Reincarnating Into A Fantasy World As An Autonomous Machine Arsenal - Chapter 62 Log 062

The sun rose over Ord Pass and the golden rays of sun cast long shadows behind the army of Astoria. It was late autumn, just before winter.

The opposing army stood nearly a kilometer away, easily visible because the ground was so open and devoid of any sort of natural cover. The enemy mages, or possibly even the Gram mages, cleared away all the rocks and sparse trees. The ground itself was dirt. Just dirt. Not even a blade of grass to be seen for hundreds of meters in all directions.

The Gram mages were especially good at that sort of thing. They specialized in area destruction spells, especially Duke Peron’s mages. Peron was with the armies here, the one-armed veteran of many battles and someone who survived Somnus. The former was rare, but the latter even rarer. Not many people stood on the wrong side of a confrontation with Somnus and lived to tell the tale. Losing an arm was a small price to pay. For that reason alone, Peron was one of the most loyal nobles Somnus had in his camp. He was a strange man.

Magister Tinon was also present. He was the Headmaster of the Gram Magisterium, formerly known as the Arsalan Magisterium. After Solus Hill, his forces were diminished considerably, but that did not stop him from recovering from those losses. He was a shrewd and arrogant man whom old age did not make dull. Somnus knew the type; they would only see eye to eye while it benefited each other. In this case, the benefit was “not being killed”. Magister Tinon was also a survivor of the “negotiations”.

Somnus saw a separate camp amidst a sea of banners of all the Knightly Orders that made up the bulk of this army. This camp, which was seemingly isolated from the others, flew a black banner with an upside down silver, crescent moon. Somnus did not recognize the banner initially, but then remembered seeing it in the capital. It was the banner of the Ashborn Knights.

Somnus guessed that the people feared the Ashborn Knights because they were well, inheritors of a Herald’s skills. If these foolish humans knew what skills the goblins had, they’d probably leave Gram entirely. But then again, Somnus was not really sure what the Ashborn Knights were capable of by now. Perhaps comparing goblins to mini-Heralds was not fair.

“Your Majesty, please reconsider charging at the enemy” Duke Peron said. He was the commander of the Second Division. “If we force the enemy to winter here, we will achieve an easy victory.”

Somnus lowered the looking glass and turned away from the enemy who seemed to wait on the other side of the Pass. This was a daily ritual for the two armies. They’d deploy their frontlines and stand there until the sun goes down. There was no need to fight. At least for the Gram soldiers. The ball was in the enemy’s court now. If they did nothing, they would not survive winter. But soldiers aren’t stupid. They won’t just stand there and turn into icicles. They would retreat and give up the Pass.

For the Gram side, all they had to do was stand there, and if the enemy tries to bring supplies in, then they would attack and go after the supplies. It was a strange situation.

“Deathbringers will achieve easy victory before winter,” Somnus said, glancing to Peron.

Peron scowled and then his eyebrows knit together in frustration. “Your Majesty please forgive me for saying so but how exactly are four hundred people going to achieve a victory over an army of fifteen thousand?”

Lod laughed at those words. “Stupid human. Have no idea. Human army harvest organs by noon for sell on blackmarket.”

Det glanced to Lod and then tilted his head. “Det think we should get cut. We do most of work.”

Lod blinked. “Det genius. Det right. Human,” Lod said, looking at Peron. “We get biggest cut of profit. Lod know connection to high pay necromancer. Buy everything. Heart. Kidney. Brain. Good price.”

Peron was confused, and slightly disgusted, by those words. Collecting organs? By noon?

“Your Majesty, please, reconsider this. The enemy is Sylv’alv. Their bows can reach out to four hundred meters effectively,” Peron said.

“Only four hundred meters?” Somnus asked. “Do they not use magic?”

Peron blinked. “Uhh that is four hundred meters with magic and the wind against them.”

Somnus nodded. He seemed neither impressed nor disappointed.

“Commander, get the Ashborn Knights ready to attack when the enemy breaks,” Somnus said and began heading towards the enemy.

“What?” Peron asked, surprised. Even after hearing all that, Somnus still wanted to give it a shot? “Very well, your Excellency.” He bowed to Somnus and took a step back, signalling a person in metal armor to approach.

Somnus headed down the open ground and raised his hand. “Battalion!” he called out. As this wasn’t exactly a trained force that could maintain a decent formation or understand how they are used, Somnus had to teach them some slightly older techniques of organization. “Form firing line!”

The order was repeated down the line to each platoon leader and the several hundred men behind Somnus began to form a line behind him. It was an absolute travesty to see men in modern gear form up as if they are holding muskets. But it couldn’t be avoided. Teaching them the principles of fire superiority, pivoting around a base of fire and fire and maneuver was far beyond the scope of a seven day training period. All these people could do was point and pull the trigger.

It was good enough, in Somnus’s book.

It wasn’t a cohesive, single line either. It was doubled up, men standing next to each other, packed as tightly as sardines in some places, and in others there were person sized gaps. Their discipline and sense of surroundings was completely novice.

But, again, it did not matter.

The line had a width of just around 100 meters. They marched, but not to the same rhythm. It was atrocious. An insult to every soldier who was ever born or will be born.

Somnus did not need them to play drums or clap to the music. No. They had a different task.

“Battalion! Halt!” Somnus yelled out, holding up his hand.

He was five hundred meters away from the enemy lines, and already, the enemy had sent the archers forward. For a good minute, the two stared at each other wordlessly.

Perhaps to show off their abilities, the Sylv’alvari archers nocked their arrows and fired them at Somnus.

There were so many arrows, it looked as if part of the sky was completely black. Only tiny glimmers of clear blue sky could be seen in the gaps between the arrows, and even those gaps were nearly non-existent.

Thousands of arrows then curved down, black as oil, and it looked as if they might land on Somnus’s troops.

The stampede of arrowheads burying into the ground, dozens of meters in front of Somnus filled the air.

Somnus sniffed disdainfully. “Stupid carbon,” he said, to no one in particular. Four hundred meters? That’s the best they could do after being praised by everyone? Only four hundred meters?

“Fire!” Somnus called out, and brought his hand down.

A roar of fire and thunder exploded behind Somnus, sending projectiles downrange. Precision was not necessary when the enemy stood so close together. It was nearly impossible to miss. Even if they couldn’t judge the range, the bullets could ricochet off the ground and hit the target, or fly over the front lines head and hit targets in the back.

Rhythm? Cohesion? Synchronization? They had automatic rifles. None of that mattered. Volume of fire was all that matter. Hold down the trigger until the enemy is dead. Even an idiot could do it when the enemy is this stupid.

The nature of warfare would change that day, and perhaps even the last bastion of what was honorable and just about combat would crumble.