Chapter 30: Give Me a Very Big Number!

Zishan was flabbergasted.

Watching one of the larger Magic Beasts walk through his <anno data-annotation-id="30e1d8f8-26d9-73d5-080f-73927c4ad2b1" data-title="flames">flames¹</anno> as though they were nothing had forced him to reconsider how much confidence he had placed in his newly acquired Skill.

He had been so delighted by the destruction caused by Wildfire Requiem that he had almost forgotten about its limitations. The boar-looking Magic Beast approaching the barricade was an excellent reminder, especially since the flames still clinging to its armored hide were gradually disappearing without inflicting any noticeable injuries.

"Well... fuck."

Zishan quickly activated Appraisal on the enormous creature.

[IRONBACK RAZORBOAR]

[Level: 53]

[Classification: Ordinary Magic Beast]

His expression hardened. "That’s like 13 levels above the Ridgefang Hounds from before!"

Then, he checked the other beasts closely following behind it.

[GRAVETHORN BULL]

[Level: 61]

[Classification: Ordinary Magic Beast]

"Level sixty-one?!" His eyes almost bulged out. "Besides, what the fuck are these people even fighting over in the first place? Territory? Some legendary treasure? Did somebody insult their king’s mother?!"

He vaguely remembered the military report he had seen after arriving in Olmost. Apparently, the two kingdoms had been fighting over the Burnline for generations, with both sides claiming ownership of the same territories.

Olmost justified its territorial claims through ancient royal charters and fortresses that had remained under its crown’s authority for generations. Meanwhile, the Kingdom of Degenerates insisted that its noble houses possessed ancestral rights to the same territories through Bloodline inheritance and agreements established long before the current Olmost crown came to power.

As if fortune was against them, the disputed territories also contained valuable farmland, fortifications, and routes leading into Folds. Neither kingdom was particularly interested in surrendering them, and the treaties signed after previous wars had apparently failed to resolve their disagreements.

The latest negotiations over the eastern Burnline had collapsed, prompting another offensive from the Kingdom of Degenerates that eventually broke through Olmost’s eastern defenses.

Zishan stared at the approaching Magic Beasts, feeling increasingly incensed by the entire situation. He had transmigrated into this damned world without understanding much about how its politics worked, and now he was expected to risk his life because two kingdoms couldn’t agree on who owned what!

"FUCK! WHY CAN’T YOU PEOPLE JUST SETTLE THIS WITHOUT DRAGGING EVERYBODY ELSE INTO IT?!"

He watched the enormous boar and bull advance toward the barricade, becoming increasingly vexed by the thought that ordinary soldiers were being forced to die because the two kingdoms couldn’t agree on who owned the Burnline.

The Gravethorn Bull was larger than the Razorboar. Its muscles looked heavy, covered in patches of hardened skin, while two huge horns extended from its head. ’Perfect... we’re going to die at this point if this continues...’

Zishan still had 340 Mana remaining, along with eighty-seven distributable Stat Points he had been saving for an emergency.

He wasn’t particularly interested in distributing these points at the moment, especially when he could still deal with the weaker magic beasts coming at them. Nevertheless, if the larger ones eventually reached their post, he might have to reconsider that decision—as though it would make any difference. After all, he suspected that Magic Beasts generally possessed higher base physical Stats than ordinary humans of the same Level.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the Razorboars and Gravethorn Bulls. They were still a considerable distance behind the surviving Ridgefang Hounds. Unlike the smaller magic beasts, which had been charging toward the defending Soldiers, those enormous bastards were moving at an almost leisurely pace. They were just like fucking big snails!

One of them even stopped to push a burning carcass out of its path.

’They’re so fucking slow...’

That was excellent news. It meant he had a little time to prepare before they reached the barricade. Unfortunately, even with 340 Mana remaining, he couldn’t keep using Wildfire Requiem indefinitely, and he had absolutely no intention of discovering what would happen if he completely emptied his reserves while an enormous Level 61 beast was trying to trample him.

Besides, if he killed more of those weaker magic beasts, he might even level up a ton!

Zishan approached the Sergeant, who was directing the archers toward the surviving hounds. "Sergeant! Is there something that can recover Mana faster? Medicine, Magic, anything? I need something I can use right now!"

The Sergeant glanced at him before looking toward the approaching beasts. "We have Mana Recovery Potions. The medical station has some, but they’re reserved for emergencies. Why?"

Zishan almost wanted to hug him. "YOU HAVE POTIONS FOR THAT?!"

He pointed toward the larger creatures still struggling through the burning remains of the leading pack. "Look at those bastards! They’re walking so fucking slowly, and they’re still quite far away! If I can recover my Mana before they get here, I can keep burning the smaller ones and stop those monsters from reaching us!"

The Sergeant didn’t dismiss what he was saying. He had just witnessed Zishan kill thirty-three Level 40 Ridgefang Hounds with a single Skill, and the surviving beasts were already beginning to regroup behind the larger creatures.

If the young Soldier could repeat that performance, they might have a chance of holding the western barricade until the immediate danger passed. Or at least until their reinforcements arrived. The Sergeant had already sent a letter to Commander Holtz requesting reinforcements, long before Zishan arrived at the medical station.

"The medical supply officer is beside the unloading wagons, behind the tents," he finally replied. "Take some of our battlefield reserve, but don’t touch the potions allocated to the healers. They’re already treating more wounded than they can handle."

Zishan’s eyes immediately brightened. "HOW MANY CAN I TAKE?!"

"Enough to keep you useful!" The Sergeant turned toward a nearby Soldier who had been helping move equipment between the defensive positions. "Go with him. Tell the supply officer I authorized the release of the combat reserve. And get back here quickly, both of you!"

"YES, SERGEANT!" Zishan answered with a salute before the man could change his mind. He hurried away with the other Soldier, leaving the Sergeant to organize the remaining defenders and keep the scattered hounds from reaching the barricade.

Somehow, as the Sergeant thought about it, he felt like something was wrong with the kid’s enthusiasm.

The supply wagons were only a short distance behind the medical tents, but Zishan ran as though somebody had promised him an entire bakery full of cupcakes if he got there first.

He went past several healers carrying injured soldiers toward the inner section before finally spotting a middle-aged man standing beside one of the supply wagons. The man was checking a crate of medical supplies while two assistants hurriedly distributed bandages and other equipment.

"SIR! I DIRELY NEED MANA RECOVERY POTIONS! RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"

The supply officer looked up so abruptly that he almost dropped the list in his hand. "What?!"

"The Sergeant authorized the combat reserve," the Soldier accompanying Zishan explained, arriving a few moments later, acting far more normal than the latter. "Walker needs them to defend the western barricade. The larger beasts are approaching, and we’ve already lost part of the outer defensive line."

The officer glanced toward the distant explosions before returning his attention to Zishan. "How many do you need?"

"As many as you can give me!"

The man squinted. "That’s not a number, Soldier."

"THEN GIVE ME A VERY BIG NUMBER!"

The man stared at him for several seconds, contemplating whether the approaching Magic Beast horde or the white-haired idiot standing in front of him was the greater threat to his remaining patience. Then, he sighed in defeat.

He eventually opened a reinforced crate and began examining its contents, although he made it very clear that the medical station’s healing reserve was not available for Zishan’s personal consumption.

Zishan nodded enthusiastically.

He had absolutely no intention of depriving the healers of the medicine they needed to save wounded soldiers. However, there was a rather important distinction between taking potions away from the healers and using the station’s battlefield reserve to prevent more people from becoming wounded in the first place.

This was perfectly reasonable to him.

He explained that distinction to the officer, adding that he possessed Healing Magic himself and could assist with the injured afterward if their defensive line survived the attack. The man looked increasingly exhausted throughout his explanation, particularly when Zishan began describing the extraordinary number of Magic Beasts he could potentially burn if somebody would just give him enough fucking Mana.

"Fine! Fine! Fine! Take these and get back to your position!" the officer finally shouted, placing a reinforced leather satchel on the wagon. He and his assistants quickly filled it with bottles from the combat reserve while Zishan watched with such intense happiness that the man began to regret agreeing to the request.

"HAHAHAHA! THANK YOU, SIR! YOU’RE SAVING LIVES TODAY!"

"Just don’t waste them! And if the Sergeant wants more, he can send another requisition!" the man said, but wondered how this kid was still laughing in their situation.

Zishan immediately grabbed the satchel, which was considerably heavier than the small equipment pouch attached to his belt, and hurried back toward the western barricade.

He was still grinning when he returned, although the sight of the larger Magic Beasts drawing closer reminded him that this was probably not the best time to celebrate such an excellent discovery of the potions.

Luckily, the Sergeant had managed to keep the surviving hounds occupied while he was away. Zishan placed the satchel behind a reinforced section of the barricade, where he could reach the bottles whenever he needed them, and turned his attention toward the approaching horde.

’HAHAHAHA! NOW WE’RE FUCKING TALKING!’

<annotations style="display: none;">flames = fire</annotations>