4. Mercenary Side Job (2)
'The surest way to win a battle is to attack before the enemy even knows they're fighting.'
That line had stuck with me from a game about space marines, back before I got isekai'd into this dark fantasy world.
It perfectly captures why ambushes are the most effective attacks... and as an eight-year mercenary, I wholeheartedly agreed.
Excluding ambushes, there's no way in hell I could take on five mercenaries at once.
Unlike those punk-ass thugs who couldn't even hold a weapon right, these fuckers would beat the shit out of me in a straight fight.
And so, right now, I crept up behind the boss—shoes off to muffle my footsteps, belt undone on my pants for the same reason—waiting until he squatted down, bare ass exposed.
A moment later.
"Urk..."
His body trembled faintly as he strained, his awareness of his surroundings, vigilance, and reaction time at their absolute lowest.
That's when I dropped low and lunged forward.
Slash.
Before he could even twitch, my dagger sliced across his throat.
"Guhhk—glurgh—"
He thrashed uselessly against the hand clamping his mouth, then finally slumped to the ground, shitting and pissing himself.
Luckily, none of the filth got on me.
And the stench of his shit at least partially masked the blood smell.
Still, the lingering coppery tang might give me away, so without hesitation, I headed toward the campfire's glow.
I had to deal with the night watch before he noticed anything.
...
The night watch went down the same way, from behind.
Then I granted eternal sleep to the other two, dead to the world.
Now, around the campfire—reeking of burning wood and blood—only three corpses, Rick, and the masked girl remained.
Right after.
Schlurp.
I yanked my dagger from the jaw of a corpse with a bushy beard, then crept toward Rick, who lay sleeping peacefully, oblivious to his comrades' deaths.
I raised my dagger—held reverse grip—high overhead.
Much like Rick had done earlier that day, stabbing that raped woman's breast.
Ah, not out of some revenge bullshit.
No need to muffle him anymore, and for a prone target, this stance was most efficient.
Anyway, as I leaned in with my weight to plunge the dagger down—
His eyes snapped open.
"Aaagh! Fuck youuu!"
He screamed, grabbing the dagger mid-drop toward his chest.
Maybe the adrenaline of near-death—his hand shredded on the blade, but with superhuman strength, he halted my weighted thrust.
And at the same time, he bellowed, desperately calling for his already-dead comrades.
"Boss! James! Tom! Somebody, get this fucker—"
"Long time no see, Rick. And screaming won't help."
The next instant.
His face hardened at my words, eyes darting sideways to scan around.
When he spotted the corpses—throats slit, blood pouring—his face drained even whiter.
His mental shake-up loosened his grip on the blade just a fraction.
I didn't miss it, slamming my right hand down on the dagger hilt.
Thwack!
Pfshk...
By Newton's third law, the tip sank about two centimeters into Rick's chest.
"GaaAaAaAHH!"
A half-beat late, he reacted, yanking the blade out with renewed force.
Dark red blood welled from the gash, and our standoff resumed.
Well, what would soon end in a pathetic epilogue.
"Hey, Rick. Why not go easy, without all the suffering?"
"F-Fuck you, you cowardly bastard."
"Cowardly? Heh heh heh. Funny hearing 'cowardly' from a guy like you who's eaten his share of blades in the back."
Whether armed soldiers or innocent civilians, from the mouth of someone who'd stab them in the back given half a chance.
The irony cracked me up involuntarily.
Meanwhile, blood poured faster from Rick's wound, his strength holding the dagger at bay weakening bit by bit.
His superhuman survival burst was fading.
"N-No... please, just spare my life. I'll give you all the money, even the brat—please, just—"
He switched tactics, begging for mercy.
My response? Just slamming down on the hilt again.
Thwack!
Pfook!
Thwack!
Pfoook!
"Guhk! Please, glur—"
Each time, his chest grew slicker, his groans weaker, his resistance crumbling.
Pfoooook!
Finally, the blade sank deep into the center of his chest and vanished.
I mounted him, sealing the inevitable end.
...
Before blood-scenting beasts or monsters swarmed.
I grabbed the money pouch stuffed with coin, the pricier loot from the mercenaries' spoils, and gear light enough to carry.
Then peeled the mask from the unmoving girl.
And saw.
Eyes so gray you couldn't tell their original color, utterly unfocused.
"..."
No point talking; no response expected. A pang like regret flickered, but faded.
I roused her, pointing to the blood-soaked campfire.
"Dunno if it'll comfort you, but the bastards who killed your family are all dead."
"..."
"Got family or friends to take you in?"
"..."
"I'll take you to the village for now."
As expected, zero reaction from the girl.
She'd stay like this awhile, obviously.
So I tied rope around her waist and we left.
No lingering—avoid more killing if possible.
...
"..."
The girl trudged mechanically, dead-eyed, led by the rope.
"Woof! Woof!"
Kell yapping around her, vying for attention.
Glancing back at the pair—so utterly different—a silly thought crossed my mind.
If she were normal, what smile would she give Kell?
But only for a moment.
Such thoughts aren't even worth calling a luxury.
My reason—tempered to this world's cruel logic—shut down the distraction.
Head clear again, I marched on silently.
Ignoring mounting fatigue, pushing forward until the pitch-black sky turned deep blue.
The eastern horizon began scattering sunlight's brilliance.
The fields greened under its glow.
Beyond, our destination opened its stockade gates, weary from the night: Arke Village, called the Village of Beginnings.
...
"...And that's how I walked all night with this kid."
"Hmmm..."
The guard eyed me suspiciously even after my explanation, his gaze expectant.
I slipped him a suitable bribe and entered.
Retracing memories, I crossed the village to a cathedral far from the bustling district.
The one run by a foul-mouth nun who sheltered orphans.
Thud thud thud.
"Who the hell's pounding so hard this early! I'm coming, stop it!"
A shrill voice from inside at my knocking.
Even that hinted at her temperament.
The door flew open, revealing a middle-aged woman in shabby nun's robes.
She scanned me and the girl behind, glaring but softening her tone slightly.
"Dropping off a kid?"
"Yes."
"Looks like a stray you picked up. No name, no age?"
"Right."
"Aigoo... What hell did this little one go through to end up with eyes like that..."
Her tone toward me was gruff and snappish.
But she knelt to the girl's level, stroking her hair pityingly, gazing into those empty eyes.
Something told me she'd make the kid smile again.
My job here done, I turned to leave—
"Think you can just dump her and bounce? Have some conscience."
She grabbed my wrist, palm out.
"You know how much it costs to raise one kid a month? You look like a well-off merc. Since you're here, cough up a donation."
Hmm... Nuns are tenacious in the old world or this one.
...
After donating some silver coins and part of my sellable loot.
I rented an inn room and crashed hard, sleeping off the backlog.
I woke as the sun nearly set... to something I'd never seen in eight years.
Your choice has brought change to Fate's Scale.
About damn time.