Chapter 5.2 – Deserter Subjugation Request

However, that was only part of the story.

Even on the move, the soldiers wore armor.

Moreover, they were in a forest—hiding spots were everywhere.

“Don’t panic—there aren’t that many of them!”

“The fact they’re not raining attack after attack tells us that much!”

“Did any of them die from that? We didn’t fell them with our first surprise strike, so of course we’re winning now!”

“They’re hiding in the trees, right? How many stones could they possibly carry?!”

The soldiers ducked behind tree trunks.

From there, they scanned the area, searching for whoever had been hurling stones at them.

Of course, they had no intention of letting any survive.

They didn’t draw their blades; instead, they began preparing their magic. The moment they located a target, they planned to unleash a magical assault.

It was hard to spot them up in the trees—but precisely because they were up there, they couldn’t move around.

Once found, that would be the end of it. The ex-soldiers were convinced of it.

“Let’s go!”

“Yeah!”

A woman’s high voice echoed through the woods.

At that, the soldiers laughed.

“Fools—who would announce their position so brazenly?”

Their laughter was shattered the next instant.

A Beastkin woman in green burst through the branches.

That was all they saw. Their confidence collapsed when she and her companions began leaping from tree to tree.

“W-what?! Beastkin?! I’ve never seen movement like that!”

They weren’t exactly fast—but they were nimbly hopping from branch to branch, taunting the soldiers.

“This is ridiculous—why aren’t the branches breaking?!”

“Even the thin ones—they’re stepping on twigs that’d snap under anyone’s weight!”

“What kind of trick is this?! Are they being hung from ropes above?!”

“That’s impossible—where could the ropes be tied?!”

The soldiers assumed it must be some trick—they couldn’t believe those frail twigs could support a body. And before they knew it, the Beastkin had vanished back into the foliage.

That’s when realization struck the soldiers.

“We’re screwed! Don’t attack—defend!”

“Form up shields and magic barriers—hurry!”

They panicked—but it was already too late.

Huddled behind trees, they could only guard against frontal assaults. If the Beastkin slipped around their flanks—or encircled them—they’d be sitting ducks.

[Muffled war cry]

Without uttering another word, the Beastkin hurled stones again.

From a closer range, on footing that made for easier throws, at angles where no branches could obstruct them.

And these stones were slightly larger and heavier than before, hurled with all their might.

“Uagh!”

“Oooogh!!”

Ten screams erupted at once.

Earlier, only half of ten stones had found their marks; this time, every single one hit—and most struck faces or heads.

That proved just how advantageous their positions were.

Having confirmed their training’s effectiveness, the Beastkin stifled their laughter, leapt to another tree, and melted back into the shadows.

“Damn it!”

One soldier unleashed an attack spell.

The basic “Magic Bullet”—a sphere roughly the size of a ball, fired at high velocity.

Naturally, it packed immense power. A direct hit would’ve obliterated any lightly armored Beastkin.

“Guh… it—didn’t connect…!”

But a lone shot couldn’t strike targets concealed behind trunks.

At best, it splintered bark or dented wood—but none of the Beastkin were touched.

“Calm down! They’re in camouflage, using the trees as walls, and they’re hopping around—there’s no way to hit them!”

“We could land a shot if we fired a dozen times…but we’d only drop one. Before we wipe them out, our magic would be spent!”

Camouflage was no joke.

If someone told you there were five hidden figures in a single photo, you could eventually spot them. But when you don’t even know which tree to scan, it becomes impossible.

“Grrr!”

At his comrade’s warning, the soldier ceased his magical onslaught.

He knew that, too—and he obeyed immediately.

“They’re lightly armed… they must only have one or two stones left.”

“Whatever trick they’re using, once they run out, they’ll break off.”

“Right… we just have to hold on.”

The soldiers cast a basic defensive spell—a shield-shaped magic barrier.

It formed a door-sized wall capable of blocking frontal attacks.

By standing in a circle, they could approximate a sheltered enclosure.

They formed their defense around the injured, creating a protective circle.

This would hold—for now. They couldn’t counterattack, but they could repel the enemy.

They believed that.

“Everyone! Last throw!”

Just as predicted, the Beastkin had only one projectile remaining.

But it wasn’t a stone. Nor some unknown device.

The soldiers recognized it—it was a weapon they’d seen and even used themselves.

Rather than a fastball, it traced a gentle arc.

Like a pass in a game—thrown with surprising care.

When it rolled toward them, the soldiers’ eyes went wide in shock.

“No… a hourokudama?!”

Two ceramic bowls sandwiching gunpowder, bound with cord—set alight and tossed so that the explosion scatters ceramic shards like shrapnel.

In other words, a fragment grenade.

Ten grenades rolled to their feet.

They were braced for defense—but their faces still twitched…

“…!”

The Beastkin who’d lobbed the grenades hurriedly dove behind trees, closed their eyes, and pressed their ears flat.

Moments later, a blast echoed through the forest—loud enough to make their ears ring.

The acrid stench of gunpowder stung their nostrils.

They winced—but then they climbed down from the trees with relaxed, floaty landings, as if suspended by invisible strings.

“Did we… win?”

Unsure, the Beastkin exchanged glances, regrouped, and approached where the soldiers lay.

They found the troops, already fatigued, now battered and bloodied.

“Beastkin…?!”

“Why the hell are Beastkin using hourokudama?!”

They were barely alive—but alive nonetheless. Bloodied, yet standing with weapons in hand.

After all, a grenade merely scatters ceramic fragments. It’d never kill magic-armored soldiers.

But it had succeeded in neutralizing them. The human troops could only stand there, unable to move.

“They must’ve got them from humans… taking credit for a weapon they didn’t craft themselves!”

“You always do this… living off what others make, with no gratitude!”

“‘We have our own specialties,’ you say… what?! You can do everything, yet you’re stuck with chores?!”

They spat curses.

As their final act of defiance, they wished only to make the Beastkin feel bitter.

“How hard do you think we worked to match you—to produce the very weapons you sneer at? Do you believe humans will never learn?”

“You could never understand… the humiliation of toiling your whole life only to be lumped in with the rest!”

It was a cry of the powerless.

A revolt against the strong.

The Beastkin listened, glancing at one another.

Then they exchanged sly, wicked smiles.

“You hate us… don’t you?”

“Of course we do!”

“I see… thank you.”

They weren’t pitied as the weak, nor ignored as worthless.

They were reviled as the strong—and champions.

That filled their pride to the brim.

“Thank you for hating us! Keep cursing us—all the way to the bottom of hell!”

Grinning, they drew the only weapon left—a simple iron machete.

Then, mercilessly, they advanced on the helpless soldiers.

※

Buoyancy-Assist Lightweight Satchel “Sea Runner.”

At first glance, it resembled a vest fused with a school satchel.

On the front, several pockets held stones or grenades for throwing.

But the back—the satchel portion—had no storage. Instead, it was made entirely of leather “balloons.”

These balloons contained a very light gas, reducing the wearer’s and front-mounted gear’s weight.

So light, in fact, that once they expended all their ammunition, they risked floating away.

Its name, “Sea Runner,” came from the sensation of moving as if underwater.

Equipped with this, the Beastkin became high-mobility grenade troops.

They’d slip around an enemy’s flanks or rear, deploying thrown explosives with precision.

Gaikaku devised and researched this method—and the Beastkin trained diligently to master it.

They practiced moving with a lighter frame, leaping between trees, and throwing effectively despite reduced flexibility.

Above all, they learned to hide behind cover whenever they weren’t throwing.

As you might expect, the Sea Runner’s back is extremely fragile—just a leather balloon—so a single puncture could spell disaster.

With virtually no defense, they relied entirely on cover. One hit meant instant death.

And since their offense depended on thrown weapons, they couldn’t match heavier arms. Even though all ten grenades hit their targets, they couldn’t kill the humans.

Against Ogres, they’d have been met with bare-handed resistance and forced to flee.

Still… that was merely a matter of tactics.

Against twenty humans, it was more than sufficient. That was all there was to it.

In fact, the mission was a success.

Ten Beastkin had slain twice their number of regular soldiers—and returned almost unscathed.

They carried home ten severed heads in both hands, their nostrils flaring with excitement.

They were the very picture of exhilaration.

“Well done.”

At the nearby camp, Gaikaku greeted them.

He hadn’t left the camp all day—but seeing their condition, he laughed with satisfaction, knowing everything had gone to plan.

The Dark Elves looked on in astonishment.

These were the very troops their homeland warned them to fear: the human regular soldiers. And here they were—wiped out without inflicting a single wound. By half-trained misfits, no less.

“Chief, how…? Was our homeland’s assessment wrong?”

“No. Your homeland’s view was correct—humans are strong. They can do anything, so they adapt broadly. But that is society’s strength.”

Gaikaku laughed, harsh and triumphant.

“They can build castles, till fields, forge weapons, run trade, divide labor, and muster armies. Human versatility is the essence of civilization. Isolated humans aren’t so frightening.”

“Even at equal strength?”

“Of course. The range of tactics differs. If you’re ambushed, they can call reinforcements or fall back to a stronghold. They can’t do that here—so we crushed them in the field. It’s basic.”

Society was the true source of human power.

And here was Gaikaku, a mage, forging his own society.

Thus, the Beastkin wielded the might of the society he’d created.

“Heh… victory was inevitable!”

Gaikaku reveled in it.

“The conditions for victory were proven in practice—my theory, my weapons, my tactics, my preparations were perfect! Wonderful!”

His war-game scenarios on paper had played out flawlessly on the battlefield.

Gaikaku drank in his own genius, his own creations, his own intellect.

This—this was why he practiced forbidden magic.

“Beastkin! You’ve proven the value of high-mobility grenade troops! Thank you—you’ve given me even more thrilling tactics to devise!”

“…It’s an honor to please you, Chief.”

“Until now, we only had heavy infantry and artillery—monotonous as hell! They did the job, but the Elves paid heavily, and our options were limited…”

“But…”

The Beastkin, fawning over his excitement, kept their eyes on him.

“We wish to express our gratitude…”

“…You mean, my pleasure alone isn’t enough?”

“Yes… we only know one way to make you happy…”

Hearing this, the Dark Elves exchanged embarrassed glances and retreated.

To them, with their strict chastity, the Beastkin’s public, collective offer of their bodies was unthinkable—and mortifying to witness.

“We want to show our thanks to you.”

“Good grief… the Ogres were wild, but you lot are unbearably earnest. Fine—best to handle such urges promptly.”

How would any ordinary human act when wooed by ten Beastkin at once?

At least this man was anything but ordinary.

“Come to my tent tonight. I’ll accept your gratitude—from every one of you.”

He was… a madman.