Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Foreign Sky Squadron
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"What the hell is all that?"
"This? Pretty useful, right?"
Back at the lakeside.
Thousands of fish floated belly-up on the water, and Derbal, who had been grilling dozens of them over charcoal, looked in surprise at the magical wyvern armor dangling from Bebeto's talons.
"Isn't that mithril wyvern armor? And three sets of it!"
"All done."
The small bag the black cat had given him, saying it would be needed.
It was filled with salt and various spices.
And now, grilled fish perfectly seasoned with that salt and spices.
He grabbed one as thick as his forearm and popped it into his mouth.
"Sir Cayr... What the hell is all this? And isn't that armor you're wearing official air plate gear for sky knights?"
"A gift from the gods."
With that curt reply, he tore into the fish with gusto.
Crunch.
'Whoa! Amazing!'
Fish flavored with salt and spices.
Ignoring Derbal's shocked voice and questions, he kept stuffing his face.
"Whew..."
Derbal let out a long sigh.
'Knowing would just give you a headache, man.'
There wasn't much to explain, really.
The bastards had attacked out of nowhere, he'd fought back to survive, beaten them soundly, and taken these as hazard pay.
"Sir Cayr..."
Derbal called his name quietly.
"Yeah?"
He answered with a chunk of fish still in his mouth.
"Next time..."
Derbal trailed off, staring him straight in the eyes.
"Strip the wyvern hide too. That fetches a nice price."
"..."
Derbal's merchant spirit surpassed even his own.
"Derbal..."
"Sir Cayr..."
Their hot gazes clashed in midair.
'Picked the right guy, that's for sure!'
Smart, obedient, thrifty to a fault with a "prepare for the worst" mindset—Derbal was perfect.
Rumble rumble.
And Bebeto, the rising young punk of the wyvern world, happily scooping up the belly-up fish.
For a moment, a hopeful premonition hit him: the three of them would turn this continent upside down.
Days that might be agony for others, but joy for them.
A future he eagerly awaited, chest swelling with excitement.
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'So, nonstop flight for over half a day to cross it?'
Even at a leisurely pace, Bebeto's flight speed topped 60 kph.
The rugged Rual Mountains, which would take over half a day at that speed to cross.
Hundreds of unnamed peaks still blanketed in white snow, with dense primordial jungle below, leaving even him in awe.
'So this is Neruman Plain, ringed by mountains like a screen.'
Neruman Plain, about the size of a decent principality.
Part of the Bazran Empire's territory, but a headache even for the empire.
Infantry would need over half a month on foot to cross the treacherous mountains, wyverns aside.
It bordered the belligerent Rabiter Empire, suffered constant raids from pirate packs in the 10,000-island Kesmir Archipelago, and got squeezed for protection money by the savage Temir tribal alliance.
Monsters and beasts from the Rual and Kobiran Mountains roamed year-round, battles never ceasing.
Once, over 200,000 imperial troops were deployed, but with tens of thousands dying yearly, now only key points were defended by 20,000 troops.
'A chunk of land principality-sized, no lord assigned, commander acts as proxy.'
Neruman Plain hit him the moment he heard the name.
Rivers from the great ranges crossed the fertile plain—a blessed land.
Derbal said it would be ideal, minus the enemies swarming from all sides.
"Sir Cayr! We're here. Just over that mountain is Neruman Plain!"
Given only a magic compass and a crappy map, Derbal had found it flawlessly.
His voice trembled with excitement.
Whooooosh.
Bebeto, master of the winds after hours of flight, rode an updraft over the final peak.
'Should build a ski resort when I have time.'
They said snow never fully melted here.
Could rival Swiss resorts.
Whiiiiiinnnng.
Updraft over the peak.
Wind from the opposite side slammed the mountain and shot skyward; even Bebeto's massive bulk soared like a paper plane.
"Whoa..."
Bebeto leveled out.
The spectacle unfolded.
Endless.
Jagged mountains gone, an infinite horizon and winding rivers below.
His stuffy heart cleared, eyes refreshed.
'Damn, nice! Orcs frolicking, ogres waving—this place... Wait, what the hell!'
Mountains vanished, plain appeared; Bebeto flew low to the ground.
The "peaceful" scene from his perch.
Dozens of orcs racing like horses across the grassland, an ogre with a tree club thumping along in friendly tag.
'Gah! All monsters!'
Not just a couple.
Across the vast plain, orcs, ogres, trolls, nameless monsters and beasts hunted or fished in place of humans.
'No way...'
Pandemonium.
Ruined forts and villages dotted the view after a short flight.
Monsters occupied them too.
ROOOAAARRRR!
Bebeto, top of the monster food chain, bellowed joyfully and swooped low over them.
Squeee! Squeee!
Chaos erupted.
Monsters scattered like rabbits spotting a fox; some buried heads in dirt, trembling like pheasants.
'How many monsters are there?'
Tens of thousands of imperial soldiers died yearly.
No wonder.
Hordes of monsters, pirates, enemy troops, savage tribes—who'd wish longevity on those bastards?
Wasted on others, too tough and flavorless for him—like steamed buns without filling.
'Pity...'
Without monsters, the fertile soil was paradise.
Gentle hills, mostly perfect for farming—blessed earth.
He soothed his regrets gazing at the endless plain.
If he were lord, maybe—but irrelevant now.
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"Sir Cayr, that must be the central city, Denfos."
'I'd believe you if you called it ruins.'
Two hours after crossing the mountains, Denfos, heart of Neruman Plain.
Sea visible afar, wide river below—broader than the Han—a sturdy high wall encircled the hilltop city.
But too shabby for a "city."
Walls crumbled, patched with wood and gravel; buildings shattered, filthy, dilapidated—quite the sight.
'Foreign Sky Squadron...'
Wyvern hangars and runways on one side.
Surely where he'd live.
'Sigh.'
Bebeto appeared, yet soldiers and folk showed no alert.
They glanced up once, then ignored.
Despite Bebeto's golden hybrid stripes.
"Bebeto, land."
Monsters advanced 20 km toward Denfos.
A night raid wouldn't surprise.
Flap, flap, flap, fllap.
Bebeto circled the squadron once, landed central runway.
Whirrrrl.
Dust and dry grass from the uncleaned runway flew everywhere on his wingbeats.
"Wow, killer..."
Derbal's sarcastic admiration.
'What kind of sky squadron is this!'
Foreign Sky Squadron, but home to Sky Knights, empire's elite honor unit.
He'd held high hopes.
Best sky knights guarding the front lines.
Sounded cool just thinking it.
But reality...
'Dogs wouldn't touch it.'
Holes riddling ancient hangars, weeds choking runways and surrounds.
Sluggish admins ambling, staring.
No discipline, rules—reeking of lazy dampness everywhere.
Better to flee and bandit than live here, he thought.
"Derbal, this is Foreign Sky Squadron, right?"
"Yes... Sir Cayr."
"But no one's on guard against us strangers?"
"Beats me..."
Uncomparable to Kirfone Sky Squadron.
A few half-assed guards and admins eyed their outsider status, but no real response.
"Yeehaw!!!!!!!!!"
ROOOOARRRRR!
'What now?'
Over 30 hangars, not one wyvern.
Then, afar: excited mana-laced voice and wyvern roar.
"Gasp!"
Turning, he screamed.
'Troll? That's an ogre??'
Three wyverns with sky knights flew toward hangars.
No imperial flags, and talons clutching limp troll and two ogres.
"Captain Jenis is back!"
"Ooh! Troll today too!"
Rumble rumble.
Merchants in trader garb and dozens of mages rushed from everywhere.
Clatter, clunk.
Mercs and cart-pullers swarmed instantly.
'What, what is this vibe!'
Foreign Sky Squadron turned goblin market chaotic.
Fllap fllap.
Winds and dust from landing wyverns hit him.
"Alright, auction starts now!"
'Auction? Woman?'
A woman atop a landed wyvern head, shouting boldly.
Red sky knight cape over silver air plate.
Swoosh.
'Whoa...'
She yanked off her helmet impatiently.
Short brown hair not past shoulders.
'Manly as hell!'
More androgynous charm than the cross-dressing Russel—mid-20s sky knight.
Fierce aura poured out.
"Troll's fresh as you see—prime blood for a month. Ogre hide damaged but usable. Troll first—bids!"
"Captain Jenis! 1700 gold."
"1800!"
"1850!"
Merchants and mages shouted bids post her words.
"1850, higher? One, two, three! Sold at 1850! Next, ogre!"
"500 per!"
"530!"
"550!"
"550? Higher? Sold at 550! Auction over!"
"Damn, too bad! Only had 1800..."
"Tch, wait till tomorrow. Mages from the tower come, scraps for us."
Merchants smacked lips watching mages buy the three monsters.
"Excuse me, owner of that fine wyvern?"
"Y-Yes."
One merchant, ignoring them till now, eyed Bebeto hungrily.
"Selling that too?"
'What? Bebeto?'
The merchant's finger pointed.
"Gasp! What is that! Wyvern magic armor?"
"Wow! Jackpot after ages."
"Selling it?"
Other merchants and mages overheard, swarmed.
They ogled two sets strapped atop Bebeto.
"Hybrid wyvern, huh?"
"Yeah, black-gold crossbreed?"
Dozens ogled Bebeto curiously.
"500k gold! Sell to our magic tower!"
"750k! To our guild!"
"850k! Just one set!"
'What the hell? Who they calling idiot!'
Mages and merchants hyped, bidding wildly.
Used, but market 1.5 mil easy—their lowball.
"Enough! Not selling today!!"
He bellowed with mana.
"..."
"Few days, highest fair bid gets it—disperse!"
'Heh heh. What a rush.'
Columbus-level bliss discovering new world.
Seemed sky knights hunted monsters, sold to merchants/mages.
'So, just hunt field monsters, all good?'
Hundreds of thousands seen en route.
The annoying pests now seemed lucky coins.
'Yes! Perfect for me!'
Didn't grasp all yet, but vibe clear.
Honor to passing dogs—for him, prime opportunity land.
"Who're you?"
Woman pushed through merchants/mages, approached.
About 175 cm.
Tanned healthy skin.
Long lashes framed big alluring eyes.
Flash.
Her faint green eyes met his midair.
'Oh ho, won't be bored...'
Hand on hip, provocative glare from Jenis.
Her furrowed big eyes sized him up.
Grinning roguishly...
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"You're Cayr Baronet?"
"Yes. Viscount Pabes, squadron captain."
'At least one looks noble.'
Pabes Viscount, Foreign Sky Squadron captain.
Unlike rough sky knights near-mercs, his plump gut and neat attire screamed nobility.
"No long talk. Foreign Legion belongs to empire but separate from imperial army."
Sipped tea elegantly, spouting treason casually.
"No imperial supplies or pay."
'What? Nothing?'
"Survive on your own. Earn your own keep."
'Gah, all on us?'
"Pick empty hangar, move in. Imperial request? Go if price right."
"...What does empire provide?"
"Your full name and title?"
"Uh? Cayr de Adalon Baronet."
"Good?"
"Yes...?"
"That's it. Empire-recognized title. Only that."
'Totally dog-food pasture, bone-toothpick life.'
Explained sky knights monster-hunting.
Foreign Sky Squadron provided zilch.
Weapons/armor all self-funded.
'Good! Suits me!'
Pure meritocracy.
Other nobles prized honor—not him. Perfect fit.
"But captain, you get nothing either?"
"Me? Ahem... Just enough for me. Mutual non-interference."
"..."
'Awesome! Tomorrow, sweep it all! Muahaha!'
Pabes suggested mind-your-own—strongly endorsed.
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"Uh... Sir Cayr."
"Yeah?"
"Need to hire guards."
"Why?"
"Lots watching us."
'Hire guards too, out-of-pocket?'
Left captain's office with waiting Bebeto/Derbal, headed hangars.
Derbal scanned nervously en route.
Merc-world meritocracy.
Even without his words, mana sensed threats.
"Derbal, knew? Empire provides nothing?"
"Yes... Sigh. That's why 'sky knights' graveyard.' Not treason, but exiled for offending royals/nobles, or old useless wyverns culled. That's Foreign Mercenary Corps."
"That one looks good."
"Huh?"
"Our home now. Like it?"
"Yes! Perfect!"
Derbal: die on command, fake it if needed.
Answered vigorously.
'Huh, bribe soldiers to move?'
Guards patrolled hangars lazily, not full squadron.
Merchants, mages, civilians milled military base.
'Total mess.'
Headed hangar buildings.
'Wait, hire cook too?'
Pabes said nothing provided.
'Bastards! Sucking flea livers like steak!'
Grinding teeth at empire, reached picked hangar.
'Sunny, open front. No neighbor hassles.'
End-row hangar.
Oldish, but intact outside.
'Clean first.'
Obviously abandoned ages.
"Derbal, scout how to survive here elsewhere."
"But cleaning first..."
"I'll do. Prep dinner too."
"Got it."
"No rush—thorough."
"Yes sir!"
"Bebeto, guard here."
ROOOAR.
Bebeto nodded beak smartly.
"Off I go."
"Take this."
Whish.
Tossed gold pouch.
"Right..."
Derbal hefted heavy pouch, bowed, hurried off.
Smart guy knew wants—no worries.
Creaaak.
Hangars similar: big wyvern doors, small human side.
Entered side door.
'Ghosts wouldn't haunt.'
Spider-brothers infested inside.
Webs strung like threads everywhere, old dust/grime caked walls/floors.
"Sylph! Undine! Gnome! Salamander! All out!"
Paaat!
Summoned all lesser elemental spirits.
Whirrrl.
'Cute little things.'
Arm-thick sylph, blue-water undine smaller than kindergartener. Seven-dwarfs gnomes, arm-thick salamander.
Circled him post-summon, pure eyes shining.
"Cleaning time. Sylph! Max wind, gather all dust! Salamander! Burn dust/webs! Undine! Wash burnt clean! Gnome! Flip floor, bury post-wash! Go!"
Nod.
Whirrrl bibble.
Sylph spun happily; rippling blue undine splashed droplets.
Rooaaar flames!
Fiery lizard salamander rushed webs impatiently.
"Shield!"
'Heh. So easy.'
Spherical magic barrier blocked dust.
Supervised spirits' work.
Whirrrl flames roooar.
Splash! Thud thud thud.
Sylph gathered trash/dust; salamander torched; undine water-cleaned sootless floors/walls.
Gnomes flipped/buried ash last.
Short time, hangar gleamed.
Clap clap!
"Haha. Good job, pals."
Free child labor guilt, but perks of spirit mage.
'Candy later.'
Like elementary evil teacher bossing kids.
Whirrrl roar.
Mischief sylph looped air happily; others kid-joyed.
"See ya. Bye~!"
Waved, unsummoned.
Paaat!
Gone clean, no trace.
Play next time, he thought.
"Clear!"
Paaaah!
Spirits missed air dust molecules.
Magic purified space.
Sparkle!
Perfect hangar revealed.
Grime-free, dustless—eye candy.
Rumble.
Opened for Bebeto.
"Bebeto, come in! Huh?"
ROOOOAR!
Thud thud.
Cleaned, calling Bebeto—growled at side.
'Derbal? Who's that rabble?'
Derbal returned per orders.
Three knights in unfamiliar plate, dozen thug soldiers trailing.
'Beat up?'
Closer: Derbal's black eye, bloody mouth.
"Hmm..."
Obvious they roughed one-armed helpless Derbal.
Approached smirking arrogantly.
"Hey, kid. You the boss?"
Scar-worm above right eye on knight sneered "kid."
"Derbal."
"S-Sorry, Sir Cayr. These bastards... Gah!"
Thwack—soldier spear-butted Derbal's ribs hard.
"Heh heh. Still needs more. Who you calling bastards."
Soldier cackled, toying with spear.
"Think sky squadron orc den? New? Report first! Heh."
Scar-knight grinned viciously.
"No report to Lord Lukens, squat building? Ballsy."
Kept provoking.
"Urk..."
Soldier kept prodding Derbal.
"One more move... you die..."
Hot rage boiled chest.
"Heh."
Soldier laughed sly instead.
Thwack.
"Guhk..."
Derbal clutched ribs with lone arm from prior hit—soldier smashed hand with steel spear.
Pop.
Body bounced spring-like.
Clang!
Sword drawn fast.
"B-Block!"
Knights yelled shocked.
Shing.
Blade bared blue poison fang.
Slice. Stab!
Soldier's spear severed; sword hilt-deep in thigh.
"Guhk..."
Impaled soldier groaned.
Yellow mocking eyes quivered pain.
"Scum like you... don't deserve life..."
Whisper in ear.
Swoosh!
Sword withdrawn.
Spluuurt!
Artery? Blood gushed.
"K-Kill him!"
Knight bastard shrieked.
Whish.
Thrusting soldier spears.
Shiiiing slashslashslash.
Blade-stroke snapped spears like twigs.
Pababak.
Blood-frenzied sword danced solo.
"Arrrgh!"
"Aaagh!"
Screaming soldiers.
Limbs severed, they wailed.
"Dog... bastards..."
Killing virgin, violence-avoider till now.
They detonated him—dirty scum.
Touched weak Derbal—no life worth.
Trash lives anyway.
Today, their judge.
"Die!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Three knights charged.
Crunch.
Irreversible river crossed.
Eye-dazing red blood, nose-piercing iron stench, body-sticky rage/killing intent.
Bit lip.
Full swing at charging knight swords.