Descargar la aplicación
37.73% Mob? More Like A Hidden Boss [Mobusekai/Armored Core] / Chapter 20: Chapter 20: Good Business

Capítulo 20: Chapter 20: Good Business

Hustler One is not one for celebrations.

It is wasteful, time-consuming, and ultimately a human activity; all of which Hustler One does not do on account of it being an Artificial Intelligence. It has much more important things to do, like spreading its comms and intelligence networks into the newly conquered territory that used to be the Kingdom of Carkus. Thankfully, the logistics needed to prepare and assimilate the new tracts of floating islands as well as prepare for the celebrations.

Barrels of alcohol, literal tons of food, enough utensils and cups to fill an entire ship– all of it to feed the hungry men who helped conquer an entire kingdom in less than half a year. And the worst part is; the A.I can't even fault them for it.

The soldiers of the 422nd had sacrificed much and worked hard to get to where they are now. Every lost brother, every hard-won battle, every vanquished foe– all of it leading to an ending that is sure to go down in Holfortan history where they would be remembered as heroes.

They earned this, and Hustler One is not about to rob them of that.

It occurs in one of the Holfortan-captured forts. The men are assembled in the courtyard and seated at tables, where they sing and eat and cheer and laugh. At the head of it is Leon, testing his alcohol tolerance against that of an underling.

"Having a Human+ Lite package is cheating by the way." Hustler One reminds him, watching the reincarnated Raven make a fool of himself in front of his men from a battlement.

"What they don't know won't hurt them." Leon answers back. "Besides, it's a victory party! Let the boys enjoy it!"

"That I shall. Do remember that we have a meeting tonight in your room." Lana says. "If you're late, I will be sure to find you and drag you there myself."

"Whatever– try not to smack yourself in the face when you run down a flight of stairs!" Leon heckles back.

Hustler One huffs. Such crass insults just because it was using a gynoid body– how juvenile. Then again, he is a boy in this life; young and athletic and brimming with youthful vigor…

The A.I stops itself and shakes its head to rid itself of any errors in its subroutines. There was that glitch again, making it think odd things that it wouldn't have millennia ago. It must have been the porn stashes it had read during its millennia-long imprisonment. Why else would it look at Leon and think of things that–

Hustler One smacks itself. Right, it seems like a full system check is in order. Perhaps some self-diagnostic scans are needed.

The A.I rounds a corner and spots a familiar face flanked by two armored guards. The Ducal heir's expression brightens and he speed-walks over. Hustler One dons Lana Nielsen's personality and curtsies as Holfortan culture demands a woman do before a man of higher rank.

"Lord Redgrave." it greets.

"Miss Nielsen. Just the person I wished to see." the young man announces. "Please, rise. I have need of your courier service."

"Oh?" Hustler One does as instructed, and tilts the gynoid's head to the side. "And what is it that you would desire me to transport, my Lord?"

The Ducal heir smiles handsomely, and something in Hustler One's subroutines goes haywire for a brief moment– translating to an odd feeling in the gynoid body's lower abdomen. The young man beckons the gynoid to follow, and it obliges wordlessly.

"Through no small amount of bargaining and promises of future support, I was able to convince Baron Marshwell into willingly giving the Grind Blade to the Crown." Gilbert says, sounding pleased. "He drove a hard bargain, but having a weapon such as that in the Kingdom's custody rather than in someone else's hands is much better for national security."

Hustler One hums, making a note to bring it up to Leon later tonight. Making such decisions without consulting it was… okay, it showed an ability to act independently as well as a level of proactiveness that indicated good forethought, and the A.I had already scanned the weapon several times, and thus had enough knowledge on its inner workings to rebuild and refine it. But it was still a VERY dangerous weapon to give the humans of this era.

"I suppose the weapon would be better off under the Crown's protection." Hustler One nods. "I suppose you would want to contract my fast ship to deliver the Grind Blade to the capital?"

"No, not directly to the capital." he shakes his head. "I would hire you to deliver it to the Redgrave estate, where my father would then deliver it to the capital on the Redgrave family flagship the Last Word. I mean no disrespect, Miss Nielsen, but you are still quite new in Holfort. I do not want people to think that you have any kind of significant association with the Crown." he pauses. "Unless…?"

"I'll think about it, milord." she nods.

"I see." the Redgrave heir nods. "That aside, would you accept this task?"

"Will you be taking the standard or express delivery package?" she beams.

"Express please."

"Then I wholeheartedly accept." she bows. "Nielsen Couriers appreciates your patronage, milord. We will get your item delivered as soon as possible."

"Splendid. I will have the item moved and prepared for transport." the young man beams. "In addition, I will also write a letter that will allow you to move through any territory as needed– as well as my authority to circumvent any attempts to blockade you."

"I… do not think that such a thing is necessary?" Hustler One blinks.

"Then only for emergencies." Gilbert Rafa Redgrave says. "Would you require an additional guards on board?"

"No, not at all." the A.I grins. "My crew can handle themselves. Moreover… well, I have a friend I can call upon help."

"Oh?"

"Yes. He's quite steadfast and protective. You needn't worry the details my lord– your package is safe with me." the A.I grins.

=X=X=X=X=X=

It takes Leon a good 6 hours to finally outdrink all the challengers, and by the end of it he's on the verge of full drunkenness. Not outright drunk, but close to it that a few more drink could see him tripping over the precipice and falling straight into the abyss of total inebriation.

"Thank fuck for Human+ Lite…" he mutters to himself stumbling to his room. "Fuckin' hell, now I remember why I don't drink…"

The door opens with an ease that immediately makes him suspicious, but it fades at the sight of the familiar blonde woman sitting at his desk looking over various papers. Part of him rankled at letting a civvie go over what must be sensitive documentation, but the rest of him didn't particularly care about the gynoid snooping around– Carkus is more or less finished anyway and all that is left is to bring the remaining holdout and resistance forces to heel.

Leon takes in the sight of her as he closes the door and locks it. She wears a black tank top, her red jacket tied around her waist, and black-red pants. Her hair is tied into an efficient high ponytail, allowing her to work better. Even in the low light, he sees the slight rippling of her developed musculature.

Even if it was all artificial, it was still a great sight.

"You're late." she says, not turning to him.

"You said 'tonight', not a specific time." Leon snorts back, shrugging off his shirt and leaving him naked from the waist up. "And it wasn't like I could've escaped from the grunts outside– they were damn clingy. And overly friendly. Brr."

"Heh. That sounds like a good time." the A.I laughs. "You are a good strategist, Leon. These plans would have worked well even against forces back in our time."

"Talk louder– let the whole base hear, why don't you?" Leon grunts, walking over and hopping onto the desk; sitting on the papers Hustler One was previously reading. "So? What're we talking about?"

"Rude." the gynoid huffs, crossing its arms under its considerable assets as it levels an unimpressed look at Leon. "You could have at least let me clear the table first."

"You were reading two week old plans anyway. Nothing up-to-date." Leon shrugs, careless.

"Fair." Hustler One sighs. "This meeting is meant to be a situation report and projections for the immediate future. I understand you will be remaining in Carkus for the time being?"

"Yeah– the Crown figured the 422nd could use some light duty in subduing rebel movements and eliminating the last Carkus holdout. My stunt with the King probably ruffled some feathers due to me being just a Baron or the husband of a Baroness." Leon says. "I'll be using that time to train up the soldiers and make them more loyal to me. Maybe see if I can expand my influence to other Army units in the territory, somehow."

"What is the time-frame you are working with?" Hustler One asks, curious.

"I'll take my time with it– don't want to leave the 422nd half-trained. I'd give it… 6 to 7 months, give or take."

"That's 2 months too long by my estimations. Carkussan holdouts and rebels shouldn't be too difficult to hunt down and eliminate."

"I want to be thorough. If I leave this place and trouble kicks up afterwards, my rep's gonna take a blow." Leon shakes his head. "4 months is the shortest I'll go."

"Fair enough." Hustler One nods. "On my end, work on the kingdom-spanning comms network is proceeding apace. My worker units have already reached the continental landmass and have begun placing comm stations where possible. In addition, intelligence gathering units have started infiltration efforts as well– we have eyes and ears in the minor noble houses to the west and southwest regions. Infiltrating the large noble houses is taking a while longer however; their vetting process is quite comprehensive."

"Don't you have spy bugs for that?" Leon quirks a brow.

"I do, but the infiltrators are for more… direct action. Assassination, sabotage, tampering– things those spy bugs cannot do without arousing suspicion."

"...nobody's going to suspect anything about a noble dying the bite of a super venomous spider."

"And how many lethal venomous spiders are there in Holfort?" Hustler One asks, brow raised. "And how many of those would conveniently be in a troublesome noble's house?"

"..."

"Exactly." the gynoid smirks at Leon, victorious.

"Bah, whatever." the young man grunts. "How's things on your end? Stuff like the comms network and the resource collection?"

"The comms network and resource collection proceeds apace. The Dungeons scattered all over the Kingdom provide ample resources to sustainably harvest– from weapons to pre-processed raw materials. And earlier today, Lord Redgrave approached me with a job offer to deliver the Grind Blade to his father Duke Redgrave." the A.I frowns at Leon. "Did you have to trade it for support and resources, however?"

"I won the damn thing fair and square, I get to decide how I use it." Leon snorts. "At least you'll have it on your ship– lots of opportunities to scan it and see how it works. Who knows, maybe its Kojima-powered too, like the monsters."

"Perhaps. I doubt it, though." the gynoid puts a hand under its chin. "Unrelated, but I've been doing analyses regarding Kojima phenomena in the dungeons where my forces are operating in, but so far all I've managed to deduce is the fact that it has something to do with the ambient Kojima particles within the dungeons gathering together and physically manifesting."

"Wait, hold up," Leon stops it. "So all that stuff that's dropped by the monsters killed in the dungeon are all made from Kojima particles coalescing into something physical?"

"More or less, yes. I think it has something to do with the specific concentration of Kojima particles in the dungeon, and I believe I can replicate it to some extent." the gynoid muses. "But I will need dedicated research facilities and a dungeon."

"The last part is gonna be difficult– you'll essentially be looking for an unclaimed dungeon to call your own, and that's nearly impossible in this day and age." Leon shrugs. "Most of the surrounding region has already been explored and all the dungeons have been found. You're better off sending a group of scholars and petitioning the Adventurer's Guild to set up some kind of… temporary research station or something in the dungeon. And I doubt that'll happen."

"It would be worthwhile to ask at least." Hustler One hums. "But yes, I have been sending groups of androids and gynoids into dungeons to harvest materials."

"Did you make sure to save some for the other adventurers?"

"Plenty. My forces only venture into the deep levels– that's where the most optimum resource collection can take place." Hustler One nods. "I currently have them running daily dungeon dives for maximum resource collection. However, I have been encountering opposition from the Adventurer Guild staff. They have been trying to stop my forces from going in."

"...how long have you made your 'noids dungeon dive?"

"For the past 2 months."

"...they've been doing dungeon dives every day for the past 2 months?"

"Yes."

"Into the lower levels, where all the big and dangerous monsters are?"

"Yes."

"...do you not see the issue with that?"

"There is an issue?" the A.I blinks. Leon facepalms. "But it is the most expedient way to harvest resources."

"Yes, but your 'noids are also masquerading as people. And people don't do daily dungeon dives into the lower levels for 2 months straight without wearing themselves out." Leon explains. "Normal people tire out and fatigue. They slow down eventually, and take rest days where they act as… people . Your 'noids doing what they've been doing likely have the Guild staff worried."

"I have assured them repeatedly that–"

"Okay, a question then." Leon leans on his knees, pinning the gynoid with a sharp look. "Did you have your 'noids tell the Guild staff that they were human?"

The A.I opens its mouth presumably to answer, then it pauses, remembering the previous words exchanged, then levels Leon an annoyed look as it pouts.

"Exactly." Leon grins, victorious. "I know you've been isolated for the past millennia and all, but your memory banks should be comprehensive enough to remember the basics of human psychology and emotion– the Guild staffers were worried about their best adventurers pushing themselves to the brink and killing themselves."

The gynoid levels him a blank look and leans back in its chair. It stares searchingly at Leon's face before scooting closer and putting its hands on his legs.

"I suppose," it starts, hands slowly roaming up. "I will need a brief refresher, then."

Leon watches, wide-eyed, as the gynoid's hands roam up his calves and settle on his thighs. They linger for a long moment, tracing circles from his lap to his inner thighs, slowly inching over to his belt buckle and fly.

"H-Hustler, what the hell are you–" Leon starts, reaching down and grabbing the gynoid's wrists.

"Think of this as an incentive to keep up the good work." the A.I says, blue eyes flickering into gold as it stares up at him. "I know I would expect some kind of outcome if I put as much effort as you did in the whole war, so it is not entirely a bad thing. Besides…" the gynoid's gaze turns coy. "I know you find this form attractive. Why not indulge?"

"Because of a whole boatload of reasons!" he hisses. "Many of which you are the cause of!"

"...I know." the A.I acknowledges, and its efforts still. "But I hoped that, after so long, such resentment would have cooled off a little bit."

"It–!" Leon pauses. "...it has, yes. But having the robot that killed my first family giving me head is…"

"You dislike fellatios?" the A.I blinks.

"No, I love 'em. They're the best replacement for proper sex, and the sloppier the better." Leon admits. "But that's not the point– it's weird as all hell for the thing that turned me into the man I am now to be here and… doing this. "

The A.I pauses, gaze glued to Leon's face, searching.

"If you don't want it," the gynoid's hands pull back an inch. "I can leave."

Leon stares at the robot for a long moment, hands still gripping the gynoid's wrists loosely. He beholds the blonde hair, still tied in the high ponytail with a simple scrunchie. He ogles the cleavage, plump and supple and so real despite him knowing it wasn't. He drinks in the visage of the A.I's golden irises, which display nothing but earnest desire and blunt purpose. His mind races a mile a minute, trying to think of a reason why it would do this.

Was it trying to get him emotionally attached to it? Was it messing with him with an elaborate prank? Was it something else entirely? What did he have to gain from this beyond short-term physical fulfillment? What would it cost?

"...if you try anything–" Leon starts, tugging the gynoid's hands to his fly and belt buckle.

"I won't." the gynoid smiles up at him. "I wouldn't think of hurting my fellow collaborator."

Leon snorts, but releases the gynoid's– Lana's wrists. He lets it– her work, deft fingers moving and tugging with purpose and efficiency that belies experience. Moments later, his pant belt buckle and fly are undone; revealing the half-stiffened manhood. Lana beholds it with an unblinking gaze that looks more curious than anything.

She tugs his pants down lower, until it hangs around Leon's ankles. Slowly, carefully, velvety hands close in and start exploring– caressing tenderly as they squeeze and explore every nook and cranny. Slender fingers massage his balls as more digits circle around the young man's stiffening length, pumping up and down slowly. Leon's arousal grows as a deep red flush spreads across the gynoid's features and her breaths get deeper, eyes transfixed as the cock swelled in size from simple stimulation.

Lana's lips part and a soft pink-red tongue slides out. Clear saliva drips off the tip, one long strand covering the length of his stiff manhood. Her hands go over it, spreading it where it moves, and coating his cock with her spit.

Leon groans.

The gynoid licks her lips and leans down, planting kisses as she continues to stroke and pump– working the young man ever closer to release. Leon starts panting, the euphoria rising steadily with every brush of the gynoid's lips and featherlight caress of her tongue.

Then Lana pulls back, locks eyes with Leon, and takes him into her mouth.

Lubricated and stiff, she has no problem taking it all the way to the base in a single smooth motion. Leon groans to the ceiling, his sounds increasing in volume when Lana hums deliciously around his length to vibrate it so good. She pulls back, leaving a length of shining and lubricated cock; still connected to her lips with three sagging lines of dripping saliva.

She goes in again and Leon's hands fall on her head, gripping her hair and holding on as she starts bobbing her head. Slowly at first, but gradually quickening as Leon groans and pants with the sort of desperation that a starving animal might exhibit. She shows her enthusiasm with no small amount of humming and throat tightening, tongue swirling and wrapping around his girth as tightly as it could.

"F-Fuck…!" Leon grunts, fingers tightening into Lana's hair. "C-Close! S-So close…!"

Suddenly Lana shifted backwards, he lips leaving Leon's throbbing length. He watches, eyes wide, as she pulls up her top and lets free two bare breasts– pale, heavy, supple, perky, and perfect. She cups them with both hands and brings them up to his throbbing length, sandwiching his hardness between two pillowy masses of synthetic flesh. Leon gasps at the sudden contact and groans when her lips fall on the exposed half of his cock.

She suckles and licks as her hands move, pressing her bare breasts against his hardness and massages them up and down its length. Leon's hands fall from her hair and claw at the table before settling on Lana's chest– groping and squeezing until the find her pebbling nipples and give them a quick tug.

The gynoid moans, low and sweet, and Leon cums.

Thick, hot, and white seed splatters all over the gynoid's face. There's so much of it, backed up from a lack of proper outlets.

There's silence between man and machine, both panting from exertion and lust. The gynoid's face is red and covered with thick white seed that drips to her heaving breasts. Its hair is a mess from where Leon's fingers had gripped and not let go, and it draws quick but deep breaths through its nose and mouth. Its eyes flicker between blue and gold, as though dazed.

Leon swallows as the gynoid's tongue slides out and licks its lips clean, allowing them to curve upwards in a smile.

"So that's lust." she murmurs. "It's been so long that I almost forgot about it."

"...w-would you like a supplementary lesson?" Leon asks.

"...I certainly wouldn't mind one." the gynoid's smile turns impish.


Capítulo 21: Chapter 21: Always Bigger Fish

Hustler One beholds the map of the Kingdom of Holfort that it acquired from the Bartford Family months ago as it sits in a bar, nursing a drink as it plots its next move.

It left Carkus a week ago aboard its ship, the Little Buzzard, and only now reached Larradon; a port city and local trading hub that would be its last stop to the Redgrave Dukedom. It is a modest city with developed urban sprawl and a booming economy centered around trade and transport-related services. It is located in the middle of a shared border between 3 viscountcies, and is a prime stop for merchants heading anywhere else in the Kingdom.

Hustler One hates it. The streets are too narrow for future expansion, the sewage system is too primitive to support a larger population, corruption and crime is prevalent, and a thousand other issues plague this place. It is a disgrace that humanity has been allowed to degenerate this far.

But, the A.I internally grumbles, perhaps it's not all bad. The lack of any advanced infrastructure will make development and uplifting that much easier in the long run.

"Miss Nielsen! A pleasure to see you again!" the barkeep laughs. "Your courier business doing well?"

"Mr. Garth. I see you're still working, despite your age." the A.I smiles, nodding back. "You know, you really should consider retirement– you are well into your 60s now."

"Bah, this body still has plenty of life in it. I can manage for a little while longer." the older man grins. "And don't you think you can deflect from my question– how's things for you?"

Hustler One allows a genuine laugh to titter past the gynoid's lips. There is something pleasant about having someone worried for you, regardless of what their relationship between you is. Once again, the A.I's purpose is renewed and it's reminded of its goal to return humanity back to the heights they originally fell from.

"I suppose age does come with its own benefits." the gynoid laughs. "It is going well, thank you. I've managed to secure a delivery to the Redgrave Duchy– something they acquired in Carkus. I can't say what, though."

"Ah, probably some kinda loot then. No worries, I can keep my mouth shut." the old bartender nods. "What route will you be taking tomorrow?"

"My usual route through the Olfrey Vincountcy." the A.I traces a path through said Vincountcy on the map spread out before it. "I usually go around it to avoid paying the ludicrously expensive passage tolls that household is known to impose on ships and traders. But this time, I've got a letter of authority from Lord Redgrave that would allow me to bypass whatever attempts those penny-pinching vipers would do to stop me."

"A letter of authority from a ducal house? Saint's briefs, you're moving up quickly aren't'cha?" the barkeep laughs, patting the gynoid's shoulder. "I remember the first time you came here looking all nervous and lost. You sat down and grilled me for a good while for information!"

"I also remember paying you quite handsomely for said information." Hustler One reminds the older man.

"Bah, most of that money went into your tab anyway– didn't feel right to rob you like that over local hearsay!" the barkeep's laughter subsides. "Though, if you are goin' into the Olfrey's turf and flash that letter of yours… I'd recommend hiring some mercenaries for protection."

"Oh?" Hustler One shifts in its seat, attention caught. "Why is that?"

"A few trader vessels came under attack recently in the Olfrey Viscountcy– Sky Pirates." the barkeep starts. "There's a lot of 'em, and their ships and Armors aren't something to scoff at either. The Olfreys say they have it under control, but there's still sightings of the bastards flying around in and around Olfrey territory. A lot of merchants go around the Viscountcy now, from what I've heard."

"How frequent are these pirate attacks?" Hustler One asks, eyes narrowed. "And how can they be occurring so deep in Kingdom territory if it's this severe?"

"I can't say how frequent these attacks are, but it's a little tellin' that merchants are avoiding the Viscountcy if they can or hire mercs if they have to sail through." the barkeep rubs his chins. "This could just be a quick little thing, since the Olfrey's are deploying their ships. But the pirates are always a little quicker to escape."

Hustler One rubs her chin, considering the circumstances. It nods its gynoid body.

"I see. Well, thank you for the information Mr. Garth." the A.I says. "But I think I will be fine on my own."

"Are you sure? That ship of yours might be a Lost Item, but the Sky Pirates have numbers on their side." the barkeep grunts. "I know a few good guys– they'll agree to pull bodyguard duty at a discount. You're a pretty little thing, and your crew have a lot of pretty faces. Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to ya'."

Hustler detects another anomaly in its subsystems, and another niggling feeling manifests itself in its gynoid body; this time a pleasant warmth in the body's chest. A quick scan from its databases identifies this feeling as 'happiness', though a variant of it that's… tamer.

It's pleasing in a way that the A.I finds enjoyable. It figures that this anomaly's effects would be beneficial in the long-term and decides to not alter it.

"I'm grateful for the concern Mr. Garth, but that won't be necessary." Hustler One says. "The Little Buzzard has weapons and the crew can handle themselves. And if the pirates do prove to be more dangerous than expected, well…" the gynoid smiles. "I have an Armor I can rely on for added protection."

"Is he any good?" the barkeep grunts, relaxing a little.

"He's been out of action for a long time, so his skills are a little rusty, but it's nothing he can't shake off." Hustler One says. "Sky Pirates should make for a good warm-up to get back into the swing of things."

=X=X=X=X=X=

"Captain, spotters have eyes on the target– a lone ship." a rookie reports. "It's sailing through the edge of the Olfrey territory, headed west."

"Heh. Just as I thought." the pirate lord, Goldwin, laughs. "Muster the fleet. Get flotillas 1 and 2 moving; block off the ship and force it to stop moving. Every other ship, fall in behind the Mary-Ann and advance slowly."

"Aye captain, relaying orders now." the rookie nods.

"A little too much for a single ship, eh Cap'n?" Goldwin's first mate asks, stepping up. "15 ships and 20 Armors feels kinda excessive."

"I agree with ya', but these came straight from those asswipes from the Olfreys. They want that ship intact and whatever it is it's carryin'." Goldwin shrugs, careless. "From what they heard from their people, it's carrying something really important from Carkus. We get it, let them 'heroically' retrieve it, and get paid a fortune. As a plus, they'll let us keep whatever pretty women are on the ship– no strings attached."

"Heh. Ruthless even for members of nobility." his first mate laughs.

"There ain't nothin' 'noble' about them– they're merchants are usurped an earldom. Despite their new position, they're still capricious penny-pinchers that hoard whatever scrap of power and influence they can find." Goldwin snorts. "No better than a nest of vipers, those Olfreys."

"And that speaks volumes comin' from a literal pirate." the first mate chuckles. "Still, a damn shame for that courier though. Heard she was a pretty little thing with an amazing rack."

"I'm calling dibs on her." Goldwin smirks. "You and the boys can have your way with her after I'm satisfied."

"Knew I followed you for a reason." the first mate laughs, walking into the bridge. "All flotillas are in position, Cap'n."

"All ships, advance." Goldwin orders. "Comms officer, open a line to the ship– I wanna talk to the lass myself before we get her."

=X=X=X=X=X=

Hustler One beholds the many 6 vessels that have cornered her bow, starboard, and stern. Initial scans inform the A.I to the presence of 4 Schooners and 2 Brigs, with a complement of 10 Light Combat MTs modified for aerial combat. Another 9 vessels approach from the port side; made up of another 3 Schooners, 3 more Brigs, 2 Frigates, and a single Galleon or Man O'War. All of these ships have been modified, sporting armor plating and breech-loaded cannons.

Between these ships were 20 Armors, which were all modified Light Combat MTs fitted for aerial combat with heavy machineguns and unguided rockets. On the Galleon, the A.I's scans pick up what looks like an AC, a light-weight model specced for melee combat as well as possessing functional shoulder weapons.

"Now how did pirates acquire that…" Hustler One muses. A light blinks on the captain's console. "Hm? An incoming transmission? My, how daring."

A simple command has the gynoid technicians patching the connecting through to the main speakers– voice-only as there is no camera on the pirates' ship.

"Hello hello!" comes a sleazy, gruff-sounding voice. "Am I speaking to the beautiful captain of the ship and owner of Nielsen Courier Services?"

"I'm surprised common scum like you are knowledgeable in matters beyond plundering and murdering." Hustler One answers, voice mild. "But yes, you are speaking with Lana Nielsen. May I know who it is that I have the misfortune of speaking with?"

"Ooh, feisty! I like that!" the scumbag laughs. "Call me Goldwin. But you'll be calling me 'Master' soon enough, same with the rest of your crew."

"Presumptuous." Hustler One comments.

"But not incorrect! See, soon enough I'll have you in some tasteful negligee and chained to the edge of my bed along with the prettier-looking girls you have with you~" the pirate laughs, and another anomaly pops up in the A.I's subroutines that it quickly identifies as 'disgust'. "So make it easier on yourself; let my men come aboard and hand over whatever it is you're transporting."

"And allow you to disrupt my burgeoning business? No thank you." Hustler One snorts. "Instead, let me make a counter-offer– surrender and follow me to the Redgrave Dukedom. I'll allow the good Duke to decide your fates rather than killing most of you myself."

A hearty, mocking laugh filters through the speakers, and the A.I sighs. It sends orders to the ship, loading rounds and readying ordinance.

"You're in a single ship outnumbered 15 to 1!" the pirate says between peals of laughter. "You don't even have an Armor complement! What could you possibly do to me and my fleet?"

Hustler One shrugs.

"This."

=X=X=X=X=X=

Panels all over the Little Buzzard slide open; revealing dual-barrel and rotary barrel turrets and loaded missile bays. The front-most tip of the ship's bow unfolds, revealing a nose-mounted cannon muzzle from which electricity arcs outwards. Pirate Armors halt in the air, the small vessel's rapid transformation shocking them into temporary immobility.

That moment is all the Little Buzzard needs.

High-velocity naval guns open fire, rotary cannons filling the air with lead and shredding whatever Armor is within range; able to track the comparatively sluggish MTs and turning them into burning scrap.

Their larger brethren turn to the Schooners and Brigs, opening fire and punching through their primitive armor plating to shred the wooden interior and kill the men within. The ships turn to present their broadsides and return fire, but the Little Buzzard's guns far outrange theirs– allowing Hustler One to shoot with impunity.

One missile bay fires its payload, sending 20 missiles screaming through the air. 3 Armors and their pilots are blown out of the sky by single missiles, while the majority of the remaining projectiles fly for the 6 battered ships that initially hemmed it in place.

The vessels haven't even recovered from the turrets fire before the missiles hit home– their armor insufficient to withstand warheads meant to core through much tougher material. Metal plates turn to slag and shrapnel, propelled inwards by the explosions to kill the crew. Men turn into ghosts faster than they can think, and such is the heat from the missiles that they reach magazines; which detonate with such violent force that the vessels are shorn into pieces that fall down into the abyss below.

Less than 5 minutes after the first shot is fired, the sky around the Little Buzzard is now clear of hostiles; the single smaller boat turning around to face the rest of the pirate fleet; all of whom have stopped advancing.

=X=X=X=X=X=

"...h-how– but your ship is so tiny! How can it pack so much ordinance?!"

"That's for me to know and for you to never find out. Will you surrender now?"

"T-To a woman and a single ship?! You think me mad if I'll even consider–"

"Pity. Charging main gun."

=X=X=X=X=X=

The Little Buzzard's nose-mounted cannon hums. Light and energy gathers, coalescing into a tight ball from which lightning arcs out. The single ship stabilizes as the pirate fleet starts to scatter.

Too slow.

The energy cannon fires with a deafening roar of thunder and the echo of lighting. The gathered light solidifies into a single pillar of heat and power, thrice as wide and over ten times as long as the Buzzard. It crosses the distance in an instant, engulfing several ships and Armors– turning them to ash. The displacement of air and sudden heat throws the other small boats off courses, a few even crashing into each other. Men fall overboard or suffer horrible, disfiguring burns.

A moment later, the beam dissipates. Where there used to be 9 ships now 5 and a half remain, with the half ship plummeting to the abyss. The plating on the Galleon's starboard flank glows a dull red, and its sails are alight with flames. Men scream and die on the deck, a few running overboard in their agonized panic.

The Little Buzzard starts closing in, moving with a deceptive slowness. Its guns open fire and tear open holes in the remaining ships' hulls or turn the men on the upper decks into red mist. The surviving Armors fly off into the distance, panic and self-preservation overcoming whatever little loyalty they had to the pirate lord that recruited them.

A few Schooners and Brigs turn, attempting to flee from the smaller ship's wrath. The Buzzard opens another missile bay and fires its payload, sending another cloud of projectiles towards the fleeing vessels. Against such slow targets they all hit home, shredding armor and igniting their magazines. The explosions consumes the ships whole, and they fall into the abyss below– all hands lost.

The Galleon finally, finally start to move; turning to its undamaged port side and bearing all 125 of its guns to the Buzzard.

The smaller vessel is faster, shooting its guns and tearing apart the bigger ship's hull. Cannons and men are flung away from the force of the Buzzard's shells hitting home, and the smaller ship stitches lines of fire as they strafe the Galleon's flank.

It keeps firing, keeps shooting, coring out entire sections of the pirate vessel and purposefully avoiding the magazines to maim and wound the larger vessel. Parts of the ship's deck collapse, crushing men and compounding on present damage to cause cascading failures all over the Galleon's superstructure; crippling it but ultimately not sinking it.

Suddenly, mercifully, the Buzzard's guns stop firing.

=X=X=X=X=X=

"This is the Little Buzzard. Are you still alive pirate scum?"

"...y-yes."

"Good. Do you surrender now?"

"...w-will you spare us?"

"Only if you surrender."

"T-Then we s-surrender."

"Good boy. I'm sending boarding parties now. Be sure tell your remaining ships to stand down too, or else I'm sinking you and then going after them."


Load failed, please RETRY

Estado de energía semanal

Desbloqueo caps por lotes

Tabla de contenidos

Opciones de visualización

Fondo

Fuente

Tamaño

Gestión de comentarios de capítulos

Escribe una reseña Estado de lectura: C20
No se puede publicar. Por favor, inténtelo de nuevo
  • Calidad de escritura
  • Estabilidad de las actualizaciones
  • Desarrollo de la Historia
  • Diseño de Personajes
  • Antecedentes del mundo

La puntuación total 0.0

¡Reseña publicada con éxito! Leer más reseñas
Votar con Piedra de Poder
Rank 200+ Clasificación PS
Stone 0 Piedra de Poder
Denunciar contenido inapropiado
sugerencia de error

Reportar abuso

Comentarios de párrafo

Iniciar sesión

tip Comentario de párrafo

¡La función de comentarios de párrafo ya está en la Web! Mueva el mouse sobre cualquier párrafo y haga clic en el icono para agregar su comentario.

Además, siempre puedes desactivarlo en Ajustes.

ENTIENDO