I Was Connected to Earth's Black Market From Another World With The Skill [Market]!
Chapter 122 – The Price of Violation
The hill was lushly forested on both sides, with a gentle slope leading up to the top for about a kilometer.
The front side of the forest was dotted with bushes and colorful flowers. This was a long, quiet, beautiful landscape that would make you want to stop and have a cup of tea if you were on your way to a picnic…
…It was.
“”””Whoaaa…!””””
A large group of infantry, filling the hill, came running down from behind the woods on either side toward our convoy.
Nearly a hundred men are killed or disabled by the sweeping fire of MAG general-purpose machine guns, which had shot out of range and at elevation before the battle began, but the enemy shows no signs of being intimidated.
We continue to advance as fast as we can, climbing over or trampling over the corpses on the enemy’s side. The only thing going is the Tiran APC with Myrril and me on it.
“Yoshua, to the left!”
“I can see it. Leave it to me!”
A heavy cavalryman leaps out of the bushes at the bottom of the hill and rushes forward to flank us.
The war in this world, or even in my previous world, would have followed the theories of a pre-modern war. However, even though it was said female by Myrril, fighting against tanks was a meaningless suicide mission.
Strong men with long spears in their hands were hit in the chest armor by rifle bullets and fell from their horses one after another, coughing up blood and dying as they engulfed the following ranks.
In between the exchange of ammunition belts, Myrril finely adjusted their trajectory, and the huge body of the Tiran APCs checked the soldiers as they pushed forward.
The soldiers come toward us with a shout that resembles a winning cry. Their eyes already see nothing.
It is not that they are not frightened. They have already accepted their death as a matter of course. Looking into the dark, stagnant, swampy eyes that are staring back at me, I begin to send bullets into them again.
“Gyaahh!”
The sound of heavy armor being crushed by the front of the vehicle reaches my ears, interrupted by screams, yells, and gunfire.
The Tiran APC continues to advance without hesitation, literally laying waste to everything that stands in its way.
Since the first collision with the enemy, Myrril has stopped raising her voice except for necessary instructions. She can’t afford to do so, nor does she need to.
We were determined to deliver the refugees safely, no matter what. If there was an enemy standing in our way, we were determined to crush it.
Every time Tiran’s huge body moved forward, the enemy caught in its path would end up in a condition worse than minced meat. Not only human bodies but even horses were run over and crushed, spreading their flesh and blood and spreading a reddish-black color on the ground.
Their swords, spears, arrowheads, and offensive magic cannot even scratch the Tiran we are riding, and we just run over and crush them.
I don’t know if their families are being held hostage or if their minds are being manipulated. Even though they know that they are no longer a match for the steel monster that looms before them, the imperial soldiers just keep moving forward.
They are not allowed to avoid or retreat, and there is no way for them to escape death.
“””Ooohh…”””
A low, vindictive roar rises up, and the men, their mortal faces exposed, press in. Faces contorted with fear, anger, and hatred loom and disappear as they are caught up under the tank’s body.
Myrril continues to stare at them through the slit window, and at some point, her whole body tenses up in the cockpit.
If you don’t numb your mind, you won’t be able to come back.
Even I, who was operating a general-purpose machine gun, the MAG, in the gunner’s seat and kept reaping and shooting the enemy, felt something like a heavy lees building up in the pit of my stomach.
“Roger…”
The Tiran APC starts to climb a gentle hill, blowing smoke from the exhaust pipe at the left rear of the tank. Spearmen coming out from the left are killed by the sweeping fire of the MAGs, and the archers who come raining arrows at us from near the top are countered by the 7.62mm lead balls.
At the top of the hill, in the middle of the road, the abandoned commander’s camp remained. Myrril plows straight into it with the tank, repelling and trampling the piles of supplies.
“…Don’t you dare to think of running away at this late stage, bastard!”
At the end of the road, I saw a group of men on horseback riding away. They were probably imperial nobles. These commanders had thrown away their equipment and were running away frantically.
They had abandoned their men, who had come at us as dead soldiers.
In an unnaturally low, hard voice, Myrril shouted.
“Yoshua, don’t let them get away!”
“Yeah!”
A 7.62 millimeter round spit out from the MAG landed on the backs of the fleeing men, and they fell off their horses and fell to the ground.
After stopping the Tiran at the top of the hill, Myrril made a 180-degree super-cinematic turn on the spot.
From the enemy soldiers’ point of view, this would have appeared to block their escape route, but no longer did any of them have the will to resist.
Myrril emerges from the cockpit and stands next to my gun position with the UZI slung over her shoulder.
“Your commanders abandoned their ranks and men, fled, and were defeated by the Demon King! Surrender! Those who do not lay down their arms will be killed!”
The remnants of the Imperial Army dropped their weapons and slumped down.
UZI bullets pierced the soldiers who were still trying to come toward us as if it were a conditioned reflex.
The number of survivors was less than 20. We had no intention of taking prisoners, so we let them go, telling them to run wherever they wanted to go.
“…Perhaps I am not suited for this kind of role…”
The thin, weak voice, appropriate for her age, reaches only my ears.
“So do I. But I don’t think forcing this role on someone else is right. I’m really grateful to you, Myrril. If I had been on my own, I would have been crushed long ago.”
I hold the head of the dwarf girl who has snuggled up to me and look off at the passing bear face bus and Ural military truck.
I wave to our friends who call out to us, “You did a good job,” but I can’t help but feel unfulfilled.
If I’m not cut out for this, then I’m not cut out for war. I’m not suited for conflict, and I’m not suited for heroic roles at all.
I don’t even know if there is a role for a middle-aged man who was born and raised in a country that is painted with pretense, beauty, and artifice.
“…Ah, that’s right. I’ve been despised as incompetent, but in fact, I’m a cheat adventurer with maxed-out parameters. I’ll show you that I can do it well, so please let me change my job there.”
The next thing I knew, I found myself speaking my mind. The Nojaloli looked at me with the eyes of a sleepy dog and smiled gently.
“Let’s go home, Yoshua. You have done well.”
“…We did, didn’t we?”
It was only a hundred miles to Casemaian. I missed home terribly, where everyone was waiting for me.
Chapter 119: CH 122
The hill was lushly forested on both sides, with a gentle slope leading up to the top for about a kilometer.
The front side of the forest was dotted with bushes and colorful flowers. This was a long, quiet, beautiful landscape that would make you want to stop and have a cup of tea if you were on your way to a picnic…
…It was.
“”””Whoaaa…!””””
A large group of infantry, filling the hill, came running down from behind the woods on either side toward our convoy.
Nearly a hundred men are killed or disabled by the sweeping fire of MAG general-purpose machine guns, which had shot out of range and at elevation before the battle began, but the enemy shows no signs of being intimidated.
We continue to advance as fast as we can, climbing over or trampling over the corpses on the enemy’s side. The only thing going is the Tiran APC with Myrril and me on it.
“Yoshua, to the left!”
“I can see it. Leave it to me!”
A heavy cavalryman leaps out of the bushes at the bottom of the hill and rushes forward to flank us.
The war in this world, or even in my previous world, would have followed the theories of a pre-modern war. However, even though it was said female by Myrril, fighting against tanks was a meaningless suicide mission.
Strong men with long spears in their hands were hit in the chest armor by rifle bullets and fell from their horses one after another, coughing up blood and dying as they engulfed the following ranks.
In between the exchange of ammunition belts, Myrril finely adjusted their trajectory, and the huge body of the Tiran APCs checked the soldiers as they pushed forward.
The soldiers come toward us with a shout that resembles a winning cry. Their eyes already see nothing.
It is not that they are not frightened. They have already accepted their death as a matter of course. Looking into the dark, stagnant, swampy eyes that are staring back at me, I begin to send bullets into them again.
“Gyaahh!”
The sound of heavy armor being crushed by the front of the vehicle reaches my ears, interrupted by screams, yells, and gunfire.
The Tiran APC continues to advance without hesitation, literally laying waste to everything that stands in its way.
Since the first collision with the enemy, Myrril has stopped raising her voice except for necessary instructions. She can’t afford to do so, nor does she need to.
Every time Tiran’s huge body moved forward, the enemy caught in its path would end up in a condition worse than minced meat. Not only human bodies but even horses were run over and crushed, spreading their flesh and blood and spreading a reddish-black color on the ground.
Their swords, spears, arrowheads, and offensive magic cannot even scratch the Tiran we are riding, and we just run over and crush them.
I don’t know if their families are being held hostage or if their minds are being manipulated. Even though they know that they are no longer a match for the steel monster that looms before them, the imperial soldiers just keep moving forward.
They are not allowed to avoid or retreat, and there is no way for them to escape death.
“””Ooohh…”””
A low, vindictive roar rises up, and the men, their mortal faces exposed, press in. Faces contorted with fear, anger, and hatred loom and disappear as they are caught up under the tank’s body.
Myrril continues to stare at them through the slit window, and at some point, her whole body tenses up in the cockpit.
If you don’t numb your mind, you won’t be able to come back.
Even I, who was operating a general-purpose machine gun, the MAG, in the gunner’s seat and kept reaping and shooting the enemy, felt something like a heavy lees building up in the pit of my stomach.
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“Myrril, move forward! Let’s move out to the top of the hill!”“Roger…”
The Tiran APC starts to climb a gentle hill, blowing smoke from the exhaust pipe at the left rear of the tank. Spearmen coming out from the left are killed by the sweeping fire of the MAGs, and the archers who come raining arrows at us from near the top are countered by the 7.62mm lead balls.
At the top of the hill, in the middle of the road, the abandoned commander’s camp remained. Myrril plows straight into it with the tank, repelling and trampling the piles of supplies.
“…Don’t you dare to think of running away at this late stage, bastard!”
At the end of the road, I saw a group of men on horseback riding away. They were probably imperial nobles. These commanders had thrown away their equipment and were running away frantically.
They had abandoned their men, who had come at us as dead soldiers.
In an unnaturally low, hard voice, Myrril shouted.
“Yoshua, don’t let them get away!”
“Yeah!”
After stopping the Tiran at the top of the hill, Myrril made a 180-degree super-cinematic turn on the spot.
From the enemy soldiers’ point of view, this would have appeared to block their escape route, but no longer did any of them have the will to resist.
Myrril emerges from the cockpit and stands next to my gun position with the UZI slung over her shoulder.
“Your commanders abandoned their ranks and men, fled, and were defeated by the Demon King! Surrender! Those who do not lay down their arms will be killed!”
The remnants of the Imperial Army dropped their weapons and slumped down.
UZI bullets pierced the soldiers who were still trying to come toward us as if it were a conditioned reflex.
The number of survivors was less than 20. We had no intention of taking prisoners, so we let them go, telling them to run wherever they wanted to go.
“…Perhaps I am not suited for this kind of role…”
The thin, weak voice, appropriate for her age, reaches only my ears.
“So do I. But I don’t think forcing this role on someone else is right. I’m really grateful to you, Myrril. If I had been on my own, I would have been crushed long ago.”
I hold the head of the dwarf girl who has snuggled up to me and look off at the passing bear face bus and Ural military truck.
I wave to our friends who call out to us, “You did a good job,” but I can’t help but feel unfulfilled.
If I’m not cut out for this, then I’m not cut out for war. I’m not suited for conflict, and I’m not suited for heroic roles at all.
I don’t even know if there is a role for a middle-aged man who was born and raised in a country that is painted with pretense, beauty, and artifice.
“…Ah, that’s right. I’ve been despised as incompetent, but in fact, I’m a cheat adventurer with maxed-out parameters. I’ll show you that I can do it well, so please let me change my job there.”
The next thing I knew, I found myself speaking my mind. The Nojaloli looked at me with the eyes of a sleepy dog and smiled gently.
“Let’s go home, Yoshua. You have done well.”
“…We did, didn’t we?”
It was only a hundred miles to Casemaian. I missed home terribly, where everyone was waiting for me.
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