A Little Captain (Part 2)

With the dust rising, several small dark dots appeared atop a hazy yellow sand dune, growing larger and larger.

"Wooooolololololo—!"

They shouted discordant primal war cries, riding motorcycles cobbled together from scrap piles, their engines roaring as they rumbled across the ground littered with gravel and grit.

"Enemy approaching maximum effective range. Fire team, switch to laser rifles, prepare to open fire."

Because they had to carry a large number of refugees, the iron-plated truck Kasgar and his group had chosen was barely faster than running.

Shaking off these annoying flies by speed alone was basically impossible.

"Fire!"

At Kasgar's command, a dozen crimson laser beams cut through the dust, shooting toward the distant dark specks.

Though very few actually hit their targets, and even fewer could inflict fatal damage on those heavily armored motorcycles.

Flashlights, as they were.

But killing was never Kasgar's goal. A volley of fire to suppress them was enough.

"Now, the escort group and I will mount our motorcycles and flank them from the side!"

There were differences between motorcycles, too.

Compared to those roaring scrap piles that might fall apart at any moment, their Karax assault mobile unit was like gods descending to earth.

These off-road motorcycles, personally designed and improved by Fulgrim, could adapt to Chemos's environment to a great extent, gliding over sand and rubble as if on flat ground without losing speed.

A skilled craftsman could match a hundred skilled swordsmen.

Fortunately, Fulgrim was both.

Kasgar, who had closed the distance with a single twist of the throttle, couldn't help but think this.

Facing the startled Sulfa people not far ahead, he drew the Ignition pistol in his left hand.

A Master-crafted Ignition pistol, forged by Fulgrim herself for Kasgar, using materials dismantled from ignition weapons and reverse-engineered, tailored to his specifications.

Very handy.

No boasting intended.

With a dull, solid hum and a booming blast, the unlucky Sulfa man and his beloved dirt bike burst into mist and scattered, buried beneath Chemos's gravel and yellow sand.

Though the Sulfa people were fierce in attack and highly mobile—the most troublesome nomads—

When facing Kasgar, whose weapons and equipment were a tier above theirs, it was undoubtedly a modern army beating down primitives.

Ever since their mobile unit set out, those once-valiant Sulfa people couldn't even get close before being riddled with holes, falling one after another under the group's superior arms and firepower.

In the absence of sorcery and force shields, the doctrine of overwhelming firepower often proved far more effective.

"All visible Sulfa motorcycle units have been eliminated."

"Scout team, report the latest situation."

Kasgar calmly holstered his pistol.

But before he could even spare a moment to be pleased, the communication device brought bad news again.

"No, sir!"

"More motorcycle units are approaching your position!"

"The number of people fast approaching our unit keeps increasing, and even on the left, a large batch of unknown signals has appeared!"

"And ahead! More unknown readings ahead—it's very likely the Sulfa people have set up their main force in ambush here!"

Things were looking grim.

"Looks like they've sent out their entire force."

Kasgar frowned upon hearing this. "Send a signal. Notify Fulgrim to come for reinforcements."

The motorcycle cavalry appearing on their right would normally be the full extent of the raiding force.

Typically, Sulfa raids were just like this—using their highly mobile motorcycle units to snatch some slaves and goods, then pulling out before the enemy's main force could arrive.

Hit and run.

This tactic had also made it hard for him and Fulgrim to find their hideouts on Chemos's harsh surface.

But now, the entire tribe had mobilized almost all its combat strength, including those without mobile gear—mutants, cultists, swordsmen—just to ambush them?

Were these Sulfa people all insane?

Risking exposure of their whereabouts just to intercept this batch of refugees?

"Prophet, what further instructions does the god have?"

The Sulfa leader was a mutant with extensive mechanical modifications.

Scars and mutations crawled across his hideous face, and even with mechanical parts as a cover, they couldn't hide his terrifying, twisted appearance.

As for the Prophet he was addressing, she was withered and skinny, with hardly any meat on her bones, yet she was adorned like a gaudy dancer with countless gold and red ornaments.

Her face was veiled by a curtain of numerous golden trinkets, making her features impossible to discern.

If she were not standing here, it would be hard to imagine she was a scavenger from a cannibal tribe.

"The god praises your devotion, child."

The Prophet's voice was clean, not at all like an old woman's.

"What He seeks is all here."

"What, Prophet?"

"But what does He truly want?"

The chieftain grew puzzled. The Sulfa people's Prophet, their shaman and divine messenger, continued issuing commands:

"The one summoned by the Mother of Nothingness will come on their own. You need only go and seek—ask no more, think no more."

"That boy and girl, the two infants, are our future saint and vessel."

The Prophet's words were hard to grasp.

But it was clear she wanted a boy and a girl, two children, alive.

That was enough.

"Fine."

The chieftain looked down from the heavy war vehicle, catching sight of the shocking casualties among the vanguard.

"Damn it, how did these brats suddenly get so tough?"

"Don't engage yet—ask if they're willing to hand them over before we fight!"

"A boy and a girl, two children, alive?"

Kasgar rode his motorcycle back into the convoy.

What was this, some kind of dragon king sacrifice?

The Sulfa people's shouting left him baffled.

Their goal seemed very clear.

They only wanted those twin children. If given, they'd leave—no greed for looting the refugees.

Or rather, under the threat of Kasgar and his troops, the Sulfa people didn't dare to be greedy.

Now, among the entire convoy, refugee children were few. The boy-girl twins they demanded could only mean one thing:

Those two children who had spoken with Kasgar not long ago.

But what did the Sulfa people want them for?

Kasgar didn't know.

Yet as time passed, the Sulfa people's encirclement drew closer.

If no decision was made soon, the disadvantage would only grow once they were surrounded.

"Commander, maybe we should just give them the children?"

"We've got nothing but refugees who can't fight here. If a real battle breaks out, the casualties might be..."

A guard suggested cautiously.

Fulgrim loved children the most.

And as her followers and believers, so did they.

Compared to this cartload of motley mutants, the children's likability went without saying.

But still, on the other side of life's scale, there were countless lives yet to be saved.

No matter how ugly or stupid the mutants were, they were still lives, still human.

Abandon two children to save a whole convoy of guards and refugees.

A fair trade.

The other guards fell silent.

Though cruel, it was their shared choice.

The people of Chemos had long been used to such cold-blooded trades of lives.

"Kasgar, big brother."

The two children were brought before him.

Though young, they were precocious and already understood their fate.

"Kasgar, big brother, it's okay. Just let us go."

"I... I won't be a captain anymore."

Her eyes were slightly red.

"The uncles said before—we orphans were born to be eaten by the Sulfa people outside."

How could a life born to be eaten ever become a captain?

Kasgar did not make a snap decision.

"Little captain, what's your name?"

He simply comforted the girl and lifted both children to his chest.

"I'm Corleon."

"Corleon, Corleon. Interesting."

His expression shifted slightly. He turned his head to take a closer look at the boy on the other side, then looked back.

"Alright, Corleon!"

"Now, hold tight!!!"

With the children in his arms, Kasgar swung onto his motorcycle in one motion and floored the throttle.

He sped off toward the horizon, across the dusky yellow plains in the opposite direction.