Northern Front (3)
Low-grade demonic beasts. The "low-grade" label notwithstanding, they were still demonic beasts—far more powerful than any ordinary wild animal. The soldiers on the Northern Front had to fight these low-grade beasts every single day.
Even a group of grown men working in perfect sync could end up injured or dead with just a moment's mistake. That's why the soldiers had to stay on high alert when facing them.
And if the low-grade beasts appeared in packs? The burden grew heavier, and casualties became commonplace.
Things got much easier if knights joined the fray. But knights were in limited supply. And with mid-grade beasts showing up more frequently, the knights no longer had time to worry about low-grade ones.
In the end, it fell to the regular soldiers to handle the low-grade beasts. Call-outs became more frequent, and the beasts started appearing in larger groups. Knights would join for three or more, but up to two was on the soldiers. Fatigue built up quickly among the troops, and casualties steadily rose.
That was when the Empire sent new firearms.
The double-barrel shotgun.
Just one shot could neutralize a low-grade beast with ease. A hit to weak points like the head or chest meant instant death. Even a leg shot crippled them effectively.
And it was simple to operate and aim.
No longer did they need to fight up close. If they missed or failed to land a solid hit, they could just pull the other trigger.
The rest of the squad just had to hold the line and keep the beast from closing in while the gunner reloaded and fired.
Casualties dropped sharply. The strain of low-grade beast hunts eased. And now, fewer soldiers could handle even more beasts.
"You mean we can take down demonic beasts with just one trigger pull?"
"This is a piece of cake now."
A single firearm had changed the entire dynamic and outcome of the hunts. The soldiers quickly fell in love with the shotgun's power.
"This firepower... ahh... I'm in love..."
"Where's the next beast?"
Low-grade demonic beasts were no longer a threat. Gun malfunctions or running out of ammo were far bigger worries for them now.
"Ready?"
"Yes, sir!"
The squad moved out with their squad leader. To hunt low-grade demonic beasts, they left the territory once more today.
"Two low-grade beasts at three o'clock."
"Let's go."
Bang! Bang!
"Eleven o'clock..."
Bang!
They kept going until they spotted traces of a mid-grade beast or ran out of ammo. Patrolling the territory's outskirts and wiping out low-grade beasts had become their daily routine.
"How much ammo left?"
"Plenty, sir."
Derek answered the squad leader's question.
"Keep moving."
There was no tension on their faces or in their movements. They patrolled with far more relaxed attitudes than before.
"That guy from yesterday..."
"Pfft. I was rolling too. Lost a month's pay on that..."
"And you got rekt."
"I practiced, okay?"
"Then tonight after dinner..."
Derek walked along, eavesdropping on the senior soldiers' chatter. One of the vets up ahead turned to him.
"Hey, Derek. Can that thing take down a mid-grade beast?"
"I've heard it can, but I don't know for sure."
"You haven't tested it yet?"
"I think they're planning tests in a few days, but nothing confirmed."
He remembered hearing it during initial training—that it worked on mid-grade beasts too.
But no one had used a shotgun on a mid-grade beast yet. Not him, not any other gunner. The shotguns were still new, and doctrine called for pulling back and reporting mid-grade sightings. No Northern Front soldiers had fired them at mid-grades.
"I see. Anyway, how's the recoil?"
"Heavy, but kinda gets you used to it..."
"Quiet."
The squad leader hushed them as their voices grew louder.
"Yes, sir."
"Yessir."
The soldiers fell silent. Crunch. Crunch crunch.
Leaving footprints in the snow, they pressed on.
"Low-grade at three o'clock."
"Let's go."
As they closed in, the beast heard them and turned its head.
Grrr...
"That thing looks like total shit. Never gets less ugly."
One soldier muttered at the sight. Not the tough opponent it used to be, but the beasts' appearances never grew on you.
"Prepare for approach. You two, watch the flanks."
"Yes, sir."
Everyone but two braced for the beast. Derek raised his shotgun and aimed.
The beast charged.
Bang!
The moment it entered range, Derek fired. The charging beast tumbled into the snow.
"Grab the magic stone."
At the squad leader's order, soldiers approached the corpse.
Magic stones were in the head or chest—one or the other, sometimes both.
They headed to the spots and prepped to extract.
"Head's blown to bits. No extra work needed."
"Stone smashed too?"
"Hold on..."
The head guy shoved his long leather-gloved hand into the shattered skull to fish for the stone.
"This looks like buckshot..."
The chest guy drew his knife and stabbed in.
Squelch.
"Urk, gross."
Body fluids sprayed from the deep stab.
"Damn it."
"Ah, shit. Stings. Not my first rodeo."
"You knew it'd happen."
"With your experience? Yeah."
The soldiers grimaced and brushed off the splattered fluids. Suddenly, a flank guard shouted.
"Mid-grade beast! Three o'clock!"
"Ditch the stone and fall back..."
"Coming this way! Move!"
An unexpected mid-grade encounter. Worst part: it had spotted them and was charging.
"Ha..."
The squad leader's mind raced. Running was futile—they'd be caught soon. Fighting? How do you tackle something house-sized?
He'd heard double-barrel shotguns worked on mid-grades. And he had a gunner in the squad. But seeing its size up close, he doubted it.
If it worked, great. If not? Massacred.
No good options. Which minimized casualties?
The squad leader yelled.
"Scatter and run for the territory!"
The soldiers bolted in all directions. The mid-grade hesitated at the spreading squad.
Roooar!
It slammed both feet down.
Thud!
Then picked a target and charged. Unlucky Derek.
"Fuck fuck fuck...!"
He ran shotgun in hand, but the beast closed fast.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Was that the beast's steps or his pounding heart in his ears? Maybe both.
The double-barrel and ammo bag felt heavier than ever. He wanted to ditch them and run, but without them, nothing to fight back with.
'Turn and shoot now?'
He'd heard it worked on mid-grades.
'Like hell it'll work on that.'
Seeing it firsthand, no way. Plus, chambers held buckshot. Slugs might've been better.
Swapping ammo on the run? Tempting, but slowing even a second meant caught.
"Huff... huff...!"
Running wouldn't save him. If death was certain, why not bet on a slim chance?
"Fine... fuck it..."
Derek spun while running.
The beast was right on him—about to trample or slash.
Bang!
Firing backward at a sprint? Bad idea. Recoil tangled his legs.
"Gah!"
A brief stumble, and the beast was on his heels. Derek dove sideways.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The beast thundered past.
"Shit..."
Derek fired the second barrel.
Bang!
Hasty shot? It grazed, tearing flesh. Not enough to drop it— just pissed it off.
No time to gawk. Derek flipped the lever and ejected shells.
Roooar!
The roar pierced his ears. He fumbled open the ammo bag.
'Which are the slugs?'
Left? Right? Panic blurred it. Meanwhile, the beast wheeled and charged again.
'Fuck it...'
He grabbed whatever, shoved into chambers. As he snapped shut and cleared empties, a paw slammed down.
Thud!
Derek cocked one hammer and rolled aside, dodging the leg. Looking up, the beast raised to stomp.
Bang!
Gunfire echoed.