Chapter 155
Chapter 155
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 155
Chapter Title: Akulda's Miscalculation
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Akulda led a thousand warriors from his city of Siul northward.
Since a single Rakshasa warrior could handle ten Pengolians, it wasn't a small number when compared purely by headcount.
What worried Akulda was the thunderous sticks that the outsiders had brought—the ones that made booming noises. But he had his own thoughts on that too.
'I heard there are mages among the fish-folk. It must be some magic-related tool. But if it makes such a huge racket, it's probably all flash and no substance. Just a trick.'
Putting together the stories from the Rakshasas who had fled from that village, he figured the weapon wasn't all that impressive.
For one thing, after it let out one big boom and spat fire, there was a long reload process—something about stuffing a rod into the barrel while grunting and groaning.
Akulda had asked the escapee why they didn't attack the enemy during that reload time, and the reply was that the foes were scattered all over, making it impossible to predict where the stick would spit fire next, so they ran.
'That's all there is to it. The weapon might be dangerous, but if it were that powerful, they would've swept down before we could even resist. If our warriors charge during that reload gap, we can strike without issue.'
"Eek, word from the south says Northern Governor Akulda's mustered a thousand warriors and he's coming..."
Basen Rak Oran responded to Pengolian Mago's words.
"A thousand? Is that all he can muster?"
"Probably not, sir."
Mago added,
"But one Rakshasa can take on ten Pengolians... Do you think we can handle them?"
Mago gazed at the Pengolians in training.
Eight hundred warriors drafted from various villages.
If they fought with cold steel, they'd lose even against equal numbers—not to mention they were outnumbered.
To Mago's eyes, they looked like a ragtag mob.
And rightly so: The braver, stronger ones had already stood against the Rakshasas and died, or been offered up as sacrifices to the Rakshasa guardians.
The only reason these could play at being warriors was their ability not to reflexively curl into balls at the sight of the enemy.
This setup was purely to test who among them could wield the divine weapons Basen had brought from beyond the sea.
The first time Basen assembled the Pengolian warriors had been a sight to behold.
When Basen fired his matchlock into the air, a quarter of the gathered Pengolians instinctively balled up.
Basen had to awkwardly tell them to come out.
Some of the balled-up Pengolians even rolled their way back into position.
Basen spoke confidently, as if to say not to worry.
"We're not fighting with blades—we're using these matchlocks. What's there to fret about?"
"Hrmmm..."
Basen looked at Mago.
This little Pengolian was timid, but he had his bold moments and adapted flexibly to situations.
'Quick on the uptake.'
And to Basen, being quick on the uptake meant having a busy mind.
That trait had kept Mago alive amid the Rakshasa slavers and allowed him to seize the moment when the tables turned.
"Why don't you voice your concerns? If there's something I haven't considered, we might need to adjust."
"Y-yes... Well, these matchlocks—we can fire them decently, but..."
Mago continued.
"They fly farther than crossbows, true, but not as accurately. They're stronger than crossbows, enough to punch through thin leather armor, but reloading isn't any faster... And we don't have enough of them either..."
Basen nodded at Mago's last point, at least.
Combining what was on the supply lines with what they'd rushed from Doltan Island, they had just two hundred matchlocks total.
Future supplies would have to come straight from Heukrin, which would take time.
Of the eight hundred Pengolians, two hundred would be matchlockmen, about a hundred more crossbowmen, and the rest spearmen.
Basen said,
"But we can deploy way more than skilled crossbowmen right now. That's plenty. And we've got us too."
"Even with us, it's only about fifty..."
"Then let's trust Hilrob."
Pengolian Mago finally glanced up at Hilrob on the observation platform, eyes alight with hope.
To Basen, it seemed Mago now thought the fight was winnable thanks to Hilrob.
'But it's not.'
Basen's goal wasn't mere victory.
It was for the Pengolians alone to utterly rout the Rakshasas.
Basen surveyed the village.
Just a fortnight had passed, but the landscape had changed dramatically.
As Pengolian matchlockmen trained with their banging booms, lime blocks quarried from nearby hills rolled in on carts. Surrounding trees were felled, caked in mud, and turned into charcoal.
From tall wooden buildings, molten metal dripped one drop at a time.
The falling globs coalesced into spheres, cooling into matchlock bullets.
Hilrob might have started the salvation, but if they couldn't save themselves, future battles would be tough.
Conversely, if the Pengolians could save themselves, the fights would be easy.
Basen taught them the formations he'd devised for matchlockmen—just in time.
One Rakshasa warrior whispered to Akulda.
"Pengolians up ahead."
"I see them. ...Idiots."
The Rakshasa force hid in the jungle depths, eyeing the hillock where the Pengolians waited.
About a hundred Pengolians held the hill, which was littered with flat rocks and stones.
Few tall trees grew there; the grass poking between boulders barely reached ankles.
'Out in such open ground, they won't spot our warriors hidden in the brush.'
Akulda's rules of war included one key point: Don't let the enemy see you before the fight began.
'Sure, slings or crossbows from this brush would be a stretch. But they don't know where we are, while we know them. We decide when and where to strike.'
Plus, for some reason, a acrid gunpowder stench clung to the Pengolians.
That smell was how the Rakshasas had spotted them.
Akulda said,
"We need to crush them quick."
"No need to check the upper hill?"
"To scout that hill, we'd have to pass right by them. Or take a long detour. Can't waste a chance like this."
The warriors agreed with Akulda.
Just a hundred Pengolians.
Armed only with clubs and spears, they looked insolent to Rakshasas who saw them as mere slaves.
Akulda pointed at one warrior.
"You lead the bloodkin warriors in."
"Thank you for the honor of the vanguard, Lord Akulda."
Akulda hid a smirk, thinking inwardly,
'Even against mere Pengolians, we haven't figured out that thunder-stick yet. Their position isn't coincidence.'
Over two hundred Rakshasa warriors charged the Pengolians.
Then, Mago shouted from amid the hundred Pengolians.
"Aim!"
The Pengolians leveled their matchlocks as one.
"Fire!"
Matchlock Volley
Volley fire! -Massive damage to charging foes-
A thunderous roar erupted with flames and thick white smoke blanketing the hill.
The lead Rakshasas, charging on Akulda's order, tumbled head over heels.
Pengolians, with their long tails and low centers of gravity, handled the recoil well.
Hardened by repeated drills to the gunfire, they reloaded and fell back to the rear ranks right after firing.
Mago shouted again immediately.
"Aim!"
The Rakshasa warriors saw their frontrunners hit the dirt and instinctively slowed.
Realizing even their comrades were hesitating, they wavered between pressing on or fleeing.
The matchlocks' deafening blasts had kicked out their battle frenzy, forcing cold survival math.
And that hesitation between frenzy and calculation was their mistake.
"Fire!"
-Dozens slain!
Round shot shreds tough hides and shatters bone
Round iron balls tore through tough Rakshasa hides, splintering bone.
Akulda felt his mind go blank.
'This much power...!'
But Akulda still thought his judgment held water, somewhat.
After the Pengolians' two volleys, a reload gap opened.
"Now! Charge!"
With the vanguard in ruins, Akulda belatedly ordered the full force forward.
But the path up the hill was narrow.
Akulda belatedly realized even this "open" ground was all according to their plan.
'No way there's more on that hilltop...?'
Before Akulda could look up, Basen had the remaining matchlockmen aiming down.
"Fire!"
The fight didn't last long. Hilrob, waiting nearby, never even joined in.
Only clever Akulda and a few of his men survived by not engaging and fleeing immediately.
Akulda, separated from his men, dashed through the jungle heart before halting.
For a high-ranking governor with a Rakshasa's sturdy body, it had been ages since he'd run till he couldn't anymore.
"Damn those Pengolians, how..."
Akulda had clearly seen not just Pengolians, but outsiders too.
Lizardmen and other races.
He needed to report this to the Great Asura, fast.
His governorship—maybe his life—was at stake, but speed was key.
"It's not about my safety. This could doom the Rakshasas... maybe all of Asura."
Akulda heard rustling brush and drew his sword.
Parting the jungle vines was a familiar face.
"Lord Koprik...!"
"Forgive me. We lost to the Pengolians."
Akulda bowed low, thinking this might be his end.
But the response was unexpected.
"You... forgive me?"
"Th-thank you."
Akulda wondered, but figured Koprik might be sated on Pengolian bellies.
Akulda said,
"They have incredible weapons. Probably from the outsiders. We couldn't counter them alone."
"I must see the Great Asura."
Koprik nodded as if it were obvious.
Then he paused.
"I had no way to fight back."
"Maybe not, but..."
"R-really?"
Akulda was flustered.
Koprik, defeated by Asura, showed no love for Asura's Rakshasas.
He cooperated only because Akulda was governor; unreasonable requests were ignored. Akulda had settled for Koprik spreading fear in villages, not fighting directly.
Akulda felt relieved at Koprik's attitude, in part.
He'd faced the Great Asura several times.
The Great Asura would fix everything—it might not be so dire.
"U-understood. I'll muster the warriors again. No more underestimating them, and with your help, Lord Koprik... we'll win for sure."
Akulda bowed to Koprik.
Koprik—or rather, Gordius in Koprik's body—spoke to Seong-un.
Seong-un replied,