A Small, Lightweight Weapon (2)
Even while Gustav was under construction, the production of countless other weapons and materials never once stopped.
One of those weapons was the minigun—the thing that would bring a complete end to the age of cavalry and knights.
Capable of pouring out up to six thousand rounds per minute, the minigun required no elaborate setup and no cumbersome procedures to fire. In that sense, it might even have been a more definitive herald of the Second Era's total demise than Gustav itself.
When you fire Gustav, there is no one left alive nearby, so the terror takes time to spread. The minigun was not a weapon that drove thousands to a mass grave with a single shot the way Gustav did.
While the miniguns swept enemies away by the dozens and hundreds every second, the survivors would watch their comrades die right in front of them without so much as a scream.
Depending on how we regulated the firepower, that meant people would live to witness the carnage—unlike with Gustav—and that made it even more effective at spreading terror.
"Great Chieftain, are you sure we can handle them with just this many? I heard the enemy numbers over fifty thousand. Shouldn't we reinforce our ranks a little?"
Kraktore, the Orc Great Warrior, voiced a hint of concern.
They had done test firings, true, but only against rocks and trees. He seemed uneasy about whether this would really work against the Iron Vanguard—clad in steel plate, backed by aura, and supported by mages.
If I had said we were firing Gustav, he would not have worried for a second. But the minigun was seeing its first live combat on our side as well, so the nerves were understandable.
I put Kraktore's worries to rest.
"Trust me. The odds of us losing aren't one in ten thousand—they're one in a hundred million. If we take so much as a single casualty, never mind a fatality, I'll have to start praising the enemy's skill. Don't worry about a thing."
"Hahaha… When the Great Chieftain speaks with that much certainty, it would be rude to keep fretting. Very well—we'll put our faith in you alone."
I was not offering empty encouragement.
Even with machine guns decades older and more outdated than the miniguns we were hauling now, fifty British soldiers had once kept five thousand natives from getting anywhere near them and gunned them all down.
In another battle, fifty British soldiers had died while ten thousand natives fell. When the other side does not have weapons of comparable level, a machine gun is that overwhelmingly powerful.
Aura? Magic?
That garbage could not even come close to modern weaponry purpose-built for the sole purpose of massacring human beings.
We were still riding the auxiliary train linked to Gustav when the Birdfolk who had gone out on reconnaissance came rushing back and called for me.
"Lord Isaac! Lord Isaac! The enemy has crossed over this way! And the moment they spotted us, they hit us with magic—several of us are badly hurt!"
"Get the Elf medics here immediately!"
Birdfolk or not, aside from the feathered wings on their backs, their bodies were identical to humans in every other respect. Seeing them wounded did not feel like someone else's problem.
The Birdfolk who landed on the auxiliary train hurriedly carried their injured comrades into the passenger car and laid them down. They had been struck by something sharp; gashes covered their bodies, and they groaned as they bled.
"Ugh… nngh… it hurts…"
"Those bastards opened fire with magic the second they saw us. It was too fast, too many spells—we couldn't dodge them all. Luckily no one died or fell from the sky, but…"
"I'm sorry. I should have made personal equipment for you ages ago…"
With all the work on Gustav and the miniguns, other kinds of gear were still in production.
No matter how hard the Dwarves sweated building factories inside the mines, there were physical limits. For now, there was almost no personal equipment suitable for the Birdfolk or Elves.
"No more scouting. Focus on recovering here. Elf medics—these wounded take top priority. Lumina, you direct the treatment of the beastfolk."
"Yes, Lord Isaac."
I asked the uninjured Birdfolk:
"How far are they from us?"
"Judging by their march speed, they'll be here in about an hour."
At that, I issued orders at once.
"Halt! Park Gustav here. All personnel—get the equipment and ammunition outside immediately and form a line!"
Gustav and the auxiliary trains slowly came to a stop. The moment they did, the Orcs started hauling staggering numbers of ammo crates and miniguns, splitting their ranks evenly on either side of the railway.
Before the Southern army could arrive, the Orcs expertly linked the ammo belts the way they had been trained, then lifted those absurdly heavy miniguns one-handed as casually as if they were picking up a one-kilo dumbbell.
A handful of Dwarves who had come along for final checks scurried about, verifying that nothing was wrong with the equipment. The moment they confirmed everything was in order, they shoved their way between the Orcs and shouted:
"You all remember the training, right?! Before you fire, you have to press this button on the gun to activate the magic stone so the belt feeds properly! Don't forget and then complain the gun won't fire because the belt jammed!"
"You take us for idiots, Dwarf? We remember just fine. You don't need to lecture us on the basics."
"You say that so easily because you never watched how much Adamantium and Mithril went into making these! If even one of them breaks, that big-eared girl who sticks to the Director's side will come storming over with her eyes rolled back and slap you with an invoice! You don't want to end up sleeping in the gutter, so be careful!"
"Th-that is terrifying. We'll keep it in mind."
Then Lumina stuck her head out of the auxiliary train and bellowed:
"I'm already swamped with treatment here—don't make me any more stressed and just get ready for combat properly! And Rondar! You prepare to see me when this fight is over! Badmouthing me behind my back when no one's around?!"
The Dwarf Chief Artisan called Rondar went pale.
"D-damn it, she heard me!"
"I know nothing of this."
Kraktore and the other Orcs carefully averted their eyes and cut ties. In the end, Rondar slipped away to the rear with the face of a condemned man walking to his execution.
We formed the battle line and waited for some time.
At last, the Southern army began to appear little by little beyond the horizon.
No matter how much encouragement and courage I offered, the Orcs still carried long memories of what humans had done to them—especially the history of being crushed and conquered by the ironclad cavalry leading that army, the Iron Vanguard. They looked a little tense.
Watching the enemy draw steadily closer, I called for an Elf.
"I'd like one Elf over here."
Lumina burst out of the auxiliary train and ran to me.
"You called, Lord Isaac?"
"The beastfolk?"
"We've just finished all the necessary treatment."
"Excellent. Then would you mind letting me have a little chat with them?"
Lumina's eyes narrowed.
"You're going to talk with people who openly invaded Western territory?"
"I always give people one more chance."
Lumina sighed and, just as she had at the Southern Gate, summoned tree roots to carry my voice to the distant Southern army.
"Ready."
At Lumina's word, I cleared my throat and spoke.
"Ah—Southern forces, can you hear me? I am Isaac, Director of Western Demi-human Affairs. Through an Elf's power, I am speaking to you from here—"
"!"
Suddenly Lumina flinched, and the tree roots that had stretched out from the earth began retracting toward us.
"What is it?"
"They've cut the roots that served as the medium for communication."
I gave a hollow laugh at that answer.
"So we're not even worth talking to? Their position is crystal clear—that makes responding easy."
Having confirmed the South's answer, I watched the enemies approaching beyond the horizon.
They were still out of range.
Even though I had told them they could rest inside, the uninjured Birdfolk came out and flew low, reporting the distance between us and them.
"Lord Isaac! The enemy is picking up speed!"
"All units—prepare to activate miniguns!"
On the signal, the Orcs pressed the magic-stone activation buttons on top of their miniguns in unison.
The magic stones activated, but the dual security devices the Dwarves had built kept the guns from firing yet.
"Aim!"
The Orcs made final adjustments to their miniguns' aim, training them on the ground forces.
The moment the Iron Vanguard at the very front cloaked their shields and armor in powerful aura and spurred their horses into a full-speed charge—
"They're within one kilometer, Lord Isaac!"
At the Birdfolk's report, I finally gave the order.
"Show them that the Third Era has arrived! Fire!!!"
The Orcs pressed the fire buttons on the sides of their miniguns all at once.
At the same instant, fifty miniguns began forming a curtain of lead toward the front at nearly a hundred rounds per second.