I’m Waiting for My Teammates—What Are You Waiting For?

In just a few breaths, Woodworth's army line was utterly torn apart.

From above the walls and from the gate to the side, torrents of bullets rained down on Woodworth's vanguard.

There was no need to repeat the lengthy weakening volleys of arrows and thrown spears that Guinevere once used against Woodworth's forces with Gawain's archers. In a mere instant, Woodworth's casualties had reached fifty percent.

Such a scene quickly shook the resolve of the Fairy warriors of the Tooth Clan.

"What's happening? Why is everyone in front suddenly falling... Is this some demon sorcery?!"

"It hurts... it hurts so much! My shoulder was blasted apart... Metal? Iron?!"

Compared to the innate fireballs or wind blades that fairies can naturally conjure, the Magivac Model I did not have a dramatic advantage in raw power. Even at close range, its destructive force might not surpass those innate spells. But in penetration, range, and rate of fire, the Magivac far outclassed fireballs and wind blades—attacks familiar to fairies and more common on the battlefield than swords. The bullets of the Magivac Model I were different: their speed made them difficult for fairies to detect or dodge in time, beyond their usual recognition. Often they had no chance to react before being pierced.

And the most lethal aspect: the bullets are metal. For fairies innately fearful of iron, this acted like innate armor-piercing and poison damage, extremely effective. Coupled with Woodworth's troops charging in dense formations, a single shot could penetrate multiple fairies. Thus, the killing power was undeniable. Woodworth's fairy vanguard never even reached the walls: after Guinevere's Magic Gunners reloaded for a second volley, fewer than twenty percent of Woodworth's fairy soldiers remained.

Such horrifying, unimaginable destruction shattered the survivors' will to fight. They tried to flee... but a third volley was already underway. Though with sparser targets the Gunners could no longer hit blindly as before, by the time the fleeing fairies exited the effective range of the Magivac, only one-in-ten remained.

Only Woodworth stood, stunned:

"What? What? What?! Damn it, Guinevere, you bastard—what exactly have you done?!"

"What kind of attack is that? What weapon is this? Preposterous! Never heard of anything like it!"

At that moment, a stray bullet happened to whiz toward Woodworth's face—but he simply reached out and caught it in his hand. Lowering his gaze to inspect the bullet, then, relying on his outstanding vision, he looked up at Guinevere's Magic Gunners firing endlessly in the distance, eyes blazing with fury:

"Damn it! What kind of cursed weapon is this? It's cheating! Cheating!"

He could not comprehend: how could such a weapon exist in this world? From antiquity to now, battlefield killing always involved both sides risking grave danger. Combatants wagered their lives at close range, relying on strength, agility, skill, experience, will, even luck—their lifelong training tilts the odds in their favor. But always with the possibility of death if they lost the gamble. Now, all that was shattered by this absurd, inexplicable weapon.

The process of killing was thoroughly simplified: no arduous training, no need for robust physique, no need to stake one's life—just a finger's pull to kill someone a kilometer away. What is that?

"Preposterous!"

"What have you made the battlefield into?! What have you made a warrior's honor into?!"

"This despicable weapon... a coward's tool, wagering nothing of oneself! An executioner's instrument, existing only to kill!"

"I won't allow it. I won't allow such a damned weapon that desecrates our valor to exist!"

Roaring in fury, Woodworth tore off his suit, then charged personally onto the field, roaring. As soon as he charged, more bullets flew from afar toward his face and vital points. But this time, he made no defensive or dodging moves: he simply ran headlong, letting bullets strike him, only to have them deflected by his skin, tougher than steel plates.

"Useless! Useless! Useless!" he roared. With speed nearly matching those bullets, he shattered the sound barrier, charging at Guinevere's soldiers with unprecedented ferocity. The ground beneath him split from the vacuum shock of his supersonic run. Then, just before reaching Norich's gate, he stopped. The gale he generated battered the gate like a tempest, and his suffocating, awe-inspiring presence arrived:

"I'll show you! I'll prove to you! The battlefield cannot be won with that cowardly weapon! It's the domain of us true strong ones! Not something you chaff can handle with toys!"

"I'll stay here and kill you all!"

He lunged a clawed strike at the nearest soldier—a blow strong enough to collapse the city wall itself. But the attack was immediately deflected by an odd, monstrous arm emerging from the side. Indeed, that bizarre arm's blade had already split Woodworth's arm in two, yet he showed no hindrance. Even as the ground cracked beneath them, Woodworth's strike was nullified.

Then another voice spoke calmly: "—Such arrogant boast."

Woodworth looked down to see a truly nightmarish, demonic visage. On that mask-like face, a single eye shone like a white-hot bulb, staring him down:

"Who the hell do you think you are? You say I can't?"

That demon suddenly lunged at Woodworth with a blade sprouting from its head.

"You think such an attack can fell me?!" Woodworth snarled, only to be impaled as the blade tore a massive wound through his chest.

"What madness?" Guinevere followed with an uppercut of the strange blade, flicking blood from Woodworth's face:

"You think your all-A stats make you invincible?"

Woodworth, enraged, struck Guinevere's face with a powerful punch, but merely offset Guinevere's head slightly. Guinevere then delivered a heavy kick to Woodworth's chest, sending him flying like a cannonball:

"If it's just raw stats, I surpass you now!" Guinevere laughed wildly.

Guinevere then stomped and, as the blade regenerated, impaled Woodworth again. On the display of the Endless Trial, their abilities read:

Tooth Clan Lord, Arlingbard Woodworth:

Strength: A

Agility: A

Magic: A

Endurance: A+

Luck: C

Lord of Norich, Calamity Demon Guinevere (Demonic Form):

Strength: A+

Agility: A+

Magic: A

Endurance: A+

Luck: A

In demonic form, Guinevere's blade—still iron—continues to exploit fairies' vulnerability to metal. With his already superhuman strength and speed, he tore through Woodworth's defenses easily. But that was only part: though Guinevere could rip Woodworth's flesh, Woodworth's self-healing remained unaffected.

"You think I'd fall from such a blow?!" Woodworth laughed furiously and, as he said, within a breath his wounds healed completely. He then counterattacked, his strike piercing Guinevere's chest, aiming to crush his heart.

But—

"You—" Woodworth's expression twisted in shock: "You... have no heart?!"

"Hahaha—" Guinevere kicked Woodworth in the torso to withdraw the blade, then lunged in, slashing Woodworth's flesh. He opened his jagged maw and drank Woodworth's blood. In moments, the gaping wound in his chest was fully healed.

"You don't die—I slash you, you bleed, I drink, I regain strength, so I don't die either!"

Grinning, Guinevere struck again: "Perpetual motion achieved!"

Woodworth's face contorted:

[Soon, your battle with Woodworth enters a white-hot stage. Confident in each other's regenerative abilities, both abandon defense for relentless offense.]

[Both sides can trigger infinite healing, leading to an unending brawl.]

[You cannot kill Woodworth; Woodworth cannot kill you.]

[Your duel rages for three days and nights.]

[After three continuous days, Woodworth finally falters.]

[Woodworth attempts to flee.]

[You prevent Woodworth's escape.]

"Madman! Madman! You're insane! Let me go!" Woodworth shouts as he defends against Guinevere's blows.

"Hah! You said you'd kill me, yet you beg to leave?" Guinevere sneers.

"This fight is meaningless! You can't kill me, nor I you! I give up! Let me go!"

"Meaningless? Who says it's meaningless?" Guinevere suddenly laughs as he hears a distant trigger click: "I'm waiting for my teammates—what are you waiting for?"

At those words, Woodworth freezes. A bullet flies from afar and hits his shoulder. This time, terror finally shows on his face: a dark spot spreads slowly across his shoulder.

"How's that?" Guinevere laughs:

"A special Moors bullet—do you like it?"