A year had passed since the Empire first deployed monsters onto the battlefield, yet the war only continued to drag on.
The hired Shark Tooth Mercenary Company and mercenaries like Ian could neither withdraw from the fighting nor do much of anything else, and the war was gradually beginning to take the form of total war.
The Kingdom of Israpan had begun dispatching regular troops and hiring even more mercenary companies, while the quality of the imperial army had also risen by leaps and bounds.
Even Ian, confident as he was, could say with certainty that the boy he had once been—the nameless boy—would not have endured more than five battles at this level.
Yet as he continued through those grueling battles, Ian felt his heart gradually becoming numb.
He kept renewing his contract with the Kingdom and amassed wealth incomparable to anything he had possessed before. But Ian realized that somewhere within him, something was wearing away and disappearing.
War dulls a person’s emotions.
That thought suddenly crossed Ian’s mind.
It was something the captain of a mercenary company hired around the thirteenth battle had said.
That company had probably held out for two or three battles before being wiped out.
Whenever Ian’s spirits began to sink, however, Porit was always beside him.
"But family will awaken your heart. That’s advice from someone with experience."
"...Bullshit."
How could a mercenary who had lived his entire life with a sword—a swordsman—dare speak of family?
Whenever Porit offered him such affectionate comfort, Ian dismissed it like that.
Porit and he were different, and Ian had no right to speak of family.
Whenever Porit heard Ian’s answer, which was almost one of resignation, his expression would turn sad. Ian did not like seeing that.
"Well, you’re not an ordinary swordsman, either. Did you know? The captain of the Shark Tooth Mercenary Company has been taking a great interest in you lately."
"That monster? Why?"
"He’s probably thinking of bringing you into his mercenary company. I mean, you’re an ordinary man without Falna, yet you go around slaughtering monsters."
"But he hasn’t approached me at all so far."
"Ah, that’s... He’s probably waiting. For [the right time]."
Ian cocked his head at Porit’s words, which made it sound as though he knew the captain of the Shark Tooth Mercenary Company well.
No matter how he thought about it, Porit, who was around the level of an average mercenary, did not seem like a match for that monster who tore monsters apart with his bare hands.
"Do you know that shark monster?"
"...Would you believe me if I said we were childhood friends?"
"...No."
Porit let out a hollow laugh and vigorously scratched his head.
The Shark Tooth Mercenary Company’s tents happened to be near the campfire where they sat, so Ian casually turned his head and looked in that direction.
The tent wall fluttered slightly in the wind, and Ian thought he caught a glimpse of silver armor inside.
Porit was childhood friends with a man who easily tore apart monsters and people alike.
Moreover, Porit even seemed to know the requirements for joining that mercenary company. Ian thought that perhaps they were closer than mere people from the same hometown.
"He had extraordinary talent even as a child. There wasn’t a single adult who could compete with him in strength."
"..."
Only the sound of the campfire crackling and dying down lingered between them.
It was the first time Ian had heard of a monster who, at an age even younger than Ian himself had been in the arena, had overwhelmed adults with sheer strength.
He had never encountered such a case while working as a wandering mercenary, nor had the boy ever subdued an adult through strength when he fought bloody battles in the arena.
Ian thought the man was difficult to define even with the word extraordinary.
His companion was too astonished to say anything, but Porit continued speaking.
"We were pretty close when we were young. Then he was summoned to the Empire and received Falna... After that, we lost contact."
"Falna?"
"A god’s blessing. They say it makes you stronger or something."
It was the blessing of the gods Ian had heard about once before.
So Falna was the technical term for it.
Ian rested his chin on his hand and hummed thoughtfully.
For quite a while.
They exchanged a few more stories afterward, but all of them petered out.
Probably because neither Ian nor Porit found the subjects particularly interesting.
And so, the next day dawned.
*
Battle began once more, and as always, Ian was cutting down imperial soldiers.
It seemed the imperial army had begun calling him the [Blood Mist Mercenary], because everywhere he passed became drenched in blood.
Ian thought it was a fairly cool epithet.
"...What? Something’s wrong."
Ian, who had been slaughtering imperial soldiers wherever he found them, sensed something suspicious and stopped walking.
The imperial soldiers began forming ranks and moving aside on the battlefield. A long, corridor-like space opened between them, and from within it—
"...!"
Feeling as though blood were surging from every part of his body, Ian gripped his sword anew and took a step back.
His heart pounded wildly.
After steadying his ragged breathing and focusing on the front, he saw a knight walking out from between the soldiers.
Ian quickly looked around.
Imperial soldiers were stationed on every side. There was no opening through which to escape.
He could get away if he truly wanted to, but...
"Are you the Blood Mist Mercenary?"
"...And if I am?"
Ian did not think that man would simply allow him to leave.
A knight clad in a fluttering red cape and armor sharp like lizard scales walked toward Ian.
His short blond hair swayed in the breeze, and his golden eyes bored into Ian as though they could pierce straight through him.
Ian was overwhelmed.
He could tell instinctively.
And Ian was not mild-mannered enough to remain still even after sensing such defeat.
"You’ve killed quite a few of our soldiers. I don’t particularly want to, but you’ll have to die—"
"You die!"
Ian rushed forward and brought his sword down before the knight.
Perhaps knowing it was a feint, the knight did not so much as flinch, but Ian did not stop moving.
Using the cloud of dust kicked up when his blade struck the ground as a smokescreen, he moved behind the knight.
The sequence of movements was agile enough to be invisible to an ordinary person’s eyes. Unfortunately, the knight was no ordinary person.
By the time Ian thought he heard the explosive clash of metal, the knight had already turned and counterattacked.
Ian swiftly raised his sword to block the blow, but the impact alone sent him soaring high into the air.
"Gah...!"
"...You blocked it? An ordinary man without Falna blocked my attack?"
Ian braced his sword against the ground and rose, meeting the knight’s gaze.
Though they had exchanged only a single blow, his arms already seemed to be trembling.
What was he, a catapult?
A casually swung attack possessed force comparable to a siege weapon.
It was strength at a truly terrifying extreme.
"You seem rather seasoned. But..."
What will you do about the next one?
The knight charged.
Ian could infer the next attack from the knight’s running posture.
A thrust was coming—a thrust too powerful to evade or block.
Reacting instinctively, Ian set his stance and moved his sword swiftly.
The knight’s blade crossed Ian’s longsword, and the sound of steel scraping against steel rang through the silence.
Ian was the first to fall to one knee.
"Kah..."
"..."
It had definitely been a thrust.
Ian’s entire shoulder had been torn away. Clutching the wound, he staggered, yet his eyes remained fixed on the knight.
"Good spirit... You’re no ordinary soldier. What is your name?"
"Fuck... you..."
A red diagonal line ran across the knight’s armor, blood seeping out from within.
It might not have been a fatal wound, but neither was it an injury the knight could ignore.
That thought did not make Ian feel entirely bad, but in the end, he had suffered vastly greater losses.
"I can tell just by looking at your face. You’re young."
The knight’s smirk angered him.
Ian raised his sword to land even one punch on that face, but something snapped within his wound, and his arm fell limply to the ground.
"How fortunate. I can kill you before you grow any stronger."
Sunlight scattered brilliantly off the raised blade.
The dazzling light made it difficult even to keep his eyes open.
For the first time since he was born, Ian sensed death.
It was not as frightening as he had heard it would be... but it felt strange.
Yes, perhaps it was more accurate to say it did not feel real.
For the first time, he had been overwhelmed, defeated, and was about to die.
Am I dying? Really?
Until the very brink of death, only questions circled through Ian’s mind.
"Aaaah!"
"Filthy imperial bastards! So this is where you were gathered!"
At that moment, part of the imperial encirclement broke, and Israpan’s mercenaries began pouring in like a flood.
In order to capture Ian, the imperial army had pulled a large number of soldiers away, neglecting the defensive force that normally held the mercenaries at bay.
There was no explanation for the situation but incredible luck.
"Ian!"
"Porit..."
He thought he heard a familiar voice, but Ian was already struggling to hold on to consciousness.
He had lost too much blood.
"Damn it, Ian! What the hell have you been doing?"
"Do you intend to interfere? Then die, mercenary."
Porit rolled aside to evade the knight’s swinging blade, embraced Ian’s body, and began running at full speed again.
The instant Ian was held in Porit’s arms, he thought he felt a strange vibration, but his condition left him with no room to dwell on it.
"Potion... Drink it..."
"Potion...?"
Ah, that three-thousand-valis one.
With difficulty, Ian recalled the potion from his fading memories, pulled it from his pocket, and poured it into his mouth.
Along with the sickening sensation of fresh flesh filling his wounds, Ian felt some clarity return to his mind.
"Porit... Put me down. I can walk now."
"Yeah, you’re... kind of heavy."
Porit staggered as he set Ian down on the ground.
Before Ian could even question why that movement seemed unusually weak, a silver blade appeared and pierced straight through Porit’s chest.
"Porit!"
Ian urgently drew his sword and charged the knight, but his attack was blocked with ease once again.
Porit’s body was slowly collapsing even then, and Ian struck down with his sword more fiercely in his impatience.
"Fuck... Fuck! You!"
"Such foul language. Is that the disorderliness unique to youth?"
Ian swung his sword in fury, but even with his injury, the knight blocked every attack perfectly, reducing all of Ian’s attempts to nothing.
The gap in their skill was narrow, but there was one thing.
One decisive difference stood between Ian and the knight.
"I’ll kill you! I swear I’ll...!"
"That’s enough."
Ian’s sword swung wildly in a rage, leaving him full of openings.
He made mistake after mistake that he had not made before, and the knight skillfully found those openings and tried to exploit them.
It was tremendously effective.
If a giant figure in silver had not stepped in front of the knight, Ian’s head would have fallen as well.
"You..."
"Was it Ian? Go to Porit Ropos. He’ll stop breathing soon."
"Porit...!"
Leaving even the sword he had been swinging on the ground, Ian rushed to Porit and supported his body.
Porit’s body felt lighter than before, and Ian was seized by intense unease and fear.
"Hey... Porit... Stay awake..."
"Damn... Imperial knights really are damn fast..."
Porit coughed up a mouthful of blood and forced his lips open.
Ian did not know what to do as Porit’s blood soaked his hands, and Porit gradually sensed that his end was near.
"Ah... Ah, right... I haven’t finished that potion yet. There’s some left, so..."
"Forget it... A wound like this... even if you had all the potion in the world... it wouldn’t be enough..."
"Shut up!"
Ian let out a shout overflowing with grief and rage.
Ian, too, vaguely sensed Porit’s approaching end. But he did not want to accept it, so he desperately denied it and clung to Porit.
There was nothing else he could do but hold on.
Ian pressed harder against Porit’s wound, and thicker tears than he had ever shed before fell from his eyes.
He was used to death. He was definitely used to it... so why?
Why was he this sad?
"...You always wanted to know... why I came... to the battlefield... right?"
"Go... Go back and tell me... Please..."
"My daughter... my eldest was sick... So, to earn... the money for her treatment... I became a mercenary..."
There was something he desperately wanted to ask before he died.
If he was gone, what would become of his family?
Porit worried deeply about that.
But Porit believed this boy, who was sincerely crying before him, would surely fulfill his final wish.
"Then she died... and to earn... the funeral expenses... I joined... this war..."
"Hey... Don’t talk..."
Porit drew one last breath and spoke his final request.
"My second child... my family..."
He could not finish.
But surely, his intention had gotten through.
"...Hey."
Ian violently shook the lump of flesh that no longer moved.
As if possessed, he repeated the same words, while tears overflowed from his brimming eyes and streamed endlessly down his face.
"Porit... Porit...!"
The boy wept.
With a voice of despair he had never once uttered before.
For the first time in his life, he screamed.
Clutching the blood-soaked corpse of his closest friend.
Comments (0)
Please log in to leave a comment. Login or Register