Chapter 47
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: Rat Ranger Birth! (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Over the past two months, Hamster Wheel Village had made astonishing progress.
Clearing away the hideous ruins of the dilapidated houses and weeding out the overgrown brush had created a fairly decent living space.
In the meantime, Rodentia had deployed Spirit Horned Rats as sentinels throughout the village.
Any lazy rats just mooching off food or harboring disloyal thoughts were ruthlessly culled from the candidate roster.
The survivors were the absolute elite.
The final twelve Ratkin selected were the most devout and diligent—above all, burning with fierce determination.
"You are now, from this moment on, the first batch of Rat Ranger candidates!"
I strolled back and forth in front of the neatly lined-up kids, my red instructor's cap—complete with stiffly perked-up brim—pulled low over my eyes.
"Survive this hellish training and become official Rangers! You'll charge into dungeons with pride, claim the spoils, take on guild commissions, and rake in silver coins!"
At the word "silver coins," the kids' nostrils flared wide.
"Not only that—you'll earn the admiration of everyone in the village! You'll escape that wretched life of cowering in damp alleys, getting clubbed and scavenging trash!"
"Ugh!"
The twelve candidates gulped dryly in unison, their bloodshot eyes flashing.
Having dangled the sweet carrot, it was time to crack the whip.
I dragged out the bone-deep hell course from my past life's K-training camp and mercilessly grafted it onto my otherworldly kin.
"We start with basic physical conditioning! Twenty burpees—omit the final cadence!"
"One! Two! Three! Up!"
Dust billowed as the Ratkin poured sweat like rain, pounding the dirt ground.
Their small frames and weak muscles made their form sloppy as hell, but the grit leaking through their clenched teeth was vicious.
But tension always slips through the smallest cracks to cause disaster!
"One! Two! Three! Nineteen!"
"One! Two! Three!"
A clear, shrill squeak pierced the dusty training ground.
"Twenty! Down!"
The voice belonged to Temmy, the pickpocket girl.
An icy silence blanketed the steaming drill yard in an instant.
Temmy's face turned ashen.
I flicked up my red hood and grinned.
"Candidate Temmy!"
"Eek! S-sorry!"
"Who said to add the final cadence? And a 'down' on top? All halt. Ten more reps!"
"Argh!!!!"
The candidates' muscle-cramping screams echoed desperately through the northern woods.
Of course, with my round ears perked, it was more fun than I'd expected.
'Instructor duty ain't half bad.'
Once the infernal conditioning wrapped up, we handed out crude wooden rifles that my carpenters and I had carved through the night.
I wasn't crazy enough to give live-fire Rapid Bowguns to this ragtag bunch who couldn't even point a muzzle.
After spinning their souls out on the drill yard carousel, relentless drill training followed without a break.
"At ease! Form ranks! Left face! Right face!"
"Left face! Right face! Down!"
At first, they tripped over their own feet, headbutted neighbors, and tangled up.
But after days of rolling in the dirt like maniacs, the street rats started shaping into a proper unit.
Thanks to the Ratkin lightness and agility?
They imprinted the movements at an unnaturally fast rate.
"Ho?"
Hilde's eyes widened like hazelnuts as she sipped cheap leaf tea from a prime shady spot.
During the honey-sweet ten-minute break, with the candidates sprawled out, Hilde scurried over and prodded.
"You—where'd you learn that bizarre training? Already this sharp? It's as disciplined as Adlerheim's frontline infantry!"
"All my own secret sauce."
"No way! Don't tell me that Rodentia spirit... is controlling them with magic?!"
Word was, Hilde's homeland Adlerheim was a hardcore militarist state famous across the continent.
If an elf drilled from that place was this shocked,
my makeshift project was clearly on a successful track.
Push their bodies to the limit on the drill yard by day?
Then fill their heads with ideology by night.
As the sun set, a crackling bonfire roared to life in the clearing's center.
Sena ascended the makeshift podium.
At my request, she'd recite the Hamster Wheel Church doctrine she'd hammered out with Rodentia.
The core was shedding the slums' grime, instilling faith, discipline, and warrior courage.
"Be honest always! Shun tricks, embrace diligence! Never ignore persecuted kin—spin the wheel furiously for our Lord!"
As the military-style indoctrination mixed with revival fervor hit its peak,
Rodentia manifested overhead as a massive golden illusion.
Sena shouted as if on cue.
"Behold! Our Lord is none other than Rodentia herself!"
"Woooah!"
Beneath the bonfire's crimson flicker and sacred gold glow, the twelve Rat Ranger candidates bellowed chants with fiery, bloodshot eyes.
"We are the great warriors of the Hamster Wheel Lord! Down!"
"We are the valiant steel rats to overrun this corrupt world! Down!"
A few days later.
The Rat Rangers were thrusting wooden rifles at empty air under the blazing sun, sweat pouring.
"Hah! Hah! Hah!"
"Down! Down!"
Rough cadences echoed across the yard when a racket erupted from the village edge.
Rumble, rumble!
"Village chief! A-a carriage is coming!"
A lookout's frantic cry.
'What? Did the Polline Merchant Company deliver early?'
I stepped onto the road and froze at the sight.
It was utterly out of place on the dusty unpaved track.
A top-tier twin-horse carriage—black wood polished smooth, ornate gold leaf inlays—rolled grandly into the village entrance.
"...!"
The training kids' eyes snapped to it, rifles still in hand.
The coachman hopped down and politely opened the door.
An elf in impeccable frock coat stepped out gracefully, shoe tips hitting mud.
Rich, luxurious perfume pierced the dust to waft over.
"Oh, marvelous. To think such a fine self-sufficient community has formed in this remote forest ruin!"
The man exclaimed with theatrical flair.
"Who are you people?"
To my wary question, the elf doffed his hat, bowing deeply over his chest.
"Ah, forgive my late introduction. I represent the Ratstein Charitable Foundation. I serve as secretary to the esteemed Baron."
"Ratstein? Baron?"
"Indeed. Our foundation's noble purpose is aiding impoverished minority beastkin like rodentkin, enlightening them with civilization!"
The words rolled off his tongue in slick packaging.
"Charitable foundation, huh. First I've heard of luxury charity in these parts."
I adjusted my red hood askew, scanning him head to toe.
Despite my suspicious glare, the elf's easy smile stuck fast.
"Quite understandable."
He produced a thick parchment document and a bulging pouch of silver coins.
The jingle riveted every villager's gaze.
"Lately, rumors swirled of slum Ratkin banding together for self-reliance. I came half-doubting, but to find such a spacious village! Truly splendid."
"Oh, really."
"Thus, per the Baron's will, our foundation wishes to support this worthy community with substantial funding!"
Sena beside me faltered at the surprise offer, lips twitching.
"F-funding...?"
"Ah, mere money insufficient? Naturally, we've opportunities for fine education to cultivate these poor children."
The elf wove sweet words effortlessly, as if we'd bite any second.
"Send us your village's young, sturdy Ratkin. At our foundation estate on Ratstein Isle, we'll provide perfect education and board free of charge. A once-in-a-lifetime chance for slum kids' futures."
A pitch-perfect, honeyed deal.
Hefty funding, free education and lodging—no strings?
To starving alley orphans, it'd seem a fairytale rescue.
But warning lights flashed red in my head.
"Hey, rat!"
Hilde yanked my collar hard from behind.
"What?"
Her lips quivered as she whispered low, out of the elf's earshot.
"That crest on the carriage door—House Schwarzenstein, the barons."
"Who's that? Big shot?"
"Top arms dealers in Adlerheim. War profiteers swimming in blood money. Bought their title from Winster Kingdom decades ago... Arms dealers running a charity? Doesn't add up."
Hilde's alert spiked my survival instincts.
'Yeah, showing up out of nowhere to "help"?'
Past life memories screamed: charity without quid pro quo was obvious.
Half tax dodges for the rich.
The rest? Scammers preying on desperation.
An outlander arms family trekking to this mudhole for slum rats?
[Apostle, take care!]
[That noble reeks of rot beneath heavy perfume! A mousetrap disguised as cheese!]
The elf secretary waited leisurely, smile unwavering, for my reply.
"What say you to the proposal? For the children's futures, no better chance."
I flashed a good-little-rat smile.
"Thanks for the kind words! But our Hamster Wheel Church holds strict self-reliance from our own fields. We'll gratefully accept the goodwill alone."
I drew the line sharp.
That jingling pouch right there?
Not ours. Don't even look.
Rejected flat-out, the elf showed no irritation.
He nodded smoothly, all poise.
"A pity. I respect such fine independence. Should the wild woods prove too harsh... or hearts change, contact us anytime. Our doors stand open."
He donned his hat and boarded.
Screech.
The luxury carriage kicked up dust, slowly vanishing toward the capital.
I stared coldly at the receding dot, that flashy crest on the door.
"...Something's fishy."
House Schwarzenstein.
Suspicious as hell.
'We earn our own share ourselves.'
Easy windfalls from strangers always demand equal payback.
I shook off the visitors' sweet temptation clean.