Chapter 5
Chapter 5
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Battle of Chiptin Plains (3)
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Was it because I'd sliced that guy who looked pretty high-ranking clean in half with one stroke?
The gazes of the bastards around him all snapped toward me in unison.
"Fuck, Squad Leader Karltan got taken out in one hit! Tear that rat bastard's waist in two!"
"Kill that punk strutting around in plate armor like he owns the sky! We ain't lettin' Squad Leader Karltan go alone. Smash that fucker too!"
"...Shit, can't stand seein' this weak-lookin' night owl punk actin' all big after luckin' into killin' the squad leader! Everyone, group up!"
The murderous glares of about eight soldiers locked onto me alone, sending a chill racing up my spine.
But maybe because I'd already killed several men today?
Or perhaps because these charging idiots were all such pushovers—the fear slithered away before I knew it.
In its place, a burning competitive fire ignited: the desire to win this war no matter what, the hot ambition for promotion, the urge to crush these morons and prove my worth to everyone.
And clearest of all, that beautiful woman who flashed in my mind.
'Karin... I want to prove my abilities to Veteran Mercenary Karin and make her look only at me.'
With a goal so tantalizingly close, the fear of death vanished completely.
The madness of war surged through me—a wild confidence and desire that set my blood ablaze, ready for anything.
"Fuck, you the kind of shits whose own parents took one look at your ugly mugs and dropped dead from shock at birth? If your faces look like they got ground on a whetstone, at least man the fuck up! You cluster like little bitches, pissing yourselves at a rookie like me? Pathetic wastes of life!"
Before I knew it, my legs had kicked off the ground, hurling me spear-first toward the cluster of morons aiming their polearms at me.
"Cut that pig's throat so he can't even squeal!"
"Look at this little shit actin' cocky just 'cause he lucked into killin' the squad leader. Tiny as a flea."
"Let's see that ugly face under the helmet, you fuck!"
The soldiers who'd lost their squad leader tried to coordinate, restricting my movement to pin me down...
But unless they hit me with something heavy as an iron mace, I wouldn't get stabbed by spears as long as I didn't freeze up in fear.
Sure, if they could use Aura like Captain Dalton, it'd be different—but just look at 'em. No way these clowns could handle Aura.
I dodged attacks, sometimes taking hits on purpose, burrowing into their midst.
The closer I got, the more their smug faces—bragging about their numbers—twisted with the realization of death looming near, fear creeping in.
They fumbled for maces or one-handers at their waists to fend me off, but I was faster—my sword slashed the arms of the first idiot right in my path.
"My arms, my arms! Fuck you, orphan scum!"
Hating the noisy wailing from the guy in front of me, I humanely lopped his head off with my sword.
"Gonna burst my eardrums, you bastard. Only beauties get to squeal like that in front of me."
He was already dead, so no reply—but it sure pissed off the rest.
Having lost two comrades in a blink, they charged with fire in their eyes, weapons in hand.
"Got some skill, huh? But you turned Karltan Squad against you—you're done, you green fuck!"
"Think wearin' armor makes you a knight swingin' Aura in battle? Dream on, you whore-spawn. Learn life's not that easy on your way out!"
"Die and rot in hell, you street-shittin' punk!"
I'd been surrounded by mobs like this in the game, but that was just a game.
From my street fights back in Korea, the lesson was clear: don't try to fight everyone at once.
Pick one in front, smash him thoroughly, and break the encirclement...
In less than a second—0.3 seconds tops—I dropped to one knee, lowering my stance.
Their strikes aimed at my head and torso whiffed harmlessly overhead.
"Wha—fuck?"
I heard their panicked voices, but ignored them—kicked off with one foot, thrust my sword at the throat of the guy dead ahead, stabbed him down, and broke free.
With their perfect encirclement foiled, a few of the enemy mercs visibly trembled in fear.
The others' faces screamed, 'Shit, we picked the wrong fight. Run now?'—but deserting mid-battle meant instant execution by your own side for cowardice.
Knowing that, they reignited their fury and charged with grim resolve to kill me...
But weaklings forcing themselves forward just to avoid dying couldn't stand against my blade, fueled by ambition for promotion and the burning need for recognition.
Not one escaped—I either severed necks or, to crush enemy morale, bisected them at the waist for all to see.
The spot where ten foes had stood became a mess of human chunks, guts, heads, and blood pools.
The nearby enemies shouted warily at the sight of me.
"Fuck, Dalton Mercenary Corps has a mad dog! Take his head first!"
"Avenger of Karltan Squad—I'll rip your guts out and jump rope with 'em!"
"Scum like you shouldn't live! You motherfuckin' whore!"
To our side, it might sound like insults—but on the battlefield, curses from the enemy were the highest praise.
As those poured my way, to boost my value and lead us to victory today...
I decided to exercise the perfect right for this moment.
I raised my sword sky-high, drew deep from my gut, and bellowed.
"Rookie Mercenary Martin Meyer of the Dalton Mercenary Corps will clear the path! You premature weaklings softer than bitches—value your lives and get the fuck outta my way!"
The shout only a vanguard breakthrough earns drew gazes from Squad Leader Pior and the others straight to me.
Everyone roared in cheers at the sight of a gaping hole punched through the enemy vanguard.
"Fuck, can't lose to a rookie! Time to show 'em veteran grit, you damned shits!"
"Charge! Give those shit-for-brains a merciful end to their miserable lives!"
"Captain Dalton picked up a real gem! Can't just sit here jerkin' off—charge!"
Countless mercs followed me into the enemy lines; Squad Leader Pior's group and others steadily, surely pushed back the crumbling foes.
With every step we carved into their formation, agonized death cries echoed from the enemy mercs.
Martin Meyer kept the momentum, slashing throats of every moron blocking my path.
These weak bastards couldn't block my relentless swings—and just as an arrogant sense of dominating the battlefield swelled in me, a man radiating dangerous menace appeared before me.
He wore steel armor like mine, gripped a hefty, razor-sharp two-hander.
No mere grunt—this guy oozed heavy presence and raw power.
He stopped in front of me, eyed me, leveled his sword, and smirked.
"Hey, you rat bastard! Think you're hot shit 'cause you killed Karltan? This humble Schmitz will show you the spicy side of the world and blow that arrogant head clean off! Come at me!"
His voice lacked Captain Dalton's heavy Aura, but a faint trace lingered.
In the game, Aura granted heroes and knights superhuman stamina and strength beyond human limits.
Common prejudice said only noble-born wielded it—but in this world, battle-hardened talents sometimes awakened Aura through killing and experience.
Even in fantasy games, squires often got smashed one-on-one by veteran mercs who could use it.
Luckily, this body's owner hailed from a rural knight family, so he'd had a chance to learn and sense Aura.
Keep butchering these mercs, stacking experience...
And I'd awaken Aura soon, joining the ranks of the strong.
So of course I'd answer this provocation—it'd hasten the day I seize power, fame, and beauties in this godforsaken world.
As I steeled myself, Max the Thirty-Man Leader—our vet who'd said he'd sit out on "day one"—grabbed my shoulder from behind.
"Take a breather. I'll smash that overgrown boar. Watch and learn, rookie. Or nah—Martin."
I fell back at his words.
Fighting an Aura user to force my own awakening sounded good, but watching—even bottom-tier—Aura mercs clash would hugely aid my growth.
'Clash of blades, sword swings, battle cries... I'll memorize every damn detail, devour it all, and get stronger.'
Resolved to absorb their every move as my own experience, Max the Thirty-Man Leader leveled his halberd at the foe.