Chapter 25
Chapter 25
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Taking off the Rank Insignia
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The answer shot back immediately. From right behind me. I smiled as I heard it. Their relationships were now irreparably broken. Not sure if it fit the situation perfectly, but... isn't it said that a sister-in-law trying to stop you is more hated than a scolding mother-in-law?
In those bastards' eyes, the senior soldiers and corporals now looked like nothing more than whiners sniveling behind my back.
"Corporeal punishment or flogging... which will it be?"
Suddenly facing the threat of a whipping, the regular soldiers rebelled as one.
"That's too harsh!"
"We can just buy back the helmets we sold!"
Thinking it over, their tone was a little too cocky. These were guys who wouldn't have dared meet a noble's eyes. Their thoughts were obvious without being spelled out. They were acting this arrogant because I'd been a mercenary.
"Harsh...?"
"Yes!"
Once you're underestimated here, it sticks all the way to the end. It was a bit early, but I decided to straighten out their manners. And the way to fix attitudes like theirs was simple. Overwhelming violence.
"Anyone who thinks it's harsh, step forward."
I stared at them silently, and realizing something was off, the regular soldiers who'd been so confident moments ago hesitated and started eyeing each other.
"No one? Fine. Then the gambler. What was your name again?"
"Gale."
"The embezzler?"
"Valrei!"
"You two—front and center."
If I hadn't split this group up, they would've banded together against me, making them even harder to deal with than they already were. At first, the pair hesitated as they stepped forward, but then—resigned to their fate—they glared up at me with insolent eyes.
"Got a problem?"
"......"
There was no reply. But his gaze was still sharp. If he'd had a sword in hand, he might've tried to kill me right then.
But contrary to what they thought, I had no real intention of whipping them. That wouldn't leave much of an impression on these guys. It might even come off as me just leaning on my rank to crush them.
So instead of a flogging, I decided on a different proposal. Something traditional that would clearly show them I was superior.
"Hmm... seems like you've got a ton of complaints. How about this?"
I stripped off my upper clothes.
"Take off the rank insignia. Let's fight."
If your men won't listen, make them listen. With raw force.
"....What?"
Gale and Valrei found themselves blurting out a dumb response without thinking. The new captain had tossed off his jacket and challenged them to a fight—one without ranks.
They'd known the new captain was an ex-mercenary, so they'd been wary of Kyle from the start. And hadn't he shown up and immediately dismissed the original senior soldiers, shattering the chain of command?
"What? Scared?"
But to suggest stripping ranks and throwing down? They decided to break the new captain's spirit. He was big, sure—but they were elites. No way they'd lose. But...
'What kind of body...'
It wasn't some chiseled physique. When Kyle shed his upper clothes, his torso was revealed—not pretty, but like standing before a centuries-old massive tree trunk. Fight him and lose. They sensed it instinctively the moment they saw it.
And then there were the rumors of his exploits, even if they were just hearsay. He'd cleaved a horse in half with one strike, unhorsed a fleeing count with a mere shout, thrown a spear over a hundred meters to kill an elf.
They'd dismissed it as typical battlefield exaggeration back then, but now—having seen Kyle's body—they had an ominous feeling it might actually be true.
"No way you're gonna chicken out now after talking big like that, right?"
But their pride wouldn't let them cry uncle. Who were they? Vanguard Swordsmen—the elite of the elite among Cligrove's troops. Sure, they ranked below Elite Swordsmen, but still.
"Who's scared?"
"Don't regret this. You're the one who suggested no ranks, Captain."
Kyle's words scratched at their pride just right, and in the end, Gale and Valrei couldn't hold back—they stepped up to face him, oblivious to what he was really after.
"Haven't been captain long, so no blood tonight. We'll settle it fair with fists. But I'll use one hand. Sound good?"
And then that insanely arrogant offer to fight with one hand. The two scowled.
"You looking down on us too much? There's two of us here."
"Don't like it? Your call. Just don't regret it later."
Gale, Valrei, and Kyle faced off. Kyle overwhelmingly outmatched them in height and bulk, but the pair were senior Vanguard Swordsmen—battle-hardened veterans. Those spots weren't won by luck.
Both pushing late 170s in height—well above the world's average—they stared up at Kyle. The barracks fell deathly silent. Kyle broke it first. He was smiling.
"This is my last act of mercy. Ten hits. I'll take all ten first. Anywhere you want."
"....You serious?"
"You could die from that."
Now Gale and Valrei looked worried for him, but Kyle just shook his head.
"Your cotton punches? No chance."
"Fuck! Don't blame us then! You said go first!"
Gale reared back his arm and slammed a full-power shot into Kyle's gut—a reverse body shot, or liver blow, as they'd call it in the fighting pits.
Thwack!
'Nailed it.'
The impact sounded like a leather bag bursting—a perfect strike. Gale figured Kyle would clutch his stomach and roll on the floor. No opponent he'd fought had ever taken a clean hit there and stayed upright.
"One."
But his prediction was way off. Kyle didn't so much as blink. He just looked down at Gale. Not a hint of having taken the hit anywhere on his face.
"Wha...?"
Kyle grinned down at his dumbfounded expression.
"Didn't I say one? Nine left."
Valrei caught on that something was seriously wrong and stepped up. He had an eye for this stuff—he knew exactly how solid Gale's hit had been. He couldn't imagine tanking it himself.
"I'll take this one."
His tone had turned polite in an instant as he clenched his fist. He aimed for Kyle's jaw.
Thud!
A brutal sound echoed through the entire barracks, but the massive man before them didn't flinch.
"Two."
It was a different league. His neck—thick as a log—had absorbed the damage completely. A direct jaw hit, and his head hadn't even budged. In just two blows, Gale and Valrei felt the chasm between them and him.
And that nonchalant poise. He must've suggested this showdown to demonstrate they were on another level entirely. To crush them with the sheer gap in power and reveal his true measure.
"We... we lost..."
No point fighting on. Eight hits left? Still no chance of winning. They conceded defeat. But.
"Yeah? Eight to go—sure you don't wanna hit? Gotta soften my punches up a bit first."
"Huh?"
They were utterly baffled by his words. What? Right here? Weren't they supposed to get a magnanimous pardon and be taken under his wing now? But Kyle had no intention of letting it end there.
Crack—
A menacing pop echoed from his pot-lid-sized fist, reverberating through the barracks. The sound of death. That's what everyone in the room thought.
"C-Captain? That's enough..."
"Those guys have learned their lesson."
Now even the senior soldiers and corporals tried to intervene. They were former comrades, after all. Nobody wanted actual deaths. It'd just been a momentary lapse. Of course, their pleas fell on deaf ears.
"Don't wanna die? Then take it right. My control ain't the best."
"F-Fuck..."
The moment the doomed pair spat their curses, Kyle's fist shot forward.
Crack!
"Grahk!"
With a merciless thud, the punch buried into Gale's gut. His body folded like paper and launched backward. The power was such that his vision went black and he couldn't breathe.
"Guhk... kuhk..."
"Gale!"
"Bleurgh!"
He flew nearly three meters, writhed in agony without properly landing, rubbed his face on the floor, and finally puked up everything in his stomach.
Seeing a strapping man get punched airborne drained the color from Valrei's face, but the overwhelming violence left no room for defiance.
Sure, as a Vanguard Swordsman, he might win with a sword—but he had a brain. Like it or not, this guy was the Count's-recognized captain of the Vanguard Swordsmen and a baron. Swing on Kyle, and the Count's Elite Swordsmen would be after his head in a heartbeat.
This wasn't some flogging matter. Fists it was, then—against that killing machine? Valrei dropped to his knees in a panic.
"My bad! I must've lost my mind! Heh heh..."
He forced an awkward laugh, but Kyle's face looked chillingly blank. Like the smile from before had been a lie. No anger, no hatred—nothing at all. Not even killing a bug would get that deadpan.
"C-Captain?"
"Valrei, right?"
"Yes! That's me!"
"On your feet. Execute."
"Execute!"
Thud!
"Keuk!"
Valrei had just stood—and crumpled right back to his knees, gasping his last breaths. Vision blacked out on impact, no air; he pressed his head to the floor, drooling desperately for oxygen.
The barracks filled with silence, broken only by their groans. Mad Bear. That's the battlefield nickname that flashed through the Vanguard Swordsmen's minds.
What noble strips his insignia to brawl with disobedient troops? And he was filthily strong. Gale and Valrei were known brawlers among the Vanguards, yet here they were, crawling like children without landing a proper hit.