Kyle clutched his rifle, trembling as he leaned against the thick concrete wall and gasped for breath.
Despite being built like a bear, he was timid to the core. Otherwise, back in Rhine, he would not have chosen to work in a factory instead of joining a gang as an enforcer like everyone else.
He had been a Rhine native, implicated by a worker named Theus, and exiled here by the Candlelight Society. A month ago, he had still been working in the factory, atoning for sins he could never repay, believing he would spend the rest of his life that way.
But now, he had actually gone to war.
"The Fishmen are charging again! Get ready! Hurry, hurry!"
The squad leader yanked him hard. Kyle fumbled for bullets at his waist, but his trembling fingers slipped, and the rounds fell to the ground.
"Kid, use this one." A voice came from beside him. Kyle turned to find another rifle held out before him. A middle-aged man stood there—the squad's political commissar.
Seeing that Kyle was still frozen, he shoved the rifle into Kyle's arms, picked up the bullets, and took away his empty gun.
Kyle instinctively pulled the bolt. The rifle was already loaded.
The captain dragged this group of recruits to the firing slits and shouted for them to fire. Though many had been scared out of their wits, they still followed their training and sent bullets flying out.
Just fire the bullets. That was enough. There was no need to aim—wherever bullets flew on a battlefield, they were bound to hit at least one enemy.
The Fishmen charged in wave after wave, then fell like wheat beneath a scythe. Machine guns blazed from every fortress, and the bullets fell even more densely than rain.
The arm monsters