Milford's Madman

On the other hand, I felt a bit uneasy. Sure, I, Balun, had zero intention of barging into the Viper Guild's hideout or whatever it was called—those gangster bastards' turf. But would they feel the same way?

What if those fuckers come charging at me for revenge?

That thought made me wonder if I should hightail it out of the city right away. Honestly, even if they all came at me, I figured I could handle them. But they had backing, right? Backing.

"You don't need to worry much about those guys. They probably won't dare come at you easily, Lord Balun."

"Why not?"

"Because they've already gotten a harsh lesson from you once. They lost quite a few valuable members too. They know you're not someone they can handle."

Barrel said it was no big deal, so I felt a little relieved for now. But would things really go as he said?

I still clearly remembered what Barrel had told me: that in the Gray Plains, aside from the Red Wolf Band, there were no other bandit groups.

Bullshit there aren't. I ran into bandits the second I left the canyon and nearly got killed.

I knew Barrel was a good guy. But what good is being nice if you lack ability? Ability matters. That's what builds trust.

"Can I trust you?"

"Yes, truly. Why would I lie to you, Lord Balun? This one's certain, so please believe me."

"Fine."

I said fine, but I didn't fully buy it. What if I got complacent relying on his word and ended up ambushed again?

Better to prepare for the worst.

So I geared up thoroughly. I grabbed all the backup weapons I'd left at the inn, plus the round buckler I'd taken from the bandit leader Doug.

Having a shield would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠definitely make me feel more secure.

"B-blood…."

"Kyaaak!"

There was a bit of a commotion at the inn. The guests freaked out when they saw me return drenched in blood.

And it wasn't just returning—I was dragging two dying, blood-soaked guys by the arms. No wonder they lost it.

Guards showed up, probably from a report, but they did nothing and left. I wondered why, but it turned out Barrel had slipped them some cash to look the other way.

They didn't punish me for killing thirteen people. This place seemed like a world where violence trumped law.

"I'm off again then."

"In that state? You're covered in too much blood."

It wasn't just covered—it was like I'd bathed in it.

"Wash up at the inn. I'll have them prepare bathwater."

"No. Going now."

"But that'll draw too much attention. It'll be a hassle…."

"This is good. Blood, symbol of warrior. Great warrior."

I flatly ignored Barrel's bath suggestion and headed to the mercenary guild covered in gore.

I called myself a warrior and all, but my real goal was different.

Walking around like this, no one will mess with me lightly.

Just as I'd predicted. No one touched me. They just stared like I was a madman.

The stares stung a bit, but it beat getting jumped by some idiot mistaking me for easy prey.

Better a crazy guy than bait, right?

Is that it?

Sightseeing as I walked, I soon arrived at the mercenary guild. A large two-story wooden building on a spacious plot. Obviously not privately owned.

I pushed open the door. The rusty hinges creaked, and a dark interior reeking of sour male sweat hit me.

My face twisted involuntarily.

Ugh, what the hell is that smell?

It was like an army barracks. Memories of my past life's military days flooded back, wrinkling my nose even more. Then I noticed how quiet it had gotten inside.

Looking around, everyone was staring at me: the guy at the counter, people milling by the bulletin board, clusters around tables nursing drinks, folks warming by the fireplace.

"What the hell is that?"

"Whoa, scary as shit. Look at all that blood."

"Must've taken down something big."

"That a barbarian?"

"Look at the outfit. Obviously."

"Hey, buddy! You come in here like that?"

"This ain't a place for savage monkeys!"

"Stinking up the place—get lost!"

The brief silence shattered into a barrage of chatter from all directions, too fast and scattered for me to catch most of it.

So I just walked in casually. The guys got pissed that I didn't even respond, but none stopped me.

My appearance alone cowed them without me trying. Already intimidating as a muscled giant, add blood-soaked and… yeah.

I scanned the room. Mercenaries who met my eyes flinched.

My sharp glare was threatening.

"That crazy bastard…."

"Trying to seize control right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the start?"

"Looks like a tough one showed up."

They muttered, but I wasn't glaring to intimidate.

Damn, the stench is brutal.

The smell was so foul even I, raised in a barbarian tribe, couldn't stand it. My own blood scent made theirs seem tame by comparison.

I couldn't hold back anymore.

"You lot, air out the place!"

"…What?"

"Do it, or you all die. Suffocation!"

Everyone doubted their ears.

"He said he'd kill us, right? I heard that correct?"

"Yeah, me too."

Mercenaries' eyes narrowed in unison. A cold silence blanketed the lobby.

Murder threats to their faces warranted it. Soon, icy glares poured in.

I was baffled by the prickly stares.

I just said ventilate. That so hard?

I sighed. Couldn't even understand "open a window because it stinks." These medieval savages….

No one looks that strong anyway.

Meanwhile, I scanned the mercenaries. A habit from my Red Fang warrior days—always gauge threats to survive.

They all looked scrawny, no real muscle. That's why I was so bold. A big guy would've made me hesitate.

I gave up on ventilation and headed to the counter. The clerk flinched as I approached.

"Wh-what do you want?"

"You staff?"

"Yeah, but why're you here… Hng!"

The clerk gasped and jolted back. I'd suddenly hoisted the leather sack in my left hand high.

A human head tumbled out onto the counter. Blood splattered the table.

"Fuck, you scared me!"

The clerk's eyes met the severed head's bulging, wrongful death stare. He stumbled back four steps.

Other mercenaries reacted the same. Normal, even for blade-hardened vets—no one flashes a head like that.

"What the hell? You startled me."

"Startled?"

"Who wouldn't jump at a head tossed like that?"

"Hm, fair. Not sorry."

The clerk squinted suspiciously.

'Not sorry'? Not even 'sorry' or 'apologize'? Is he demanding I say sorry?

"Pay the bounty. Head of mounted warrior."

"Bounty? What're you… Wait."

The clerk rummaged under the counter, pulled out a stack of yellowed papers, flipped through, and yanked one out midway.

Confirming the sketch matched the head exactly, he let out a deflated sigh.

"B-Butcher Doug."

Mercenaries' eyes widened.

"What?"

"Butcher Doug? That's him?"

"He's dead?"

I tilted my head at their shock.

Why so surprised?

"Hey, buddy. You catch him?"

"I did."

"No way."

Skeptical faces all around. Must be a big deal.

Curious, I asked, "This guy a big shot?"

"Obviously! Leader of the Black Fang Band! His infamy's sky-high!"

"How so?"

"You don't know? Doug butchers everyone he meets—hence 'Butcher.' Vicious bastard."

"I see."

"Ex-knight too. Skilled swordsman. Got wanted for killing his lord, stole a horse, became bandit."

I clicked my tongue. Killing his lord and fleeing to banditry? Pathetic life. Why kick away glory?

"If Doug's dead, Ralph won't sit idle. He'll hunt his brother's killer."

"Ralph—the red-hood mounted warrior?"

The merc frowned at my odd phrasing but got it.

"Right. Red Wolf Band leader. Hunting Dog Ralph. Mad as Doug, ex-knight too."

I smirked. Brothers both nuts. Butcher and Hunting Dog.

"That's fine. I killed him too."

"What?"

"Bad warrior brothers now good."

"Hey! You killed Ralph? For real?"

"Clerk. No bounty?"

"Ah, yes! One moment!"

"You really kill him?"

I pondered. Could answer straight, but they'd swarm or disdain me as barbarian.

Better go hard. Rough mercenaries respect that.

Scare 'em a bit. I spun, strode to the questioning merc, loomed over him.

"Curious?"

"…."

"Want a show?"

I glared while fingering my axe, then looked up, scanning the room loudly.

"Anyone curious? Curious get axe taste."

"…."

"No one, huh."

Silence. I turned blankly. Inside, relieved. Good no takers—would've been tiring. Who knows, maybe a real tough guy.

"H-here."

The clerk returned with a money pouch. It jingled heavily.

I untied it. Two gold coins, dozens of silvers.

Is that a lot?

Hard to tell without value knowledge.

Gold means decent. Like 50,000 won bills.

Probably more than that. Gold's gold—maybe a million won worth.

I bit a gold coin. Tooth mark. Real enough.

I combined it with Barrel's payout. Over ten golds. Pouch bulged, heart swelled.

Can I buy a house now?

Homeownership—top of my bucket list. Sweet dream for modern folks.

Not new, but a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rundown standalone house maybe?

I grinned. Hope bloomed. Past life failure, this life success!

Big city best? More jobs, but pricier houses.

Modern fantasies aside, I turned. Mercs eyed my pouch greedily.

"Why stare?"

"Ahem!"

"Want it?"

They coughed, looked away. But greed lingered in their eyes.

Bad vibe ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hit. Pickpocket the second I leave….

Time to prevent.

"You mercenaries want my money? Try. All die."

I scanned quick. Picked the skinniest, weakest-looking one.

Not because he glared—perfect no-repercussion target. Pure petty barbarian move.

Strong warrior bullying weak? Classic.

Perfect.

I yanked a hand axe from my belt, hurled it. Insane strength sent it straight, grazing his head, embedding in the wall, quivering.

"Wh-wh-what."

Mercs parted like waves. The skinny one collapsed, pants wetting.

"Eye my money, get split."

"…."

"Remember."

I yanked the axe, belted it, left. Lobby froze in silence.

It broke after a minute.

"Milford's got a madman now."

A corner merc's murmur drew dazed nods from the rest.

* * *

Breathing fresh air outside, I quietly pressed my right hand to my left chest. Heart pounding like mad.

Didn't notice I was nervous, right? If they did, I'm fucked….

I prayed they hadn't. If so, ultimate shame. "Tough guy" rumors would kill me. How to show my face?