WeTried Translations

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Hydrogen B

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◈ Sword Master of the Fallen Kingdom

Chapter 6

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The Nameless Mercenary (6)

The fallout from Kyle's response was far greater than anyone had expected. Katrin and Veil, who had been speaking with him just moments before, were completely pale, and so was the head of the Narme Merchant Guild, who had only just caught on to what was happening.

A clash between the captain leading the convoy's escort and a lone mercenary.

Normally, the former held far more authority. In situations like this, the mercenary was expected to fold. Kyle wasn't. He wasn't simply picking a fight. He genuinely could not trust the man in front of him. In this world, entrusting your life to a complete stranger was essentially the same as throwing it away.

"You're saying you can't trust me. The captain of the Rusty Blade..."

As expected, Pol made no effort to hide his anger. The grinding of his teeth was unsettling. The words that followed, spat out one by one, were their own kind of threat.

"It seems you still don't understand the situation. Let me spell it out."

Pol spoke as though holding something down by force.

"This is absolutely necessary for the safety of the convoy. And I am in overall command of this escort mission. So..."

"If your skills back up that mouth of yours, I won't have a problem doing things my own way."

A single line. Pol's rambling, cut short.

No, please!

The guild leader watching from behind let his jaw drop. The merchant hands and the other mercenaries were the same.

From his perspective, he'd hoped they'd at least work something out between themselves. Open hostility like this had never crossed his mind. But Kyle had no intention of bowing his head when the other man wasn't even trying to hide his contempt. Out here, the moment you bend once, you get walked on.

He understood the man's situation, at least in part.

The Narme convoy was a fairly large operation. The escort force was even larger, lavish enough that you'd wonder if the spending hadn't gone a bit overboard.

And then they'd hired additional mercenaries in Traben. Ten gold coins over ten days, an absurd sum. Without ever saying it outright, the guild had essentially declared: we don't trust you. To the Rusty Blade and their captain, Pol.

On top of that, the newly hired mercenaries fell outside Pol's chain of command entirely. It would be stranger if he weren't offended. The hostile glances he'd sent Kyle's way since leaving Traben were probably rooted in exactly that.

"Anything else to say?"

But that was Pol's problem to carry. Kyle asked, his tone flat and disinterested. Pol ground his teeth again.

"Very... confident, aren't you."

"......"

"What rank are you?"

"Silver."

Dissatisfaction crossed Pol's face. He'd tried to crush Kyle with authority, and the higher-than-expected rank seemed to irritate him further.

"A high rank doesn't excuse insubordination in group operations."

"And?"

"Cooperate. As captain of the Rusty Blade, I bear responsibility for this convoy's safety. You joined late, but you joined, and that means you follow my command."

"That's quite a hostile way to ask for cooperation."

"And if I bend? Will you follow orders willingly then?"

"No."

Not worth the breath. Kyle said it without a moment's hesitation, the same as before. Irritation was starting to show through.

"I know what you're thinking. Higher-rank mercenaries tend to push their own way. You're worried I'll go chasing glory and put the convoy in danger."

"Then...!"

"So if something does go wrong, I'll take full responsibility. Financial damages included. Or..."

Kyle slid the sword off his shoulder and tilted it at an angle.

"You want to settle this now?"

The quiet words carried clearly on the passing breeze.

One of the unspoken rules among mercenaries: if a fight breaks out, settle it with steel.

When opinions clashed or tempers ran hot, there was no cleaner resolution. Not the noble sort of duel knights had over honor, but it had its own kind of respect.

"......"

Pol didn't answer. He only stared down at Kyle, lips pressed tight, eyes trembling.

Silver-rank Kyle, hired on in Traben. Weapon: presumably a sword.

Knights staked their lives on honor. Mercenaries staked theirs on standing. To restore what he'd lost, Pol had to put this man in his place right here and now. He'd been humiliated openly, face to face.

Even so, Pol couldn't shake the feeling that he'd lose. Same rank: silver. He led a sizable company besides, there was no reason to feel inferior. Their weapons were even the same. But certainty refused to come.

Why?

He asked himself.

If they fought. If they drew steel.

Could he win? Against this man?

"Ha ha ha... Pol-nim. Kyle-nim. Please, calm yourselves."

A familiar voice broke through. The head of the Narme Merchant Guild, waddling toward them with cold sweat on his brow.

"You both have a point. But that's not what matters right now, is it?"

He dabbed his face with a fine handkerchief.

"Pol-nim is already doing an excellent job with the escort. The vanguard and the exposed flanks are covered perfectly. The reason I asked Kyle-nim and the other two to guard the rear was precisely that. The very back of the column falls outside anyone's sightlines."

"......"

"Everyone here is a seasoned veteran. Wouldn't it be better for all of you to divide responsibilities and cooperate? If these three cover the rear separately, Pol-nim would find it even easier to manage the vanguard and flanks than before. And situations like this are nothing new to any of you, I'm sure."

Standing between them, the guild leader managed a strained smile. Kyle spoke first.

"What time is it?"

"The time?"

The guild leader rummaged through his coat. In his hand was a pocket watch that looked expensive at a glance.

"Let me see... about 12:50. Nearly one o'clock."

"There you have it. The thirty minutes I mentioned earlier have long since passed. Are you going to keep this up?"

Pol stared at Kyle in silence. His lips worked a few times. Then he shot a glance at Kyle and the guild leader and turned away with an irritated expression.

"Ha ha... I do appreciate your cooperation, gentlemen."

With those parting words, the guild leader waddled after Pol, who was already walking away. Katrin, who'd been watching with a tense face, finally spoke.

"I actually thought you two were going to fight..."

"......"

"Were you serious?"

Kyle didn't answer.

The rest break was over. He swallowed a mouthful of water to wash the lingering saltiness from his mouth and stood. Katrin and Veil, who'd been sitting nearby, did the same.

The people who'd been holding their breath and watching were now preparing to move out. Kyle hooked the sword he'd nearly drawn back at his hip. Before long, the halted wagons began rolling forward once more.

***

The procession toward Dornel continued until just before sundown.

"We camp here tonight!"

Once they'd left the open plains and pressed into the forest, Pol scouted out a suitable site and called a halt. In a sizable clearing, mercenaries and merchant hands drew the wagons to a stop, built fires, and laid out simple bedding.

By the time the sun had fully set and darkness closed in all around, the smell of food drifted from every direction. Around campfires where people had gathered with those they knew, large pots sat steaming, stew bubbling vigorously inside them.

"Well, you've certainly made an enemy."

Kyle and the other two had settled a little apart from the rest. Veil stirred the pot with a large ladle.

"That captain looks like a proud man. Wouldn't it have been smarter to let him have this one?"

"No need. And the moment you bend once, people keep pushing."

"Fair enough."

Veil agreed without argument. Anyone who'd lived long enough on the road knew it. Mercenaries were fundamentally sensitive about hierarchy. Bow your head too often and you'd have nothing left. Sometimes you had to hold your ground.

"Still, did it have to go that far? You could've found some kind of middle ground..."

Katrin, staring quietly into the fire, said in a small voice.

"Would you rather entrust your life to that man?"

She had no answer to that.

"Besides, it had to come to a head sooner or later. If we want freedom to act, friction was always inevitable. Better now than in the middle of an emergency."

Veil ladled out generous portions of stew and handed them to the other two.

"Oh? This is actually good."

Katrin brightened after the first taste.

"Veil, you can cook?"

"I used to make my own meals when camping alone. The guild leader gave us decent ingredients, too, which helps. Still dried rations, but the quality's not bad. Though..."

He glanced toward Kyle. Katrin followed his gaze and yelped.

"An, an Inventory Pouch?"

Kyle was pulling a large loaf of bread from a small leather pouch.

Along with spices for the stew. He tipped salt and various seasonings into the steaming pot, tore off a piece of bread, dipped it, and brought it to his mouth.

But right now it was the pouch that drew the eye. An Inventory Pouch was an extraordinarily expensive item. Spatial magic was one of the most difficult disciplines to begin with, so objects enchanted with spatial formations commanded whatever price their sellers named.

"You must have a lot of money."

"A fair amount. And just because it's an Inventory Pouch doesn't mean the capacity's unlimited."

Kyle told the wide-eyed Katrin. The pouch had its drawbacks. The inside was far larger than it appeared, but it wasn't divided into separate compartments.

Jamming things in carelessly caused problems, naturally. That was also why Kyle hadn't put the Dex Company's dead in the pouch. He didn't want the smell of blood soaking into his belongings.

"Want to use it?"

"Huh?"

"Say the word if you need to. I can at least do that much." He shook the spice jar as he said it.

To Kyle, who'd spent his early life on modern Earth, most food in this world fell below what he was used to. Ten years of living here had gotten him somewhat accustomed to it, but that hadn't killed his appetite for something decent.

Eating jerky every day had its limits, and a thrown-together stew of dried rations needed seasoning to be worth eating. Expensive as the spices were, this wasn't a luxury he couldn't afford.

"Were you a noble's son or something?"

Katrin took the salt and spices from Kyle, muttering.

"At your rank, the income shouldn't be too tight for either of you."

Kyle said, glancing between the two. Veil, who'd been watching them with some hesitation, was carefully shaking the spice jar into the stew. He took a cautious spoonful.

"Even at silver rank, living this well on routine contracts alone isn't easy. Plain salt is one thing, but spices are a different story."

"That so."

"But you seem different, Kyle. You sounded completely certain you'd beat that captain, and he looked like a serious fighter. You're fairly young, too. Did you come from a knightly background? A squire, maybe?"

Squire, here, referred to the rank before being granted full knighthood.

"No. You?"

"Me? Bottom of the barrel. That's how most mercenaries start out, isn't it."

Cases of a noble's knight turning mercenary were rare. More often, someone who fell far enough from their house had either taken their own life or been cut down by their own lord.

"Still. This whole thing makes me uneasy."

Katrin, who'd been eating quietly, hunched her shoulders.

"What you said earlier, about this not being a normal escort job..."

"Still worried?"

"Honestly... yeah. A little. No, quite a lot."

"If it scares you that much, you could leave now."

"I already accepted the contract. Dropping it would hurt my reputation."

"Not as much as losing your life would. Dying's unlikely, unless things go really wrong. If it helps, just think about the pay."

Katrin turned it over at his words.

"Right. Ten gold coins."

"......"

"I'm not actually going to die, am I? Ten days, then ten gold coins in my hand. Maybe nothing even happens. Maybe we arrive without any trouble at all. Yeah. That's right."

She kept murmuring to herself, as though casting a spell on her own nerves. Veil clicked his tongue quietly. Kyle chewed through the rest of his bread and drank the remaining stew straight from the bowl.

"We should set up a watch."

He said it after scraping the bowl clean with the last piece of bread.

"Ah, right."

"I'll take the second shift. The two of you split first and last between yourselves. You both look exhausted."

"You're sure?"

"The last thing I need is the two of you stumbling around half-delirious tomorrow. Get some proper rest."

That's what he said. But Kyle intended to stay awake all night. Don't trust people. Be suspicious. It was the principle that had kept him alive since he'd been dropped into this world.

Relics and artifacts offered protection, but nothing guaranteed complete safety when you were defenseless.

He turned his gaze. Nearby, mercenaries and merchant hands were clustered around campfires, huddled close. All of them loose, at ease.

Late evening. The drowsy warmth drifting through the flames. A hot stew with decent dried rations in it, however rough the mix. The fatigue that had settled into every limb from walking without pause, except for the midday break.

Surveying all of it slowly, Kyle's eyes caught on one figure. Pol, captain of the Rusty Blade. The very man he'd locked horns with at noon.

Their gazes met across the open air. It was Pol who looked away first. He turned his head sharply, making no effort to hide his displeasure.

"Much appreciated. I won't refuse the goodwill."

"Same. Can I take the last shift? I'm a little sleepy right now..."

Veil and Katrin spoke, a beat behind. Pol was plainly worn through from a full day's march in full kit, and Katrin, just as Kyle had said, looked spent from the tension alone.

Kyle nodded instead of answering. Or tried to.

"...Wait."

"Yeah?"

Katrin, who'd just been closing her eyes, frowned.

"Take that back."

"...What? Why?"

"We have uninvited guests."

"Uninvited guests?"

His gaze, which had been resting on the campfire, snapped toward the treeline.

Beyond the dark, there were presences that hadn't been there before.

First night, and it's already not going to be easy.

Kyle muttered to himself and rose slowly. Veil and Katrin stared at him, baffled. Then, moments later, dozens of pairs of eyes surfaced from the darkness all around.

Faintly glowing. Every one of them fixed on the clearing.

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