Chapter 115
Chapter 115
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 115
Chapter Title: Beowulf Mercenaries
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"Call your pack."
"Understood, Dark Lord."
Wolfgan, who had changed how he addressed Eugene, stretched his neck long in his transformed state and let out a howl.
Kyaaaaaaaaoooo~~~!!!
A long, resounding roar full of raw power echoed across the fields and gentle hills, racing all the way to the distant Perseos Mountains.
After howling several more times to summon his kin, Wolfgan turned his head.
"They'll come soon."
"Yeah."
But "soon" was relative.
For the Beowulfs, who mostly lived wild with only a few mingling among humans or other races, the word meant quite a long time by human standards.
In the end, they waited over twenty minutes before Beowulfs with nearly identical appearances to Wolfgan's group came charging in packs.
Gulp!
Someone unconsciously swallowed hard.
With Eugene there, there was nothing to fear, but the sight of over ten packs—each numbering eight to sixteen strong—rushing in together was undeniably overwhelming.
Lycanslopes, who looked just like them but lacked intelligence, could hunt trolls without much trouble in groups of two or three, and slay ogres if they had a full pack.
Ordinary humans wouldn't bat an eye at over a hundred of these fearsome monsters—or rather, an even stronger race capable of rational thought—bearing down on them.
"Wolfgan! What the hell is this!? Have you lost your mind? Bringing a little fang here of all places?"
"Did he get his ass kicked?"
"You pathetic mutt! Not only did you lose to a little fang, but you went begging for help?"
"I'd have died fighting! You're worse than a stray dog!"
"Teeth rotting? Why not just yank 'em out?"
True to their battle-loving nature, the Beowulfs unleashed a torrent of rebukes, insults, and mockery the moment they spotted Wolfgan's pack.
"Hey! You mangy cur, perfect timing!"
"You half-grown tail-wagger seduced my little sister?"
Even more absurdly, a few who already had bad blood started growling at each other, then outright grabbing collars and brawling.
"Keh... Dogs gonna dog, what a total shitshow."
Eugene wholeheartedly agreed.
'Even kin turn ruthless once packs split.'
He was dumbfounded by the Beowulfs' behavior, which perfectly mirrored wolves living in tight-knit groups under a firm leader.
Wolfgan, too, seemed a bit embarrassed amid his anger at the insults.
"Dark Lord. As I said, our kind is a bit..."
"I'll handle it."
Eugene raised his voice, scanning the Beowulfs who were still spewing murderous intent toward his group even as they focused on cursing and fighting.
"Hear me, Perseos Beowulfs."
They buzzed before he even finished his first sentence.
"That cocky little fang?"
"Guy's begging to die."
"Let him talk. Gotta hear what he's got."
"True. Wolfgan ain't some backyard mutt. Look at how beat up they are."
As expected of a rational species, the Beowulfs had a good grasp of reality.
A few kept fighting, but most crossed their arms or squatted down, ready to listen to Eugene.
"Wolfgan's pack, your kin, ended up like this because..."
Eugene calmly recounted what had happened with Wolfgan's group.
He told nothing but the plain truth without a shred of fabrication, surprising even Wolfgan's pack.
"...So, I've come for the ransom."
The Beowulfs erupted in chatter once Eugene finished.
"Wolfgan fucked up."
"Yeah. We sent him out 'cause he was the best at talking to humans."
"But Roamers migrating like that in a bunch does mess up hunting grounds, right? Humans might pin it on us if lords get pissy."
"Exactly. They act like they'll give you their guts to help, but screw up happens? All our fault."
'As expected, simple folk.'
That was his takeaway after two days traveling with Wolfgan's pack.
Rough and fight-happy, sure, but innocently straightforward if you put it nicely.
It was so very Beowulf that Wolfgan, the smartest and most diplomatic among the Perseos Beowulfs, had led his pack to find Eugene.
"Things were good under old Lord Krollmarin! That guy knew how to treat warriors right—real generous."
"His eldest son? Total bust."
"Bust? Trash!"
"Kicked out those continent knights, and all we got was twenty cows. Cheap bastard."
Amid the chaos of them brawling and yapping regardless of the group, one crucial line lodged in Eugene's ear.
Thud!
Eugene stomped hard, instantly drawing every Beowulf gaze.
"Ransom talk. Not done yet."
"Oh yeah. But we ain't got much. What now?"
"Just kill Wolfgan's pack? Can't pay without goods."
"Kehe! He's still kin—your cousin level. Help 'em, then yank a claw later."
They'd ramble forever among themselves, so Eugene raised his voice again.
"One Beowulf. Valued at one knight from my lands. Cheap deal. Nine total. 1,800 silver coins. 180,000 selling. Pay up."
"Kerhul...!"
The Beowulfs gaped, mouths full of massive fangs.
They lived wild among themselves, but they knew currency.
They fought as mercenaries for human lords sometimes and bought goods in villages or cities.
"We ain't got that kinda money. Just kill 'em."
"Beat up the little fangs instead? They look loaded."
"Wolfgan got properly smashed, so that guy's at least a banneret. Poke him, and clans swarm with dirty tricks."
"Yeah. And we Perseos Beowulfs keep our honor. They started the fight and lost. Kill 'em."
At their words, the yellow eyes of Wolfgan's pack shook violently.
"Brothers, kin!"
Wolfgan bellowed with all his might.
"You sent me to handle Roamers, and now just kill us!? I messed up, sure, but you're not blameless! Roamers are still out there! Someone's gotta fix it!"
"Krung! Fair point."
"What now?"
"What? Kill that lot, send another pack..."
"I'll handle it!"
Eugene shouted with a hint of his presence, startling the Beowulfs into staring at him.
Sensing his sanity fraying from dealing with these rabid dogs any longer, he pressed on quickly.
"180,000 selling ransom. In exchange, help me. Hiring Perseos Beowulfs with it."
"Oho!"
"Not bad?"
The Beowulfs perked up.
"Strong warriors. Twenty or so. Cancels ransom. Treat you honorably like brothers. Plus."
To the entranced Beowulfs, Eugene drove the nail home.
"Krollmarin. I'll fix it right. I, Dark Lord Yan Eugene!"
* * *
After that, things went smoothly.
The title "Dark Lord"—denoting a vampire high lord—made the Beowulfs far more cooperative. Eugene saw no need to reveal he was an Origin.
From the vibe, even if he did, they wouldn't react with shock or worship like other vampires.
Instead, they focused far more on his offered rewards than his status.
- Clear the Roamers disrupting hunting grounds ASAP.
- Waive Wolfgan's pack ransom; split expedition spoils fairly.
- Restore ties with Krollmarin domain, which once respected and favored Perseos Beowulfs.
- Let them fight Brantia powerhouses to their hearts' content.
The last one sealed it.
Beowulfs loved battle, but picking senseless fights or harming others violated a warrior's honor.
Not like human knights with their lofty codes—they were practical, fighting only for pay.
But domains around Perseos Mountains were all poor; only old Lord Krollmarin could afford pricey Beowulf mercs.
They fought hard in the prayer wars, but he died a hero, and his successor stiffed them with twenty cows.
Betrayed, the Beowulf warriors trashed Krollmarin lands, ending in a bitter rift.
The vets remembered only the twenty cows, conveniently forgetting their rampage.
Anyway, for Beowulfs stewing in mountain-end hunts, Eugene's offer was irresistible.
They voted by claw: unanimous yes, over fifty volunteers.
"Each pack. Mid-rankers step up."
Twelve male and female Beowulfs shot forward at Eugene's word.
"Galpredic."
"Krhahaha! Been waiting."
Galpredic grinned as he stepped up, leaving Beowulfs cocking heads.
"One little fang? What for?"
"What else? Beat him, he's ours."
Eugene's curt words ignited fierce glints in their eyes.
Galpredic, no slouch in size, hefted steel maces in both hands.
With a sticky grin, he spoke clumsy but clear Brantia:
"Dog bastards, one-on-one, hate. Pack, love."
"...!?"
"Come on, dog bastards. Woof woof."
"Puhahaha!"
Grooooaaarrr!!!
As Lanslo doubled over laughing, the rabid Perseos Beowulf warriors charged at the Origin's retainer.
But their massive bulk made piling all twelve on Galpredic impossible.
Three up front, one leaping high, claws slashing at him.
Claws that rent chain mail—but Galpredic's maces were steel clubs with iron cores.
Clang clang clang!
Artfully wielding his bulk, he parried and dodged every strike, then kicked the airborne warrior's groin as he fell.
Wham! Kyaaaang!
Ignoring the agonized scream, Galpredic blurred past the three, maces swinging and smashing at rear warriors yet to strike.
Instinct and reflexes screamed danger, but too late.
Galpredic didn't fight on instinct like them; he was a knight trained to efficiently crush any foe.
Boosted by vampire strength and speed, a one-sided beatdown was inevitable.
Amid strike sounds and screams, gray fur whipped as blood sprayed everywhere.
Desperate warriors tried shoving him down with brute force, but true knights turned enemy power against them flawlessly.
And Galpredic, Origin's retainer, wouldn't yield to raw strength anyway.
Trip and smash. Feint block, redirect claw, bash skull. Duck tackle, gut punch.
Three minutes later.
The twelve Beowulfs—claws snapped, teeth shattered—writhed on the ground moaning.
Recovery prowess didn't dull the pain of sheer brutality.
"Huuuh..."
Galpredic, helmet off, heaved deep breaths. He'd poured everything in without reserve, looking drained.
Slap!
He smacked his own cheek to refocus, then flashed a vicious grin at the gaping, silent Beowulfs.
"Bad dog bastards, mace too weak? Can beat all day."
First-timers and Wolfgan's pack alike shuddered.
A race born to fight, cowed by sheer intimidation.
* * *
"Wolfgan's pack included. Thirty total. Right?"
"Y-yes. Little—er, Dark Lord."
The eldest from each pack nodded. Transformed back, they eyed Eugene and Galpredic warily.
"Good. Base contract: three months. Unpaid till then, knight treatment after. Split spoils. Objections?"
"None."
"Good. Let's move."
Some of the beaten Beowulfs, plus top warriors from packs—thirty men and women total—followed Eugene.
Loose sack-clothes to avoid shredding on shift made them look pathetic.
Remaining Perseos Beowulfs watched silently as kin departed.
"No wonder Wolfgan's got crushed. Never seen a little fang fight like that."
"Guy might be stronger than a king?"
"Dunno. Never seen one."
"But with fighters like that, won't croak unlucky."
"Good enough. Warrior dies fighting? Fate."
Strong win, weak perish.
That was the strife etched in Beowulf souls, so they quickly forgot, waving off the departing warriors.
"Fight good!"
"Bring loot!"
"Beef on return!"
Ten days later, massive Roamer monster packs between Perseos foothills and Krollmarin were mostly annihilated, scattering.
(To be continued)