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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: White Mercenary Corps (2)
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"Are you Kratos?"
"Yeah. You already know who I am, so why ask again? What a waste of time. Let's get straight to the point."
And what kind of cliché setup is this? Seriously! How old do you think I am?
At Kratos's words, the heavy atmosphere instantly fizzled out.
His tone and demeanor were so light, as if he didn't care about the pressure at all.
Besides, his face was different from what they'd heard. Another new face.
"How dare you! Do you know where you are?"
"Where else? The Ashar region, headquarters of the White Mercenary Corps. Did I come through a magic portal or something? Wow, that's impressive. Changing locations just by walking through a door."
Kratos's response brought looks of discomfort to the captains' faces.
Even before the Commander-in-Chief and captains of the White Mercenary Corps, his behavior was brazen, completely devoid of manners.
For some, the discomfort turned into simmering rage.
"Maybe if we cut something off you, that stiff tongue of yours will loosen up."
"And I suppose you wouldn't mind if that thing on your neck fell off in the process?"
Contrary to his relaxed appearance, Kratos was gritting his teeth, enduring their aura.
'Damn, this is killing me. These bastards. Why don't you just draw your swords? I'd rather we just fight.'
He could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He'd bitten his tongue to keep from being crushed by the pressure.
It was an aura pouring from twelve people. Not just an aura meant to dominate the atmosphere.
Because of his own flippant words, the crushing aura was growing stronger.
'I can't back down here.'
Control of the atmosphere was at stake. Besides, he had thought it over carefully while eating.
The White Mercenary Corps, the current parent organization of the Resistance. If possible, he needed their strength. There were two main reasons.
First, monster subjugation, the easiest way to grow stronger. To be precise, the grains of light that came from monsters.
The Mercenary Corps was where one could get the highest-class requests to absorb those grains. Plus, there was the added advantage of solving supply issues in one go for long-term requests.
Second was information. This was the place to get what you'd call high-level information directly. Since they served as both a mercenary corps and the Resistance.
The quantity and quality of incoming information would be doubled?!
Of course, just because he needed this place didn't mean he had to bow his head to get in.
He could just create his own mercenary group, but that would take too long. It was better to make good use of what already existed.
To be precise—though of course, he couldn't tell anyone, and no one would believe him—he had created this mercenary corps! So wasn't it practically his?
Well, anyway. For various reasons, he had to establish a relationship as close to horizontal as possible from the start, not a vertical one.
What, start over as a trainee, become a captain, and then the Commander-in-Chief?
No way. He absolutely hated that idea. There was no reason to take the long way around when there was a shortcut.
Besides, according to this booklet, at least the people sitting here—from the Commander-in-Chief to the vice-commanders and captains—were all part of the Resistance.
"Making threats like that while being careless enough to lose something like this isn't threatening at all. It's just laughable."
He took out the book he'd obtained during his escape and tossed it onto the table.
The captains' eyes widened.
Yes, that book.
How much they had struggled to find that very book, which had been leaked by a traitor within the Resistance.
Lando had scoured the entire Empire searching for that book.
But why did that mercenary have it?
"It's a booklet I got after killing a slave trader. It had some interesting content. Like the connection between the Resistance and the White Mercenary Corps, or contact codes."
Right. The Resistance, the White Mercenary Corps, and the Empire that screwed him over.
They were all remnants of the past. Of course, among them were piles of shit and legacies.
Well, that's life.
"I like it. As you've probably already heard, I have a few debts to repay the Empire. No, not a few. A lot."
*Clang—!*
Someone drew a sword and pointed it at his neck. It was lightning fast.
"Didn't your parents teach you not to run your mouth just because you have one?"
"And didn't yours teach you to consider the time and place before acting?"
Okay. I'll remember you.
*Clang—*
Kratos flicked the flat of the blade as if flicking a forehead.
The man's sword was sent flying by the unexpected force, and he staggered.
Why is everyone looking so flustered?
Everyone has a trick or two up their sleeve, don't they? Of course, this is all I've got, but they don't know that.
And they wouldn't let a fight continue in a place like this. The misunderstanding would continue.
Ah, the greatness of misunderstanding.
"An interesting fellow."
The fierce aura that seemed ready to devour Kratos vanished as if it were melting snow at Mike Hoare's single remark.
"We'll continue the meeting tomorrow. Glen, take the book and burn it. Make sure you don't lose it again. Mercenary. Yes, Kratos. I'd like a private word with you."
"Commander! He's dangerous!"
At someone's shout, Mike Hoare raised one corner of his mouth.
"Who did you say was dangerous?"
***
'Ah. Fuck. This is killing me.'
Of course, the cut on his tongue healed quickly, but in his current, less-than-normal physical state, an event like that had drained too much of his mental energy.
It was completely draining. Honestly, when that sword was pointed at his neck at the end, he couldn't even follow its movement properly.
Weak. Too weak.
Still, his gamble seemed to have paid off. At the very least, he hadn't been looked down upon, which was a success. Changing their hostile stance was his next task.
"Whiskey?"
"That would be great."
Mike Hoare poured the liquor into a rock glass.
Hmm. Pouring whiskey into a glass like it's beer.
Still as rough as ever.
From the aroma, it seemed to be a rather high-quality whiskey.
He swirled the glass lightly and sniffed the aroma. The nose.
He took a small sip, feeling it on the tip of his tongue. The palate.
Finally, after swallowing, he inhaled through his nose and slowly exhaled through his mouth, savoring the lingering scent. The finish.
This was the proper way to drink whiskey, after all.
Ahh—fantastic. To think the first whiskey he'd had since regressing was such a high-end one.
Come to think of it, right before he came to this world, there was a huge whiskey craze in Korea back in 2023.
He'd been completely into it himself.
"You. What is your relationship with Lord Prometheus? Are you his disciple?"
The question came out of nowhere. Damn it. The whiskey went down the wrong pipe, burning his nostrils and windpipe.
"*Cough*— Who's Prometheus...?"
"The first Chancellor of the Empire. The forgotten hero, the tarnished hero, the founder of the Resistance, Arsène Lupin, the first Commander of the White Mercenary Corps. And the man I believe you are undoubtedly connected to."
What was this all about? It was true that he was Prometheus.
But tarnished and forgotten? What did that mean?
Come to think of it, that bastard Ludwig Brandt had said something similar.
'To think you have the face of a man whose corpse was torn to shreds and fed to wild dogs.'
Those sons of bitches. What did they do?
"That's exactly how he used to drink. Only that kind of whiskey, too. No one else drinks whiskey by going through those three steps."
Mike Hoare also downed his drink and looked Kratos straight in the eye.
Prometheus. A man who stood at the center of this harsh world despite having not an ounce of martial power himself.
The name Mike Hoare knew was Prometheus; no one knew his real name.
He was only aware of a few of his identities, like Arsène Lupin, Prometheus, and Frankie Franklin.
"The same goes for your identity as Arsène Lupin. No one would think to look for something like that in the basement of Sejanus's mansion. Unless someone told them."
Quite sharp... No. I was just stupid. It's been ten years since my death; I never thought anyone would still care.
Besides, my priority was to find various identities and secure a means to protect myself.
"And your unpredictable words, speech patterns, and actions are similar to his. Though, from what I've heard, your martial prowess is certainly different."
Still, he felt a sense of pride. The fact that someone still remembered him.
But that didn't mean he wanted to reveal, 'I'm actually Prometheus!' He wasn't yet sure who he could and couldn't trust.
Besides, his philosophy was to leave the past in the past. That's why, in his previous life, despite creating so many identities, he never formed what could be called a lasting bond.
Yes, perhaps from the moment he came to this world, he had been living continuously as an 'outsider.'
An outsider who held onto the hope of one day returning to Earth.
"Hah."
But this possession had made it clear. It seemed he could never go back.
"Well, yes. No, a descendant of Lord Prometheus... no, his disciple. That's right."
Well, he's me, and I'm me. What can you do?
"I knew it."
As if he'd finally heard the answer he wanted, Mike Hoare gulped down the rest of his whiskey.
"One who carries on his will. Good."
It's not like it's the Will of D or something...
"It's not so much a 'will.' He told me to just live my own life. I hadn't seen him for a while, but I heard the news that he passed away ten years ago at the hands of the Empire, so I intend to do my duty as his disciple."
"Right. You should. Especially when you consider how he was treated. It's only natural for his disciple! He was not a man who should have gone like that!!"
Just what had happened after his death to make Mike Hoare show his 'Mad' side outside of a battlefield?
"From the looks of it."
Mike Hoare looked Kratos up and down. It was the same as in the meeting room earlier.
"You don't seem to have any mana."
Mike Hoare went beyond just looking and began prodding and squeezing Kratos's body all over.
Goosebumps rose on his skin. Perhaps because of this absurd brute strength, many people assumed he was so strong they couldn't even sense his mana.
Of course, it was a strength that warranted such an assumption.
"But you're ridiculously strong. Your muscles aren't that big, either. How strange. Were you born with it?"
Having finished his assessment, Mike Hoare grinned.
"A very interesting friend, you are. Yes, he had no martial power. Your musculoskeletal structure is also very unusual. It's like a blank canvas. A clean body, unbefitting your age."
He was literally an uncut gemstone. The body's constitution itself felt like that of someone in their late teens or early twenties.
"And that strange mana flow on your face must be an artifact, right? They say you change your face in a flash. You have some peculiar artifacts. He must have made them."
He was starting to get a little scared. Was he really such a significant person?
Honestly, it felt like his previous life had just been a struggle for survival.
"Interesting, very interesting. You said you want revenge on the Empire? As you are now, you're not enough."
Mike Hoare raised one corner of his mouth like a villain.
But, there was potential. The man before him held more boundless potential than anyone he had ever seen.
As expected of Lord Prometheus's eye for people.
"I'll help you with that revenge. Join the Mercenary Corps. So you can have my, our, and your revenge."
***
He gave a positive but noncommittal answer.
Mike Hoare was right. He was lacking. Severely lacking. But, at the same time, he could improve.
That improvement would come from real combat. After all, wasn't the most tangible way to get stronger by killing monsters or demon-tainted beings and absorbing the grains?
Therefore, there was no need to nod eagerly and wag his tail just because the Commander of the Mercenary Corps made an offer.
Of course, his answer would be yes, but he had no intention of starting from the very bottom as a trainee.
At a minimum, he would join a division and roam the front lines. The best-case scenario would be creating his own division.
But before that, there was something he had to confirm.
His own death, which had become a thing of the past. And what on earth had happened in the ten years before he came back to life.
He had to find that out first.