Chapter 69
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 068
Chapter Title: Battle Buddies
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Three days had passed since we pitched the tents.
The spot was the same. Right at the forest entrance where we'd set up on day one.
[Why the hell would we crawl deeper into danger than necessary?]
The old man's firm conviction, straight out of the grumpy veteran playbook.
But fair enough—we weren't some grand hero party on a noble quest, or a mapping nerd who needed to scour every inch of the forest for a full survey.
We were just lowly mercenaries, grabbing proof of completion for the job and anything else worth selling.
Obviously, the outskirts beat the hell out of the depths. Securing our base camp in this wide-open entry point and luring mobs in to hunt was way safer and more efficient.
Thanks to that, our daily routine had... solidified, let's say.
Roles were more or less assigned.
Scouting and mob aggro fell mostly to the old man.
Being the top dog, he could handle solo runs no problem—as long as dementia didn't kick in midway.
Baekrin stood guard at camp, watching over cannon-fodder scrubs like me and Noy. When Kain dragged in the beasts, she'd jump into the fray with him, then handle the loot.
I was the errand boy: lighting fires, cooking, sorting butchered scraps, that kinda shit.
The kid just ate, shat, and slept.
Nights brought rotating watches among the three adults.
Crackle, crackle.
Like right now.
"...Not sleeping?"
The old man, on first watch, poked at the campfire and asked in a low voice.
"You're up next anyway."
"Still two hours till shift change."
"Waking up halfway through sleep is a bigger pain in the ass. And trying to crash again after? Torture."
Even back in my active-duty days, it was the same.
First or last watch was always prime real estate.
Sure, oblivious types who conk out anywhere didn't care, but for me, jolting awake after a few hours—or tossing to get back to sleep afterward—was pure hell.
Once I had some rank, I'd harass the admin clerk until I pulled first or last shift. Or pawn it off on some boot and sprawl out.
No clue how it is in today's army, but back then, that's how we rolled. Less bullshit, more beautiful tradition.
"Came out to keep an old man company? Be grateful."
I tossed a log into the flames and added,
"Heh... As if I need to thank you. Your mug's tiresome enough."
"Feeling's mutual."
Like I'd sit here to admire that puke-inducing face.
Boredom brought me out. Time for some fire-gazing.
Kain chuckled, stroking the sword at his side.
A crude bastard sword, chipped and worn in spots.
"..."
Sure, it was heavy, but this geezer cleaved mid-tier beast hide like tofu with that scrap heap.
Senior knight material, no doubt.
Though he'd ditched the title by now...
Honestly, it'd bugged me for ages.
Not so much "How's this drunken old lush a senior knight?"
More "Why'd he stall at senior?"
Common wisdom split knight ranks into five tiers:
[Junior < Mid < Senior < Expert < Master]
Junior and mid? Not impressive.
Even a scrub like me who couldn't wield aura could slap on shiny armor, strap a sleek sword, kneel before some noble, swear fealty, and get called "Sir."
Just don't expect prejudice-free nobles to buy it from slum-spawn slaves like me.
No kingdom registry—no citizenship—means no dice from the start.
Unless you're a freak case like this old man, clawing up from nothing on raw skill, or a slum rat who "oh, but I use aura."
The real deal started at senior.
Simple benchmark: Can you coat your blade in aura?
Blue flames humming along the edge? Congrats, you're senior.
But from fifteen years as Kaintrea's dog, I learned seniors varied wildly.
Dull fighters or sword artists—didn't matter. Master aura-coating, and any mutt or pig got the label.
Skill at peak differed wildly.
Count Kaintrea's seniors alone: over forty under that duke prick.
Even a shithole kingdom probably had a few hundred rattling around.
"...No matter how I think about it, it doesn't add up."
"What doesn't?"
Kain prodded the fire with a stick and shot back.
I propped my chin, eyeing him sideways.
"Cold hard fact: You're no senior-level talent stuck there."
"...What the hell outta nowhere?"
"Different league. From the other seniors in that house."
I'd witnessed it young, plenty of times.
This old fucker booger-picking four seniors into oblivion.
"So I figure: Maybe those Kaintrea knights were all flash-in-the-pan posers... nah, shiny-window-dressing idiots?"
To my reasonable suspicion, Kain shook his head.
"No way. Their pay was double any other house's knights."
Gut-punched by lost-job memories, he added bitterly,
"Not empire-knight elite, sure... but better than most. Wouldn't embarrass you anywhere."
"Hmm... Fair enough."
Made sense.
Why big corps paid top dollar and perks? Recruits with killer specs or skills.
Or fat connections for parachute drops.
No way Kaintrea's fat-wallet knights underperformed elsewhere.
"...Then it bugs me more."
Beating elite pricks who fought tooth-and-nail to join—like this old man punked them?"
"Pretty much."
I raised one index finger skyward.
"So, there's that tier above, right? Senior to that Roengrin whatever, Sword Master."
Mid-boss stage.
"Sword Expert, you mean?"
"Yeah. With your skills, shouldn't you have hit that?"
"..."
Kain went quiet at my question. Just staring blankly into the flames.
Did he fuck up internally? Demotion-blocked promotion vibe.
He'd thrashed plenty of fellow knights, and with his old-gangster temper...
Plausible.
As those thoughts swirled,
After long silence, he spoke.
"Kid. Think Expert's just for good brawlers with service stripes?"
"What then? Exam?"
"Proof."
He grabbed a twig from the firewood pile.
Drew a light circle in the air and said,
"Listen up. Coating a blade in aura is like filling a vessel with water."
"...Vessel?"
"Yeah. Sword's the bowl, aura's the water. Technique to grip energy tight on the blade without spilling. Senior basics."
Boils down to aura-coating yes/no. Knew that.
"But Expert realm..."
Kain pointed the twig at a dark tree trunk far off.
"Is firing that water beyond the vessel."
"Huh? Firing?"
"Send blade aura intact, shaped, to slice distant foes."
Finally, gripping the twig tight, he said,
"Master that, earn the Expert title."
"Aha."
Old-school phrasing from the geezer, but clicked.
Aura on blade: Senior.
Hurl aura like a projectile: Expert.
So basic beatdowns weren't enough. Needed ranged attacks from a melee weapon for the badge.
"So you can't launch it?"
"..."
"Total erectile dysfunction. Don't brag about bedroom skills anymore."
Kain chucked the twig into the fire.
"...You little shit."
Gripped his greatsword hilt with his free hand.
"Eek!"
I scrambled back on my ass.
"Fuck, hit me with your fist! Why grab the sword? Planning to half-butch me like those boars?!"
Violence: no.
Murder: double no.
My scream twisted his ugly mug uglier.
Deep sigh, earth-shaking.
"Haa... All mouth, no brains."
Tsk-tsking, he continued,
"Crossing that wall ain't as easy as you think."
"How tough?"
"How many Sword Experts across the continent?"
Dunno.
"Barely fifty."
"That few?!"
"Yeah. Fifty out of tens of thousands of knights. One or two per kingdom, tops."
Ahh... Got it.
Not school valedictorian. Global rankings.
No wonder brutal.
Even this badass before me.
Frankly, frog in a well here.
Fifteen years in Bellua Kingdom, Kaintrea house—
Strongest guy I'd seen was Kain.
Even he shook his head at the Expert wall like another dimension.
[Continent-wide, just three at the knight pinnacle.]
[Sword Masters. Sword Saints.]
'...Masters, then?'
Chills hit.
Experts already did ranged with swords, mimicking mages.
TOP 3 above? Unimaginable.
And empire knights led by such monsters razed cities whole. Fact. Ongoing.
Shff.
I pulled the dagger from my pants cuff, fiddling.
The one I'd jammed into Hard Boar's eye socket, smashed its skull beyond.
Without it then, no arm-deep brain-burst.
Lifesaver... life-blade?
Despite the abuse, tip still sharp. Unchipped.
Damn fine piece. Best metal I'd handled, lifetime.
Compared to my snapped junker? Slum hooker vs. top S-rank idol gap.
But...
'Gotta ditch this for real.'
Always thought so, now solidified.
If tied to that third princess vanishing, and caught with it in the kingdom...
Ten Kains couldn't save me.
No weapon now, and might need it exiting this forest, so holding for now.
"Old man."
"...What now."
"Days till we head to Red Rock?"
Kain stroked his beard, counting fingers.
"Hmm. Eight days to meet the merchant... three more here, then move."
"Not long."
"Buffer for road trouble."
I nodded.
Flicked the dagger with my finger.
'Hear that?'
Those three days: our last together.
Whatcha gonna do.
I like you too, hate eating you like this.
But it is what it is.
.....
Forest beasts we'd faced: two types.
Hard Boars, our quest target.
Deadwoods, disguised as rotten stumps.
Deeper in? Maybe more. But our range was tight, so that was it.
Deadwoods: all wood, nothing to harvest. Just checked knots for magic stones occasionally.
Hard Boars: skinned diligently with hooves, piled up.
Camp perimeter: flayed, chopped, butchered boar corpses. Slaughterhouse vibes.
Rot stench thickened daily.
Oh, and the meat? Uneatable.
Kain said toxic, rancid beyond swallowing.
[Nom nom.]
But Baekrin grilled and scarfed it.
[Fine. Immune to poison.]
True or meat-lust bullshit? Dunno...
Anyway.
We normal three survived four days on hard jerky and bland porridge.
Sizzle—!
Thick logs blazing under the fire.
Meat chunks on whittled sticks dripped fat, roasting.
Aroma raping nostrils, squeezing guts. Felony-level scent.
Hard Boar inedible, right?
Why this sudden BBQ bash?
Because...
.....
"Waaah! Horns! Hooorn!"
Kain, back from routine scout, deer slung over shoulder.
Beast, not monster. Big-horned buck.
Noy bounced at the deer head dangling.
"Yup, deer. Cool horns, huh?"
"Yeah! Meshi!"
Kain chuckled, dropped the deer.
I inwardly cheered.
Fuck yes. Real protein at last.
Thus, midday all-you-can-eat meat buffet began.
I bit into thick haunch on a spit.
Crunch.
"...Fucking delicious."
Crispy outside, juicy in.
No seasoning, but hunger's the best spice, wild the finest sauce.
"Eat up. Raw spoils quick."
Stuff yourself before it rots.
We devoured like starved beasts, no chit-chat.
Kain tore chunks, chugged cherished booze for once.
Noy gripped meat double-fisted, face oil-smeared.
Baekrin beside me: foreleg bones picked clean, eyeing next.
"..."
Still red inside?
"...What're you staring at."
Sensing my gaze, she snapped, meat in mouth.
"Fuck, cook it more. Who's stealing?"
"Whatever."
Bit huge raw-edged red chunk anyway.
Rip.
Blood trickled lips, predictably.
More alarming by the minute.
After four of us stuffed till bursting,
"...Wanna shit."
Natural next step hit.
Body's honest mysteries.
Meager rations lately—first signal in 5-6 days.
Lower gut heavy, I stood.
Fussing pants, heading dark woods,
Shff.
Presence behind.
Turned: Baekrin, wiping lip blood rough with hand-back, followed blankly.
"...What?"
"Gotta go together."
"I know, but... it's not small. Pooping."
"Poop."
"..."
No backing down—froze three meters back.
Arms crossed, leaned on tree.
Fuck, fine for standing piss. But this? No.
"...Back off a bit."
"Hurry up."
"You crazy bitch, you think it'll come with you watching?"
"Hold it or die bloated."
Insane. Merciless.
Mechanically enforcing Kain's buddy rule:
'Even shitting, stick together.'
I hid bush-back, squatted, strained quiet as possible.
...Most humiliating, tense dump of my life.
About an hour later.
"Washing the kid. Stay put by the stream."
Kain hauled oil-smeared Noy into woods.
Just me and Baekrin at camp.
Belly full, bowels empty. Blissfully drowsy.
Prime nap conditions.
Dozing off sitting.
"Wake up."
Shoulder poked. Eyes open: her.
"...Why. Beasts?"
"Nah. I need the bathroom."
"...?"
Go then.
I'm scrub needing escort, but she slays solo.
"Go."
Shrugged casual, eyes closing again.
Smack.
Grabbed my wrist.
"Come."
"Why again."
"Old man's gone. Can't leave you."
Ah. That.
"No need to tail you shitting! I'll stay put—hurry back."
"Nope. What if something jumps?"
"Like?"
"Beast."
Grabbed collar, yanked me up.
"Fuck, hold till old man returns..."
"Urgent. Follow or eat fist."
"Agh, fuck... Ridiculous."
Dragged along anyway.
My bathroom. Her bathroom.
Fuck buddies or privacy—zero.
Into woods, screened bush-back.
"...Stay there."
"Fine... Hurry."
"Turn around. Look and lose eyes."
"..."
Turned, stood. Moments later.
Rustle clothes. Then,
Shhhhhooooaaaaa.....
Quiet forest amplified the bold, healthy stream crystal-clear.
'...Healthy.'
At least piss, not worse.
What the fuck am I doing?
Kicked innocent leaves till it ended.
"...?"
No rustle? Done, right?
"You, what're..."
Oh.
"...Told you not to look."
Shouldn't have turned.
Ah.
Saw it.
Fuck.
Ah.
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