Chapter 7

Trial

Sure enough, Leuke takes off first, smashing into the front line of scarecrows like a wrecking ball. Immediately, splinters go flying in every direction. Tassim isn't far behind him with a more precise combat style, slipping under a swing or thrust to sever wooden neck from bar shoulders.

Benarou stays further back, though he steps closer than I remain, since I'm still unarmed. He begins launching explosive fireballs into the enemy ranks to great effect while Seina erects barriers to protect everyone from the volleys of bolts launched from the back line.

I have to admit, for not having known each other for even a full day, their teamwork is remarkably smooth. Or maybe they each are just very comfortable in their roles and know what they need to do regardless of what anyone else is doing.

I take the opportunity to study the constructs and plan how I'll contribute without getting in their way. The scarecrows are fast, crazily so, and coordinated enough not to get in their own way. If I can keep a moderate distance, though, I should be safe enough.

The dandy is surely up to something, but he said they'll respond to poisons. The strong implication he gave was that they use repeating crossbows to deliver toxins, rather than for penetrative damage, but if I aim for the equivalent of bare skin, I might even be able to make a decent showing.

Despite the crowd's expressed shock at my request, the soldier sent off actually returns fairly quickly. He's even nice enough to walk me through the design. It's pretty straight forward, but there's certainly a point or two, mostly with the cartridge ejection, that would have befuddled me for a bit without his instruction.

Rather than the semi-automatic crossbow I had imagined, this has more in common with a lever-action repeater. The rack of bolts connects to the top and seems to be gravity fed, while the bowstring is drawn back and the new bolt readied with the pumping of a large, square lever. The string is then held behind a catch until the trigger is pulled. It has a pistol style grip that feels comfortable in my hands, and the weight of the lever action is cumbersome, but manageable.

I can immediately see why it received such ridicule as a weapon of war, however. The bow, itself, is only about a foot across, not counting the stock of the weapon, and the bolts are only about as long as my hand. There's no way it could have much impact force compared to more traditional crossbows. The reason for supplementing with poison now makes complete sense.

I briefly wonder if I should have requested a regular crossbow instead, but while a modern one might be fine, I suspect the ones they use here would require more strength than I have to reload after every shot.

The repeating crossbow has no sights, and they'd be useless with the lever and cartridge crowding the top anyway, so the weapon is probably unreliable beyond a moderate range. Fortunately, I get the feeling that's the range I'll be most comfortable at, and while it's not a firearm, this feels like a weapon I can use.

I can't really explain the origins of either of these feelings, just that something inside me tells me that they're right.

Each cartridge holds ten bolts, but the soldier brought me two more in addition to the one already loaded, so I tuck the other two into my robe (mental note, get pockets, or at least a utility belt) and, after thanking the soldier for his help, I turn my attention to the battle.

The other heroes have spread out now, making their own ways into the depths of the scarecrow army. Even Benarou has begun to rotate around the outside of the battle to keep on the move, and the tides of the battle have forced Seina into the thick of it.

I decide I should follow the mage's example and stick to the outer edge of the battle, staying on the move so as not to end up inside it. Unfortunately, this strategy immediately fails when I pick my first target and fire upon it.

Pulling aggro is definitely a thing with these scarecrows. The bolt plinks off the side of its head's wooden shell, and aside from taking a small chunk out of the wood, the only thing it accomplishes is pissing the thing off. It and two of its buddies immediately peel off of the mob and make a bee line for me.

Firing the hand crossbow is ... frustrating in a way that is hard to explain. Even as I unload bolts into the thing's approaching face, constantly pausing to pump the lever feels like jumping from a sprint to a dead stop and back to a sprint over and over again.

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As I dodge a couple sword swings when it finally catches up to me, I feel like there's almost a song to the battle just beyond hearing. I've never been in a fight of remotely this scale in all of my life, but it feels almost like if I could just catch the beat of that song, I would know exactly where to move.

The crossbow is like a constant record scratch, or a hiccuping buffer every few seconds. It doesn't stop the song entirely, but it's constantly throwing me out of sync.

The last bolt catches the pissed off sword crow right in its big, red eye, and it finally shudders and collapses. I don't have time to breathe as I dodge another sword and a spear while trying to work the cartridge release. The other sword user is on the outside of the little cluster, so I spin to the side of his shield.

I know it's coming, but it doesn't hurt any less when he bashes me with the thing and sends me sprawling. I briefly see a notice of a chunk of my hit points flying away while I spin through the air. I lose a third of them in an instant just from getting backhanded by a large surface area.

So that's the difference between a Level 1 and a Level 25. Good to know. Their weapons would probably kill me outright, then. Let's not find out.

All of the air in my lungs bursts from my body as I land on my back, but I force myself to raise the crossbow anyway. Now that I know where to aim, I hit the eye of the spear wielder in only three shots. My mind automatically notes with negativity that I only have seventeen left.

And then I have none. The scarecrow that smacked me with his shield brings his sword down and I'm barely able to keep it from cleaving into me by taking it on the crossbow, which shatters under the force of his blow. Even that chops another dozen hit points off of me, according to my entirely too enthusiastic status feed.

He draws back for another strike, and like an idiot for thinking it would even slow him down, I throw my hands up in front of me. That blood red eye is locked onto mine.

A barrier appears around me just in time to interrupt the strike.

After a half breath realizing I'm not dead, I look around quickly to see Seina focusing on me, her hand outstretched. Yes, it's like the barriers she used to protect against the crossbowmen. But she's surrounded. Far more than I am.

Like a blow mightier than the scarecrow's, I'm suddenly hit with the realization of what a handicap I am to the other heroes like this.

My hand moves over one of the bolts from the shattered cartridge and blindly closes around it.

I can't let poor Seina go down because I was helpless. I can't.

The scarecrow pulls back for another blow as if he intends to break through the barrier with brute force. That stupid shield comes around in front of him as if he'd been practicing his form all his life instead of having just been built last night.

My grip on the bolt tightens, and I do something stupid.

I scream. I'm not even really aware that I'm not saying anything. I just bellow into the thing's face, and I launch my whole body into it. My free hand grabs the rim of his shield as I haul myself over it and throw my hundred-some pounds into his stupid twig body.

We both topple to the ground again. I see flashes of a steel sword, but I barely register it as I do my best to pin him with my own body and blindly jab that bolt down into his face like it's a dagger.

I don't know when I hit the eye. I don't know when the scarecrow stopped moving underneath me. I just keep jabbing the bolt down into it until the shaft breaks in my hand. And then I punch the stupid thing a few more times before I finally stop acting like a rabid lunatic.

I'm down to three hit points. My stamina is nearly exhausted. I'm heaving to get enough oxygen and my side is wet. My left arm is cold. All of this information comes to me as my mind finally decides to take accounting of its surroundings again, but it's a dull, empty dictation.

Distantly, I still hear combat around me. It's not over. I have to move, I reason dumbly, or Seina will have to defend me again.

My eyes go first to the remains of the repeating crossbow. The stock is smashed in half, the string is cut, the cartridge receptacle is crushed. Bolts litter the ground around it, but I don't fancy my chances trying to shank another dozen scarecrows.

There's the sword of the one I'm on top of, its blade red with blood.

Who did it stab? Was it already bloody before it came for me?

That doesn't seem right. I'm pretty sure its blade was still clean.

It doesn't matter. A sword is too close in. I'd get overpowered by the first one to block me. I need reach.

The only other weapon to consider, then, is the spear from the second scarecrow. I climb back to my feet and step over to it, then stare at its solid connection to the thing's upper arm like I've never seen a joint before.

But it's the only weapon I can feasibly use, so I reach down and grip its haft in both hands and place my foot against the thing's upper arm. And I pry.

My stamina drops to ten points before I hear a crack and the spear comes free. I lift it up in front of me, my grip feeling numb, and turn back to the battle.

Already there, another scarecrow is staring at me with its big, red eye.

I step back and it steps toward me. I try to think of the right way to fight with a spear and place my feet in line with each other, careful not to choke the haft too tightly with my forward hand. I recall my 10 Strength and wonder if it's enough to even do anything to this thing.

It draws back, and I ready myself as well as I can. I refuse to go down without a fight, struggling not to show that it could probably take me out with a stiff backwind.

A massive slab of steel cleaves it into a shower of splinters from behind, and I find myself stupidly staring at Leuke.

"Yo," he greets me, and I blink mutely in response.

He looks me over, then turns casually off to one side. "Hey, Sei! Rem could use a hand!"

All I can think of is her risking herself again. "What? No, don't pull her away from the fight." It comes out a half mumble. "I'm fine."

But instead, his grin just widens at my words. "Don't worry, Rem, we'll get you fixed up."

"That's not what I--"

"I heard you fine," he insists, still grinning. "But the fight's over."

And I'm staring like an idiot again.