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Upon returning home, Agnessa began her methodical siege. Luckily, she had accumulated so many raids under her belt that her superiors decided to rein in the restless lady a bit. Besides, there were no major threats nearby—they had been dealt with. So, her tasks now involved escorting caravans, patrolling the area, and training the rookies. Now, if it were up to the Father Superior, this strong-willed woman would be shuttling between the French coast and Muscovy, only stopping by home to swap out her worn boots. However, she had to account for fuel, artifacts, and other necessities, and the budget wasn't limitless. So, it was time to hold her horses.
Given the new circumstances, the Plague Witch greeted the armorer every morning, made sure to nod respectfully as she passed him at lunch, and sat behind him at evening prayers, breathing deliberately down his neck. A seasoned master wouldn’t be easily moved by such antics, but there was a tiny detail. It was one thing to have a local nun breathing down your neck, someone you could accidentally break in half without noticing. It was quite another when a bald, mean-looking woman was clearly up to something and had already chosen her target.
So, a week later, Ulle gestured for the fine lady to follow him after lunch, showing her one of the workbenches in his workshop:
“As promised, I made it. Take a look and see what you think.”
The device looked unusual. On the one hand, it seemed like a familiar oversized pistol, with a barrel as long as from her fingertips to her elbow, a curved handle for easy grip, and a bore big enough that no ordinary lead bullet would fit. The strangest part was a drum resembling metal honeycombs, set perpendicularly from the bottom. Agnessa had never seen anything like it before.
“Interesting… What’s the purpose of such a strange thing? It’s neither an arquebus nor a musket. I don’t see a wheellock… nor any sights. I don’t get it.”
“I figured you wouldn’t be shooting from long distances often. You tend to jump into trouble with both feet. That’s why the ‘Thunder of God’ will help you fend off anything reaching out to grab you and getting ready to eat you alive. The charges are buckshot, not meant to hit at twenty paces. But up close… let me show you.”
The backyard of the workshop had a narrow alley about thirty paces long, where the armorer tested various ideas. High stone walls rose four human heights, with poles bearing different targets. His favorite was a straw dummy, which sometimes wore a battered cuirass. Agnessa’s enchanted bullets could pierce the armor clean through, but each of those bullets cost a reichsthaler—a golden coin, the largest of the local currency. Paying that much for ammunition made her inner frugality weep.
“Alright, let’s place the cuirass on the farthest post and stand here by the door. How many paces is this?”
“Thirty-two. We measured last time.”
“Right. Better cover your ears; it’s loud.”
Agnessa put in her wax earplugs. She wasn’t afraid of gunfire, but the ringing afterward was annoying.
Bang! The strange weapon spat out a spray of hot smoke, and a few buckshot pellets barely grazed the distant target.
“See? If you need to hit someone at the end of a street or hallway, you’d better stick to your trusty rifle. Now let’s get closer.”
The next shot was from twenty paces. This time, more buckshot hit the target—a live person would likely find it unpleasant, but it wasn’t fatal. Still, Agnessa appreciated how easy it was to reload. She just had to pull a side lever, the drum rotated, and she was ready to fire again.
“Here’s where it shines. Great for taking out a swarm of small pests, like pesky fairies or the like. Now, let’s get to the main feature. This is for when you’re up close and want to greet everyone personally.”
At ten paces, the first shot shattered the cuirass, leaving a smoking hole. Unable to resist, Agnessa grabbed the ‘Wrath,’ stepped closer, and emptied the remaining rounds from a couple of steps away. With the last shot, the armor and straw post exploded into pieces. Finita la commedia, as they say.
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“Impressive, Master Ulle. With this, I can storm any monster’s den. Add a bit of enchanted silver to the buckshot, and it’ll be a done deal. I only have one question—this thing holds eight rounds. I’ve fired them all, so what happens next if I’ve run into a pack of scavengers?”
“Next…” With a magician’s flair, the armorer produced another drum from behind his back, swapping it in with a quick move. “Then, you can bash their heads in if they didn’t get the message the first time. But keep in mind, this is custom-made and pricey. I did my best, got an enchanter to work over every part, so it’ll last at least a thousand rounds. You can load it yourself—here are slots for incendiary crystals, which you can get fifty for a gold guilder now. Cast your buckshot in the workshop; there’s plenty of lead blocks in the corner. Powder, thanks to the Father Superior, isn’t a problem for now. And I made four drums for you. Any more, and we’d run out of enchanted bronze. I’ve got other projects waiting.”
“Four? That’s perfect. I’ve got a place to visit where I have some debts to settle. Thank you, Master Ulle. How much do I owe you for this beauty?”
The burly man hesitated.
“I want to get my wife a birthday gift. There’s a pendant I saw in a shop, but I’m short forty reichsthalers. If you cover part of it, we’ll be even.”
That was steep. A reichsthaler was three months’ pay for a field laborer, working in any weather and facing the risk of not making it home if undead attacked. And he needed forty. He must really love his wife.
“Master Ulle, what if I bring you a ruby pendant with earrings? I saw some neighbors admiring it—a few days’ walk from here. They must’ve taken it off some rich corpse, no curses or anything nasty on it. I bet it’s worth more than what’s in the shop.”
“If you think that piece is valuable, I’ll help you with the buckshot and even spare some silver from my reserves. I’ve got a bit left from the patrols.”
***
The door of the abandoned temple flew open with a powerful kick. Ignoring the startled gazes of those seated at the long table, a young woman in a blood-red cloak and a silver mask strode in.
“Hey, sick one, have you hurt your head? We didn’t invite you!” the eldest of the vampires protested.
“No need to invite me—I come on my own. I'm just here to grab that little trinket hanging above your throne, and then I’ll be on my way. I won't even bother killing you scum,” she replied casually.
The vampires grumbled as they jumped up from their seats, starting to encircle the uninvited guest. They knew this wasn’t some village meal; this human was dangerous. She might even manage to injure one of them. But taking on six vampires at once? Pure suicide. Perhaps she’d overdosed on potions, lost her mind. It happens sometimes among raiders and Plague Sisters. They start thinking they’re invincible, which is usually when they pay the price.
If anyone ever tells you vampires avoid garlic and never come out in the daytime, spit in their face. Those are just fairy tales.
Vampires are a type of undead, cursed to feed on the living rather than on corpses. Blood is their favorite, but if they’re lucky, they’ll devour liver and other organs, with only the sound of their chewing as evidence. They also love scooping out brains from smashed skulls. They hunt mostly at night, as their eyes are adapted to darkness, making daylight hard on them. That’s why they prefer to stay hidden during the day. They can’t fly or turn into bats, but they can leap great distances and scale walls and ceilings with their sharp claws. Worst of all, they regenerate well. With a steady diet, they can regrow a lost limb in a couple of months. And stabbing them in the belly, like peasants often try to do, is about as effective as tickling them.
But Agnessa wasn’t there to mess around. She had been watching this lair for some time. These clever bastards had holed up here, and any time a group tried to raid the place, they’d gather up anything valuable and flee through the dug-out tunnels. And they could easily tear apart two or three hunters, so it wasn’t worth the risk. At least, it hadn’t been worth it. Until now.
One drum took down the first three vampires. The second drum took care of two more. The leader quickly realized things were going badly and tried to make a run for it. But the guest had more than just the ‘Thunder of God’ with her; she also had a silver chain with weighted ends. She swung it around, launching it at the fleeing monster and tripping him up. The vampire shrieked, struggling to untangle his legs, but he was too late—the avenger reached him, blowing open his chest with one shot and his head with another.
That was it. The undead in the abandoned temple were no more.
“Not bad. Now to reload and collect some fangs. The rest of you are too rotten, even the enchanters wouldn’t take anything from here. But the fangs make fine jewelry... Now, for the little prize I came for. Where’s that ruby pendant and those earrings?”
Touched by the gift, Master Ulle gave Agnessa an upgraded flamethrower. Now she could not only douse unsuspecting creatures, but also fire elongated canisters filled with a custom-mixed blend from a secondary barrel. The concoction, once it hit, couldn’t be extinguished with water, left horrific phosphorus burns, and worked wonders in reducing the monster population unlucky enough to cross her path.
With these upgrades, the Plague Midwife was ready to embark on another raid to test out her new toys and refill her thinning wallet. She’d already cleaned out every abandoned bank in the area, and the monastery’s shop had brought in some very nice boots with an outrageous price tag. She’d have to hint to the Father Superior about discounts for locals—though he’d probably bring up the “forgotten” tithe in response. It seemed she’d have to weigh her options, but the boots were a non-negotiable decision.
So, it was time to end her break and take ‘Thunder’ out for a spin in a few other places she had in mind.
***
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