Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 570: Section 390: Help (Part 5)_2

Chapter 570: Section 390: Help (Part 5)_2

Tuojin heard the whistle, "Don’t enter the forestland!" he shouted loudly—that was the warning signal that the six-barreled machine gun was ready.

As he ran towards the commander, shouting, Tuojin reached out to catch the magazine a soldier threw to him, "Thanks!"

"No need to thank me! The firearm shoots quickly, and also, why shouldn’t we enter the forestland? We are pushing back the tide." The old soldier said, while mimicking his rapid shooting—although much slower than Tuojin’s movements, at mid to close range his rate of fire was much faster than his comrades’.

"Our machine guns are preparing to strike the edge of the forestland. If you don’t want to die by friendly fire, stay away!" Tuojin finished, then arrived behind the commander who was preparing to charge into the forestland again, "Your Excellency! We’re retreating!"

"Retreat? Where to?" The noble turned his head, this time without unleashing his roar.

"Our machine guns are ready; they will cover the edge of the forestland. Our men must retreat to the other side of the road foundation, or else we run the risk of getting caught in their crossfire!"

"I’m not afraid of the bullets from your firearm! My muscles can even squeeze them out!" Having said that, the commander pulled an arrow from his waist, "Look! Even the Black Orcs’ arrows can’t hurt me!"

"It’s 20 millimeter bullets! Your Excellency!" Tuojin replied loudly.

"20 what?" The Transcendent paused for a moment.

"20 millimeters, this big." Tuojin gestured with his hand, "At least make room on your side! The Black Orcs are nearly surrounding us!" Tuojin said while glancing behind him with his eyes.

The commander glanced behind him and saw that the Black Orcs were circling around them, heading towards the hilltop. A small group was moving towards their rear flank.

"... I’ll listen to you this time! Retreat! To the other side of the road! Perhaps we should also give a heads-up to the old men at the Church! Ah, great!" Watching the firewall rise between them and the Black Orcs, the commander’s fierce face finally showed a hint of a smile.

"Great!" As Tuojin retreated while firing his last bullets, he saw the old National Defense Army soldier who had been covering for him get struck by an arrow in the abdomen and fall without anyone grabbing him.

"Cover me!" the young man shouted, tossing aside his firearm and drawing another revolver as he ran towards the old soldier.

Two shots took down the Black Orcs that were closing in on him, and a third bullet blew the head off another orc. Tuojin reached the old soldier’s side, grabbed his shoulder strap, and pulled hard, dragging him backward.

"Can you still shoot?"

"Three bullets left, kid. You’re on a suicide mission!" The old soldier gritted his teeth and worked the action of his gun to eject the spent casing.

"How long have you served?" Tuojin asked, firing a fourth bullet that hit a Black Orc in the leg. Carrying a huge axe, it never expected to be hit in the shin, and as it screamed and stumbled, the axe it dropped took down its comrade.

"I remember joining the army when I was fourteen," the old soldier replied, shifting his aim to the Black Orc that had taken an axe to its back, slipping the next target’s head into his sight.

Before he could pull the trigger, bullets from the hilltop blew apart the orc he was aiming at, and then, rows of Black Orcs fell to the ground like stalks before a scythe.

The entire battlefield fell silent momentarily, save for the dull sounds of continuous gunfire.

Several rows of Black Orcs that had charged from the forest were reaped, and those closer were taken down by bullets from all directions.

"Nowadays, we can eat meat every day," Tuojin observed as the Black Orcs from the north were being mercilessly culled by Spell Formations and semi-automatic firearms.

"Black Orc magicians!" Tuojin heard the old soldier’s panicked cry. He looked towards the edge of the forest and saw a number of large shields; the Black Orcs were obviously raising them to protect their magicians.

Then Tuojin heard a thud, quickly followed by several more from behind him.

"Magicians, these relics of the past are nothing to fear," Tuojin laughed.

"You’re mad..." the veteran couldn’t finish his sentence before he saw the explosion. The blast wave and shrapnel from the explosion behind the shield formation tore the entire area to shreds, and a mist of blood rose.

Perhaps pained by the strike, the remnants of the Black Orcs began to retreat, but soon, Tuojin noticed a fire that was lit behind the woods—the casters could easily burn off a small patch of woodland along with the Black Orcs within it. However, large spell formations like this one took time, and they had bought the casters the time they needed.

"Times have changed, old man," Tuojin dragged the national defense soldier off the roadbed, handing him over to the factory guard’s medical team who had come running.

"Well done, lad, like a proper political officer," the gnome carrying a medical bag, whose helmet bore the emblem of the Benevolent Church, gave Tuojin a high-five as he ran past him.

At that moment, the commander came over: "I apologize for my stupidity and obstinance just now... I, what a fool I’ve been."

"Your Excellency, no one starts out as a hero. The firearms you got for your soldiers are good; I remember they are still the standard rifles of the Guards Army."

"Yes, I got them for my soldiers through my connections, costing me 120,000 Mowish gold."

"Five hundred a piece, huh? That’s no small sum." Tuojin pulled out his cigarette case, took out a cigarette, and offered it to the noble—although he indeed detested nobles, the young man had witnessed this noble’s bravery as he faced the Black Orcs without fear.

The instructor had said, on the battlefield, there are only our own people and the enemy. Tuojin decided he was one of his own.

"Thank you, is this Carterburg tobacco?"

"Yes, each person gets ten every six months." The young man said this as he took out a lighter, ready to light one for his own: "By the way, I haven’t introduced myself, my name is Tuojin Biskirk. I fled from the Eastern Kingdom; the Black Orcs burned my home."

"Ron Salman, you folks have such good benefits, this tobacco tastes really good." After lighting up the cigarette, the noble sighed, "I really should have listened to a professional like you; this battle was a disgraceful defeat."

"You said it’s been three hundred years since you last saw a Black Orc; I don’t think you can be blamed for that." Since the noble had put it that way, Tuojin decided not to bring up unpleasant subjects.

Besides, the national defense wasn’t his responsibility to handle.

"Yes, the army has cooks in the supply unit." As Tuojin spoke, he noticed his medic pulling out a blanket, and the old national defense soldier had stopped breathing.

"The arrow tore through a tumor in his abdomen; we couldn’t save him," said the medic, looking at Tuojin.

The young man silently looked at the old soldier until Commander Ron Salman came over: "His name was Karl... He served in the regiment for thirty years. Damn it, just last year I saw his son and grandson come to visit him."

"Did he not retire?" Tuojin asked, turning his head.

"Among the Sydneyans, a family must have someone in the military, the same as the Church of Justice’s Punishers, the Goddess of Harvest’s farmers, the Benevolent Church’s medics, and the clerics," Ron explained.

"Then, since he’s died..." "A family with a casualty is exempt from military service for seven years."

Hearing this answer, Tuojin sighed inwardly.

Though it seemed harsh, Sydney’s conscription terms were already very lenient compared to the Eastern Kingdom.

Thinking this, Tuojin looked at the cigarette case in his hand, which still contained one cigarette. Finally, he knelt on one knee beside the old man, placing the cigarette case and lighter inside his chest pocket.

This was the way of the Eastern Kingdom; a dead person should have one last cigarette or one last small bottle of drink.

In the factory guard, drinking alcohol was not allowed during combat, so... here’s hoping you like a smoke, old man.