WeTried Translations
Translator: Hydrogen B
Editor: Hydrogen B
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◈ Sword Master of the Fallen Kingdom
Chapter 10
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The Nameless Mercenary (10)
The bright noon sunlight pushed through the gaps between branches.
Shhhhh,
A breeze drifted in from somewhere. Soft light danced with the shadows it threw. Particles of what might have been pollen or dust floated through the air, weightless, unhurried.
"Am I seeing this right? Up there..."
"Have they blocked the road?"
"Who the hell are they?"
Thrown by the column's abrupt halt, the mercenaries began opening their mouths one by one. Every gaze was fixed on the very top of the slope.
Four riders. Mounted, stationary, looking down at the column from above. Blocking the way up.
That alone might not have been cause for alarm. The real problem was how they looked.
Each wore a long cloak, hood pulled deep over the face, as if to hide who they were. Swords hung at their hips, perhaps spare weapons. No armor, but looking at their arms alone, they had the unmistakable bearing of cavalry.
Which made it all the more baffling. Just over the pass was a wide open plain. Half a day's walk from there was Dornel, where the main estate of House Metis stood. This was Metis County territory.
Not somewhere with a crime problem. There was no making sense of why anyone would so openly block a road here. The level of arms was too high for simple bandits, and there were far too few of them. Regular bandits raiding a merchant convoy brought at least fifty fighters, which made this stranger still.
Just who are they?
The mercenaries and merchant company members exchanged uncertain looks. At the very rear of the column, Kyle's eyes went dark and still.
That was when a man stepped forward from the lead.
"We are heading to Dornel. Who are you, blocking our path!"
Pol. The captain of the Rusted Sword Mercenary Company, and the man in overall command of this convoy's escort, stepped forward. His booming voice rang out through the forest.
"......."
The four riders gave no answer. They simply drew their reins and began descending, unhurried. As the distance closed, people got a clearer look.
Same cloaks. Same hoods. The horses beneath them were not ordinary pack animals but warhorses used by knights. Even at a glance, the riders atop those great animals carried an oppressive weight that was hard to put into words. The mercenaries who had been grumbling fell quiet without meaning to.
"We are mercenaries passing through the area. A murder was reported nearby, so we came to investigate."
The man at the front spoke. All four riders stopped as if by prior agreement. Unlike the other three, the one who appeared to be in charge carried no spear.
"A murder?"
Pol's brow furrowed. The man gave a small nod.
"That's right. An official commission was issued by the guild. A string of killings near Dornel, and they're looking for mercenaries to resolve it."
The man's voice was low and even. Matter-of-fact, as if reading from a ledger.
"We received a direct named commission from the guild. Investigate the truth behind the consecutive murders and capture or eliminate the culprit. We were checking the roads leading through Dornel when..."
His gaze swept the column. Those who met his eyes instinctively looked away.
"You're on a trade run?"
He looked back at Pol.
"...That's right."
"Which company?"
"Narme Merchant Company."
"I see. Quite a sizable operation."
"We passed through Traben a short while ago and are heading straight to Dornel. We were due to arrive before sundown today."
"Hmm..."
A low, thoughtful sound. Pol felt his throat go bone dry.
He's not my superior. He's just another mercenary. So why am I answering him like this? A murder? Is that actually true?
Isn't the timing a bit too convenient? Is he even really a mercenary?
If he's not...
"I see. You appear to be the escort commander. Is that right?"
The man looked down at Pol.
"...Yes."
"Then just one question. It's not a hard one."
His eyes left Pol as he tilted his chin toward the middle of the column.
"That carriage looks unusually ornate. Who's inside? Is there another person in charge?"
The carriage he'd pointed at was the merchant head's. Pol caught the curse before it left his mouth.
Shit. That was the target all along.
The moment the man's gaze settled on the carriage, something shifted in his eyes. Pol bit down on his lip without thinking. The man wasn't wrong, there was a person of authority inside. More precisely, people who could be called that.
The head of the Narme Merchant Company, the trade run's master. And a young man, kept under close guard by a middle-aged mercenary who could use Sword Aura.
The trade run had been going for over a month. By then, not just the mercenaries but the merchant company members too had pieced it together. The young man in the carriage almost never came outside, but he was clearly someone of considerable standing, important enough that even the company head bowed to him. Maybe more important than the entire trade run itself.
Only an idiot would miss it. The escort commission had been far above the going rate from the start. Something large was tangled up in all of this. This was no ordinary trade run.
Even so, everyone kept quiet. They all told themselves nothing would go wrong.
Blinded by gold. Or greed, the hope of landing a connection to House Metis. Or the thought that maybe this was the kind of chance that changed a life.
And for nearly a month of travel, nothing major happened.
There was an incident midway where monsters attacked in large numbers, but they got through it thanks to Kyle, a Silver-grade mercenary they'd picked up in Traben. The one unexpected thing was that both Kyle and the middle-aged mercenary guarding the ornate carriage knew how to use Sword Aura.
Nothing will happen.
That was what Pol had thought, right up to this morning with Dornel almost in sight.
Now was different.
Could this be why the commission was so high?
Instinct rang like an alarm. The kind of gut sense he'd spent years in the field learning to trust.
A murder investigation. Mercenaries who came to resolve it. Cooperate a little and move on, that's all it should take. A normal trade run wouldn't leave him rattled here. He'd be more likely to grumble about getting dragged into someone else's mess, or cower at the word "murder."
Just play along convincingly. Running would only raise suspicion.
It should have been that simple...
"What's wrong? You don't look well."
Cold sweat traced down his spine. His heart hammered.
"Is there something you can't say?"
The man on horseback tilted his head to one side. Pol swallowed without thinking.
"Ah. Is that so."
Without warning, the man smiled. Soft, easy. His empty right hand began to move, very slowly. The veins on the back shifted beneath the skin. Too subtle for anyone else to catch, but Kyle, at the very rear of the column, saw it clearly.
Drawing his sword?
The moment he realized, time stretched. Now or never.
Whoosh!
"K-Kyle!"
The decision came in an instant. Kyle kicked off the ground. Katrin, who had been fidgeting anxiously nearby, cried out in shock. Veil stood wide-eyed, watching Kyle's back as he sprinted forward.
He ignored it all.
The stares. The gasps. Letting everything slide off him, Kyle gripped the scabbard at his hip with his left hand. His right hand clenched hard, and the two small magic stones in his palm ground against each other and crumbled to dust.
Burst!
The finely crushed fragments scattered into the air. Caught by the sun, they shimmered like white foam breaking in scales.
The purest form of mana, released in all directions, gathered at Kyle's command into both legs.
He wrapped his right hand, now free of the stones, around the sword's grip. Mana-reinforced legs produced a burst of impossible speed. The mana bled outward, spreading into every corner of his body. The wind tore at his face. The scenery stretched around him.
What he needed was a draw faster than that man's.
His mind went cold and clear. From the very back of the column all the way to where Pol stood at the front, he was there in an instant. By then, the man at the lead was already slowly pulling his sword free.
He drove it straight up.
The man's blade came down. Kyle's silver edge, launched like a bolt of light, met it with a shower of sparks.
Clang!
A sharp ring of metal tore through the forest. The violent gust that followed whipped at Kyle's cloak and the man's hood. Dust rose from the ground, hung for a moment, and settled.
"Ah..."
Pol, who had nearly died to that sword seconds ago, finally understood what had happened. He stumbled back, face drained of color. The others were much the same. A blow fast enough that no ordinary mercenary could have reacted in time, and Kyle, charging in from the very rear of the column, had caught it cold.
"Ha!"
The man whose sword had been blocked let out a sound caught between admiration and disbelief. For him, this was something he hadn't expected at all. Through the locked blades, Kyle felt the man's emotions plainly.
Shock. Consternation. Displeasure. And faint, reluctant admiration.
"I took you all for a rabble of good-for-nothings."
"......."
"Turns out there's an unexpected gem buried in the pack. Who are you?"
The forest had gone so still you could hear each breath. The man looked at Kyle and asked. His low voice carried with strange, unnatural clarity.
"Pol."
"Wh... what?"
"Fall back. He's not your fight. You're in the way."
Kyle didn't answer the man. Without looking back, he gave Pol the order, then twisted the grinding blade and leaned his weight into the grip. The two crossed swords were pushed back toward the man.
"You don't want to answer?"
The man had made no effort to hide his displeasure until now. He glanced between Kyle and Pol, then pulled the corner of his mouth into a cold smile.
"Fine. Doesn't matter."
He gave a short command.
"Kill everyone except the count's son."
The locked blades suddenly shoved hard toward Kyle's side. He was losing the strength contest. On top of that, his opponent was a mounted rider. Kyle read it in an instant and knocked the man's sword wide to the side.
Roar!
From both flanks of the column, a thundering battle cry erupted from the underbrush. Soldiers no one had seen before burst out. They'd been lying in ambush, every one of them armed and ready. The mercenaries, caught off guard, cried out a beat too late.
"Wh-what the hell!"
"Ambush!"
"Shit, crossbowmen! Everyone get down!"
A tearing sound ripped through the air. Pale flashes, then arrows slicing through the column. Unlucky mercenaries dropped with arrows through their foreheads or throats. Those who found their footing drew their weapons and spread out around the carriage.
Neigh!
The three riders behind the man surged toward the Narme Merchant Company as if they'd been waiting for this. Reins pulled taut, the three horses reared and charged forward without hesitation. Right in their path stood Pol, who had just been falling back toward the column.
"C-cavalry!"
"Hold them! Group up and target the horses!"
"We can't, not enough of us!"
"Aaaagh! Shit, my arm!"
"Captain!"
The three riders tucked their spears under their arms. Ahead of them stood Pol, gripping his sword in trembling hands, staring up.
For all his role commanding the escort, he was still just small fry in the end. That panicked face said everything. Easy. All three riders thought so. The man at the front thought the same, spinning the blade Kyle had deflected.
Then the ground under the horses' charging path turned inside out.
Boom!
The earth twisted. Cracked. Jagged ridges heaved upward in uneven bursts. No time to dodge. The three riders who had been charging without hesitation visibly faltered.
Splatter!
Blood burst at the same moment. The three riders lost their balance and were flung into the air. Looking down in disbelief, they saw that where, just seconds before, three horses had been whole, the lower halves of all three had been sliced clean off. Four legs per horse, severed, dropped lifelessly to the ground like the limbs of broken scarecrows.
What...
When...
A wave of wrongness. All three snapped their gazes back.
There stood Kyle, sword extended behind him, the man's blade already knocked aside.
Fssss,
Blue particles of light slipped free from his left hand and drifted on the wind. Crushed magic stone dust. The faint trace of mana in the air told the lead man and all three riders exactly what Kyle had done.
Magic stones? He used the mana inside them?
He's a mage?
"Too late."
Kyle said it flatly. The man reflexively swung at Kyle's throat. Rather than dodge, Kyle spun once and slashed his right blade in a clean horizontal arc.
Slash!
Silver light flashed. The man's eyes went wide.
The streak grazed the horse's neck and sprayed blood into the air. The man's sword skimmed barely past Kyle's side. The headless horse tipped sideways.
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