Chapter 34
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: William
The Brotherhood of Vengeance. That was what they called themselves, a band of soldiers who had crossed over from the Sarisa Count's territory. More accurately, they were former soldiers.
After their defeat in the war left the Count's family strapped for cash, they had mass-terminated contracts, leaving the men jobless as a group.
But just before the discontent of these unemployed soldiers could boil over from Cligrove back toward the Sarisa Count, some old comrades from the battlefield showed up at the tavern. With cautious expressions, they laid out what they had brought.
"It's a mission from the Count himself."
What they returned were the weapons that had been confiscated when their contracts were terminated.
"Head to Cligrove. Don't you want revenge on those bastards?"
Revenge. That sweet whisper. Weren't they in this mess because of Cligrove in the first place? And even if it wasn't purely for revenge, they had no other path. They had precious dependents to feed, after all.
So they left the territory and headed for Cligrove.
"Move it! Faster!"
"Aaah!"
The women and children sniffled under the merciless whip cracks. Tears streamed endlessly from the eyes of those who had just watched their husbands and fathers die before them.
Anxiety about the future, resignation to the present. They knew they were being sold into slavery. Cligrove had good public safety, so raids by bandits turning villagers into slaves were rare there. But in territories with weak militaries, such tragedies were commonplace, and they knew it.
In the end, their time had simply come. The older ones resigned themselves to that thought, while the young children rolled their wide, terror-filled eyes. And from a distance, someone watched the scene.
"About thirty in number. Their armament... not great. Defeated soldiers, maybe?"
They didn't quite look like routed troops—their armor was too shabby. They might have ditched it while fleeing, of course. Kyle crept closer, concealed in the underbrush.
He moved so stealthily that even at 1.5 times the size of an average man, he made less noise than a rustling leaf.
"Yawn... this haul sucks. Not even a decent woman in the lot."
"Heard the ones next to them were pretty good. Their village chief had the prime stock."
"We should've set up there instead."
Kyle halted when he was close enough to hear the sentries' voices. The ground was rigged with their crude alarm traps, but he stepped over them like a child's playthings.
Oblivious to his presence, the sentries chatted freely.
"What if a punitive squad shows up? Heard Cligrove patrols came by recently."
Another man chuckled at that.
"No worries... if they come, we just slip back to our territory. Besides, raiding a few backwater villages—what's the big deal?"
"You'd get killed crossing back if they catch you."
"Tch... no guts. Boss said to pack up anyway. We're leaving soon."
"What about the slaves?"
"Drag 'em along. Cligrove won't go berserk over a podunk village getting hit. And nobles won't care about a few dead serfs, right?"
They prattled on before falling silent in unison, as if on cue. An armored man approached from behind them.
"Boss is here!"
He had a hooked nose, brown hair, and eyes like a predator's. Towering a full head above the others, this burly man strode toward the sentries.
'At least an Elite Swordsman...'
Having properly trained with the sword, Kyle could gauge an opponent's skill at a glance. This armored man's presence was no joke. His steps were steady, his hand poised to draw at any moment.
His gear was nearly knight-level too. But his thighs showed no signs of riding experience, so Kyle pegged him as Elite Swordsman class at minimum.
"We'll move out soon. Get ready."
"Yes, sir!"
Kyle observed the bandits' movements until the sentries changed shifts twice more. He realized their lair was unnaturally makeshift.
These weren't routed soldiers. From their talk, Kyle pieced together why they'd come here and turned to banditry.
'Sarisa Count's playing smart. Diverting their grudge outward...'
After losing the war and their economy in shambles, the Count couldn't afford to keep his forces. He'd have to discharge even the able-bodied ones. That meant dumping hundreds of battle-hardened men with no other skills back into society.
Unrest was inevitable. A riot from ex-soldiers would be catastrophic. So what was the simplest way to vent that frustration? Kyle knew the answer.
"Prepare to move. They're no ordinary bandits. Ex-soldiers from Sarisa."
Returning from his scout, Kyle immediately ordered his men to gear up. Even setting aside their skill, forty-five against them meant the bandits would notice if he dragged his feet.
"We hitting them now?"
He shook his head at the soldier's question.
"About twenty of them. One's got Elite Swordsman gear and skill. Frontal assault would cost us too much."
"Then...?"
"Night raid. They haven't spotted us yet—most efficient option."
In this era, night raids were always effective. People had to sleep, leaving them vulnerable. They could backfire if the enemy was alert, but these bandits had no clue about Kyle or his men.
Plus, with departure imminent, they'd be lax. The alarm traps were a issue, but disarming them was Kyle's specialty.
Crunch-crunch.
In the eerily silent forest, where even stepping on grass sounded loud, Kyle had ordered his men to bite down on twigs to stifle any noise.
"Spit out the twigs."
They did so only after reaching the bandits' lair. On his second visit, Kyle navigated flawlessly—not the original path, but the shortest straight cut through the woods from their start point.
He gauged the time by the sky. Hours until sunset.
"Hold here. I'll disarm their traps. Keep your mouths shut till then. You don't wanna die in a place like this, right?"
His words carried double meaning. One: getting ambushed by bandits first. Two: getting killed by Kyle himself.
His men got it instantly and clammed up. Dying honorably in battle was one thing—getting beaten to death by their butcher of a captain? No glory there. They'd all witnessed him bare-handedly slay a werewolf.
That evening, as darkness fell over the forest, Kyle lowered his visor. His vision narrowed in the gloom, but his eyes gleamed ferociously.
"Battle stations. Regulars hold here. If any flee, block them two per pair. Vanguard Swordsmen, with me."
The Vanguard Swordsmen lowered their visors and drew blades in unison. Coated in soot beforehand, their weapons caught no moonlight. Only their eyes glinted from within their helmets.
Meanwhile, the bandits slumbered deeply, oblivious. Even their minimal sentries had grown complacent—no intrusions ever.
"Yawn... so damn tired. Wanna go home and see the family."
Clank.
"I wanna go back and grab Nancy's ass... wait..."
The metallic scrape from the darkness silenced the bandits around the fire in an instant. But their reaction was far too late.
Crack!
A hand shot from the unlit shadows, seizing a bandit's throat and snapping it clean. The one opposite tried to scream, but black blades swarmed from all sides, skewering him like a roast.
Having quietly dispatched the two sentries, Kyle and his Swordsmen crept inward. The lair stayed silent—they hadn't noticed yet. If not for that one bandit stumbling out to piss...
"Ugh... so tired. Gotta stand watch proper..."
Stepping out for a leak and a chat with the sentries, he spotted their corpses on the ground. Blood pooled around the fire. His eyes bulged.
"Enemies! Intruders!"
Kyle cursed inwardly—they'd thought the perimeter clear. The shout from behind meant things had gone sideways. Soon, half-awake bandits poured from the tents.
In their haste, they hadn't even donned their flimsy cloth armor. Kettle hats clapped on their heads was the best they managed. Seeing this, Kyle bellowed.
"Don't panic! They aren't even armored! Charge! Swordsmen of Cligrove! Slay these vile bandits and avenge our villages!"
"Waaaaah!"
The Vanguard Swordsmen's roar filled the silent woods like an army's advance. Freshly roused bandits could muster little fight. Under the merciless blades, they crumpled pathetically.
"You filthy Cligrove scum!"
By the time most lay dead, their leader finally emerged from his shelter, armored at last.
'Damn it... when did the punitive squad get here?'
William had once been an Elite Swordsman in the Sarisa Count's service. But after the war's defeat, he'd lost his position. He had the skill to thrive anywhere, yet he couldn't abandon the castle where his ancestors had lived for generations.
So when poverty suddenly gripped his family, despair set in. Menial labor bruised his pride, and swinging a sword was all he knew.
"Long time no see, William."
One day, as he drowned his days in drink, an old connection visited. It was the captain of his former Elite Swordsman unit. He proposed banditry—to lead them, even.
"Banditry? Think I'd stoop to that? You've fallen far too, Captain. Sure, I'm down and out now, but I once lived with honor."
He meant to refuse. It was his last scrap of pride, polishing his gear spotless even in his drunken stupor. But his old captain smiled faintly.
"This is revenge against Cligrove. Think I'd bring you mere banditry?"
"Revenge?"
"The Count wants payback on them. Think about it. Would he discard talent like you out of spite? It was Cligrove's excessive demands. Right?"
That tempting offer, atop the family's unprecedented hardship. In the end, he picked up his sword once more.