Chapter 23
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Caravan Escort
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Murder.
How terrifying and horrifying that resonance was. It was something that absolutely should not happen, and something one absolutely should never do. At least, on my home planet Earth, such obvious common sense existed.
The idea of a murder happening around me was something I could scarcely even imagine, and seeing it only on the news made it seem like an utterly gruesome affair. That's what I believed while living an ordinary life.
But.
But this medieval-like, barbaric, uncivilized otherworld was different.
Human rights were so scarce that slaves existed, most people were uneducated ignoramuses, there were threats from monsters, and resources were insufficient. Wars seemed to break out whenever they felt like it.
So?
In such a harsh world, it was only natural for acts of plundering others' possessions to run rampant.
To put it simply, that's called pillaging. And this pillaging— forcibly taking what belongs to others— inevitably comes hand in hand with the grave crime of murder.
It was back when I had just arrived in this otherworld.
Skipping over all that "struggle" nonsense since it's been overused anyway, I was living as a homeless vagrant, surviving day by day in terror that I might starve to death tomorrow. That was a time when nothing was more precious than a lucky meal.
So?
So, if someone tried to take that small piece of bread I had luckily— no, painstakingly— obtained? That irreplaceably precious lifeline of bread? What would I do?
Humans die surprisingly easily with just a rock.
He was a fellow vagrant like me. When he snatched my bread and gobbled it down greedily, I picked up a stone and smashed the back of his head with it. To be precise, I kept smashing until he died. Even after confirming he was dead, I kept going.
Sticky blood soaked my hands. It was a brutal murder, but I didn't fall into despair over killing a person. I was starving, and all I did was pry open the corpse's mouth, scoop out the bread he had been chewing, and shove it into my own. Once a bit of fullness settled in, the only thought that came was, Ah, I'm alive. Going further, I stripped the clothes off the corpse and wore them, taking all his possessions too. A faint pang of guilt flickered, but it vanished when I remembered he had tried to kill me.
Yeah.
That's how it was.
That was the right thing to do.
"..."
As the bandit leader crumpled lifelessly to the ground with my shout, a brief silence fell.
"Hah, uwoooo!!! Boss!!!"
"That bastard got the boss!!!"
"Kill him!"
The bandits began to wail. For thugs who lived off murder and robbery, they sure had some loyalty.
They quickly assumed combat stances. Honestly, they all looked pathetic. Without their leader, how were they supposed to fight well? We already had the upper hand.
I glanced at the caravan leader.
He stared back at me with a stunned expression.
This guy's brain worked fast. Shouldn't he have noticed sooner and given the attack order? Nothing beats a surprise assault in a brawl. This guy's not long for this world.
As I opened my mouth to yell in frustration, he snapped to his senses and shouted,
"Damn it!! What are you all doing?! Kill them! Slaughter every last one of those bandit scum!"
"Uwooo!!"
With that cry, the bandits clashed with our team. I used the chaos to pretend to fight while slipping to the back. No way was I staying up front and becoming a target as the boss's killer.
Besides, I had to loot that guy's gear. A rare chance at some expensive armor, and dying now would suck.
Mad excitement soaked my mind.
"Die! Die!!"
"You fucking bastard!"
The adventurers and bandits were fighting what they thought was their best, but to me, it was as boring and amusing as watching YouTube prank videos.
Honestly, there's no real reason for bandits and adventurers to go at each other with bloodshot eyes. People don't fight fiercely without a cause. Moreover, both sides were cautious about each other's safety, so the battle naturally dragged on passively.
Life is precious for bandits and adventurers alike. No one here was willing to bleed for some trivial reason. A warrior charging into battle recklessly? If such a guy existed, he'd have ditched this nonsense long ago for bigger things.
Guys with that kind of grit wouldn't stick to lowly jobs like adventurer or bandit.
"Keurk!"
The ones fighting decently were the caravan's spearmen. As professionally trained soldiers, their momentum was impressive. They knew how to kill. Forming ranks and thrusting spears, the ragtag bandits had no chance.
"Kill! Kill!"
"You fucking bastard!"
"Hey, over here!"
I darted around like a bat, seeking one-on-one matchups between bandits and adventurers. Was I crazy enough to fight solo? Fair one-on-one fights weren't for me.
Team up if you're in a team— that's common sense.
After some searching, I found a pair dueling like it was a tournament, stepping back and forth with no real hits, just putting on a show.
"Hup! Hup!"
"Die!"
I jumped right in. The bandit startled like he'd seen his dead mother come back to life.
"Wh-what the hell?!"
"It's the boss killer, you dumb fuck!"
With me joining the two who had been dueling, the tide turned instantly our way. Winning 2v1 is a dream even for experts, and no mere bandit had that skill.
If they did, why scrape by as bandits? They're all talentless losers who can't show their faces in society.
"Fuck this! You cowards!"
"Says the bandit, you moron!"
The bandit, now facing two alone, tried to flee in panic, but showing your back here meant death. Knowing that, he stood his ground bravely, but
"Gaaaargh!!!"
As I said, he couldn't win alone. While he traded blows with the adventurer, I circled behind and stabbed his back. Done. The bandit writhed in agony and fell.
"Thanks!"
"Remember this. We'll split the loot halfsies."
"You got it!"
The nameless adventurer flashed a refreshingly bright smile, as if he hadn't just killed a man. Unlike me, this guy seemed like a real psychopath. He finished him off.
The battle was delicately balanced. Bandit corpses littered the ground, a few adventurers dead. Both sides had deserters. Even passively, casualties happened.
Honestly, with my two kills, I'd done my share. No one could complain if I lay low now.
I surveyed the battlefield. Oh yeah, wasn't there a bare-handed fighter? Without proper weapons, he'd probably be dead by now. Thinking that reminded me of night watch duty, and my heart ached.
If even skeletons collected taxes, how nice would it be if a dead guy pulled night watch instead?
"Yaaah!!"
Then came a sky-shattering shout. Oh? Was the bare-handed guy smashing them all with his fists? I looked over expectantly, but
"Kyaargh!!"
It wasn't a shout— it was a scream. That fucking idiot.
The bare-handed fighter was getting one-sidedly pummeled for lacking a weapon. What an astonishing moron. Truly an amazing asshole. Covered in blood yet still alive— maybe praise him for that.
This is why bare-handed fighting is trash. Kids join guilds hyped on bravado, but if you make a living from fights without a weapon, you're screwed. What? Fists are the best weapon? After seeing that guy?
Every time I saw those types, it frustrated me. Seeing them ignore good swords and axes to punch monsters made my blood boil.
"Ugh, that lunatic!"
I moved to help the bare-handed fighter. If he died, night watch would be a problem. Plus, one more kill wouldn't hurt. But the bandit was sharp— he dodged as soon as I charged.
"Huff, huff..."
The bare-handed fighter finally caught his breath, panting heavily.
That's survival wisdom. Obvious weakling without a weapon, so he targeted him. Smart escape when I showed up. That cleverness extends life. See him scampering off? Better than dying here.
"Thanks for the help."
"No problem."
By then, the battle was wrapping up. Most bandits had fled. Thugs like them wouldn't fight to the end.
Since the bandits ran first, it ended as a caravan victory.
"We won!"
"Yay!"
Victory is still sweet. Everyone cheered. Fleeing bandits might call reinforcements, but doubtful. If they had that scale, lords would've crushed them already.
Platoon-sized? Maybe. Company-sized? Definitely toast.
"Assess the dead and wounded!"
At the caravan leader's order, work began immediately, no rest for the weary. Few dead, but many critically wounded.
I helped injured adventurers to the wagons. Their wounds looked fatal. No healers, priests, or nuns for quick heals here. Two or three days from the city— slim chance. Sorry was all I could say.
After moving one groaning adventurer, caravan hires took him for first aid. I handed him off and sought more wounded.
"Urk... S-save..."
Another one crawling, drenched in blood— a bandit. He lifted his mangled, pain-twisted face, begging me.
"What do we do with this live bandit?!"
I yelled.
"Step aside, he's my prey."
"Yeah?"
A two-handed axe adventurer appeared. The bandit's "ownership" was his. I glimpsed him raising his axe high, the bandit wailing Pl-please spare me! But not my problem anymore.
Those who steal from others must know they can lose their very existence. I think I heard that at a Brass Celestial Society sermon. Might be a good religion after all.
They kill and rob, yet beg for their lives? No.
For conscienceless scum, execution is just.
"Let's see."
More than that, I couldn't contain my excitement anymore.
Hadn't I stylishly stoned the bandit leader to death earlier? No clue how many silvers his breastplate was worth. With that, D-rank promotion was inevitable. And not just that.
Clothes, weapons, money— all mine.
Whistling cheerfully, I approached the bandit leader's corpse.
Some adventurer was stripping his breastplate.
"What the hell is this bastard?"