Chapter 12
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Miracle
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The soldiers here were conscripted by the Spanish colonial authorities to strike at the English settlement.
They weren't some elite special forces, but compared to the civilians who had come from London, they were an overwhelming force.
And that power came from their abundant real combat experience.
They had fought outnumbered against tens of thousands of Indians, watched comrades die from unfamiliar poisons and pests, and witnessed all sorts of bizarre beasts roaming the skies and fields.
Their courage was nothing to scoff at. In fact, if you were looking for the people in this world most accustomed to the sensation of the "unknown," it would be these Spanish soldiers.
After all, they were the ones who had left their beloved homeland behind and stepped into an entirely new world.
And when they faced that grotesque monster, the only words they could muster were these.
"Lord have mercy (Dios mío)..."
Bam!
And just like that, another dazed fool bit the dust.
Vrooooom!
The Spanish sons scrambling over the chain-link fence froze solid at the monster's mad roar as it charged wildly.
A horrific metallic screech licked at their ears. The unpleasant stench of petroleum, headache-inducing, numbed their senses of smell.
"Gaaah!"
"S-save me..."
"Monster, monster...!"
That thing—that bright yellow steel beast—was crushing their allies like mad.
It seemed to savor the sweet taste of slaughter, heaving its massive bulk at impossible speeds.
Rumble. Rumbble.
In an instant, they had lost their commander, the governor.
In an instant, several comrades at the front had been turned into mincemeat.
"Ha... what the hell is that...?"
Someone let out a hollow laugh, only for his neck to snap. The monster's arm, whipping around at high speed, had smashed his head.
A body made of bright yellow metal, bizarre wheels like tank treads, and a massive arm menacingly dangling from the front.
All of it painted with the fresh blood of their allies.
Was that what Behemoth from the Bible looked like? Was it a creation meticulously crafted by Satan?
Crunch.
One soldier's arm got caught in the monster's joint by chance. The terrified man flailed desperately, but the monster emotionlessly lifted its arm and...
"Gaaaaah!"
Crunch.
...crushed his arm.
And then...
"L-load your guns!"
"Uh... uh?"
"They're firing from the front!"
Bang bang bang!
The ragtag militia unleashed another volley at them.
Sorry, Mr. Choi.
"Gaaah! His Excellency the Governor has been flung away!"
"E-everyone, evade! Get back!"
"Shit (Mierda)! What the hell do we do?!"
Today, the excavator you lent me is going to become a killing machine.
It can run at roughly 60 kilometers per hour max.
A human at full sprint averages about 20 kilometers per hour.
And this excavator can hit up to 37.5. Sure, it'd break down if I pushed it that hard nonstop... but whatever. It can be fixed.
Just earlier, when I barreled through once, the guy they called "His Excellency the Governor" went tumbling far away, and the soldiers under him...
"Guh! Gaaaaaaah!"
...got pulverized.
Ugh. No meat for days.
I barely suppressed the urge to vomit. Averting my eyes from the horrific tangle of flesh, bone, and organs, I charged toward the other soldiers ahead.
"Eek! D-don't come closer! You monster!"
"You bastard! Just shoot! Shoot, I said!"
Bang! Bang bang bang!
The Spanish soldiers who had climbed over the fence didn't dare touch anyone else—they just unloaded their bullets at me. A fine effort, fine discipline. Counterattacking in a situation like this.
Ping. Pping. Ping.
But it failed.
Why? Because when I planned this insane charge right into the heart of the enemy with the excavator, did I prepare nothing? Of course I wrapped the entire cockpit in polycarbonate sheets.
No way those lead balls would hit me unless I was really unlucky...
Pfft!
"..."
What? Did that just graze me?
Damn. The impact from earlier collisions must've loosened the polycarbonate sheets I'd fixed in place. A bullet slipped through the gap.
Thud!
"Grk!"
Crack crack!
"Kieeeek!"
Freely smashing and trampling people, I glanced at my arm—blood trickled hot and stinging from where the bullet had grazed. Damn it. Shouldn't have come up with this reckless plan.
Suddenly, my life was on the line. These damn Spaniards, threatening me?
No more guilt. I'll smash, trample, and kill to my heart's content...
Bump. Bump.
"...Ugh."
The sickening stench of blood assaulted me from all sides. While the Spaniards were in chaos, our allies fell back and poured gunfire, felling more enemies.
But our gunpowder was running low too. While our forces retreated far back, grabbing pitchforks and spears to stand guard...
It was my turn.
"Grab that thing! There's a man riding it! It's not some Behemoth or mythical beast—just a complicated machine!"
"D-damn it, Lord. Lord..."
"Get a grip! Kill the rider and seize that machine, and we win!"
What the hell. How do you keep your head in this situation?
As an adjutant-looking guy shouted, the Spaniards reformed ranks and fired at me. The polycarbonate deflected most, but the impacts were heavy.
"Everyone, draw swords and charge! It isn't that fast—dodge and you'll live!"
"Uwaaaah!"
"Smash the heathens' sorcery! Kill that Indian bastard on top too!"
And that much shock was enough for the Spaniards to regain their morale.
They were a powerful, well-trained army from the start. Even after their governor got smashed by a sudden monster and comrades turned to mush, they pulled themselves together.
I was impressed by their discipline.
I floored the accelerator to pick up speed, but as the enemy commander said, the excavator had speed limits. Once they snapped out of panic, attacks got tricky.
This... won't work...!
The plan was built on pre-modern folks' terror of unfamiliar machines. If they overcame the fear, the foundation crumbled.
I'd killed plenty, but they were still annoyingly numerous!
Our side retreating meant they'd run out of powder. If I fell here, our ragtag militia would clash head-on with ironclad Spaniards.
No chance of winning.
Somehow, drive them into a corner...
Thud.
...Huh?
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Ha. Insane.
"Climb on!"
"Everyone, climb and kill the rider!"
Spanish soldiers in plate armor charged madly and started leaping onto my excavator.
Some got crushed, some trampled flat, but they didn't give up. Eyes bloodshot, they clung to the outside.
"Urgh! Heathen devil! How dare... gaaaaah!"
Vreeee!
Whoa! Nearly died! A guy was prying the door open, so I barely sawed his arm off with the chainsaw! Slammed the door shut, grabbed the controls again... Huh?
Crunch!
"Don't target the tough glass! Break the joints!"
Ha.
Yeah. That's the conquistador from the textbooks.
They fight damn well.
Clang! Thunk thunk! Clang!
Spaniards on the windshield and sides jammed steel swords into the silicone and nails holding the polycarbonate.
Meanwhile, more soldiers tumbled off, some got their heads crushed underfoot, but the rest ignored it, eyes bulging as they worked.
Clang! Clang! Thunk thunk!
I wrenched the wheel wildly, cornering hard to shake them off just before tipping. The more I did, the more Spaniards latched on.
About ten clinging like bugs now. Can't see through the front...
Oh.
Damn.
Bam!
I slammed straight into the chain-link fence.
And that wasn't the problem.
Thunk thunk!
The moment the excavator hit the fence, one soldier's sword ripped out a polycarbonate sheet, stabbing through the gap.
By inertia, my body lurched forward.
The two events happened simultaneously by chance. The result...
...
...
I stared at the sword hilt sprouting from my chest.
So much blood in a human body? It gushed red. Every wobble shook the blade, churning my insides. Excruciating pain.
Like... my chest seared by a branding iron.
Barely lifting my eyes, the soldier who stabbed me was already crushed half-dead between the fence and excavator. He wouldn't last.
'Immortal one who transcends eras, now a new world calls for you.'
I... uh...
Damn.
'Immortal.'
Consciousness fading.
Oil smell hits my nose. For some reason, the opening line of 'Immortal Order' echoes in my ears. Yeah. Cut the immortal crap. It's all over...
'There is no end.'
...Huh?
'For you, there is no end.'
'Immortal.'
I glanced down absentmindedly.
The blood...
'Immortal.'
...stopped.
"..."
"..."
The farm fell into a leaden silence, as if mocking the earlier clamor of metal and shouts.
The yellow monster, that horrific death machine, had finally stopped.
Dozens had died or been injured to halt it. And still, dozens remained alive.
"C-cough, hack..."
"H-his Excellency the Governor lives!"
"Your Excellency! Are you all right?"
"Don't... touch me. Feels like broken ribs."
"..."
"..."
"That mon... monster...?"
At Vicente's question, the soldiers pointed as one to that corner.
The "monster" lay wrecked against the chain-link fence. Smoke rose from its side.
Seeing it, color returned to Vicente's twisted face, joints aching all over.
Only.
"..."
"..."
Only the natives and English couldn't smile.
The Spaniards approached them stealthily. Chests and backs clad in Toledo steel, fine swords and shields in hand.
Now, as victors, it was time to revel in slaughter and plunder. Time to hunt easy prey instead of being hunted.
The settlers and natives backed away slowly. Some collapsed, legs giving out.
They desperately searched the smoke for the monster's rider.
"P-please, angel..."
But no angel was here.
Now, only killers and the to-be-killed remained.
Arrows from Manteo and the natives bounced harmlessly off Spanish breastplates and shields. A couple fell, but that was it.
Their laughter grew louder. Discarding guns for arrows? No powder left, right?
Now for pure hand-to-hand.
Time for steel-clad veteran Spaniards to dance with militia rabble and savages.
They advanced, licking their lips.
Boom!
A sudden roar drew all eyes back to the monster.
The rider emerged from ash and smoke, staggering.
Sword still in his chest.
"..."
"..."
"..."
All lost their wits at the sight.
What superhuman willpower let him stand tall and walk with a blade in his chest?
"Raaagh!"
But the Spaniards wouldn't stand by.
A man who had just lost a comrade charged, swinging his sword. The man blocked with his arm—like he had no strength left, or didn't care.
Slice.
Of course, the arm severed clean. English women screamed, natives trembled in fear.
And.
And then...
"Who does not live by the law of a fleshly commandment but by the power of an endless life..."
As all eyes fixed on the man, a Spanish soldier muttered a Bible verse.
Hebrews 7:16-17.
The man looked at his just-severed arm.
Raised his forearm...
Letting everyone see.
The cut bone, muscle, and vessels regrowing before their eyes.