Pump-Action Shotgun (3)
"The World Tree burning...?"
"Ah, that..."
In response to Brown's question, the escort began to explain.
"During the height of the war with the Demon Realm, the demons burned the World Tree to break the elves' power..."
"...Ah."
For some reason, the World Tree had burned. As a result, the elves—who had lost its blessing—saw their strength plummet dramatically. The elves had been a major pillar in the war against the Demon Realm.
Humanity began to fall back in the war, locked in a grueling, protracted struggle until the Hero appeared.
"After the war ended, the elves who lost the World Tree..."
After the Demon Realm vanished, the elves seemed to have vanished as well. There were only rumors of them living together somewhere, or occasional sightings.
"...That's what I've heard. But it came from mercenaries, so the reliability is..."
Arwin said not to take mercenaries' words at face value.
'Does that apply to Arwin, who might've been a mercenary in the past?'
Brown couldn't voice the thought that crossed his mind. Instead, he asked her another question.
"So, what is the World Tree's blessing?"
"From what I've heard... longevity without illness, and communication with spirits..."
Chatting with the escort, Brown kept walking.
'Are the elves still out there? Or...'
A flicker of curiosity arose, but there was no way to confirm it now. His friend's info hadn't mentioned elves either.
"...We could raise it a bit more."
"..."
For the next few days, knights visited the weapons lab daily, offering input on shotgun production. They focused especially on ammo tailored for knights.
-BOOM!
"...We could raise it a bit more."
"...Pardon? This is already really dangerous..."
Did knights have no regard for safety at all? Brown pondered briefly, then recalled his own early firearm tests—shouldering it thoughtlessly and pulling the trigger. One slip, and he might not be here.
'Yeah. It happens.'
Blaming the knights would just be spitting in his own face.
"...Raising the firepower any more is dangerous."
As Brown wrestled with the dilemma, Karen stepped in.
"We're already at the limit. And the current power is plenty..."
"Just a little more. Let's try it."
"Eek... Look at these calculations—it's way past safe..."
"Hmm. Maybe the formulas are off?"
"We'll take responsibility."
Karen tried persuading them with the equations, but the knights wouldn't budge. True to their unyielding convictions, they held firm against her—stubborn as mules, in other words.
"..."
In the end, Karen gave up.
"This is the last one..."
"Haha."
The knights took the shell from her. They loaded it, then enveloped themselves in aura.
"Hup..."
-BOOM! Clang!
The moment the trigger was pulled, the shell flew from the muzzle... and the gun exploded.
"Huh."
The knight uttered a single word. Even reinforced with aura, the prototype had its limits.
"Ah... ahh... ah..."
'The prototype...'
Beloved Pump-Action Shotgun No. 1 met a heroic end. Cause of death: shattered from pressure overload. Brown secretly wiped away a tear in its honor.
"Haha. It blew up."
"No injuries... good."
He'd been holding the gun—it exploded right in his hand. Yet the knight spoke calmly. After all, he'd worn armor just in case, as Brown had warned.
-Click.
"Haha. The formulas were right."
The knight raised his face guard and inspected the wreckage in his hand.
"...Anyway, for the shells..."
In the quiet atmosphere, Karen spoke up.
"We'll do repeated fire tests at the third stage before the explosion, and if no issues, that's our spec..."
Meanwhile, Brown kept thinking.
'With that firepower, plus penetration... it'd handle knights easily, and even mid-to-high-grade beasts without trouble.'
Coating slugs would come naturally once projectile coating research wrapped up. For more penetration, embedding a hard metal core or changing materials could work. Later, rifling the slugs like Minié balls would boost accuracy too.
There was a minor mishap, but testing went smoothly. Knight-specific ammo was finalized, and their feedback refined the shotgun design.
A few days later.
Brown prepared to receive the knights. Shotguns, bayonets, speedloaders, and mounting belts—for wrists or thighs, with loops for the loaders.
'Hmm...'
Plus standard and knight-specific shells. They'd take them for final tests.
'Well, if it passes...'
Maybe additional support for knight firearms.
'Wonder how it'll go...'
As Brown pondered, the knights arrived at the lab.
"Where are the shotguns and accessories?"
But the mood was off from usual.
'Something wrong?'
Despite his doubts, he guided them.
"..."
At the gear, the knights silently equipped. Slung shotguns, belted wrists and thighs, loaded speedloaders.
"These the knight shells?"
"Yes. But... did something happen?"
As Brown asked, a knight equipping gear replied.
"A necromancer appeared in a territory near the capital."
"...?"
Necromancer. Black mage who commands the dead. Never a good sign.
'It's starting already.'
The signal that the Demon God Cult was ramping up. They'd appear across nations, including Boern Empire—those contracted with the Demon God, or fallen to corruption. They'd sow chaos, letting the cult seize what they needed.
And eventually, reconnect the Demon Realm.
"..."
He couldn't stop it, but hoped to minimize damage. Quietly, Brown helped them prepare.
"They're here."
"Yes."
The commander glanced at their gear.
"Sun God Church forces haven't arrived yet."
They had to strike before the necromancer swelled zombie ranks. Hence the small, mobile unit: knights, mages, Sun Church priests, and holy knights. Divine power helped against undead and black mages.
"May Hella's blessing be with us."
Soon, the Sun God forces arrived.
"Move out."
At the commander's order, they spurred toward the sighting. Half a day later, they reached the territory. Once lively, now shrouded in eerie gloom.
"...A lot of them."
The locals had turned to zombies.
-Grrk... grrr. -Crack.
Grotesque sounds, joints twisting unnaturally—lifeless husks shambled.
One sensed them. Soon, all zombie eyes turned.
"Ugh..."
Their forms were horrific—even knights grimaced.
"Prepare for battle."
The commander drew his sword. Others readied weapons to fell zombies. The twisted undead charged.
Mages hurled fireballs. Priests chanted blessings over knights and holy knights.
"..."
Blessings wrapped gear in holy power. Holy knights gripped shields and maces, bracing. Knights aura-clad their blades, ready to cleave. Shotgun knights waited silently.
"Engage ba—"
-BLAM!
Before the commander finished, shotgun muzzles erupted.
"Damn, I need more time..."
The necromancer muttered, spotting imperial forces via zombies.
"...Fuck."
Muttering, he eyed the massive thing before him.
-Grr... crack.
Its form was grotesque—human corpses fused into one body.
Corpse Golem.
His masterpiece, using Demon God Cult supplies.
-Crack. Grrk.
Faces protruding from the corpse golem twisted hideously. The necromancer addressed one.
"You're our hope. Hold them off."
To the former lord of this territory. It twisted its head, gurgling phlegm. Amusing, begging his old enemy.