Let There Be Light (2)

The entire world dissolved into blinding white.

Earth bled into sky, and the heavens seemed to crash into the dirt until up and down lost all meaning.

"Ugh..."

Her muscles went slack, unresponsive and utterly divorced from her will. How much time had slipped away in that void?

As Myoran gradually blinked her senses back into order, she pushed herself up on trembling, fluffy white paws. She had barely managed to prop her torso upright when a panicked voice cut through the ringing in her ears.

"Chieftain!"

A nearby rabbit beastkin scrambled over, hurriedly offering an arm to brace her. Hearing that familiar voice finally jarred Myoran's scrambled thoughts, snapping her memories back into focus.

"Right! The fight! What happened to the battle, myo?"

She had thrown the mana condenser Juddak sent her straight into the thick of the sandworm horde. After that, everything went black. Were they still under siege? There was no time to sit around groaning. But as the frantic question tumbled from her lips, the rabbit supporting her wore a distinctly bizarre expression.

"Well, um..."

Instead of answering, the rabbit quietly pointed beyond the palisade.

Myoran followed the trembling hand, turning her gaze toward the fields.

"...!"

Her breath hitched in her throat.

The swarming sea of sandworms—or rather, the vista that had been utterly crawling with them just moments prior—stood completely frozen.

Not a single one had even managed to collapse to the ground.

"H-How... myo...?"

When sandworms perished, immediate rigor mortis set in, petrifying their carcasses into rigid husks. Looking at their stiff postures made it easy enough to reconstruct what had happened.

The exact epicenter where the flashbang had detonated.

Every single sandworm stood rooted in place, dead eyes locked onto that empty crater, having died instantly in a collective, silent massacre.

"Well, uh..."

I stared at the screen, rubbing my chin. The stun grenade's efficacy was beyond question.

Eyeball fleas were hypersensitive to ambient light; the sheer luminous fury of a modern tactical flashbang had fried them the microsecond it flared. Stripped of their neural parasites, the puppeteered sandworms were wiped out in their tracks, frozen like gruesome statues across the subterranean landscape.

The problem was that it had worked entirely too well.

"Oof."

Myoran had been livestreaming the entire tactical situation directly to the board so I could monitor the fight. The fatal issue was that it was currently the dead of night back in the bunker's time zone, which translated to the ungodly early hours for half the gallery. Every nocturnal degenerate who had been lying in pitch-black darkness, scrolling the boards under their bedsheets, had taken a point-blank tactical flashbang straight into their unadjusted retinas.

"Should I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠apologize?"

I hadn't pinned an official warning announcement beforehand. The only people I had told to look away were Myoran and her front-line militia. Technically, the Head Moderator himself had just pulled off an unprovoked, wide-scale trolling op against his own user base.

For a split second, I considered drafting a formal apology post. Then I remembered where I was. In an internet community, apologizing is suicide. Going full shameless was the only true path.

I haven't been surfing boards for just a day or two. The golden rule of forum psychology is simple: the moment you bow your head and beg for forgiveness, the users think, Oh, so this guy's open season for insults!

But when you double down with pure, unadulterated impudence?

Just like that, the brewing riot dissolved into peak internet banter. Still, the incident left me with a crucial lesson: stun grenades were definitely not something to be thrown around casually.

"Yeah, I can't just hand these out for every single skirmish."

Rabbit beastkin possessed extraordinarily delicate hearing. A stun grenade didn't just cast a bright light; it released a deafening, concussive bang exceeding one hundred and seventy decibels, capable of rupturing unprotected eardrums. They had scraped through this time by covering their ears, but supplying them with crates of flashbangs was a recipe for permanent disability.

No casualties. That alone made the operation an undeniable success despite the collateral retinal damage inflicted upon the lurking night owls.

"Well, at least the immediate crisis is dealt with."

Before long, as expected, the boards began churning with fresh discussion threads dissecting the encounter.

Whenever modern military hardware made an appearance, the self-proclaimed arcane scholars inevitably flocked to overanalyze it. And then came the other inevitable nuisance.

The system's Barter function had long since degraded from an inter-community logistical pipeline into an unfiltered mailbox full of scandalous rabbit girl pin-ups. I muted the trade alert pop-ups with a weary click and leaned back in my chair.

"Flashbangs are great on paper, but..."

They just weren't suitable for rabbit beastkin. More critically, the underlying problem remained unresolved. The sandworms hadn't been eradicated.

The sandworm threat was far from over. As long as their subterranean lairs remained undisturbed, another raid was inevitable. Fighting underground was a nightmare because horrors didn't just emerge from horizontal avenues; they could plunge through the ceiling or erupt straight through the stone floor beneath your feet.

Then, a new post caught my eye.

The problem was the location. It was deep underground.

"Wait, Rifts can tear open subterranean fissures too?"

On second thought, there was nothing strange about that. If Rifts could manifest beneath ocean depths, manifesting within underground rock strata was perfectly natural. That tear in space was undoubtedly the spawning pool that had been pumping out sandworms this whole time.

The real dilemma was how to neutralize it.

On the surface, standard operational doctrine was well established: assemble defensive infantry directly in front of the Rift. A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Rift couldn't spit out an infinite deluge of monsters all at once. Furthermore, the beasts were disoriented and defenseless the moment they crossed the dimensional threshold, making them easy pickings if you camped the portal.

The problem was the subterranean environment. First of all, the Rift was absurdly far away. The village nestled behind its palisades might be reasonably secure, but that crack in reality was situated far beyond the perimeter of the crop fields.

"At that distance, even rifle fire would struggle to find a mark."

Even if I brought in a certified Master Marksman from the Republic of Korea Army, landing lethal hits across pitch-black caves at that range was nearly impossible. Nor could Myoran deploy an outpost of guards to hold the perimeter. Her total able-bodied population numbered a few dozen at best, maybe a couple hundred if every hunter mobilized. Stationing a garrison out in the dark while rogue sandworms tunneled through the surrounding stone was basically offering them up as snacks.

"Would high-powered hunting lanterns do the trick?"

I thought of tactical torches, monstrous LED lanterns that burned brighter than high-beam automotive headlights. But I quickly shook my head. That still wasn't enough. What they needed was vast, blinding, overwhelming illumination. A light so furious it turned midnight into noon across hundreds of meters.

I browsed through the system's industrial inventory, scrolling past endless catalogs until my eyes locked onto an entry.

"Huh? This is..."

A searchlight. A heavy-duty, carbon-arc-grade optical device fitted with parabolic reflectors engineered to project an intensely concentrated beam of light across miles.

"Like Batman?"

Put simply, yes. It was the exact type of colossal projector police departments used to cast the Bat-Signal against stormy clouds. A monolithic apparatus larger than an adult man's torso, capable of inflicting permanent retinal burns on anyone reckless enough to look into its focal point.

An industrial monstrosity that proved illumination could be weaponized for warfare stared back at me from the catalog. Seeing it, I knew what had to be done.

"Time to teach them what real light looks like."

Sandworms, prepare to get purged.

I confirmed the purchase order and immediately dispatched the shipment to Myoran's coordinate node.

"Well, more is always better, right?"

Besides, at four hundred and fifty points each, they were practically a steal. I originally planned to send just one, but decided to make absolutely sure.

Ten massive industrial searchlights ought to light up a dark cave quite nicely.

"Chieftain! Chieftain! What did Juddak-nim say?"

"Does Juddak-nim miss us at all?"

"What did he say these giant metal things are called?"

Juddak this, Juddak that.

They chanted his name while chewing carrots. They whispered his name while hoeing the dirt. Myoran felt as if her long rabbit ears were going to develop calluses from the sheer, unending repetition.

"Will all of you please hold your tongues, myo!"

By racial disposition, rabbit beastkin were helpless against kindness. Yet that vulnerability came with a very specific, unspoken condition.

It had to expect nothing in return.

It had to be pure, unconditional benevolence.

'Such things do not exist in this world, myo.'

In Myoran's long years, she had learned that no creature offered aid without seeking material compensation, land, or base desires. She had spent a lifetime navigating the lecherous gazes and greedy machinations directed at her fragile, fluffy kin. She had long dismissed the notion of selfless charity as nothing more than a naive fairy tale meant for nursing kits.

Until Juddak appeared.

"Chieftain, please answer us!"

"It's not fair that you're the only one who gets to talk to him!"

"Jealous, jealous, so jealous, so incredibly jealous!"

She had never encountered anyone like him. Dark hair, pitch-black as pool of fresh ink. Pale, tired eyes that always looked languid and sleep-deprived. Despite commanding absolute administrative authority ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over reality itself, he had demanded nothing from the rabbit tribe.

'Well, perhaps not entirely nothing, myo.'

If she had to name one single demand, it was this: take his gifts, survive without injury, and spend their days diligently browsing and posting on the gallery.

That was truly all.

He was, for all intents and purposes, a saint to rabbitkind. Basking in that untainted, expecting-nothing benevolence, the rabbit beastkin had fallen completely and irrevocably under his spell.

'I told him he was welcome to visit anytime, but...'

Glancing at the flushed, panting expressions of her tribemates, Myoran shuddered inwardly. For Juddak's own safety, it might be far wiser if he never set foot in their burrow again.

Myoran exhaled a tiny, resigned sigh and adjusted her ears.

"He called them 'searchlights,' myo."

"And what does he want us to do in return?"

"Nothing..."

Before the syllables had even finished leaving her mouth, audible gasps rippled through the gathering.

"Ngh."

"Ahhh..."

Several young rabbits dramatically clutched their chests as if struck by cupid's arrow. Others broke into cold sweats, feverishly fidgeting with their soft ears in an agony of emotional overload.

'Terrifying. Truly terrifying, myo.'

Selfless charity that asked for nothing. Witnessing the terrifying potency of that simple virtue, Myoran felt a chill run down her spine. How could a simple gesture exert such catastrophic sway over an entire people? She had never seen her tribe go this completely, utterly insane over a single man.

Right at that moment—

Thud!

A heavy tremor pulsed through the cavern bedrock. Myoran and the surrounding rabbits froze, their ears twitching in unison as they snapped their heads toward the dark perimeter.

Skreeeeech!

Far across the subterranean plain, squirming shapes were already clambering out of the spatial Rift, their jagged mandibles chattering in the darkness.

"It seems the time has come, myo."

Myoran's expression iced over. Pushing off the loam with her hind paws, she stood tall and resolute. Beside her, the feverish, flushed expressions of the rabbit beastkin instantly shifted into sharp focus as they sprinted toward the searchlights.

Gigantic iron instruments, each easily the size of an adult human.

"Remember what Juddak strictly commanded, myo! Under no circumstances are you to stare into the lenses from the front!"

He had issued a stern warning. He insisted this was not a forum joke, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not a meme, and that curiosity would cost them their vision.

"...Just how terrifying is their power, myo?"

A shiver of awe raced across Myoran's fur. Watching the tide of sandworms spill outward from the Rift, she raised her paw and barked the order.

"Commence the ritual, myo!"

The second Myoran's dainty paw struck the dirt, the levers clicked down.

All ten searchlights roared to life simultaneously.

And what Juddak had sent them was not ordinary civilian gear, but military-grade searchlights engineered to pierce the fog of wartime battlefields.

Flash—!

The rabbits had braced themselves for a brief spark, a modest flare of illumination.

Instead, before their disbelieving eyes—

"...Merciful gods."

In the pitch-black abyss of the subterranean realm, a second sun rose.