The orcs slowly ran out of troops, and the piles of bodies grew tall enough to stop them in their tracks. Eventually, the few remaining orcs, less than a thousand, fled leaving thousands more dying on the fields.
Dealing with the bodies took two weeks. Any valuables were taken, and the bodies were burnt en masse in pyres. Bariyon stayed to watch the process.
“Strange. None of the bodies have been significantly larger than the average size. As orcs live, they grow almost infinitely larger. A leader of such a moderately large horde would surely have been an absolute titan compared to the average orc. Mayhaps, the leader escaped?” Kyle stoked his unhelmeted chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. A problem for another day.”
Overall, I'm confident with these weapons. I need to open more munition factories, though.
——-
Month 10 of the Two Year Plan
Kyle had rapidly modernized both the industry and the army of the province. The first factories producing actual metal cartridges had been built or converted, and the old gunpowder facility had been switched to producing smokeless powder.
The industrial complex had been recentered around the nuclear battery, forming a huge area of factories and warehouses connected to the cities and towns by rail lines. The tech level of the province was firmly in the range of 1890-1910 earth, with mature industrial facilities and semiautomatic weapons for all. A new network of automobiles had sprung up around the province, although it was mostly used to ferry raw materials from the ever-expanding mines to the factories.
The mana engine was a genius piece of runework. Bariyon had spent three months working on it with piles of gold and ancient texts from the dragons hoard. Even with hundreds of examples and mounds of rare materials, it had taken him a quarter of a year to do it.
The engine could reliably power any vehicle under 6.5 tons. It wouldn’t be too fast, but it was far better than marching. Already, two huge factories using Ford’s assembly line model and other more modern tricks known to Kyle were pumping out logistical trucks. They were simple machines, flatbeds with a convertible rain cover for the cargo. Kyle named them the Truck Mark One as well.
A huge area on the plains had been dedicated to training. Fleets of vehicles learned to drive in formation. Machine guns tore up fields of dirt and targets. Infantry marched or ran laps on the recently built track. And in the distance, the hydrogen-oxygen separator facility activated. Blimp time, baby.
Kyle had long had a passion for zeppelins. It was time to make his own.
————
Stolen story; please report.
The Sky Destroyer was a beast. 179 meters long, 24 meters in diameter, and 28 meters tall. It had 38,500 cubic meters of gas providing lift. It could reach a cruising speed of 70 kilometers an hour. It had 6 gondola mounted engines, and 8 machine guns mounted across the hull under the canvas. Two were mounted atop the balloon on a platform, and could be reached by a ladder that went up the canvas.
Rather than holding bombs, it was equipped with two 130 mm howitzers firing 80 pound shells. Thanks to a bit of genius League engineering in the Modular Recoil Absorber, the recoil wouldn’t be a problem and it would be recycled into electricity to power the small mechanical battery onboard. It was the last thing Kyle made using the Nanofactory.
The airship would be less of a bomber and more of a floating gun battery. Wyvern riders or whatever other magical fauna wanted a piece of it would be deterred by the 12 MGs, which could put out about 3000 rounds a minute collectively.
Kyle was ready. Divisions of tanks, motorized infantry, bolt action rifles, and crew-operated heavy weapons. The problem was that he had nothing to fight. He was ensconced in the Veskayan Empire from all directions except the east, and there was only a small amount of unclaimed land in between Veskaya and those Cascettan bug people in the center of the sparse jungles and boreal forests in that direction.
Aside from fighting the Iron Scourge some more, Kyle saw little to do. Until his army was at least 80,000 strong with a full air force and legions of tanks, he wouldn’t dare to attack the Veskayan Empire. Unless something totally catastrophic were to happen to the central imperial authority, he wouldn’t attack until then.
The empire had plenty of enemies. From the Canastans to the south, the Iron Scourge itself to the southeast, and Cascetta far to the east, to the cultist fish-demon-men of Karvosokth in the far west across the Amonye Sea.
All were out of Kyle’s reach, simply due to distance. He could go wherever he wanted due to the teleportarium network, but he couldn’t take his army with him. As he sat, pondering the hole he’d dug himself into by setting up here, a courier came into his office.
“M’lord. A message fer ya, from Elenermagon. Centrous Bowman, I think that was ‘is name, is outside waitin fer ya.” “Ah. Send him in for me, would you?”
———
“Kyle, my friend! It has been too long, huh?” Kyle shook his hand firmly. “You as well. Let me treat you to some dwarven light beer. It’s a new invention of theirs, quite a unique taste compared to ale or normal beer.”
The two of them sat around the same table that they had negotiated the sale of the dragon corpse around nearly two years ago now. “We’ve got a proposal for you. We want to… invite you on a business venture we’re going on. It would be a massive investment on your part, but the returns would be worth it.”
“I’m interested.” Kyle had a good feeling about this.
“Wonderful! Well. Let me just lay it out for you then, ah? We’re building a portal to hell, and we want you to invade through it for us.” “I’m in.”
Bariyon looked through the doorway at the mention of hell. “Woah there bucko, what do you think you're doing proposing something like that? And you, Kyle, not taking my advice before accepting?”
Centrous fell out of his chair and scrambled backwards at the sight of the necromancer, with his faceplate lifted to reveal the black skull and glowing green flames for eyes.
“What, did I scare ya?”
