Chapter 290: Duty and Responsibility (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 290: Duty and Responsibility (2)
"A commission! I'll commission you!"
The rain had stopped, but the dampness lingered. The air was thick and heavy, making the sweat on his skin feel like a sticky, unpleasant film—a miserable way to start any morning.
By midday, the discomfort had only intensified. As the sun climbed overhead, a subtle, stifling heat began to bake the moisture out of the earth.
Cutting through the humid air and the oppressive midday sun, the village chief’s voice rang out in a desperate cry.
"I will pay you whatever you want!"
The man who appeared to be the bandit leader snorted in mockery. His posture was a silent dare, mocking the villagers' helplessness.
When the mercenary captain offered no reply, the village chief’s face contorted. He looked as though he were on the verge of a breakdown.
"Please..."
A few of the villagers, trembling with tension, stared at the mercenaries with hollow, pleading eyes. Still, the captain remained silent, letting out only a low, thoughtful grunt.
Is he really not going to take it?
Encrid turned his gaze toward the captain.
Their original contract had expired that morning; the mercenaries were free to leave. However, one of their sharper scouts had sensed a presence in the brush and captured a bandit spy. Without even needing to be tortured, the coward had spilled everything—their location, their numbers, and their intent.
They weren't a famous group, but they had strength in numbers. There were easily over a hundred of them. Even if the mercenaries and the able-bodied villagers fought together, they barely numbered thirty.
They were outnumbered more than three to one.
The mercenary captain weighed his options.
"Mercenaries sell their swords for gold. We don't fight without a contract. This isn't a pre-arranged job; this is a rescue mission. We don't owe you that kind of loyalty."
For a mercenary, the captain was actually quite honorable. But as a leader, he had to be pragmatic. His choice was the only logical one. There was no reason to throw away his men's lives for a village that couldn't pay the blood price.
"A wise choice," the bandit leader muttered, secretly breathing a sigh of relief.
He had reason to be relieved. If those mercenaries decided to fight to the death, his crew would take a beating. No matter how the battle went, he’d lose at least ten men—likely more than twenty. The captain looked like a seasoned killer. Winning was one thing, but the cost of victory would be steep.
If not for the risk, the bandits would have wiped them out already. In fact, if their scout hadn't been caught, they would have simply waited for the mercenaries to ride off before descending on the village.
"Let him go."
At the captain's command, a mercenary released the captured scout.
"No! How can you do this?!"
"You're leaving us to die!"
"Please, have mercy!"
"We'll give you everything! We have jewels, heirlooms—anything!"
The villagers wailed. One man lunged forward to grab a mercenary’s leg, but he was met with a cold stare.
Thud!
"Step any closer, and I'll cut you down," the mercenary warned, his voice devoid of emotion. He looked ready to follow through.
In truth, the fact that the mercenaries weren't teaming up with the bandits to split the loot was already a display of high moral character for their profession.
The captain moved quickly to settle the unrest. He pulled his men back to one side, while the bandits watched the proceedings with predatory silence.
Encrid stood caught in the middle.
Since he had arrived with the mercenary band, he could have easily followed them out. But as his gaze wandered, it landed on a cheeky little girl. She was a strange kid who had once boldly claimed she would leave the village in three years to become a master herb gatherer.
"Mister, go."
What a brat. Even now, when she should have been begging for her life, her eyes were darting around, scanning the environment. She even waved the back of her hand at him, telling him to get lost.
Her face didn't show the shadow of defeat. She was already plotting an escape.
Encrid had dealt with plenty of bandits in his time. He knew how this ended. They would all die. Lending his single sword wouldn't change the outcome.
So, should he walk away? Should he turn his back on them? Was he supposed to abandon the very things he wanted to protect?
What did it mean to be a knight?
What was it that I truly wanted?
If he turned back now—if he ignored this—he would never be able to move forward. How many times had he stood by and watched, using his lack of strength as an excuse? Did he have to do it again?
He didn't know why this particular moment weighed so heavily on his chest, but he couldn't shake it.
"Hey, let's move out."
A mercenary tapped his shoulder. He was a rough-looking man, but he had a kind heart; he’d spent his free time helping the villagers with their chores. Yet, even he didn't hesitate to turn away now. That was the fundamental survival instinct of a swordsman on this continent.
Few ever went looking for a grave. Anyone who stayed behind knowing they would die was a fool—especially if they did it for some absurd romantic notion of "protecting the weak" rather than for gold.
They’ll call me a madman.
He knew it without being told. Even so, his feet wouldn't move. He felt that if he took a step back here, he would be retreating for the rest of his life.
"Hey."
Was his survival up until now merely because the Goddess of Fortune had taken pity on him? If so, she had a cruel way of showing it. She could have at least given him a bit more luck to work with.
Patter, patter.
The rain began to fall again.
"Enki, you idiot," the mercenary captain snapped.
The words the captain spoke next would linger in Encrid's mind for a long time.
"They won't die. Even if we leave, they won't all die. Why would bandits kill a crowd this size? What’s the profit in a pile of corpses? They’ll sell them to slave traders. Living as a slave might actually be better for them than starving in this swamp!"
Life in the swamp village was miserable, but being a slave was hardly an improvement.
"I was going to officially recruit you, you stupid bastard."
The captain washed his hands of him. He couldn't help it. They weren't close enough for him to drag Encrid away by force, and it wasn't his place to interfere with a man's suicide. Besides, Encrid was just a guide who knew how to swing a sword, not some legendary talent. He was just a fool who couldn't see an inch in front of his own face.
"Why?" the village chief asked, his eyes wide with bewilderment. It wasn't a question of gratitude, but of pure disbelief.
"Do you see that guy? Third from the left of the leader?" Encrid asked.
"Um, yes?"
"He's my mortal enemy."
In truth, Encrid had never seen the man before in his life.
At the word "enemy," the bandit blinked and scrutinized Encrid’s face. A man with Encrid's features wasn't someone he would easily forget.
"Are you from the mining village?" the bandit asked.
Encrid had no idea what he was talking about, but he nodded anyway.
"Shit, I can't believe someone actually survived that place."
It seemed these bastards had been busy.
Good. Then I can kill them all without a shred of remorse.
He might die before he finished the job, but he needed to steel his heart.
"Is that true?" the village chief whispered.
"It's a lie. Just a joke."
"...Are you insane?"
Encrid chuckled. Since he had already decided to fight, the reason didn't really matter. The village chief was so stunned he didn't even think to call out to the departing mercenaries.
"That brat is no longer our responsibility," the mercenary captain called out to the bandits.
"He's staying behind alone?" the bandit leader asked, amused.
The main body of mercenaries withdrew, but then, two of them stopped and turned back.
"Dammit, kid, what is wrong with you?"
"Gere?"
"I'm staying," Gere grumbled. "I can't just leave this kid behind. If things go south, I'll grab him and run."
"You bastard, if you're staying, then so am I," another added.
"Pete, you too?"
"He’s like a younger brother to me. I can't just leave him to get slaughtered."
The captain's brow furrowed. In his heart, he wanted to stay too, but doing so would mean the end of his company. He declared that those two were the limit; anyone else who stayed would be stripped of their rank and left behind.
Gere and Pete. The two mercenaries stood their ground.
"I'm older than you, though," Encrid said to Pete.
Pete, a man with heavy eyelids and a face only a mother could love, but a soft spot for children, replied, "Based on looks alone, I'm definitely the big brother here."
Encrid chuckled. Though they had only known him for a month, these two couldn't bring themselves to abandon him.
Encrid drew his sword and blocked the path.
"Mister, are you crazy?" the little girl asked. She knew what happened to girls her age when bandits took over.
"Are you smitten, kid? It's only polite to watch a man fight," Gere said, stepping forward.
"Whatever," the girl muttered, though her eyes remained sharp.
"Maybe a little," Encrid replied to the girl's question about his sanity as he raised his blade.
It was madness. There was nothing to gain. No medals, no glory. The kingdom's nobles didn't even know this place existed, too busy filling their bellies to care about a swamp village.
Even if a benevolent lord existed in a neighboring territory, by the time they dispatched soldiers, the villagers would be long gone—sold, dead, or worse.
If he didn't step up, no one would.
"We can sell that one too. He's got a decent face," the bandit leader said, looking pleased.
The battle began.
Encrid fought like a cornered beast. Using every trick and dirty tactic he knew, he cut down three men. But as he engaged the fourth, a heavy club slammed into his head, shattering his stance.
Gere and Pete fought like demons. Gere swung his great axe with bone-crushing power, while Pete’s spear darted out like a viper, punching holes through the bandits.
"If you don't want to be dragged away in chains, fight!" the village chief roared.
A second later, a throwing axe buried itself in his skull, killing him instantly.
Still, the villagers fought. They grabbed fire pokers and wood-cutting axes, rushing forward in a desperate surge.
"Throw!"
The little girl who dreamed of being a herb gatherer led the other children, pelting the bandits with a hail of stones. For a moment, it felt like they might actually win. If luck was on their side, they might break the line and escape.
But the mercenary captain didn't return. No miracle occurred.
"Archers, fire."
Thwip-thwip-thwip!
A volley of arrows hissed through the air. Pete was struck mid-stride, an arrow piercing straight through his throat.
"Gurgle..."
He collapsed, his final words lost in a spray of crimson.
Gere and Pete had known the risks, but they had hoped for a dramatic reversal. Gere had planned to find an opening and take the leader hostage. He was the best duelist in the band; it had seemed possible. Pete was supposed to provide the distraction.
The plan failed.
The bandit leader was more than just a thug; he was a warrior. When Gere rushed him, the leader met the axe head-on with his sword.
Clang!
Sparks flew. Gere’s face paled as he realized the gap in their strength.
"Shit."
Hope vanished. Pete was dead, and the bandits were closing in.
"You motherfuckers!" Gere screamed, charging in a final, suicidal frenzy.
"Not so fast."
The bandit leader remained calm. He directed his men to fall back, tightening the circle rather than engaging Gere directly. He wouldn't even give them the mercy of a quick escape.
In the end, Gere’s head was taken by the leader’s blade.
"Did you think you could win? What did you expect to happen?"
Encrid resisted until the very end, but the leader eventually pinned him, choking him with a massive hand. His sword lay discarded in the mud, just out of reach.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the little girl. Her skull had been crushed; blood pooled around her small frame.
"She's dead too," Encrid wheezed.
The leader followed his gaze and shrugged.
"She resisted too much. The moment I grabbed her, she bit me and started screaming like a banshee. Had to shut her up."
The bandit’s tone was casual. In this world, you killed or you were killed. To him, it was just another day at work.