Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: The Rock-Bottom Mercenary Dreams of Success
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The easiest path to wealth, fame, and success for someone at the very bottom of society is to become a mercenary.
Of course, becoming a mercenary doesn't guarantee success.
More than half drop out within the first year, and most of the rest end their mercenary careers stuck at a mediocre level...
But a select few survivors earn incomes that rival those of the wealthy, and some even become knights, receiving lands and completely changing their status.
Those success stories openly mock the low-ranking knights scraping by in remote villages with their meager fiefdoms.
Such tales were rare in actual history, but in this goddamn trash game, they happen all the time. So the moment I possessed this body, I ditched my position as heir to a rural knight family and decided to become a mercenary.
I set my sights on one day leading a massive mercenary corps, amassing wealth, fame, and my own harem...
But unlike those grand ambitions, what I—a total newbie just starting out—needed most right now was to find a mercenary group that would hire me and secure today's meal. Damn it.
"The White Beard Mercenary Corps is recruiting rookies! Any greenhorn punks interested? We'll buy you booze and grub—come on in!"
The mention of food made my stomach growl reflexively.
Since leaving for the city to find mercenary work, I hadn't eaten properly, and now my gut was protesting the mistreatment.
The name sounded like the very group I'd been searching for since possessing this body.
Signing up there would solve my job, food, and mercenary debut all at once.
As I sorted my thoughts and glanced around, a crowd of young, naive guys—clearly thinking the same—had already swarmed the shouter.
"Heh, milk-scented brats. You lot wanna become badass mercs like me?"
The guys next to me shouted back.
"I've dreamed of being a strong mercenary since I was a kid!"
"I wanna be a merc and become a tough guy like you, big bro!"
"Just give the orders! I'll even fake dying if you tell me to!"
The bald man recruiting outside the tavern smirked and said,
"Name's Dalton, captain of the White Beard Mercenary Corps. You all look like scrawny scarecrows I'd knock over with a pinky, but fine. I'll make a special exception and let you join. Eat up today—no worrying about coin. Think of it as your last supper, kiddos."
At those words, about twenty of us—obvious country bumpkins fresh off the farm—rushed into the tavern. But Dalton grabbed my collar with one hand.
"Hold up, you. You're not coming. Scram, you weakling."
"Why not me?"
Dalton thumped my armor with his fist and said,
"One look at you screams knight family brat who's read some books and swung a sword a bit. We're looking for meat shields—disposable fodder! We don't need milk-scented smartass punks like you. Get lost, rookie! Go suck on mommy's tit some more."
"I really want to work for this corps. I'll do anything you say, so give me a chance."
Seeing I wouldn't back down easily, Dalton clutched his forehead, sighed, and said,
"You look like you got kicked out of your knight family and have no clue about your own worth. Our mercs might seem like thick-headed idiots, but we don't treat sword-wielders and book-smart guys the same as those serf meat shields. I'd love to hire a trained pup like you if we're taking rookies, but shit..."
As Dalton said, in this game's world, newbies fell into two categories.
One was the meat shields—poor serf boys booted out once they hit adulthood to fend for themselves. The other was guys like me: born to rural knight families but failing to become knights, ending up unemployed.
Both were rookie mercs, but just like high school vs. college grads get different treatment as new hires in the real world, knight family spawn and serf stock were worlds apart in this cursed fantasy realm.
The man in front of me eyed me with pity, sighed heavily, and continued.
"Sigh, you green pup who hasn't even dried off yet. A guy like you could join any corps as a veteran merc from the start, getting double rookie pay. Know what that means? Your salary alone is worth ten times those worthless punks who just rushed in. But we're broke as hell right now—we can't afford pricey ones like you. So look elsewhere. If you don't scram, I'll crack your skull."
Other captains in this game might lowball me just for being a rookie and screw me over, but his blunt honesty drew me in more.
Not yet, but the White Beard Mercenary Corps was the group named characters from the protagonist's party would pass through.
I knew that, so I couldn't miss this chance to connect with them. I had to join here.
"Thanks for explaining so kindly."
"Yeah, right? So go join some rich corps in another city, punk."
"But I want to serve here with those meat shields. Let me join."
"Fuck, you shit-for-brains. I'm telling you nicely to piss off—why can't you get it? Deaf? Should this old man yank off that helmet and dig earwax with a shovel? Scram, you horny lunatic."
I smirked at that.
"Fuck, this punk's laughing? Gonna mourn today..."
"You're right—I'm nuts. Fuck it, I'd rather start as a merc and aim big than inherit a tiny knight family and live as a beggar knight. So I ditched my inheritance and bolted."
Dalton stared at me like, This guy's a real psycho.
And yeah, I was a crazy bastard—or an idiot kicking away luck that rolled in.
"That's why I get it. Fresh punks like me who don't know shit—if I acted all noble to keep discipline, I'd end up wrecked. So if I'm doing this mercenary thing, I wanna start from the absolute bottom and climb properly. That's why I came here ready to roll in the dirt."
"...Fuck, you pigheaded moron who drowned your brains in a well."
"Ditching the family inheritance means starting from rock bottom and climbing slow and steady. Like you said, captain—if I've got skills, I could surpass veteran merc, even become captain... maybe snag a title. No skills? I die like those meat shields."
Since possessing this trash game's world, I'd charged ahead without a single hesitation.
The road was long; no time for second-guessing.
Dalton and I locked eyes for a full minute before he burst out laughing, clutching his gut.
"Fuck, you're right. Better a gutsy psycho like you than some knight-trained prick strutting around. Fine—same pay and terms as the meat shields. Deal?"
"Yes. Life's a gamble anyway, right? War's coming soon enough, and you'll recognize my skills then. My treatment'll improve."
"Fuck, you're one barracks-smart bastard. I like you. You're under Pior's squad. Stuff yourself today, then prove your shit in battle, you milk-scented rookie fuck!"
When he approved my enlistment, I sighed inwardly in relief.
No more meal worries, and I'd snagged a real shot at shining.
Inside the tavern, the meat shield rookies were already chugging booze and devouring snacks, laughing raucously with the vets.
I asked around the mercs who met my eyes and found Pior's squad spot, but only one person was there: a stunningly beautiful elf woman.
A squad should have about ten mercs—why just her? As I wondered, she gestured for me to sit.
"You're the newbie for Pior's squad, right?"
Caught off guard, I blurted,
"Yes, that's me."
The elf woman glanced at me disinterestedly and grumbled,
"Pior the squad leader and the others went whoring after drinking here. Beats me why they blow their cash on that crap."
...This spot was meant for rookies like me to mingle with vets over drinks, but seriously?
Even the squad leader—with his armband and all—ditching for a prostitute? Too much...
But thanks to that, I got to chat one-on-one with this beauty, so I wasn't complaining.
Her breasts were firm and perfectly sized—not too big, not too small, spilling just right from one hand. Pointed elf ears, golden hair, emerald eyes.
The gorgeous elf beauty from the game had appeared before me in the flesh.
The woman extended her hand and said,
"I'm Karin, veteran merc in Pior's squad. Not that it's much—just some seniority among mercs."
Veteran merc: in Korean terms, like a staff sergeant squad leader.
Mess up with her, and my merc life would start rough...
"Martin Meyer. Joining Dalton's corps today. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise. But that armor."
She pointed at it and asked,
"You from a knight family?"
"Yeah, but I'm still just a rookie, right?"
Karin nodded and said,
"Even among rookies, you're worlds apart from those spearless idiots over there. And from the grip, I can tell—you've got skills. Got experience?"
"No killing anyone yet, and no women like those guys chasing whores."
She looked at me like trash.
Made sense: in a killing job, zero bodies was like zero resume.
"Met plenty of armored young masters starting as mercs. Curious how you'll turn out. Confident?"
I snorted and replied,
"Yes. If not, I'd have joined elsewhere as a veteran merc instead of trekking here."
Karin gave the faintest smile.
"Two years as a merc, first nut like you."
"Really?"
She tapped my chin with her index finger, smiled, and said,
"Prove that guts. Show you're more than just crazy."
"Yes, ma'am."
Then, with a soulless expression—like a senior asking out of duty, not interest—she queried,
"Rookie, what's your dream?"
Becoming a merc captain was fine; a proper knight with stable civil servant life wasn't bad. But I didn't ditch my family in this isekai just to stop there.
I declared it boldly,
"My dream is to lead a huge merc corps or become a noble with vast lands—grabbing wealth, fame, beauties, and everyone's envy in one ultimate rise."
Karin smirked.
"Yeah? Every rookie dreams big like that. I did too."
As we talked, someone approached from behind and slapped my shoulder.
I shot up quick—rookie reflexes—and the guy yelled angrily out of nowhere,
"This fucker hitting on Karin like some rookie punk? Horny much?"
...Crazy bastard? Wait, even as a newbie, this was a merc band, not the army.
Just taking it would make me a sheep.
No wrongdoing on my part, so time to clap back properly?
Fuck, just try raising a hand. You're dead.