No Muscles Needed—Fingers Will Do (3)
“Attention, everyone! We’re issuing firearms now. Come forward in the order I call.”
The moment to distribute the guns had finally arrived.
The first called was Theo of 2nd Platoon. The skinny boy hobbled forward faster than anyone else and stood before me.
I picked up a musket from the cart, its silver-gray barrel gleaming coldly in the morning sun, paired with a smooth walnut stock. The Eisengrad M1 musket. The world’s first standard-issue rifle, soon to be the knights’ nightmare, rested in my hands.
“It’s heavy.”
“...No, it’s not.”
Theo took the rifle in both hands. The hefty weight of the steel pressed down on his thin arms, but he clenched his fingers tight, refusing to let it slip.
“Listen up. This isn’t just some iron club. It’s the only partner that’ll keep you alive on the battlefield.”
Grody’s all-nighters carving out Eisengrad M1 muskets were finding their owners one by one.
By the time all sixty men had their rifles, the air on the training ground had completely changed. The soldiers stared down at the real weapons in their hands as if entranced. Not crude wooden sticks. Intricately fitted parts, sleek curves, cold lethality. I could read the same thrill on their faces that I’d felt in my past life, holding a K-2 rifle for the first time.
I raised my voice so all the soldiers could hear.
“Hug it to sleep at night, keep it on your lap while you eat. Treat it right, keep it clean, and it’ll reward you with dead-on accuracy. But slack off and let it rust...”
I added with a chilling smile.
“...and it’ll blow your face off in battle. Got it?!”
“Yes, sir!!”
For men ignored their whole lives, being told this was their one true protector was the strongest motivation imaginable. Their eyes, gripping those cold silver-gray barrels, sharpened like honed blades.
Behind the territory, at the fog-shrouded wasteland firing range. At 100 meters ahead stood pumpkins, thick wooden planks, and rusted suits of armor scavenged from the warehouse.
“Range: 100 meters. My lord, you sure about this? Even with a bow, no beginner could hit straight at that distance.”
Jack swallowed dryly as I clapped his shoulder.
“Trust your gun, Jack. Just like we trained—you’ll hit.”
I first lined up the 30 men of 1st Platoon, led by Boris, on the firing line.
“1st Platoon! Load!”
At Boris’s command, the platoon loaded their muskets in perfect unison. The fruit of our training. Even amid the tension, their bodies remembered, and everyone finished loading.
“Fire!”
“1st Platoon, aim! Fire!!”
Bang-bang-bang—!!!
Thirty shots rang out almost simultaneously, shredding eardrums. Massive flames and thick white smoke belched from the muzzles, and the tremendous recoil sent several soldiers tumbling backward.
“Arghhh!!”
“Ngh!”
Screams erupted along the line. A few hit the dirt from the kick, and even Boris grunted “Urk!” as he staggered back.
“My ears! I can’t hear!”
“My shoulder! It’s broken!”
“Quit whining! That’s not recoil—that’s your gun’s way of saying hello!”
“M-Master... please...”
Ella plugged her ears in horror, but I ignored her and bellowed.
“Snap to it and look front! See what you did!”
The wind blew, slowly clearing the smoke. The groaning soldiers lifted their heads one by one and stared ahead.
“......”
“That’s... what we did?”
“No way...”
But no time for awe yet. Thirty more were waiting.
I shouted, nodding at 2nd Platoon leader Jack.
“2nd Platoon, eyes front! Load!”
The 30 men of Jack’s 2nd Platoon loaded smoothly as trained, standing tense.
“2nd Platoon, aim! Fire!!”
The second thunderclap shook the wasteland again. As the smoke cleared, the soldiers’ jaws dropped once more. The pumpkins 100 meters away were obliterated, and the iron plate armor lay crumpled with fist-sized holes, reduced to scrap.
Jack stared at his rifle with trembling hands. Just a flick of one finger. No swinging swords, no drawing bowstrings. A simple trigger pull had shattered rock and pierced steel.
“See that?”
I stepped down from the platform and asked.
“You didn’t run because you’re weak. You ran because you had no weapons.”
I approached Theo, knocked down by the recoil. He stared blankly ahead. His shoulder was already bruising, but he seemed oblivious to the pain.
“Theo, on your feet.”
“...My lord.”
“What?”
“That... armor over there...”
Theo pointed a shaky finger at the crumpled suit 100 meters away.
“I think I hit it. The hole in the center... that’s where I aimed.”
“Yeah, you punched through it. A knight’s armor.”
Tears streamed down Theo’s cheeks. For a fleeting moment of silence, the helplessness of his lifetime washed away—then I cracked the whip again. Emotion was for after victory. What we needed now was discipline to annihilate the enemy.
“Up! One hit doesn’t end the war!”
At my booming command, the soldiers rubbed their shoulders and scrambled to their feet. The first volley’s shock was bigger than expected. Ears rang, and sloppy shouldering left purple bruises. But their eyes burned with unmatched conviction.
Before that fire cooled, I pushed to the next phase.
“Now we do platoon volley fire like in training. Boris! Jack!”
“Yes, my lord!”
“Yep!”
“Remember: War isn’t won with one boom. You’ve gotta be endless waves to swallow the enemy. 1st Platoon, prepare to fire!”
Boris’s 30 men raised their reloaded rifles, tense from the recent recoil, biting cartridges.
“All units, aim! 1st Platoon, fire!”
Bang-bang-bang!
Thirty rounds tore the wasteland. As thick powder smoke blinded 1st Platoon, I called 2nd immediately.
“2nd Platoon, hold aim!”
Jack and Theo’s 30 men stepped forward, rifles steady, muzzles trained ahead. While 1st desperately ramrodded, 2nd covered the gap with potential firepower. That was platoon volley fire’s beauty—filling 1st’s 20-second reload with 2nd’s threat.
The frantic sounds of bitten cartridges and swinging ramrods echoed from Boris’s men.
Click! Snap! 1st signaled ready.
“1st Platoon loaded!”
“Good—2nd Platoon, fire!”
As 2nd fired, reloaded 1st leveled muzzles again. Like meshed gears, no gap in the hail of lead.
“Breathe in that powder smell like perfume! When real knights charge, that stench’ll be your lifeline!”
From the platform, I sharply eyed their moves, ruthlessly calling out half-assed ramroders or smoke-flinchers.
Bang-bang-bang! Boom!
Choking smoke engulfed the range. In the black haze, soldiers relied on commands to keep firing. They were no longer serfs thankful for my mercy.
A bit later, after several platoon volleys, the 100-meter target zone was...
“......”
...devastated. Pumpkins vaporized to pulp, planks to sawdust, iron armor to junkyard rejects.
The sixty soldiers rubbed sore shoulders, exchanging looks. Ears deafened, but grins unbreakable.
We’re strong.
That certainty seared into their minds. Jack stroked his empty rifle with trembling hands. Theo wiped tears and resumed dry-firing. Boris bragged to his buddies about his shots. No more rabble here—just sixty riflemen who trusted their weapons.
Grody snickered, arms crossed.
“Congrats, partner. You’ve awakened the monsters. Those lads can’t live without their guns now.”
“Monsters? Nah, fine citizens exercising self-defense.”
Satisfied with Grody’s awe, I called the men to attention.
“How was your first live fire?”
“The best!”
“Incredible!”
They shouted in unison, voices snapping with discipline.
“Good. Don’t lose that feeling. This rifle...”
That’s when old Thomas, on watch from the wall turret, came stumbling down, gasping.
“M-My lord! South side! Flags!”
“Flags?”
“Red wolf banners! Volf Count’s army... they’re here! Hundreds, looks like!”
It had come. Faster than expected, but perfect timing. Our soldiers’ morale was sky-high.
I turned to them with a confident grin.
“Hear that? Time to show off your training to some guests.”
The men checked muskets, eyes flashing.
“All hands, let’s greet our visitors.”