"Big sis, that birdman over there raised his bow — looks like he's going to attack us. By the way, what did you just say?"
"N-nothing."
Maybe from spending so much time around Hel, little Anna had picked up the habit of piping in with complaints. Still, her grandfather had always told her that a Heim family maid must keep graceful at all times, so as not to embarrass Lord Hel in public. She only forced a helpless smile and spoke gently:
"Nothing. When they're in range, fire at will."
"All right, big sis."
Number One nodded seriously, then waved her hand and intoned in a businesslike tone:
"Ready — fire at will."
In the next moment bolts of magical rounds streaked up into the sky, trailing little tails of light like rain turned back toward the heavens. After Number One and the others had been firing for a while, Anna had a clear look at what those distant black specks were.
They were bird-headed humanoids. They looked almost human but not quite. Besides having bird heads, they were covered in thick plumage; most wore only a little fur skirt around the waist and nothing on top — even the females. Under that dense coat they resembled someone wearing a very bulky sweater. Their lower bodies were the strangest: sharp talons just like a poultry's, as if a person's upper half had been grafted to a bird's lower half. Compared with their hands — which at least had fingers, though long-nailed — they looked like evolutionary misfits.
Clearly these were a branch of the small Beastmen. Being part of the small-beastman group, they came in numbers — but since they were a flying special unit, they couldn't be deployed by the tens of thousands like the ground fodder. This wave numbered only a few thousand and was spread out thinly. At first Anna had thought they were migrating birds until Number One noticed and alerted her; only then did Anna realize they were enemies.
The reason Anna had been missing it was partly because she lacked marksmanship talent. Unlike Number One and the others — who had top-tier sword or aiming tags and could pick up a mag-gun instantly and hit wherever they pointed — Anna was the "point-and-shoot" type. After emptying several magazines she'd earned the title "Master Outliner" for her stray-but-numerous shots. Fortunately Hel had given each of them a pack of low-grade elemental cores; one core could fire dozens of magical bullets, and swapping cores was simple, which explained Anna's prodigious waste of ammo.
Still, burning through a dozen cores with no result hurt. Hel had warned these low-grade cores weren't worth much and that they should use them freely — but Anna felt a pang of regret anyway. Even Number One, who usually seemed expressionless, could see Anna's disappointment. After finishing off another birdman she hustled over, placed a tiny hand on Anna's head, and comforted her:
"Big sis, don't be discouraged. Missing at first is normal. A lot of us couldn't handle a bow at first either. With practice most of us became decent archers. If you keep working, you'll get stronger too."
"And the small number who don't improve?"
On impulse Anna blurted the thought out — perhaps the influence of hearing Hel's deadpan remarks too often — and it came out half as a complaint. Number One cocked her head and, in that innocent loli voice with no expression, delivered a dry little joke:
"The ones that don't get better are useless. In the goblin's eyes, broken weapons are meant for scrap."
"Scr-scrap?"
"Yes. But don't worry — our master is merciful. Even if big sis's aim's poor, she won't be reclaimed."
Thanks for that. Anna grumbled inwardly but kept a gentle smile and raised her mag-gun to try again. What she didn't know was that hitting a moving target at several thousand meters from the wall with a mag-pistol was only easy for overpowered folks who had top tags like Number One. If Hel herself were here she'd probably scoff and say: "Try hitting a moving target that far with a pistol, then talk."
Anna didn't know that; no matter how hard she tried, misses were expected. So time passed in this way — Number One and the others unloading precise, heavy output while Anna made outline-after-outline misses. The birdmen drew closer and closer. Even if Number One was precise, their firepower wasn't enough to stop the massier dive speed. Soon it looked like the birdmen would break the line and pour into the city.
Anna sighed, opened the large leather chest beside her, and revealed it packed tight with mag-pistols. She untied her hair and let the long dark locks fall free, then spoke:
"Lord said this once."
As she spoke, her hair seemed to come alive. Clusters of strands grouped and acted like tendrils, coiling toward the pistols in the chest.
"When poor, precision fire…"
The handguns began to float gently behind Anna, lifted and carried by her moving hair.
"…when rich, suppressive fire."
She didn't want to lavish resources, but the lord had ordered her to annihilate the enemy. So…could they please go die for him?
In that instant, facing the thousands of diving Beastmen, Anna completely dropped the etiquette Grandpa and Sebas had drilled into her. She wanted only to unleash the suppressed ferocity she'd been trained to hold in for over a decade. Hundreds of mag-pistols unleashed a simultaneous barrage, a reverse downpour of ordnance. The dimming sky at sunset flared bright as countless rounds stitched the air.