, as dolls?
Or was it himself, who had waffled and then accepted a traitor into the ranks?
Whatever the cause, the deed was already done.
He would not forget it even in death.
He opened his eyes wide.
At the very least, he ought to remember the face of the bitch who was taking his life.
Transparent eyes like glass beads, visible through the black helmet, looking down at him.
Colorless hair, as if mixed with ash.
Even in this situation, their faces were worth looking at, which made these corpse dolls even more fucking infuriating.
A cold blade descending in a posture optimized for stabbing a fallen person, with utter efficiency.
And then...!
Crack—!
The head of the enemy that had been about to take his life—the helmet shattered in a single blow.
"?!!!!!!!"
BANG—
A step too late... from somewhere far away, a sound like thunder rolled faintly across the distance.