Chapter 29
Chapter 29
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: If You Want to Make It Big, Dive into the Tiger's Den (1)
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As before, our squad ended up at the vanguard of the White Beard Mercenary Corps once again.
The rookie shits, who used to be utter fuckmeat, had rolled around in real combat for a few days now. Just like how a three-year-old kid doesn't fear tigers, they strutted around like veterans based on their damn expressions alone.
"Fuck, those rookie shitheads. Bunch of useless fucks who can't fight for shit, volunteering to offer up their necks."
"Baker bro, don't get too cocky. What if soldiers directly under that count the captain faced last time show up?"
"Bullshit and lie down. Why not just whimper that you're scared?"
Baker glanced toward me—no, toward Captain Dalton beside me.
"And with our Captain Dalton personally fighting alongside us, you think those retards stand a chance?"
Captain Dalton—or hell, even I, who hadn't reincarnated into this world and experienced a war or two yet—could see that the guys under me were basically chicks just sprouting their first downy feathers.
Watching those punks act like hot shit, as if they were something special, was hilarious. It was like kids pretending to be adults.
They were probably doing it to forget the terror of not knowing when they'd croak, stuck at the front lines like this. But I couldn't hold back my laughter at the sight.
"Pfft, those retard fucks. They've fought in a few days of war and they're already strutting and shitting their mouths off."
Karin snickered at my words.
"When I first saw you, Squad Leader, you gave off exactly that vibe."
"But I was flying high from day one, right? I beheaded the squad leader, and later Schmitz too..."
"Men are boys even when grown—looks like Martin Squad Leader, who ditched knighthood for mercenary work, is pretty childish himself."
As the two of us bantered like this before the battle kicked off, someone smacked the back of my head.
I turned around to see Captain Dalton standing there with a shady grin.
"They say love blooms even on the battlefield... You two already dating? Why the fuck are you chattering so lovey-dovey?"
"No, I mean, not yet..."
"You green-as-grass punk with no blood even dried on your head talks a big game. Cut the shit and go taunt those retard fucks over there. Gotta lay the groundwork before we show off our skills."
Dalton clapped my shoulder and handed me the spear with that knight Hans's helmet—the one I'd decapitated a few days ago—still attached.
"I've handled the talks with Count Zaltzheim myself, so go wild with the provoking. The reputation of our mercenary corps is riding on that mouth of yours."
"Leave it to me, Captain. I'm damn confident in my trash talk. I'll rile up a few of those bastard cunts till their blood boils over."
I took the spear with Hans's helmet and positioned myself where the count's men under Philorang could see me clearly.
Then I started bragging about it like a kid showing off a new toy to his parents' friends, cranking up the annoyance factor as much as possible.
But before I even opened my mouth, the assholes in Count Philorang's camp unleashed a barrage of fervent cheers.
"Fuck you, you orphan homo faggot shit!"
"Look at this fucker bragging with a dead guy's helmet, the filthy prick who ate shit mixed with diarrhea."
"Hey, you retard-headed fuck! Seeing a shrimp-dick punk like you strut makes my blood boil! I'll neatly slice off that pretty decoration on your shoulders today!"
I hadn't even said shit to provoke them, hadn't even spoken, and they were already showering me with such enthusiasm. Made me wanna bow in gratitude.
'This chance won't come twice. Let's do it.'
I bowed deeply toward them.
"I haven't even started talking yet, and you're cheering me on like this? Thanks a fucking ton, you worthless shits worse than rookie fuckmeat."
The mercenaries under Count Philorang heard my greeting and fired back with a scorching volley of curses.
I let their words go in one ear and out the other, then shook the spear wildly while mocking them in the most infuriating voice I could muster.
"Before joining this war, I heard the knights and soldiers led by Count Philorang were the empire's finest. But after fighting them? Fuck, no bigger bunch of pathetic noob retards in the world!"
To be precise, they weren't the empire's absolute best, but the soldiers and Hans's level were pretty damn high.
A lowly knight like him handled aura decently and even unleashed his signature move on me. Made me think Count Philorang's army was no joke.
But in my position of taunting them, was I gonna cough and bullshit like some noble prick, praising how sharp Hans's sword was or how honorable his death was, kissing ass till my asshole tore?
"Sir Hans here, being a knight, rocked super expensive gear—armor and weapons top-notch. But his skills were so shit he couldn't even wield aura properly. Swung his sword a few times, though."
I deliberately paused mid-sentence, and knights and soldiers from Count Philorang rushed forward, grinding their teeth at my words.
I clutched my stomach in mock laughter.
"No, but seriously—he used the exact same sword as me, and every attack felt like a feather? With skills like that, I doubt he caught even a single fly on a normal day. And Count Philorang, feeding and funding knights like him with lands and gold? What a merciful lord. Haven't met him yet, but I can tell. Deus himself must be moved by the count's benevolence."
At that, the true manly knights of this game—Count Philorang's knights—flailed their arms in the air, hurling curses.
"Defiling the honor of a knight who fought bravely and died gloriously? You deserve to be torn limb from limb and cast into hell, you whore-spawn fuck!"
"Fitting for lowly scum mercenaries—your words are as base as it gets! I'll rip your limbs off and feed you to the pigs!"
"You pathetic worm, come here! Mid-tier knight Sir Belterheim will give you a proper schooling."
Seeing them rage like horny boars in heat filled me with pride.
My role right now was to draw all the attention, aggro, and hostility onto the White Beard Mercenary Corps.
Them flipping out like this proved I was nailing my job. And if Count Zaltzheim won this battle...
The White Beard Mercenary Corps's fame would spread far and wide, and my own rep for taunting and shining at the forefront would skyrocket.
'If you wanna make it big, you gotta risk your neck.'
With my resolve set, I flipped them the bird.
"You braindead fucks getting your asses kicked by rookie shits under me talk a big game. If you're so butthurt, come prove your skills against us."
Then I twirled the spear with Hans's helmet and sauntered back to our lines.
"Fuck that whoring bastard! That fucker who dirtied our Philorang count's honor has to die no matter what!"
"Our Black Bear Mercenary Corps? Worthless meat shields not even as good as rookies?"
"Filthy fuck with a dick-rag in his mouth. Gonna rip that mouth of his wide open."
Behind me poured a torrent of enemy curses—what a massive wave of praise. I strutted back like a triumphant general.
As I rejoined the ranks, my subordinates chattered nervously, shaking like leaves.
"Isn't this getting too big? Those knights look pissed as fuck. Can we even win?"
"Even if... this feels like we're fucked."
"You're always hot-blooded, but this is beyond—it's a full blaze. Not sure we can handle it. Aren't we screwed?"
Even Lucia spoke up worriedly.
"We're barely pulling our own weight now... Can we survive getting targeted by that many enemies?"
Looking closer, her tail and ears drooped in fear.
I'd stirred the pot myself, but damn, maybe I'd gone too hard.
But if you're a real man—or wanna make it big—half-assing it is worse than burning it all down like hellfire.
"What, so full of worries. When you first grabbed spears for training, you fretted about surviving war too. But now? You're not dying or fucking up like those other squad rookies, right?"
They all nodded.
"So quit worrying and follow my orders. Win this war, and you'll be heroes too. Clear your damn heads."
I patted Lucia's shoulder and whispered just loud enough for her.
"Like day one, how you perform today decides if we all croak or become heroes. I believe in you, Lucia."
Instead of words, she shook off her fear, set her face in determination, and nodded.
With the mood set, Count Philorang's soldiers charged us like rabid bulls in an arena.
The taunt had landed perfectly.