Chapter 11
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The West or Hell
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The carriage jolts.
I'm currently riding a western carriage toward the military supply base after switching rides.
A lot has happened just moments ago, but like the Hero said, I still have to do what needs doing.
Now that I've come to this western region, I can't afford to waste time.
I fell deep into thought.
Naia Rain...
The Hero from Raising the Gatekeeper in a Medieval Fantasy, the empire's youngest top swordsman.
And a woman who would do anything for the empire.
Someone leaked my information to a woman like that.
"..."
The good news is she doesn't divide people into saints and sinners.
She prefers useful villains over worthless good guys.
Thorough pragmatism.
That's probably why I can still draw breath right now.
"Should I call myself lucky...?"
The ones who know my info are Kyle, Florian, and probably Selena.
Excluding Kyle leaves two.
Kyle can't spill anything about me anyway.
I slapped him with a curse and slapped on restrictions the very next day.
That leaves Florian and Selena.
If Selena knew I was a slave, she'd have come herself instead of sending the Hero...
From Selena's standpoint, the Hero is a real headache.
The Hero views Selena as a parasite gnawing at the empire.
Selena unified the underworld, binding their power into a tight-knit force.
They were already a thorn in her side, and thanks to Selena, they've only gotten stronger—no way the Hero gets along with them.
Even if Selena had tipped off the Hero somehow, she wouldn't have bought it.
The Hero doesn't trust intel from shady sources.
Shady source... releasing military assets, and her moving personally?
Doesn't add up.
She's not that free.
Which leaves...
- Jolt.
The carriage rocked to a halt.
"Bro, supply base."
"Ah, thanks for the ride."
The coachman poked his head through the window to speak.
Lost in thoughts of the snitch, I'd arrived at my destination without realizing.
I'll sniff 'em out eventually, one way or another.
No need to agonize over it right this second.
"How much for the fare?"
"Psh... c'mon. You're military, right? Soldiers ride free."
The coachman waved off my question about the gold.
"Bro, showing up at the supply base—you must be fresh meat... Out west here, soldiers ride gratis."
"No, still, I should pay something..."
"Nah! Told ya, it's fine. Just go. Ain't nobody who don't know how rough soldiers got it here."
The coachman shooed me away, insisting it was on the house.
"Bro looks young too... Don't die. Live, yeah?"
The coachman even teared up sending me off.
Like a dad in the real world shipping his boy to basic.
Is this the imperial west's famous hospitality?
Tearing up for a total stranger kid like that.
First time since possessing this body that I'd felt genuine warmth from folks.
But it didn't take long to figure out why.
"Here! More bandages! Priest—arm first!"
A medic wrapping bandages around a soldier's stump where his arm used to be, staunching the bleed.
A priest channeling heals into that mangled limb.
"Son! Open your eyes—please!!!"
A woman sobbing, clutching the uniform of a soldier who'd stopped breathing.
"Mister—outta the way!"
Soldiers shoving past me in a panic.
"..."
This was supposed to be a supply base... but it was a madhouse of the wounded.
I stood speechless at the shocking scene—the first I'd witnessed like this.
Or second, maybe.
Two soldiers showed up then, peeling the woman off the corpse.
"L-let... go!! N-no."
The woman screamed and thrashed, but the soldiers dragged her out without a glance.
The stiffening body got hauled away by the others.
Probably... the dead here end up there.
That pile of bodies I glimpsed on arrival.
My first real shock since getting here...
The Hero rode alongside them like it was nothing, casual as could be.
But for me, never seen a corpse before? Pure, gut-wrenching horror.
Thinking back spiked the nausea—I bolted from the base.
"Urk... u... hurl. ...Haa."
Couldn't hold it—puked up everything inside.
That gruesome flash wouldn't stay down.
Only after emptying out did the rotten stink hit my nostrils.
Looked over—corpses rotting in the street.
Ah... so this is rotting corpse stench.
Now I get it.
Why I've been off-kilter nonstop, why plans keep derailing.
I'd still been treating this like a game.
I always mouthed off about staying sharp—this is reality, after all.
Only now hitting home.
What stood before me moments ago? Brutally real reality.
Everything till now? I'd mistaken playtime for the real deal.
"...Hoo."
Deep breath. Like before—gotta stay cool first.
My head's rolled before, sure. Someone else's? First time.
So this is the vibe of eyeing corpses...
From here on in the west, that's my daily grind.
Felt like I'd stumbled on a truth I never wanted. No helping it.
Wanna bolt—but can't.
Bolt and I'd be the limp baggage soldiers tote next.
Gotta tough it out.
"Haa... alright... let's go."
Deep breaths done, back into the base I went.
No running room. Reality means my intel's the future.
On this western front, highest survival odds? Me, hands down.
Outside still utter chaos.
Sidestepped 'em, deeper into the building.
- Tap tap tap tap.
Soldiers hustling fast.
Further in, noise died down—replaced by runners everywhere.
Bandages, potions, endless supplies.
Explained the injured everywhere.
No time to haul to the hospital.
People fetch instead.
Medieval world—no ambulances.
Up the stairs to the second floor, kept climbing.
No more runners even.
Uncannily quiet—same building?
"11... 12 rooms... Hm? Who're you? Civilians off-limits."
High-rank soldier paused sorting supplies, approached.
"Hello. Here to enlist."
"Enlist? After downstairs...?"
Soldier gawked, eyes bugging out.
Makes sense... downstairs was straight hell.
Locals always fretting over you first.
Have I just crossed paths with oddballs? Kyle... elf ears...
"You can enlist, sure... but this is..."
Soldier scowled, raked hair, dropped gaze.
Hans looked back up at me moments later.
"Sigh... Me first. Hans, western front supply officer. You... saw downstairs? Look young—are you sure?"
"Yes, fine."
Hans scratched head again.
Really sure?
This dragging me frontline?
"Anyhow... what sparked the enlistment? Friend, maybe?"
"Ah, got a rec letter."
Pulled it from my chest pocket, handed to Hans.
It's for gatekeeper, though—hope no letdown.
"Anderson?"
"Yes."
"Checks out... Empire's 5th Sword? ...Hm? Ka...yle? Uh..."
Hans scanned the letter—hand trembled, eyes ballooned.
That big?
Glanced letter, my face, back—face drained white.
"Uh, by chance... Mr. Anderson. No—Sir Anderson?"
"Nah, no need. Casual's fine."
What face if he learned slave? Don't wanna know.
"Ah, no. Th-that... letter legit?"
Hans eyed me, incredulous.
"Yes. Straight from Empire's 5th Sword Kyle."
"Huh... well..."
Won't buy it.
Obviously—one of empire's five elites penned it personal.
Game players'd shrug. Here? Big rep.
Western supply officer'd spot Kyle's seal a mile off.
"Uh... gatekeeper, yeah? Says experience here..."
"Yes. No soldier, but... capital manuals? All memorized."
"Huh... how the... ah, forget it."
Hans cut off mid-word.
Next bit scripted...
Swiped secrets?
Hans's head spinning now.
No training, yet knows every manual? Nah.
Nah—but Kyle's letter looms.
But Hans grinned wide—instead.
"Sigh... anyway... Thank you!!"
"...? Y-yes?"
Hans seized my hand, bowed ninety deep.
What the—sudden?
"First off... from the top."
Hans laid out the situation.
West always shorthanded—soldiers included.
Thus, grunts and brass beyond bare minimum? Dropping like flies.
Still gotta hold the thinnest front.
Specialized troops?
All dead, he said.
Gaps gotta fill somehow.
No specialists? Admin grinds to halt.
Half-paralyzed system. Patients... meds... tasks overflowing. Nothing runs smooth.
Just stick regular soldier on gate duty, right?
But frontline—forefront. No expertise? Can't.
Way too open to sabotage.
Terrorists smuggling contraband? Child's play here.
Front villages? Terror target numero uno.
Soldier assigned gatekeeper pulls front duty pre-mastery?
Back to square one.
Retrain gatework, front again—infinite loop...
Supplies bottleneck at gates. Can't flood 'em in...
Can't skip assignments—front crumbles.
Not surge season now, so milder.
Still, Hans swore it's brutal.
Hero's words clicking now.
Western front way rougher than game.
Every last soul gold.
But then...
"Empire not sending reinforcements?"
"Ah... yeah."
Hans: Personnel dried up sudden-like.
Supply drops too.
One answer.
"War prep, then."
"Yeah..."
Word is, half-year out: empire hits northern barbarians hard.
Game pretext: no tributary ties.
Real? Capital nobles' greed-fest.
Nobles bicker interests endless—emperor cooks up demon-free common foe: barbarians.
Fits.
Capital's probably mustering now.
Short hands, thin supplies, deaths climbing.
Worst case.
Worse possible?
"Kyaaack!"
Scream ripped from below, echoing up.
Ah, yeah it can.
Me and Hans dashed down, fearing the worst.
Every eye locked one spot.
But that's...
"H-Hero?"
Bathing in stares: the Hero.
Hero scanned slow, stopped at a wooden tube, knocked tok-tok.
"Hey~ Attach this, please?"
Clutching her cleanly sliced-off arm.