Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Surpassing the Strong Enemy (2)
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When we first clashed, I was getting completely overwhelmed, and it looked to anyone watching like Schmitz would slice my throat and end it in seconds.
Now, though, the scales of the fight were slowly tipping in my favor.
Even so, all I'd managed was to barely hold my own against him, clashing swords on even footing...
"Die, you pig worse than a wild boar! Quit squealing and stick out your neck quietly!"
"Fuck off, you tiny-dicked little shit. You've only just started holding up against the swings from this body of mine, and you're already strutting around like you've won? What a joke!"
He was talking big like I'd already won and he was getting careless, but I wasn't letting my guard down for a second.
All I'd done was finally gain the skill to potentially kill the enemy right in front of me—Schmitz. If I got cocky and relaxed now, with no guarantee I'd definitely take him down?
The moment my focus slipped, I'd create an opening, and he'd seize it to lop my head off in an instant.
So I had zero intention of easing up or getting arrogant until I'd cut down the bastard in front of me, lopped off his head, and held it high in victory.
He and I kept swinging our two-handed swords in all directions, clashing blades over and over.
In the midst of it, I could hear the mercenaries from the Tristan Mercenary Corps and my own White Beard Mercenary Corps chattering off to the side.
"That rookie's got some real potential, or so Captain Dalton was saying about the little shit. But damn, I didn't think he'd be this good. How long's he even been here? Fighting like that already? Fuck, what a monster."
"Platoon Leader Schmitz, if you get your ass handed to you by a retard like that, it'll be a disgrace to our merc company! Take down that pretty-boy knight wannabe right now!"
"Platoon Leader, man up and rip that fucker's head off his shoulders! Just like you always do. You got this!"
Among mercenaries, a platoon leader was about on par with a squire who'd shed the trainee label and become an apprentice knight—something the nobles loved.
Right now, there weren't any mid-tier or high-tier knights boasting Aura Expert level or above. With two small merc companies of under 200 men total duking it out...
Everyone around us was glued to my duel with Schmitz.
For some reason, it made my chest swell with pride.
If, on my first real outing, I went beyond just hacking at weak-ass grunts and actually took the head of Schmitz—who seemed like a big player on this battlefield...
It'd bring me one step closer to catching those two rabbits I'd aimed for since possessing this isekai body: success and a harem.
"You brain-dead wild boar fuck with nothing but canned rations rattling in your skull! No power behind those swings—did you blow all your strength on whores last night?!"
At the blatant taunt, Schmitz flushed red and huffed out breaths.
He looked just like a real wild boar, and even in the heat of serious combat, I nearly burst out laughing.
"Ah, sorry. Your ugly mug looks so damn much like a wild boar, I couldn't help it. I was taught not to laugh at ugly faces. Your parents would be heartbroken if they knew."
Scraping at him like that lit a real fire under Schmitz. He charged like a goddamn boar, wild with rage.
"You fucking prick! Don't mock my face! I'll hack your limbs off, you shit!"
Watching him barrel in like that, his ugly face must've been a real sore spot.
Enraged, Schmitz swung hard at my left waist.
"Die, you mouthy fuck who mocks people's faces! Vermin like you need to die!"
A heavy, straightforward, but fast strike. I angled my sword to deflect it.
As the weight traveled through my arms, I leaned my body and kicked his waist with everything I had.
His charging momentum met my kick, sending that musclebound 100kg-plus lump flying several meters.
"You goddamn pig fuck, I'm gonna hear your neck snap today!"
As I thrust at his sprawled-out neck, Schmitz used the gauntlet on his arm to parry my blade aside.
The strike meant for his throat only gouged a deep gash in his cheek. Still on the ground, he swung the sword in his right hand at me with a whoosh.
"Tough fucking neck you've got. Why won't you just die, you boar shit?"
I kicked off the ground and leaped back. In that gap, he kicked up dirt and stood again.
He spat, then—looking like he'd made up his mind—charged me with a dead-serious expression, no trash talk this time.
His presence, resolve, and killing intent felt like a different man entirely. The air itself seemed to thicken.
I gripped my sword tighter and watched his every move like a hawk, hoping for any hint of his next attack.
'Something big's coming. Fuck, gotta brace myself.'
"Die! You goddamn mutt!"
Schmitz charged straight at me, bringing his sword down in a overhead chop aimed at my neck.
From the moment he raised it, the air whistled. When it descended, it flashed like lightning.
I'd expected something big, but not this brutal. For a second, I was thrown off.
Ah, fuck. That's strong as hell.
The bastard wore a mocking grin, like no matter how good I was, I couldn't block this.
'Fuck that. I ain't losing to some merc platoon leader who's not even proper low-tier knight level. I didn't ditch that cushy rural knight gig for this.'
Steeling myself, I shifted into a stance perfect for blocking.
To counter the overhead strike, I tilted my sword's tip leftward.
As expected, Schmitz's blade slid down my two-hander. His stance crumbled.
His sure-kill strike had missed. He looked up at me with a "What the fuck? No way!" expression.
"Die, you boar-dicked fuck."
I brought my sword down on his neck a split-second before he could swing his upward.
That unique feel of cleaving flesh and bone hit my hands. His head finally separated from his shoulders.
His massive 100kg-plus body slumped lifelessly, blood gushing like a fountain.
Schmitz—the opponent I'd been fighting tooth and nail—was dead by my hand.
Gazes from the Tristan Mercenary Corps and my White Beard crew locked onto me.
I swiftly grabbed Schmitz's head with my left hand, hoisted it high, and bellowed.
"Martin Meyer of Pior Squad, White Beard Mercenary Corps, has taken the head of Schmitz, Platoon Leader of the Tristan Mercenary Corps!"
In battles with thousands, you wouldn't parade a head unless it was some high-tier knight or baron. But...
This skirmish totaled barely 300 men combined, so a platoon leader counted as a big fish.
To crush enemy morale and boost my rep, now was the time to brag.
"Fuck, the platoon leader's head got taken by a rookie! Schmitz bit it on some fucker named Martin Meyer!"
"This is bullshit! Rally up! We need more guys to take that bastard!"
"Goddamn son of a bitch ruined everything."
The Tristan mercs eyed me with fear or wary glares, morale plummeting.
My White Beard boys seized the chance, howling excitedly as they charged into the fray sword-first.
I was about to join them when Captain Dalton appeared and grabbed my shoulder.
"Captain, I can keep fighting! Just give me the word."
He smirked at that.
"Gotta let the others rack up some kills too. Can't have you hogging all the glory, fodder—er, Martin. Leave this to them and fall back."
Hearing that, I felt a twinge of regret and frustration at not pushing further, but rationally? As a rookie doing it all would make merc life hell going forward.
And most shocking—Dalton had finally called me by name!
He'd acknowledged me as a proper merc.
Pride swelled, mixed with disappointment.
"Understood."
Dalton patted my back like I was a kid.
"Hey, brat, I wasn't half as good in my first scrap. Fuck, lighten up. I'll show you something good instead."
With that, he turned toward the Tristan mercs, gripped his sword, and awakened his Aura.
"Not sure a greenhorn like you could reach this level, but watch and learn. This is the gap between regular grunts and knights. Well, I'm a merc, not a knight, but it'll do."
Aura flowed around Dalton's body.
Unlike Schmitz's wild mess, it was refined and clean. I felt the massive wall between us.
"And this is the difference between elite knights and your average ones!"
With those words, a thick, deep blue Aura—visible even to normals—engulfed him.
He drew his sword like he wanted me to see, raising it high. A thin veil of blue mist coated the blade.
That was the Aura Expert realm—the mark of the strong in this game world.
"I'd still be living large with that damn count if shit hadn't gone south. This is the real me."
From the game lore, Dalton had been a high-tier knight for a count's house until five years ago, when some bullshit frame-up exiled him. And in just five years, he'd built this merc company on his rep and skill alone. The man was a legend.
Saying that, Dalton kicked off the ground and leaped into the fray.
"Dalton von Prime, Captain of the White Beard Mercenary Corps, has come to deliver heavenly judgment to you Tristan bastards!"
He swung at an enemy in steel breastplate without a care.
Normally, the sword would've bounced off. But an Aura Expert's blade cleaved clean through armor and torso.
A sight straight out of the game world—this fantasy spectacle held my eyes captive.
I trailed behind, straining to learn even a scrap, but the skill gap was too vast for much gain.
Still, my heart pounded.
Because I knew someday, I'd reach that level too.
And that day, the White Beard Mercenary Corps claimed a massive victory in the battle.