Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: A Bottom-Rung Mercenary Dreams of Success (2)
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The mercenary who'd picked a fight with me stared straight into my eyes, then jabbed a finger at the floor and spoke.
"Fuck, you think slapping on some armor and smearing ink on your head makes you hot shit? Or did you fancy noble brats never learn to lower your eyes when a veteran calls you out? Hey, you spoiled little piggy prince who grew up all soft and doesn't know his place. Lower those eyes already!"
Life's all about taking the good with the good, right? If you're the type to live by that motto and just scrape by, then yeah, when a senior like a god tells you to look down, you look down. But in the mercenary life, if you bow your head when you haven't done shit wrong, you end up a pathetic mark.
I'd just boasted in front of a beauty like Karin that I could handle it, and right after dropping into this game world, I'd kicked away a country knight gig to crawl into the absolute bottom of the mercenary ranks. Fuck if I'm bowing. I'd rather die.
"If I've made you uncomfortable in any way, I apologize. But I'm in the same ten-man squad as Senior Karin, and since it's our first time meeting, I was just trying to get friendly. What exactly made you uncomfortable? I'm curious why you're angry at me."
At my words, the mercenary in front of me stomped the floor hard, the thud drawing eyes from all around.
Men who live and die by the fight gather in taverns like this, so the moment this 'senior' picked a scrap, everyone clapped and cheered, eyes locked on me.
"Hey, that psycho Adolf bastard. Got shot down hard by Karin after groping her, throws a tantrum, and now he's in heat again? Picking on the newbie this time?"
"That thick-skulled fucker deserves an iron mace to the head. He's no human. Go on, newbie—fight back! A real man growls and bites when some senior bullshit artist comes at him!"
"If you're gonna get beat, land one punch first! Show us some balls, you damn rookie!"
Even in knight's armor, I'm just a green intern with zero real kills under my belt. The guy in front of me? Battlefield vet, reeks of blood from a few bodies.
We won't go full lethal with weapons, sure, but between green and seasoned, the bloody one has the edge.
Nobody expects me to win.
"Mommy and daddy might've indulged your tantrums while you suckled at the teat, but in our mercenary corps? No such shit!"
As the mood heated up, he kicked off with his right foot and swung a fist at me.
Veteran killer's punch packed real menace, but the bastard's shit out of luck. Why? My body's previous owner seems to have bathed more than this prick.
Not some novel slow-mo drama where the fist crawls like video playback, but I could see plain as day where it was headed.
"Tenure doesn't make you king shit, you mangy old dog. And what girl falls for a horny mutt charging blind?"
I dodged the punch, then drove a non-lethal shot into his solar plexus, dropping him.
He hit the floor with a thud, and I drew my sheathed sword from my belt, aiming it at his throat while pressing my left foot lightly on his chest.
I added a bit of weight, and Senior Adolf let out a ragged "Guhk," glaring up at me.
"Fuck, you orphan bastard..."
"Losing to a rookie and still flapping your filthy mouth. No shame? Everyone's watching."
The weak senior strained with arms and legs to rise, but I pressed harder with my foot, pinning him.
The crowd's stares turned to shock.
"That armored fuck looks like a fallen knight—guy can fight? Adolf's a hothead, but not weak enough to eat shit from a newbie."
"Picks a fight with a rookie and gets wrecked? Should cut his dick off."
"That crazy armored newbie might actually be useful among this batch of idiots. Pior that prick's off whoring—if he hears, his grin'll split his face. Fuck, can't even rip it off him."
Then Mercenary Captain Dalton sighed and approached, giving me a light shove.
"Cut the dogfight, both of you. Back to posts. Anyone glaring gets killed."
Everyone scattered like nothing happened, resuming drinks and chatter.
Dalton grabbed Adolf by the collar with one hand, hoisted him up, then shook him like a ragdoll.
A faint blue glow... that's mana—no, Aura, since swordsmen use it.
"Adolf, you horny pig fuck. I don't care if you bang Karin or suck her off. Why pick a fight in front of the newbies and eat shit?"
"Captain, that orphan prick..."
Dalton slammed Adolf into an empty table and said,
"Hoo, seen you chase her tail a few times, but starting a brawl this time? Can't let it slide. Kicked you around out of pity before, but you're out. Don't follow, you perennial wild boar."
Adolf frothed at the mouth from shock, and Dalton leaned to whisper in my ear.
"Knew you had skills from first sight, but damn, underestimated you. Thought you were a fat money-grubbing pig, not a golden goose. Expectations high, you milky pup."
"Not even gonna use my name?"
Dalton smirked at my quip, rapping my head lightly.
"Survive your first war, and I'll remember it. Mercs prove with blood, not bullshit, you damn rookie."
That night, till dawn, I partied with Karin and a few other squad vets, drawing some real attention. Next day, Dalton's corps headed to Chiptin Plains—my first battlefield.
**
A month later, our corps stood on Chiptin Plains, awaiting the war horn's blast.
Squad leaders and veteran mercs tore into us rookies to keep our heads straight.
"That armor you're wearing, those spears you're holding? Not bought with your coin. Run and get caught? I'll skin you alive."
"No fear! See that fucker shaking like a drowned dog over there? Shove a spear in his neck. Can't? Die and crawl back to mommy and daddy. Don't wanna die? Do it right."
"Slow feet turn you to meat paste. Walk? Count the grass underfoot to match pace. Run? Sprint till your soles peel off!"
Other rookies wept and trembled at seniors turned demons from doting first-day dads.
But my squad under Pior felt different.
"Hey, rookie."
"Rookie Martin Meyer!"
"Hey, space cadet. Who taught you to march like Baron line infantry fresh on the field? Screw up from Karin? Bookworms like you..."
"I'll fix it, sorry."
"Funny, so you're good. Scared?"
"Follow the squad leader and vets, and half the fear's gone, right?"
Other units terrorized rookies into meat shield duty, no escape. But I'd already smashed thickhead Adolf, proving my worth.
In the squad, I counted as a full merc minus battle experience—so pre-war jokes got slaps on the wrist, not beatings.
Any other rookie pulling that? Spear-drilled for discipline by now.
Mid-jest, Karin called me over.
"I'll cover your ass from behind, but don't drag me down. Don't die."
Cold words, but her worry shone through.
Soon, Captain Dalton's Aura-laced roar boomed.
"Form phalanx! Spears to enemy throats! Match steps! Rookies, copy your vets!"
Vet barking and squad banter cut off sharp.
I followed body memory: speared up, matched my vet neighbor.
Neighboring squads locked phalanx, prepped charge.
Moments later, the massive horn blared. Pior's squad surged as one toward the enemy.