Chapter 27: When, Not If

    It was the first real attack on the trip. It seemed like we would have to be on high alert from now on.

    I scrambled around a bit, as my entire bunk room was flooded with bodies. Because of that, despite the urgency, I waited for about half a minute as everyone got out of the way.

    When I was finally allowed to step out of my bunk, I headed straight for my turret. I always wore my coat since it was my greatest form of protection, especially on this dangerous trip, so I didn’t need to equip it. Instead, I merely threw on my gloves and air mask before climbing into the little pillbox.

    From that vantage point, I was able to look around. The convoy stopped rolling after being intercepted. It seemed the enemies had prepared an ambush and managed to bring us to a halt.

    Not unlike us, they had vehicles of their own. They were small cars that had slammed into the vehicles in front of us, forcing us to stop. And from the safety behind these cars, warlocks launched spells while others ran over and tried to raid.

    Suddenly, I saw a bright fireball headed for me. I suddenly ducked, and my head was graced with a bit of warm as a few tongues of flame flickered through the window before fading.

    As I rose back up, I contacted the dimension of my Authority.

    I found what I wanted, a rifle that looked somewhat similar to all the others with its wooden body, but holding a few key differences that made it a unique spirit.

    When I grabbed it, its memories flooded into me. This time, it was much smoother and more brief than the first time I had communed with it.

    Memories of a marksman from the American Frontier. He wasn’t known for his quick draw or skill with a pistol. Instead, he was known for his long range shots.

    And he was made capable by the rifle in his hands, one of the first of its kind, potentially the progenitor to an entire line of an extremely popular modern weapon configuration.

    The sniper rifle.

    Of course, it could barely be considered such.

    The rifle was specifically known as the Remington-Lee. It was the first rifle to utilize a box magazine and was a bolt-action rifle.

    The man in the memories had fought in the Spanish-American War and later attained this rifle prvately after retiring from service. The rifle was then modified to mount a telescopic sight, technically making it a sniper rifle.

    And it was used as such. It was precisely tuned until he could reliably hit human-shaped targets at upwards of 250 meters away. He even opted for the heavy .45-70 Gov, allowing the rifle to pack enough punch to hunt even large game like bison.

    In the end, this rifle was heavily modified from its original factory configuration. It wasn’t a well known rifle and came from a time before the firearm reovlutions of the Great War, but compared to the other rifles I could attain, this one was no doubt the best, especially at a range.

    I mounted this rifle on the window of the turret box, taking aim at the targets near the front of the convoy. They weren’t more than 70 meters away, so I didn’t have to adjust my aim as many would need to do with the slow .45-70.

    I placed the crosshair of my sight over the body of a Walrock casting magic from the roof of a vehicle. At the same time, I faintly recognized the markings of the Clockwork Association.

    *BANG*

    I pulled the trigger, and despite aiming at the warlock’s head, it was his chest that let out a violent puff of red.

    He colapsed at the same time, slumping off the vehicle. After that, racked another round, finding another target.

    I was confident in my ability to kill warlocks, but now there were people who would be relying on me. If I failed, things could go wrong. Although I couldn’t really think of any reasons besides a sheer power difference that would cause me to fail, I still initially shied away at the responsibility.

    But I was a variable that nobody had accounted for on this trip. This meant that the Captain fully believed that he and his knights would need to kill all warlocks on their own. So even if I failed, the result could only be better than if I weren’t here at all. I only brought benefits, regardless of how much.

    This thought brought back my confidence, but I still didn’t intend tot ake full responsibility for the outcomes of these battles. This dictated my next response.

    “I understand, Captain. I don’t mind you changing tactics, but your knights still need to be ready to do things themselves. I alone can’t win an entire battle, and I don’t want people becoming complacent thinking they can just rely on someone else to keep them alive.”

    “That is natural, of course. I never intended to put everything on your shoulders. But my men will at least know that they can act more defensively instead of recklessly attempting to kill well guarded warlocks.”

    “Sure. That’s no problem. I’ll do my best regardless, and those warlocks will be my first targets. So long as I’m not hindered, I don’t see any reason why I can’t get rid of them all.”

    “Very well.”

    Our conversation concluded with that. Afterward, the convoy went back to sleep, and I went to bed with thoughts of accomplishment.

    ......

    ...

    Although we had cleanly avoided any deaths and dispatched the first wave of enemies with relative ease, the convoy was still on edge. Another attack could come at any time.

    I also overheard some conversations about displeasure among the fighters, their targets being the scouts.

    We were supposed to have people devoted to alerting the entire convoy in the event of an attack, giving us some time to prepare before being bombarded. Although it didn’t seem like much, even just a few seconds could be valuable time to begin preparing.

    Apparently, that was the secondary job of the few warlocks who were onboard. They knew spells that could detect anomalies in a wide area. And a few vehicles worth of people were definitely anomalous, so it was a wonder why we weren’t alerted well in advance.

    Hearing about this didn’t anger me much, but I also wasn’t nearly as urgent as the others. They had to get out and fight, and without time to prepare their gear, they could be caught with their pants down. Sometimes literally.

    I didn’t even have to go outside, just hiding away in a fortified pillbox with my rifle. But I still felt some empathetic indignation on behalf of the other fighters. In the last battle, injuries could have been avoided if the scouts did their job.

    Unfortunately, it seemed like I had initially been missing a few details.

    When evening of the next day dawned, I asked Plex about the situation while eating dinner.

    Apparently, the assassin and his missing partner had both killed and assummed the identities of two warlocks on the convoy, cutting down on the already small number of warlock personnel. After all, why wouldn’t you attack the one glaring weakness of a convoy full of knights? Without warlocks, they would have a much harder time fighting back.

    And this made me even more valuable than before. It was no wonder why the Captain wanted to revolve his defensive tactics around me. I was better at killing warlocks than other warlocks and made up for their weakness perfectly.

    Well, unless our enemies didn''t find out who I was and specifically counter my actions, I could continue to work unhindered.

    Perhaps that was a bit much to ask though, because I had already established a high level of renown in the black market. I was too iconic, so perhaps it was only bound to happen. A matter of when, not if.