The A-Rank Commission

The days of Nahan, captain of the D-rank mercenary company Black Wolf, were far more peaceful than anyone would have guessed.

First, and before anything else—

"...Finally done."

Sorting the trash.

Once he had emptied that bin of horrors, the members who had gone out for dawn training came trooping back.

"Captain!!"

"Finished—it is."

Remembering the maggots seething in that bin, and the smell, he wanted nothing more than to smack them both upside the head.

"Praise me, Captain!"

"Requested—it is."

But the moment he saw those idiotically bright faces, his anger drained clean away. Like them or not, he would have to keep them with him until all twelve bad endings had been stopped. He set food in front of them and gave a short nod.

"...Yeah. Good work."

"Aha! See that, Hanryang!? The Captain praised only me!"

"Denied. To me—it was."

Look at them. One careless scrap of praise, tossed out without a thought, and they lit up like fools.

Of course, the moment he tossed it out—

"Oh? If you're gonna covet something, covet it properly. Want me to redo the rankings while we're at it?"

"Luna. Easy—it is."

"You—!!"

They launched straight into another meaningless fight, so he dropped a hand on each of their shoulders and spoke.

"Both of you, knock it off and sit."

"Yes, sir."

"—It is."

Good. They listened.

And so it went: a meaningless word of praise, a squabble among themselves, and then his mediation. Right around the time the meal could finally begin, she came down from the second floor.

"Rather noisy, for so early in the morning."

The voice was gentle beyond measure. The air around it was anything but. It was cold to the bone.

A soft step.

The woman who had just taken the last stair looked over the table and let a smile slip free.

"The Captain is right in front of you. The nerve."

Silver-white hair, pale as rising starlight. Golden eyes that glittered like treasure. A dark crimson longsword resting at her back.

Lactea, vice-captain of Black Wolf.

A full month had passed since he had taken over this body, and he still had not grown used to a beauty that sharp.

In any case, her coming downstairs was the signal that she meant to scold the others, so he pulled out one more chair and added, quickly,

"I'm fine. Come sit."

"Yes, Captain."

Unlike the rest, Lactea obeyed him at once, whatever he asked. With her, breakfast for the Black Wolf mercenary company began.

Calling it a meal was generous. A thin soup with a little meat in it, and a few shards of hard bread. Even so—

"Whoa, I keep telling you, Captain, you can really cook!"

"Agreed—it is."

Luna and Hanryang fell on it every time as if they had not eaten in days, and even Lactea, blank-faced as ever, twitched an eyebrow whenever a meal was set before her.

"Captain. How, exactly, did you make this?"

"I told you. Sear the meat, then the hard vegetables, then the soft ones, and boil it. Order matters. Doesn't matter what you're doing."

Take things one step at a time, give them the time they need, and there is nothing you cannot manage. He was proof enough of that—an ordinary twenty-five-year-old Korean who had finished his military service, suddenly dropped into the body of a mercenary captain, and still living through it in one piece.

Lactea, though, still looked unconvinced. She took a careful mouthful of soup and asked,

"And yet when I prepared it by your method, it did not taste like this."

"Of course it didn't, Lactea. You followed my words exactly, and nothing else."

She had thrown the meat into the campfire, then the hard vegetables, then the soft ones, searing them in that order—and then she had put the campfire itself into the pot and boiled it.

"...Urgh."

"Captain?"

"Mmf—here, try this too, Lactea!"

"Ah. Thank you."

The memory of that taste sent a dry heave climbing his throat. He swallowed it with practiced ease and asked,

"Anyway. That commission Red gave us. It's still sitting there, isn't it?"

Red.

Branch manager of the Mercenary Alliance's Babylonia Capital Branch—and the woman who had handed an A-rank commission to a D-rank company like theirs, completely out of her mind.

She had seemed personally close to the company, so he had accepted rather than let her notice that someone else was wearing this body. Even so—

"Refusing really would be better, wouldn't it."

They flinched.

The question had barely left his mouth before all three stopped eating and lifted their heads.

"Th-that's..."

"Luna. Mouth shut—you will."

The other two, Lactea excepted, watched her face for a cue. Lactea held the silence a moment longer, then slowly bowed her head.

"I am ashamed, Captain."

"Hm?"

"I should have settled it long ago, so that it would never trouble you. I am sorry to have caused you concern."

"Ah."

Only then did he understand.

She's sorry she didn't turn it down before I had to open my mouth.

Fair enough. If he, captain of Black Wolf, went in person and said we're incompetent, we can't take this, the picture would not be a pretty one.

It was not really Lactea's failure. He let out a short breath of a laugh and patted the shoulder of the woman still bent before him.

"It's fine. Handle it properly, and come back."

But she—and the others—only went on watching him in silence, and then she asked,

"Captain. Shall we be the ones to go, this time as well?"

"Confident—we are."

These brats.

Eyes blazing, as if returning a commission slip were the easiest job in the world.

...But this time that sharp-eyed Red is tangled up in it.

Better the reliable Lactea than foolish Luna and Hanryang.

He made up his mind, drew his gaze off the other two, and murmured toward her.

"Don't get hurt. Come back safe."

And in the next moment—

"...Yes, Captain."

Lactea smiled.

"I will return shortly."

Of every smile she had ever shown him, and him alone, it was the most brilliant. The most beautiful.

A lightless underground chamber.

A handful of candles were all that lit it, and even a conservative count put more than a hundred people inside. The one small mercy was that the believers who might have served as hostages had not yet gathered.

Not that hostages would have mattered.

"...Clear out rubbish like this, and that is the whole of the work. And yet the commission slip is scarlet."

It would not have stopped the White Sword Ghost, the Babylonia Empire's most wanted.

"The Empire struggles even with something this simple, so its greed never seems to end. Truly, it would be easier just to kill the Emperor and be done."

A metallic click.

The White Sword Ghost tore the longsword from her back, scabbard and all, and hung it at her waist.

"Even so, do not worry. You asked me to wait, so I will wait."

Click. Click. Click.

"At the Captain's side. Forever."

The sound of heels traveled in along the cave. At the mouth of the cult leader's chamber, the junior of the two men standing guard knit his brow and muttered.

"...Senior. Isn't that a woman?"

"Where, where, you bastard!!"

"Th-there. By the entrance."

"Whoa... Hey. Don't you dare report this. I'll handle it myself and head up."

Dark as it was, the silhouette was unmistakably a beauty, and the senior went to her in long strides, eyes already gone.

No idea what she is, but she looks like a believer. Before I hand her over to the cult leader, no harm in playing with her a little, is there? If I can just sweet-talk that uselessly honest junior...

Whatever the case, he was nearly in front of her now. He raised a hand, loose and swaggering.

"Hey, miss, you lost? I'll just—"

A wet, shearing crack.

"—Huh?"

The senior's vision spun once, lazily, and then began to drop.

Every sense was a jumble, and still he saw two things with perfect clarity: a thick aura burning white, and beneath it, a red glint of eyes, wavering.

"The commission was to assassinate the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cult leader, wasn't it?"

"..."

"Pfft! Sorry for asking after I'd already killed you. But you understand, don't you? I was never expecting an answer."

Only then did the man understand.

...This is the end.

Not only for him.

"It's just that Red has been irritating me. Disguise or not, she has been far too rude to the Captain."

Everyone tied to this place was going to die.

A soft drop.

With that, the head, severed crosswise, fell to the floor.

"There won't be any witnesses anyway. If it comes to it, I can simply deny the whole thing."

Boom!

Taking that as her signal, the White Sword Ghost burst out and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠scoured the entire place within seconds.

"Your Holiness?"

"P-please, hhk... j-just spare my—"

"Oh, you're still alive. What a relief. Excuse me—where do you throw out the trash?"

"...? Th-that way."

A clean slice.

A thud.

"Thank you. I'll tidy up properly before I go."

And with that, she finished sorting the trash to perfection.

An hour had passed since Lactea set out.

"Luna's napping, and Hanryang went to the cave to meditate... so I've got about three hours? Anyway. Now's perfect."

He checked his surroundings one more time, then quietly opened the main quest window.

The status window still shed the same pale light, unchanged in any way that mattered. He had passed another ordinary day waiting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for one more bad ending to be stopped, and unfortunately there had been no particular harvest.

"Come to think of it, that's three now, isn't it."

He checked the only thing that had changed—the number of prevented bad endings—and opened the information window.

A new window of some kind had surfaced while Luna and Hanryang were at dawn training.

"God—what kind of lunatic spits chewed meat into the trash bin... urgh!! Is sorting the trash really that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hard?"

The state of that horrific bin had swallowed his attention so completely that he had skipped the window without meaning to.

Fortunately, the system windows of this world answered so long as the meaning came through, even without an exact command. He thought for a moment, then spoke.

"Hmm... Reopen Information?"

Unfortunately, it refused him.

So some of the information is on a timer.

A shame. Still, he had learned something new about the system.

"Ah. So I just have to touch it?"

In the end he had no choice. He reached out, meaning to unlock only what already sat in his own window.

Tap.

Just as he had expected, the touch registered.

A faint light rose, and the letters on the pale system window shuffled themselves over with a soft rustle.

"This is gonna take a while."

Well. It didn't much matter.

He had more time than he knew what to do with anyway.

"Right, then. What am I supposed to do with the year I've got left while I wait?"

A C-rank mercenary who wanted no part of fighting got bored more easily than one might think.

He was loafing there, sketching out the slow, healing life ahead of him, when—

Boom!

The door of the Black Wolf mercenary company's hideout slammed open, and someone stormed inside.

"Captain, have you finally lost your mind!?"

"Pardon?"

Rose-red hair. Eyes like cut rubies. Clean skin, faintly sun-kissed.

"I commissioned you to kill the prelate, and you wiped out the entire order!!?"

"That was me?"

Her name was Ruby Red. The woman who served as branch manager of the Mercenary Alliance's Babylonia Capital Branch.

......Except.

"Because of you, Captain, every funding line from the corrupt nobles has been cut!!"

Why is she calling me Captain?