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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: White Mercenary Corps (1)
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"To break free from the Empire's tyranny! To reclaim our! Rights! That is my goal!"
The prince of the Valaria Kingdom, which was nothing more than a minor nation on the frontier back then, was a truly unceremonious man.
So much so that when I first saw him, I thought he was just some rowdy noble's son, not a prince.
"Heh. If that's your goal, shouldn't you start by cutting back on the time you spend drinking in taverns?"
"What impertinence. I am, you know. Huh? The prince of a nation. Heh heh. A prince of a minor nation that's always getting shaken down by the Empire."
Until the day he built his empire, he was never anything but sincere.
At least, not until I died.
"Right. So why does the prince of a kingdom that's always getting shaken down by the Empire keep frequenting this tavern? It's not even the capital, just a tiny city on the kingdom's outskirts."
Of course, I already knew the reason. It had to be to recruit me. After all, I was the fairly successful captain and strategist of a mercenary corps.
"To make you my man, of course. For a reason like that, there's no reason I wouldn't visit this tavern time and again. Not if it's for the sake of escaping the Empire's tyranny and making the Valaria Kingdom greater."
"The three visits. So you'd be Liu Bei, and I'd be Zhuge Liang. I'm not a fan of the big-eared guy, though. Especially Ubisoft, they're downright evil. Heh heh."
"What? Yu… what? Zhuge Liang? Who are they?"
Shiv Grewele muttered, bewildered.
"I'm just a mercenary with an uncertain background. Are you sure about this? I'm a lowly commoner."
"Don't you think it's a little too late to be saying that now?"
I burst out laughing.
***
When I finally managed to open my stiff eyes, it was already evening, the sun having set.
I'd had an unpleasant dream while unconscious. It was about when I left the White Mercenary Corps for the kingdom.
"Ughhhh—"
As I twisted my body to get up, my pain-riddled flesh screamed.
I must have collapsed right after escaping the capital.
Seamus was with me when I fell. He must have brought me here.
"Ugh."
Even sitting up in bed wasn't easy. I thought a wound like that would heal quickly, so why isn't it healing properly?
A blood-soaked bandage was still wrapped around my stomach.
And it was emanating a dark, murky aura.
Murky?
Enduring the pain, I lifted the bandage slightly and saw the wounded flesh, a murky energy swirling within it.
"Dammit."
It wasn't just a simple sword strike. It was laced with demonic energy. No wonder the wound isn't healing.
What are those bastards from the Holy Kingdom doing, not rounding up guys like that? Isn't this negligence of duty?
A sigh escaped me. What should I do now? No, where should I even start?
I've found the target of my revenge. Most of the Empire. Once I'm strong enough, I should probably hunt them down and crush them one by one, right?
I can't go for the head first. I couldn't even kill Ludwig Brandt properly. So I'll have to start from the bottom and work my way up.
That's how it works. In games, don't you go from weaker regions to stronger ones? Or you hole up somewhere, train, and then go after them.
Right now, I'm too weak. Ah, the life of the weak! Not that strength was ever a part of my life to begin with.
*Creeak—*
"You're awake? You've been out for three days. It's crazy. A normal person, no, even a swordsman who uses aura would be a goner if they were infected with that much demonic energy."
The door opened, and Seamus came in carrying a basin full of water and bandages.
Demonic energy, huh. It's not enough to kill me. It just throbs a lot more than a normal wound?
"You noticed the wound hasn't closed even after three days, right? It seems you were hit by some pretty potent demonic energy, not just the regular kind."
"Thanks."
"I went through hell and back bringing you here. Teleport gates, carriages... *Phew*, seriously. The trains had already stopped because of martial law."
"Thanks for that, too."
Seamus grumbled, but the month or so he'd spent following Kratos had been a series of truly indescribable experiences.
Honestly, there were plenty of absurd moments, and he'd gotten annoyed a lot. He'd even felt like punching the captain who gave him this assignment.
But in the end, he had gained quite a lot, not just in experience but also in information.
After he returned to the corps and made his report, the commander summoned all the captains for an emergency meeting. For the first time in nearly a year, all the captains gathered for a long, drawn-out conference.
Needless to say, the topic of the meeting was the situation in the Empire and the existence of Kratos.
"Where am I?"
"Ashar. This is the headquarters of the White Mercenary Corps. The place in the capital is just a liaison office."
The Ashar region... Ah. Next to the Sahara Desert. Well, its official name is something else, but it's the land in the Empire's southwest with a ridiculously vast desert.
It was an immense wasteland and a paradise for monsters. Come to think of it, this damn continent doesn't have any decent land.
The north is the Demonic Realm, the southwest is a vast desert teeming with monsters. To the east is a wide-open sea, and to the south, a massive, rugged mountain range forbids human entry.
"But it's pretty cold for an evening in Ashar, isn't it? I don't remember it ever being this cold, even at night."
"Ugh, I know."
Seamus sighed and nodded at Kratos's words. As if things weren't bad enough, that very issue had become a massive headache for the mercenary corps.
A desert is supposed to be a place that brings to mind a scorching sun and oases, even if the temperature drops at night.
Cold enough to see your breath?
"It's been chaos because of that lately. During the day, it's hot like a real desert. Insanely hot. But the moment the sun sets, the temperature plummets. It started about a year ago? It's an even bigger problem because no one can find the cause."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. Ugh, seriously. I'm dying of heat during the day and dying of cold at night."
An unusual occurrence, to be sure. The desert I knew wasn't like this. What in the world happened in the ten years I was dead?
Well, whatever. It's not my problem.
"You're awake. The commander wants to see you."
"Good day, Captain."
He was just stretching his stiff body after lying down for three days. Someone entered without knocking and spoke to Kratos in a low, cynical tone.
It wasn't Lando. It was someone he'd never seen before, and his first impression was thoroughly unpleasant. For whatever reason, the man was radiating an aura that screamed, 'I am hostile toward you.'
"Seamus. You will escort him to the commander. The grand conference hall. In thirty minutes."
"Yes, I understand, Captain."
And Seamus was being so formal. The usually flippant Seamus was being careful, as if trying not to give the man any reason to find fault with a single word.
He had no idea who this guy was to make Seamus so deferential.
"Tsk."
Oh? Clicking his tongue now?
*Slam—!*
It was getting more and more ridiculous. He even slammed the door on his way out. It seemed he'd thrown all sense of courtesy out the window.
"Who the hell is that bastard?"
"Huh? That bas— no. That person is Captain Iscario, the Fourth Sword of the mercenary corps."
Iscario?
"His last name isn't Judas, is it?"
"Huh? No, not Judas, just Iscario."
"Something feels off."
"What does? He may seem a bit prickly in his speech and actions, but he's a good person. His loyalty to the commander is truly second to none."
That makes it feel even more off. They say that bad feeling is a science, don't they?
Okay. Check. A rude bastard. Iscario.
"Still, we're a pretty historic mercenary corps. Over twenty years old! We're always ranked in the top five in this business."
What, only top five? We were always number one before I handed over the commander's position!
"Ugh, let's just go. You said your commander is calling."
*Grooowwl—*
"Ah, but before that. Got anything to eat? I'm starving to death."
I was so hungry it felt like my stomach was about to kiss my spine.
***
"Dammit. What is all this fuss over some guy whose identity we don't even know."
It was a short break. Iscario chugged the beer in his mug. Just seeing the man's face to deliver the summons had made him even more irritated.
"Iscario. The meeting isn't over yet. You should refrain from drinking."
"Yes, you nagging mama~ Just one more drink. Heh heh heh."
"This is a critical time. Your judgment can't be clouded by alcohol."
Iscario mocked Glen Pendley, the First Captain, then downed the rest of his beer in one gulp and slammed the mug onto the table.
*Thud—*
"Right! A critical time! The actions of one unidentified man have endangered the entire mercenary corps. The capital, no, the entire Empire is under martial law. And you want to bring a guy like that into a meeting to do what? Recruit him? Is the White Mercenary Corps a child's game?"
"It is the commander's decision. It's not our place to argue."
"Isn't it our role as captains to advise the commander so he can make the right decision! Besides, does anyone even know that bastard's real name or face? What if he's an Imperial spy?!"
Iscario, clearly displeased, chugged another beer.
Of course, he knew the guy couldn't be an Imperial spy. What kind of madman would blow up the Imperial Palace just to get here? And while handing over such critical information.
But thanks to that incident, the corps' freedom of movement had been drastically reduced. And the corps was already in a tight spot.
The abnormal temperatures in the Ashar Desert, our base camp, were already causing chaos. Problems were piling up both inside and out, to the point of overflowing.
Take the resistance, for example. The White Mercenary Corps's deepest secret was that it was the headquarters of the resistance.
Not that the entire corps was part of the resistance, but it was a fact that, at the very least, all the captains were.
"Still, the information is undeniably useful. A high-ranking official in the Empire is consumed by demonic energy. The martial law is a storm we had to weather eventually anyway. I told you, the Central Intelligence Bureau already suspects us."
"Now is not the time to be worrying about that!"
Monsters were rising up like swarms all across the continent, and in the capital, we didn't even know what those madmen in power were plotting.
"With chaos breaking out everywhere, this is no time to divide our strength! We must be careful, then be careful again! It's a time to focus all our power in one place."
His voice had risen unintentionally, drawing the gazes of the other captains. Iscario caught his breath and fell silent.
He had gotten too worked up. That's how bad the situation was. Honestly, he didn't even know where to begin to fix things.
In a situation like this, to be discussing the recruitment of a man about whom they could be certain of nothing, simply because he seemed to be carrying on *His* will...
'*Dammit. Why are they so obsessed with the ghost of the past? It's not constructive.*'
They were words he could never say out loud.
***
'*Mike Hoare. 'Mad' Mike Hoare.*'
Standing before the conference hall, he dredged up the name from his memory. The mercenary to whom he had handed over the position of corps commander.
Back when I led the mercenary corps, Mike Hoare was already quite old.
He was on the verge of becoming a Sword Master, with an upright yet tough personality.
Of course, in battle, he was a madman like no other, which earned him the nickname 'Mad' Mike Hoare.
I wonder how he's changed. He must be around sixty by now.
*Rumble—*
As the massive wooden doors opened, the scene inside slowly came into view.
A long, round table, with Mike Hoare seated at the center, in the highest seat. And surrounding him were twelve captains, seated along the table.
Mike Hoare looked exactly as he'd thought, almost as if he hadn't aged at all.
White hair slicked back, sharp eyes. A sturdy build and a greatsword as massive as his frame.
As if trying to overwhelm me with their presence, the twelve captains seated around the table were all glaring at me with piercing eyes.
No, it was more than glaring; they were each exuding their own aura, applying a formless pressure.
Ha... Is it the Whitebeard Pirates this time... or the Whitebeard Mercenary Corps?
Why does this keep happening to me, seriously.