WeTried Translations

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Hydrogen B

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◈ Sword Master of the Fallen Kingdom

Chapter 12

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What Was Lost and What Was Gained (1)

The battle on the slope ended anticlimactically, brought to a close by none other than the severed head Kyle held in his hand.

"......."

An eerie silence. Those who had been brandishing blades and spears at each other just moments ago now looked up at Kyle as one. He swept a calm gaze over every last one of them. From up on the slope, the entire convoy was visible at a glance, front to rear.

The wagons had taken no major damage. Same for the mercenaries. A few had been caught off guard in the initial ambush, but the Rusty Blade Mercenary Company's seasoned skill was far better than he'd expected. None of the trading company staff sheltering at the rear had died.

The merchant chief's carriage, stuck in the middle, had fared no differently. The middle-aged knight who'd concealed his identity had blocked every attacker who tried to approach the ornate carriage, not one getting through. No matter how well-trained the soldiers were, none could overcome a knight wielding sword aura. That was simply how it was. Veil and Katrin, who'd started at the rear, had fought their way up to the middle and left quite a pile of bodies behind them.

The assessment took only a moment. Kyle turned his gaze to the men who had attacked out of nowhere.

Those still alive were darting their eyes every which way, unable to believe what they were seeing. The ones whose gazes met his flinched. Frozen to a man, they stared at his lips with trembling eyes, like prisoners waiting on a death sentence.

Kyle tossed the head down to the ground.

"All of them."

A slow voice, cutting through the silence.

"Kill them."

The head rolled and came to rest in the dirt. Kyle's words echoed down the slope, and the quick-witted mercenaries were already swinging at the men nearest to them.

"Gah--!"

"P-please..."

"Aaaaaah!"

The rest caught on and joined in. The quiet forest turned to carnage in an instant.

The unknown soldiers were still considerable in number, but it made little difference. With four of their riders dead, they had lost the will to fight entirely. Those still standing were only struggling not to die. Their resistance barely deserved the word.

"Stooop!"

"......."

"We surrender. We've lost! So please, just spare our lives..."

The last one threw himself face-down on the ground and cried out. Kyle walked toward the blood-soaked soldier, unhurried.

"W-what do you want? Information? Fine. I'll tell you everything. I may not look it, but I'm the one leading these soldiers...."

Thunk.

Kyle drove his blade into the man's back without waiting to hear the rest. The man's face hit the dirt. He made a wet, gurgling sound, then went still, sprawled lifeless like the others.

Kyle wrenched his blade free. Blood sprayed. The body gave a final shudder, some post-mortem spasm. He looked up to find the merchant chief's carriage opening, a richly dressed man waddling his way down the steps.

"Oh, oh! Kyle-nim! I trusted you the whole time. Of course. Not a doubt in my mind."

The half-bald man was sweating through his clothes but doing his best to hold a smile as he approached. Kyle flicked the blood from his sword and sheathed it.

"Do you know them?"

"Pardon?"

A small tilt of his head toward the fallen riders sprawled behind them.

"The ones who attacked us just now. They weren't common mercenaries. Knight-class fighters, at minimum. It looked too deliberate to be random."

"Th-that is..."

"Four knight-class riders, and dozens of well-trained soldiers on top of that. Whoever's behind this is tangled up in something fairly serious. Do you know anything, as the merchant chief of this convoy?"

Kyle said it plainly. The merchant chief, who had been holding a forced smile, faltered, eyes sliding around in a fluster.

"You don't know?"

"...No. I'm sorry."

"I see."

He didn't press further. Political feuds between nobles, old grudges and vendettas, were common enough. Knowing the details would do him no good.

Besides, there were too many eyes on them right now. That was exactly why Kyle had killed the last surviving soldier before any information could be pulled from him. No need to know, no desire to. What mattered to Kyle, and nothing else, was finishing the job and collecting his pay.

"The heads... should probably be brought along."

"......."

"You might not know them, but the count might."

The merchant chief chewed his lip and said nothing. Kyle reached into his dimensional pouch and pulled out a white sack, the same kind he'd used when carrying the heads of the Dex Mercenary Company.

"Take it."

"Wh... what?"

He'd filled the sack with all four riders' heads. Kyle tossed the now-crimson bundle to Pol. Pol had been staring blankly at him; only when the blood-soaked sack landed in his arms did he snap back to himself.

"Why are you giving this to me?"

"You're overseeing this convoy's guard detail. That's evidence. Very important evidence, directly tied to our pay."

"Keep hold of it until we reach Dornel. I'll come collect it later."

Having passed off the unpleasant cargo, Kyle turned his back on the onlookers and picked through the fallen riders' belongings. Then he headed back to his original post at the rear.

They buried the dead roughly and tended to the wounded. The convoy was ready to move again sooner than anyone would have thought. All that lingered on the slope after the Narme Trading Company departed was the thick, metallic smell of blood.

***

By the time the sun dipped past late afternoon and began to set, the convoy reached Dornel. The heavy mood that had weighed on them since midday lifted the moment the city walls rose into view beneath the evening glow.

"It's Dornel!"

"We made it! We actually made it!"

"God... we're alive..."

Mercenaries and trading company staff alike exhaled as one, hands pressed to their chests. A great city, far larger than the free city of Traben. The seat of the Metis count's family. It felt like coming home.

All the more so because they had just been fighting for their lives. They had buried comrades who'd laughed and joked with them, without so much as a proper funeral. But for mercenaries, death was always a close companion, and the survivors chose to shake it off with a drink rather than wallow in grief. Today's survivors were no different.

"Thank you for your service, everyone who guarded this convoy. Please head to the mercenary guild to collect the agreed amount. Oh, and the three who joined us from Traben, please stay behind for a moment."

After passing through the gate checkpoint without incident, the merchant chief stopped the convoy near the city gates and addressed the group.

"I honestly thought we were going to die this time. Should've asked for more pay when I had the chance."

"Still, we survived, didn't we. No matter how you look at it, that has to be a gold-rank mercenary, right?"

"Let's just go get a drink."

Those working solo or in small groups filed off without fuss.

A few gave Kyle a quiet nod of thanks on their way out. He returned each one with a small dip of his head, then glanced toward a nearby cluster. The Rusty Blade Mercenary Company had gathered among themselves; Pol, their leader, was wrapping up some remaining business.

"He's coming this way," Katrin said.

The three of them had entered the city last, same as they'd lingered at the rear throughout the convoy. Pol and the rest of the Rusty Blade Mercenary Company made their way over.

"...Here's what you left with me."

A crease between his brows, Pol held out the white-and-red two-tone sack to Kyle. The sack with the four riders' heads. Kyle took it without a word, then glanced past Pol's shoulder.

"Are you hurt?"

"Just a scratch."

"Good."

"...Yeah, good. Wounds like these heal on their own with time. Either way, we made it out alive."

Most of the casualties had been mercenaries working alone. The Rusty Blade Mercenary Company's losses had been light.

As Pol said, wounds could be treated with medicine or by paying a priest for healing. Nothing was worth more than a life. They'd completed the job, too, which meant the whole company had earned good money. Losses this light were practically negligible.

"Was there something you wanted to say to me?"

Even after handing over the sack, Pol didn't leave. He stood there working his lips for a long moment.

"That time with the monster attack. And then those riders today."

"We would've taken heavy losses otherwise. Might've even died. So..."

Pol bowed his head low.

"Thank you. We made it because of you."

Quiet words. They reached Kyle clear as anything, even through the noise of the city as evening drew near.

"There's no need for thanks. I was just doing my job."

"But I'm alive because of you. If you hadn't been there, one of those riders would've taken my head. That's reason enough for me to say it."

"If you say so."

Pol had started off looking embarrassed. Now he looked lighter. Veil and Katrin, watching from the side, both wore satisfied expressions. The company members standing behind Pol looked the same.

"I'm not someone who can live with a debt hanging over me. So if you ever need something, call on the Rusty Blade Mercenary Company. I won't pretend we'd be much help to someone with your skill, but... we'll repay at least as much as the lives you saved today."

With that, Pol turned to go. Alec, Peter, and Mason followed, the three who had once apologized to Kyle on Pol's behalf, and gave their quiet farewells with a glance.

"Better people than I expected," Katrin said, watching the Rusty Blade Mercenary Company disappear into the crowd.

"More to the point, we're supposed to wait here, right?"

"Right. Merchant chief's orders. We were hired separately from the others, so our contract's a bit different. The count's side agreed to pay us directly, which is probably why he asked us to stay."

Veil answered her. The city at dusk was busy, the usual residents mixing in with the convoy that had just come through the gate. The remaining trading company staff were sorting out the wagons under the merchant chief's direction.

"So, Kyle, you contributed more than anyone on this trip. Honestly, ten gold feels way too little, doesn't it?"

Katrin tapped his arm with her elbow. The teasing tone made it sound like she'd already forgotten what happened at midday.

Then again, she'd served as a regular army ranger before working as a mercenary of comparable rank. That kind of person didn't let things weigh on her for long.

"You don't have to tell me. I'll make sure I get what I'm owed."

"Thought so. Never do business at a loss, that's the first rule."

Mercenaries sold their blades for a living. More precisely, they put their own lives on the line. Accepting low pay meant treating your own life as cheap, and no self-respecting mercenary let that slide.

"Speaking of which, what do you think those guys were about? We only dealt with the foot soldiers, but you actually fought those riders directly. Were they knights?"

Kyle shook his head.

"Leave it alone. It's better for you that way."

"Why? Even if the pay was high, it's too strange to just let go of...."

"Kyle's right. Just forget about it, Katrin. Nothing good comes from getting tangled up with nobles."

There was a wall between nobility and commoners that few could cross. Kyle knew it, and so did Veil. Katrin, apparently, didn't.

"But why? Handle it right and it could be a chance to get ahead."

"Noble society is far more closed off than you're imagining. Better to give up early than to reach for a tree you'll never climb. If you don't expect anything from the start, you won't be disappointed."

Katrin still looked unconvinced.

"What's wrong with me, though? Even if I can't make knight, I could at least be a head guard of a noble family's inner estate, couldn't I?"

"That's exactly the kind of position I'm talking about, which is why I'm saying this. Don't overthink it, just focus on the pay we're about to receive. What matters is that we completed the job, and the count's going to pay us soon."

"Still though...."

Katrin was still grumbling about her unlikely dreams when a group appeared in the distance, heading their way.

Among them were a few familiar faces. The merchant chief of the Narme Trading Company, richly dressed and half-bald. The middle-aged knight who had so closely guarded the ornate carriage. An old man wearing a monocle who hadn't been part of the convoy at all.

And last of all.

"Katrin-nim, Veil-nim, and... Kyle-nim. Is that correct?"

A young man with a delicate air stopped in front of the three. Kyle had never seen him before, but he knew at once: this was the true principal behind the entire trading convoy, the count's son the lead rider had spoken of before Kyle cut him down.

"Regarding the matter of your payment," the middle-aged knight said, stepping in for the young man.

"Apologies for the late introduction. I am Mikhail Rochfort, a knight of the Metis count's household."

He looked at all three of them. Then, more precisely, directly into Kyle's eyes.

"The count requests your presence. Will you come with us?"

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