Chapter 53
Chapter 53
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: Reunion
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Thud!
I tossed the hunk of meat right in front of the Village Chief. His eyes wavered at my sudden action.
"Poisonous mushroom variety, huh. Dried and ground into powder?"
"Y-Yeah..."
When I nailed the type exactly, he shook his head in a panic. Ignoring him, I shoved the food tray aside and stood up from my seat.
"Not content with banditry, you dare attack a noble... I can't just let this slide."
The Village Chief seemed to realize his plan had failed. Right here, I intended to take his head. When setting an example, you have to do it right. By beheading the obvious ringleader—the Village Chief—I'd send a warning to the villages around here.
Then the bandits rampaging nearby would at least be a bit more cautious. As for subjugating them... I'd figure that out after reaching the castle. After a moment of silence, the Village Chief spat curses and backed away.
"Damn it!"
Thunk!
Those were his dying words. "Damn it" as a last testament—how clichéd. As I picked up the Village Chief's head rolling across the floor, his wife stared at me, her face drained of color. She seemed convinced she was next.
But contrary to what she thought, I had no intention of killing her. A simple warning would do. Though when issuing one, it might as well be thorough.
"Huh?"
"Village Chief!"
Carrying the head outside, I faced the villagers clutching various farm tools, all staring at me with panicked eyes. I hurled the head right in front of them.
Dozens of eyes followed the Village Chief's head as it rolled to a stop.
"The Village Chief is dead. To dare try assassinating a noble."
In this world, class was everything. That was why I'd bowed and scraped to nobles during my mercenary days—not for nothing. Sure, I couldn't kill them outright without consequences, but I could make their lives hell or humiliate them plenty.
But to come at me so openly? And get caught? That meant a mass hanging in front of the castle, turning into a village gathering of corpses.
Dead men tell no tales, of course—but here I was, alive and well. Seeing that, they trembled in terror.
"M-My lord... that's not..."
"We were just gathered here! We were worried if the Village Chief was treating you properly..."
Finally realizing what they'd done, they paled and bowed their heads low. They knew full well the penalty for attempting to murder a noble. They'd just forgotten amid the chaos in this territory.
But some folks always had a rebellious streak. A young man in the back shouted while gripping a pickaxe.
"What are you all doing? You think that noble's gonna forgive us just because we're groveling now?"
I'd been planning to let them off.
But at his words, the peasants glanced at one another and raised their tools. Don't underestimate farm implements—they could still kill. And their numbers weren't nothing. But as I always say, peasants are just peasants.
If sheer numbers let them beat soldiers and knights, feudalism would've collapsed ages ago. There's a reason this seemingly unfair system endures. And I decided to demonstrate it to them personally.
Splat!
My diagonal sword swing cleaved through the frontmost man. The blade sliced from his collarbone across to the opposite armpit, parting flesh and skin before bursting out.
"Hngh..."
He collapsed in an instant, gasping his last as he hit the ground. I swung the sword wide again, left to right. In just two strokes, one man lay torso-less and another headless on the dirt.
These would-be bandits—barely qualifying as such—froze at the sight of two of their own spilling blood and crumpling. They didn't dare charge, only hesitated and fell back.
"What are you waiting for? Come on, then. Die resisting or die begging—your choice."
Clang!
At my threat, they dropped their tools to the ground. Then they knelt at my feet. That was the limit of peasants. Show overwhelming force and a splash of blood, and their morale crumbled completely.
"Spare us, my lord! Please!"
They begged for their lives, babbling about how diligently they'd lived, paid their taxes faithfully, and swearing never to bandit again. Since I hadn't planned to kill them all anyway, I shook the dripping blood from my sword and slung it over my shoulder.
"I am Lucas Kyle, Viscount and the new lord of this territory. It's a fine day, so I'll forgive you this once."
Their faces lit up at my words of mercy.
"Blessings upon your noble mercy!"
"Long live Viscount Lucas Kyle!"
Praise poured in from all sides. They bowed repeatedly, vowing to pay their taxes diligently. Then one of them approached cautiously and spoke up.
"My lord."
"What is it?"
"Well... there are still mercenaries in the Village Chief's warehouse. The ones he dragged off saying he'd sell them as slaves."
It made sense. Slaves in this world weren't dirt cheap, but not exorbitantly priced either. Not content with stripping and selling their armor and weapons, he'd stashed them away to squeeze out every last coin.
The warehouse door was locked, but I yanked it open by hand, ripping the lock clean off. Possible because the key part was iron but the door itself wood. Inside, three or four bloodied men stared weakly in my direction.
They were covered head to toe in bruises and wounds—must've taken a beating. Fortunately, they were sturdy mercenaries; they'd endured this long. Left alone, though, tetanus or something would've finished them soon. Amid them, a bearded man looked at me and rasped faintly.
"...Magic Beast hunter?"
A familiar voice. And unmistakable emotion flickered in his eyes. Where had I heard this before?
Seeing me just staring, he rasped again, faintly.
"Magic Beast hunter... Kyle... right?"
"Rapork?"
This near-dead man's identity was Rapork! The Escort Captain who'd helped me back when I left the village as a hunter. It was dark, and his face was so swollen from beatings—I hadn't recognized him. He smiled faintly.
"Guess there's no law saying I just die... Hey, Kyle..."
I freed the shackles binding his hands and feet.
"You okay? Why are you here?"
"Heh... bad luck. Who'd think a village we'd traded with for years would turn bandit..."
I freed the other escorts too, gave them water and food, and once he'd recovered some strength, he spilled his tale. While war raged in Sarisa Count's territory, Gringem had expanded the caravan selling supplies. Even after the war, he'd kept trading back and forth—until just days ago, when trusted partner villages robbed him blind.
Years of dealings made the betrayal hit harder.
"In all that chaos, me and these guys barely escaped. No place to go, so heading to Cligrove, they nabbed us. This whole area's a bandit den now—no territory anymore."
Saying that, he scanned me up and down. His eyes widened at the emblem on my armor.
"Wait... what happened to you? Where'd you get that armor?"
"This..."
"If I may advise, scrape off that emblem. Might land you in hot water if knights spot it."
Rapork figured I'd scavenged it from some battlefield. Chuckling, I explained everything: shining in two wars, saving the lady and knights' lives, earning a territory as reward.
"No way! That's true...? I mean... ahem. Hard to believe..."
Even hearing the facts, he scratched his head skeptically. It felt awkward dropping formal speech with the guy who'd always been polite to me, but I cleared my throat a few times and did it anyway.
"Ahem... So, is Gringem still alive?"
Not "Mr. Gringem"—just Gringem. Only then did Rapork speak urgently.
"Oh! We gotta hurry! They said they'd sell Gringem, the workers, and the other mercenaries as slaves—they should still be alive!"
His words carried hope. And if Gringem was alive, I wasn't about to ignore it. Sure, he'd called it "repaying a debt," but that initial letter of recommendation let me buy my sword and gear.
Without it, I'd have been stuck with a gambeson and some used sword or mace. Who knows how I'd have fared in battle. Hindsight, anyway—let's move on.
In any case, after firing a final warning at the village, Cutter and I followed Rapork toward where Gringem was held.
"So what happened here? If the whole village is in this state, there must've been some trigger."
"With the Count captured and no one managing, the sheriffs are collecting taxes wildly. Heard they're taking 80% of the harvest... Might as well tell us to starve, right? Knew something like this would happen someday, but not that it'd hit us..."
Ridiculous—but for a split second, I wondered, is that weird? Serfs lived with that daily. Guess free peasants paid way less.
"How much do regular peasants usually pay in taxes?"
"Varies, but usually 20-30% of the harvest. Didn't you know?"
Having been a serf then hunter, I knew little of ordinary peasants' lives. I swallowed the words rising in my throat.
"Tax rates differ by territory."
He nodded at that. It was true—taxes varied by lord.
"Here we are."
We arrived where Gringem was held a full day after leaving the village. Not far from the castle, so even Gringem could've let his guard down.
"They kept pushing their homemade booze on us to buy. And it was pretty good, so..."
Sounds dumb at first glance, but they had their excuses. No matter how bad security got, who'd expect an attack on a caravan? In a village not far from the castle, no less—one they'd traded with and built rapport for years.
Plus, per Rapork, it wasn't one village but three colluding in a meticulously planned scheme. The kind where ignorance is the real trap.
"He hasn't been sold yet, right?"
"It's been less than three days, so he should be fine..."
Praying Gringem hadn't been sold, I entered the village. Losing a reputable merchant like him would be a societal loss. Not sure about his kindness—remembering how he'd haggled me on hides—but his credit was solid.