Chapter 105
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 105
Chapter Title: Killing Pappenheim (2)
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The mercenary captains all burst out laughing, clutching their stomachs upon hearing that.
"Well, they do exaggerate their nobles' achievements a bit to get smaller rewards for us. But deliberately trying to downplay our accomplishments?"
"Yeah, if it were some skirmish between barons or earls, maybe. But this war is being watched by His Majesty the Emperor himself?"
"Doesn't this Pappenheim guy know that if that damned bastard openly cuts our merits, his head will roll for the crime of deceiving the Emperor?"
It wasn't the reaction I'd intended, but it was the normal one.
And rightly so—who in their right mind would be crazy enough to risk their neck by stealing merits in plain sight, when it was guaranteed to be exposed?
It was nonsense by any common sense.
The problem was that common sense didn't apply to that Pappenheim bastard.
"Sure, any normal noble—who'd be insane enough to downplay our mercenary corps' merits when they know full well it could cost them their head? Unless, of course, not doing so would expose their own grave failures or crimes and put their life in danger."
Everyone nodded at that.
"But here's the thing. Last time I saw Margrave Estelle at Marseille Castle, I heard this story. In that Pashtek Hill ambush where we shone so brightly, our White Beard Mercenary Corps supposedly captured a 'baron trying to desert.' Total fabrication."
The margrave had come to the castle herself, praised my exploits right away for watching them closely, and that's when she mentioned it.
It was a fact I could confidently defend even if these captains questioned it.
Pulling out a real event and name-dropping the margrave shifted their mocking smirks a little.
They furrowed their brows, tilted their heads, and started listening intently.
"What exactly was the lie?"
"Our White Beard Mercenary Corps held the line in the Pashtek Hill ambush to keep the enemy from escaping, fighting in the thickest of the melee. And the baron we faced wasn't some deserter—he was commanding elites assigned to carve an escape route for the count leading Montmartre's 5,000 troops."
No general or noble, no matter how incompetent, would entrust elites to a coward trying to desert in a crisis.
Why? Handing elites to a deserter in a dire spot would just mean your lifeline follows the rat fleeing the ship.
'Who in their right mind would do something that insane?'
At my words, they all rubbed their foreheads and sighed.
"If that's true, then that Pappenheim baron is no ordinary trash."
"I figured even a human scum like him wouldn't dare deceive the Emperor knowing it could cost his head. But dragging in Margrave Estelle makes it sound real."
"So you're saying this Pappenheim baron might actually try to shave our merits?"
Seeing the mood tipping my way, I smiled and looked at them.
Right on cue, one captain, fuming, downed his drink, slammed the glass down, and spoke.
"Honestly, I've heard about that damned Pappenheim baron too. Word is, he's an incompetent fool who thinks he's a genius."
All eyes, including mine, turned to him.
"Back when I fought in Falkenheim County, I heard it from the Black Sparrow Mercenary Corps captain—we were allies. Pappenheim issued some bizarre orders that wiped out three allied mercenary units and caused massive losses for the rest. Then he slashed the survivors' pay by thirty percent."
I'd doubted my ears when I first heard that.
If your screw-up causes other mercenaries huge losses, even a conscienceless bastard with half a brain would...
Admit fault, apologize, and stuff their pockets with extra gold.
But issuing idiotic orders that slaughter your own hires, then docking their pay instead of paying reparations?
Damn, I'd pegged him as a lunatic from his absurd proposal to me, but I never imagined it was that bad.
Another mercenary chimed in.
"Fuck, that Pappenheim baron ain't human. About ten years ago, I served under him and Tolles Baron in a territory war. We fought hard enough for victory, but he stiffed our bonuses, claiming we didn't fight bravely enough."
Risking your life for battle and getting shorted on rewards.
To mercenaries, that's worse than a pedophile or heretic—pure scum nobility.
Because even if you stake your life for victory, these bastards skim it all, making your gamble worthless.
The captains agreed, raging like it was personal.
"Holy shit, what a dog of a man."
"That kind of bastard would totally steal the merits from Pashtek like you said."
"Pappenheim, you're the king of human trash. Fuck, I surrender."
Satisfied with their buy-in, a captain from the corner asked,
"We get that Pappenheim's trash trying to downplay our merits, but what's in it for him?"
"Nobles get lands and titles based on their merits, right? Pappenheim probably wants to minimize ours, redistribute to nobles, and stretch his own claim as far as possible. The more their feats are recognized, the more territory the Emperor carves out from the new conquests for them."
The questioner nodded.
"Makes sense—nobles live and die by their lands. And a moron like Pappenheim? Totally plausible."
With the crowd's opinion swung my way, someone asked,
"So what, we protest? We could rally for better rewards or merit distribution, but mess it up and it backfires on us. You wouldn't drag us into your protest, right?"
Of course not.
"No. Just that this is happening—Pappenheim's a scum who's falsifying reports on our movements to shrink mercenary rewards. He'll be the culprit behind your shorted shares too. If you're unhappy with the merits, protest with us."
With that, I called over Dalton, nicely buzzed from drink.
"Captain, let's head out."
"Who the hell are you to tell me when to come and go?"
"Who else? Martin Meyer."
"Fine, we've had our fill. Let's go."
We slipped out of the captains' tent right away.
Strolling casually until we were out of earshot, Dalton asked, puzzled,
"Hey, we should be protesting Pappenheim ourselves—why not push them to join?"
"Because bowing to ask them to protest puts us in their debt. We'd owe massive thanks to any who join."
Politics, business, society—all demand payment for favors.
And frankly, our corps protesting alone would get Pappenheim's falsified report to the Emperor exposed as Emperor-defiling forgery—off with his head.
With proper merits, we'd get full rewards—why split cash with them?
That money could buy Karin her favorite foods or a fine bow, and we'd still be short.
"True enough."
"Think about it. If they join the protest on their own, no payout needed, right?"
"Can't argue that."
I grinned wickedly and cackled.
"And hey, merit rewards always feel a tad short, don't they? Even for a 200-gold feat yielding 200, you think, '210 would've been nice.' Now, if word spreads Pappenheim forged the documents—what'll they think?"
Dalton slapped his knee.
"Mercenary merits get decided by titled nobles who campaigned here—so yeah, some'll buy that Pappenheim tampered."
"Exactly. They barely contributed but claim losses from 'soon-to-be-headed' Pappenheim. Can't deny a Emperor-defiler lied on merits too, so other corps will pile on for extra cuts. Our rewards swell too—to appease us, they'll have to pay more."
Dalton laughed maniacally.
"You mad bastard—turning Pappenheim's neck into such a goldmine."
"If he's dying anyway, we might as well milk it."
Two months later, our allies hit strategic goals, ending the war in the Rhinepalz Empire's victory.
Imperial-sealed merit documents arrived for us.
The next day, some mercenary corps protested, claiming Pappenheim—who screwed over our White Beard Mercenary Corps—pulled strings.
Otherwise, their piddly rewards made no sense.