Unfortunately, I’m Not A Hero: 3

Unfortunately, I’m Not A Hero: 3

Wordcount: 2500

Commissioned by Shaderic.

…

Only an idiot thinks fighting fair ever happens. The morons who try to fight fair are dead by the enemy’s hand or the people they’re supposed to lead into battle. Fact: people want to survive and win. Source: Me. Those who want to fight perfectly and look good are weeds that are pruned by the earliest of battle, left to be nothing more than lessons, and are convenient meatshields at best. They’re the country’s ablative armor, meant to dull the weight of an enemy offensive or two, while the real tacticians and generals are briefed, given the best troops, and send in counter attacks.

There isn’t a single general or commander in the either side of the war that’s an idiot, who’ll fall for the same trick twice, and if there are… well they’ll be fucked over by whatever tactic I use against the good ones anyway. There’s no sunken cost involved into making a new, perfect strategy that’ll kill someone else. If the enemy dies, then that’s an absolute victory, because if they’re dead I’m alive.

The trick is making sure the trick pans out.

To work is to lose, but if dying is the only other alternative, then I’ll work the hardest.

Thankfully, my new boss happened to be the very best person for me to abus—work with.

Nothing like someone who was honorable, noble, and righteous to make sure that the most underhanded, dirty, and disrespectful means of victory comes to pass. Those who want to be right, those who hold something else above their own lives, and those who would rather lose everything than lose what they hold most dear will never think they’re wrong.

Not even as they lie dying in a pool of their own blood.

…

The incoming enemy force was more than expected.

“Four divisions of the Empire finest will be upon is in a day’s time. Retreat is impossible due to enemy cavalry and our caravan.” I knew all of that, but having someone else verify it was for the best. Trusting only my own eyes and ears is a good way to serve my head on a platter. Whether it’s good new or bad, verification is what matters the most. “This situation is difficult. I look forward to saving your life and freeing myself from my obligations to you, especially against foes who I wish to kill.”

I waved away my Amazon bodyguard, then turned to my liaison with the Demon Lord. I didn’t bother with her name. She was just Cell Phone-chan. Beyond communication ability, she could also fly, breathe fire, and could turn aside regular, sharpened steel by flexing her muscles. 10/10 would buy a new version every year and trade-in the old one.  Unfortunately, that review is only if I work with her under her regular parameters, so I had to test my new means of communication thoroughly, before giving a review to the public that could be appreciated by the masses.

Who am I kidding?

Anyone who can have a dragon-girl would get a dragon-girl.

“What do I have here?” I had my suspicions, especially given the nature of the camp, but verification was key. “I need numbers, types, and what they can do.”

Wow, that’s one heck of a glare. It makes me feel like I’m rotten trash left on the gutter for seven… no… ten days. The composition of sneer, narrowed eyes, and slightly-flared nose on your face, Cell Phone-Chan, is incredible. I give it 54/100 Yukinoshita’s. It might not sound like a passing grade, but only Yukinoshita has ever managed 100/100 Yukinoshita’s. She’s Yukinoshita, after all. The most Yukinoshita Yukinoshita to ever Yukinoshita. What a Yukinoshita. To even be half a Yukinoshita at being Yukinoshita is quite the accomplishment.

However, joke’s on you, Cell Phone-chan.

I have power over you, even if you can crush my head into a pulp between your clawed forefinger and thumb.

“Talk or don’t, but I don’t need someone worthless in this room. Get out of here and get someone more willing, if you’re not.” I’m very grateful that Demon Lord-chan provided me with a permanent warranty on Cell Phone-chan’s. Truly, Monster Girl Incorporated is making strides in customer service that are revolutionizing the industry. Though, stockholders will surely question the need for such costly innovation, because their only competition is Asshole Associates who are, as the name suggests, assholes. “Well?”

“The Royal Guard and Retinue are composed of the finest warriors and staff to accompany her majesty wherever she wishes. We are at full strength with five Wings of my kin, fifty of the finest warriors of the realms, and five hundred common soldiery who also double as staff.” So, it just takes the app a bit to start up. I won’t dock points for it, or even complain, but if it happens again, I’ll certainly complain. I might have paid nothing, but I deserve everything. Why? Because, I’m me. “If you are deserving of your reputation, you will be more than capable of overturning the oncoming foe without breaking the Demon Lord’s word.”

And, I don’t care about what you say now. Go to sleep. I don’t want you using any more mental power than you need to.

Obviously, you have a short battery life.

Five “Wings” means 60 Dragon Girls. One Wing is usually enough to chew through a few divisions of slave-soldiers/me. Thousands of Hachiman’s will die ignoble deaths against a single Wing, then the aforementioned Wing will fly back home, rest, recuperate, and come back the next day to burnt up a few thousand more Hachiman’s. Poor Hachiman’s, they’ve done nothing wrong, yet they’re all dying ignoble deaths, so that better-equipped divisions could catch them while they’re doing so and catch them unaware. How sad, Hikigaya Hachiman has made a tactic that involved the deaths of many Hachiman’s to kill 12 Dragon Girls. How sad. How terrible. How Hachiman.

Eh, did I just use my own name as a slur?

“So, those five Wings are worthless.” I ignored Cell Phone-chan’s outburst of surprise and indignity. I turned to my bodyguard. “Do you remember my plans against centaurs?” My very-useful, capable, and morally-obligated-to-stay-with-me-forever bodyguard nodded. “Get everyone who can move to start digging or making palisades. Cut down as many trees as you can without making an open plain. Turn upturned dirt into small slopes for cover.”

There was an outburst in the making from Cell Phone-chan, but I used a voice command to make her go “silent.”

“You and your kin were the biggest problem to the entire Empire. So, I made sure to make as many tactics and strategies to deal with the lot of you.” My whole division was “destroyed” by the Demon Lord and her Royal Guard of Dragons. That was an undeniable fact. That was why five divisions of actual, professional soldiery were being rushed to fuck us over. They were going to be armed and ready for Dragons and Little-Miss-Mass-Destruction. “This is their chance to kill the enemy leader, several elite warriors they otherwise have no answer for, because they’re not flying away and sacrificing troops to make sure they escape. Get it through your thick skull: even if the Empire loses tens of thousands of lives to kill you and your Empress, they win!”

Thus, with that Bad End condition in mind, I was going to continue my no-deaths, perfect run at the shittiest game to ever exist: life.

There was no way to remove that critical, complete weakness in my current situation. So, I’ll at least make that weakness work for me. In my current stages of planning, all I saw was bait and the need to make a trap that could eat up ten thousand professional, specialized soldiers within a day’s time, so that I can escape with my new boss and all the idiots she wanted to keep alive.

Nothing could be wasted.

Even proud, noble Dragon girls whose names I didn’t to bother remembering.

I eyed up Cell Phone-chan.

“Tell me, Captain of the Royal Guard, how fast and deep can you and yours dig?”

…

“It looks like a maze composed for slaughter.”

“No need for applause. I know that I’m great.” The fortifications were finished within the span of a day. Magic and magic-enhanced muscle carried the day, as it always did for monstergirls, and it showed outside of battle. True, I put my defeated, useless sacks of meat to work, i.e. my former soldiers, but most of the work was done by the Demon Lord’s retinue and Royal Guard. Less than six hundred in total number, the quality of those present were just plain stupid. The cooking staff had a dozen monstergirls and they fed the whole operation, monstergirls and humans all, three healthy meals a day. Work that would’ve taken my troops five days was completed in one. Thankfully, they’re all stupid, otherwise I’d be dead. “Lead the enemy here, after dealing with the mages, and the rest die. That’s all you need to do.”

The clearing that had been made into an encampment no longer existed. Earthworks, stone walls, and wood palisades now created defense in depth. Trenches were filled with pissed off, armed humans who wanted to crack the skulls of those enslaved them. Those who could shoot anything from a rock to an arrow had buckets of ammunition, commanding views of the battlefield, and cover. Monstergirls were formed into squadrons to hit locations that would get swamped with fighting. The tree line was ready to be set ablaze to stop any strategic flanking maneuvers. Then, there were a few surprises if things went badly.

Or, well.

If I made the effort to do something, it’d be a waste to not use it. I’m not sort of guy who keeps something “just in case.” If money isn’t used, then it’s wasted. That’s a for a regular, normal life. If I had a resource that I can use in battle, that I invested effort into getting, then it was going to get used. The best victory is always the overwhelming victory, after all. There’s no such thing as a fight that could be won won more thoroughly. How did the saying go in the American Sci-Fi movie?

Don’t win one fight.

Win all the fights.

Yeah, the shota went insane and nearly completely genocided an alien species, but there’s still lessons to be learned, especially when your opponents are morally defunct, terrible people.

“Granted power over those whom I rule, you still choose to fight without nobility and grace.” Roseanne’s statement had me focus entirely on her. It was the same sort of focus someone would have when they found themselves next to a predator several dozen times larger than you. Thankfully, I didn’t shit myself. All I did was break out in cold sweat. I could also still move. Not bad for a former Chuuni, if I do say so myself. “Are you testing my patience, Hikigaya Hachiman? I’d asked for your utter best, the plans which gained you renown amongst the Empire and gave hope to those who were saved by my soldiers, and you have given me a slaughterhouse.”

Some would falter at such words.

More than a few would cry out about unfairness.

Many would just be silent.

Me?

“Yeah? What the fuck did you expect? If you don’t like this plan, then you should’ve given me more to work with, lady.” With what I had, in terms of resources, manpower, and time, I’d made a slaughterhouse that would let little more than two thousand souls, even if six hundred of those were superhuman, the chance to fight against ten thousand, professional, magic-assisted veteran soldiers. “I don’t shit out miracles. You asked for me to do my best. This is my best with what I have.”

I expected ridicule, scorn, and maybe anger.

Actually, I’d have been pretty happy with any of those three, since it would mean the Roseanne was the easily-manipulable person I thought she was.

Instead, the red-haired Demon with pale skin and perfect features smiled at me. Her eyes curled, her teeth glittered, and a sigh that would’ve sent thousands of otakus groveling whilst holding their crotches left her lips.

What a scary bitch.

She just had me verify what she could always expect from me when she puts me in charge.

Again: what a scary bitch.

…

In shonen manga, there’s a lot of romanticism that goes on around fights. People’s backstories are told, the singular individual is put into the limelight, and every action and reaction has some sort of connection to some nobody’s past.

And, all of that is true.

It’s fucking horrifying.

Every single person on the battlefield has a special origin story They are all special. What are the chances of being born? Being that one single, wriggly bastard punching through where all others failed, then going through all the inconsistencies of life with different others who all beat that one-in-a-million chance.? Every single life is a culmination of thousands of probabilities, differences, and perfect situations that’ll never happen again

My job is to snuff out those lives with absolute precision by spending lives myself.

I am good at it.

I introduced the Empire to warfare suited for them and saving my ass. Nothing more and nothing less. I told them to change, so that I could get what I needed on time, so that I wouldn’t die. Better logistics, specialized corps, and fast reaction forces all helped the Empire on every front, but I gave it all to them so that their resources, manpower, and time could be better spent saving my ass.

With the Demon Lord, I wanted to win.

I wanted vengeance.

And, finally, I did want a lot of the Empire to die.

So, I introduced trench warfare against an opponent used to glory, cavalry, and artillery, while I had living tanks, gridded artillery locations, and tunnels filled with very angry, pissed off fanatics.

The results were to be expected.

The Empire went for magical bombardment to soften us up. The trenchline was deep and the few walls were spread out, so they held. Then, we counterattacked with our own artillery, who knew where to fire and already practiced. The Empire mages died, ours stayed alive, and forced the enemy to scatter, regroup under fire, and then look for targets.

The Empire’s soldiers reformed under fire, because they were professionals. And, like professional soldiers, they set out to complete their objectives anyway. They sought out the Demon Lord and the mages, so they could end the war and avenge their fellows. Armored foot soldiers moved in pike formation, while armored knights mobilized around the flanks. Both found themselves against an entrenched position, where spears meant jack shit and horses even less, which surrounded the enemy artillery that they were still under fire from.

Retreating meant being fired upon by the Demon Lord.

Holding ground meant being fired upon by the Demon Lord.

Charging into seemingly-undermanned, if intimidating defenses would seem to be the only option.

So, charge they did.

Little less than ten thousand men, decked out in magical arms and armor, against some stones, dirt, and wood defenses staffed by barely any people from what they saw, which had already been worked over by their mages, before their untimely demise.

It was a slim chance of victory, but it was a chance, so they charged.

They charged into bow, sling, and javelin fire. They charged into long spikes being raised from mud. They charged into mounds of dirt that erupted and revealed Dragon Knights ready to split skulls and breath fire. The forest they charged from caught fire. Suddenly they were trapped in a muddy inferno and the only place they could escape to was filled with tribal warriors with grudges and who were very, very good with axes and clubs.  

Protagonists died.

Sub-characters died.

Villains died.

All from different stories with different plots and different lives, but in the end they all died.

That was that.