Chapter 290
“Contract—we’ll hire you!”
The rain had stopped, but the damp air remained. Thanks to the clammy, sticky sweat, you had to wake every morning feeling foul.
By midday it was worse.
When the sun rose overhead, the damp thickened and a dull heat joined it.
Through the noonday’s clammy sunlight—discomfort, sweat, that heavy, viscous air—the headman shouted in a rush,
“We’ll pay you whatever you want!”
The bandit who seemed to be the boss snorted.
A look that said, Come on, then, if you dare.
When the mercenary captain gave no answer, the headman’s face twisted. He looked like he might burst into tears.
“Please.”
Some of the tense villagers fixed desperate eyes on the company.
Still no answer came.
The captain hummed under his breath.
‘Not taking it?’
Encrid’s gaze also went to the captain.
The original job had ended that morning; the company only had to leave.
Just then, one sharp-eyed mercenary felt a stare, and they caught a bandit out scouting.
Without even needing to question him, the bandit rattled off the location and numbers of his lot.
They weren’t a famous crew, but they were many.
Well over a hundred.
Even if you added every villager and every mercenary, they had, at best, barely over thirty fighters.
They were outnumbered more than two to one.
The mercenary captain chewed it over.
“A company sells its sword for gold. We don’t fight without a contract. This isn’t a contract taken in advance; this isn’t a contract, it’s a rescue. We don’t owe that kind of loyalty.”
For a mercenary, he had loyalty, and he wasn’t a bad man.
For a mercenary captain, truly.
So his choice was sound.
There was no reason to risk his life.
“Wise.”
The bandit chief secretly let out a breath of relief.
Why wouldn’t he?
If the mercenary bastards went all-in, the bandits would have to eat losses.
No matter how well they fought, over ten would die.
No—more than twenty.
The captain looked no pushover either.
Win or not, the cost would be high.
If not for that, they’d have swept the place already.
If the scout hadn’t been caught in the first place, they’d have waited for the company to leave and then begun.
“Let him go.”
At the captain’s word, a mercenary underling freed the captured bandit.
“How can you do this?”
“You’re sending us to our deaths!”
“Please!”
“Why!”
“We’ll give you everything we have! We have jewels!”
The villagers cried out. One even moved to grab their trouser leg, but no chance.
Thwack!
“Come closer and I’ll cut you.”
One mercenary spoke in a murderous tone. He didn’t sound the type to hesitate.
In truth, just not taking the bandits’ side and splitting the village loot with them was loyalty enough for mercenaries.
The captain was wise.
“That’s enough. Come closer and we’ll draw weapons too. Everyone back off.”
He settled the scene at once.
He pulled the company to one side, and the bandits watched them go.
Encrid was stuck in the middle.
He’d come as part of the company, so he could just step out—but in the corner of his eye he caught the brazen brat.
The crazy little girl who said she’d leave the village in three years and be a herb-gatherer.
“Mister, let’s go.”
What a brazen kid.
Even with every reason to beg for her life, her eyes searched all around, and in the middle of it she flicked her hand at him, showing her knuckles.
It wasn’t a face that had given up. She must be plotting a run.
Encrid had faced bandits many times. He had no little experience. So he knew.
They would all die. A single hand added wouldn’t change that. So should he not add his hand?
Should he look away and turn his back?
Should he abandon what he meant to guard?
What is a knight?
‘What was it I wanted?’
If he turned away here—if he looked away—
He could do nothing.
How many times had he only watched because he lacked the strength?
Should he do that again this time?
He didn’t know. He had looked away before even when he knew—but this time, why did it catch in his chest with a thunk?
“Hey, let’s go.”
A mercenary behind him tapped his shoulder. Nasty-looking, but a warm guy.
The sort who helped with villagers’ odd jobs.
But he didn’t hesitate to turn away. That was the basic schooling of blade-men who lived on this continent.
Few seek out a place to die. To stand knowing you’ll die—that was the height of stupidity.
And if you did it not even for gold, but for some brazen romantic notion of protecting the weak—
‘They’ll call me insane.’
He knew without being told.
Even so, he couldn’t turn away.
If he stepped back here—if he looked away from even this—he’d never move forward again.
That’s how it felt.
“Hey.”
Had the goddess of luck taken pity on him so far?
But he didn’t think he’d even gotten a kiss.
If she was going to, she might as well heap it on.
A silly thought.
Pat, pat—ssshhhhh.
The rain came down again.
“Enki, you bastard.”
The captain was angry.
What he said next stuck in Encrid’s mind a long time.
“He won’t die. Leave him and he won’t die. Why would they kill someone of that size? What do you get out of killing for nothing? You a pervert? They won’t kill them. They won’t. At worst they’ll sell them to slavers. Living as slaves will be better for them!”
Life in a marsh village wasn’t abundant, save for the fact that you were alive.
But better than slavery? You couldn’t say that.
“We were going to take you into the company, idiot.”
The captain pulled back.
He had no choice. They weren’t close enough to beat him bloody to break his stubbornness and haul him off, and it wasn’t his place to meddle that far.
Besides, Encrid was just a blade-handy guide—not some great talent.
Just a fool. A half-wit who couldn’t see a step ahead.
“Why?”
The headman asked, eyes full of dumbfounded disbelief. Before gratitude, the absurdity forced the words out.
“See that one, third from the left of the one who stepped up?”
“Mm, I see him.”
“My enemy.”
Truth was, first time he’d ever seen him.
At the word enemy, the bandit blinked. He studied Encrid’s face. A mug like that didn’t seem one you’d see and forget.
“You from that mining town, by any chance?”
Whatever he meant, Encrid nodded.
“Damn—one of the bastards survived that place.”
Seemed they ran riot here and there beyond just here.
In that case, they could all die.
He might die before killing them all, but first he had to set his heart like iron.
“Really?”
The headman whispered at his ear.
“Fake. Joke.”
“…Are you insane?”
Encrid snorted a laugh.
He was going to fight anyway—what did the reason matter.
So flummoxed was the headman that he didn’t even think to stop the company from leaving.
“That kid isn’t our responsibility.”
The mercenary captain said,
“He’s staying alone?”
The bandit chief asked back.
The company pulled away.
Two mercenaries turned back.
“Damn it, what is wrong with you, kid?”
“Ger?”
“I’m staying. That brat’s stuck in my head. If it goes south, I’ll at least grab him and run.”
“Asshole, if anyone stays, it’s me.”
“Pete, you too?”
“He’s like a little brother. I can’t leave him.”
The captain’s brow knit. He wanted to stay too, but that way lay massacre for the company.
He said those two were the limit; anyone else who wanted to stay was out of the company.
That was all.
Ger and Pete.
Two mercenaries stayed.
“I’m older, you know.”
He told Pete, and the ugly, thick-browed, kid-loving blade answered,
“Look at that face value. I’m obviously the elder.”
Encrid chuckled.
It had only been about a month, but the two who’d come to know Encrid simply couldn’t turn away.
After that, Encrid drew his sword and blocked the bandits’ front.
“Mister, are you crazy?”
Maybe they’d be lucky to be sold as slaves, but he’d seen those dog-bastards ogling the children with eyes like dog pricks, and the little brat—who dreamed of being an herb-gatherer—asked.
“Fallen for him, kid? It’s etiquette to watch when men fight.”
Ger stepped up to toss in a line at the child’s question.
“What is he even saying.”
The kid didn’t hear it even with the edge of her ear.
“Halfway.”
Encrid gave a rough answer to her ‘crazy’ and raised his sword.
Anyway, it was crazy.
Would he gain anything by protecting them? No.
Would he get a medal for this circus? Not a chance.
The kingdom’s nobles wouldn’t even know things like this happened here.
They were busy stuffing their own bellies.
Encrid knew nobles.
What if they petitioned the nearest domain to send troops to wipe the bandits out?
Suppose there was a truly benevolent lord who listened.
It would only be after every villager had been sold off or buried as slaves, corpses, and cripples.
Above all, the local lord here wasn’t the sort to send soldiers to catch a bandit crew he might not even locate.
Conclusion: left alone, they would all die. If not Encrid, no one would step up.
“That one’ll sell, too. Pretty enough.”
The bandit chief was, if anything, pleased.
Encrid thrashed.
He threw every trick he had, cut down three, and on the fourth took a club to the head and his stance broke.
Ger and Pete fought like madmen. Ger swung a single axe with power; Pete rammed his long spear again and again, punching holes in several bandits.
“If you don’t plan on being taken, wake up!”
The headman shouted with a courage he could muster.
A thrown axe flew and pinned his skull and he died.
They fought anyway.
Some of the villagers took up arms. They ran in with long stoves pokers, swung felling axes.
“Throw!”
The brat who dreamed of herbs did her part. With kids younger than her or a year or two older, she picked up stones and hurled them.
Felt like it might do something. With luck, a chance to run might open.
If only the company captain changed his mind and struck—
He didn’t.
“Loose.”
Ffththththt!
With ten bowmen loosing, Pete died. Unlucky—one arrow speared his throat.
“Gggrrk.”
So he never heard his last words.
Ger and Pete—did they not know they were going to die? They knew, but they pictured a reversal.
Ger even had a plan.
He’d said, if he saw a gap just before the clash, he’d take the bandit chief hostage.
Back in the company, one-on-one, Ger had never lost. It sounded plausible.
Pete had quick hands and quick feet; he fought zipping like lightning.
One would shake them; one would grab the chief. That was the plan.
It failed.
The chief had strong arms and strong skill.
When Ger lunged at an opening, the chief met his axe with a single sword.
Clang!
Sparks flew and Ger’s face creased.
His opponent’s skill was far beyond what he’d expected.
“Damn.”
Ger despaired. Pete, holding out and holding out, took an arrow to the nape and went first; hope vanished fast.
“You sons of bitches!”
Ger made a last, desperate rush.
“Where do you think.”
The bandit chief didn’t relax.
He kept his head, moved his men, withdrew and didn’t break the encirclement.
He wasn’t allowing any escape.
In the end, that’s how it went.
The chief’s blade took Ger’s head.
“You think you could win? What did you expect to happen?”
Encrid fought to the last, but the chief strangled him with bare hands.
Somehow his sword had slipped from his hand; he saw it lying in the muddy ground.
He also saw, off to one side, the little brat who’d kept charging—her head smashed, blood gushing.
“She’s dead too.”
Encrid’s mouth opened without him knowing, and the chief calmly followed his gaze and answered,
“She fought hard. Bite you if you laid a hand on her; what a fuss she made.”
The bandit’s tone was casual. It was a world of killing and being killed. Why wouldn’t it be.