Chapter 19
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: 5. Plateau (1)
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“Father, did you call for me?”
“Ah, there you are. Elena.”
Elena Horgan Herrera, the mage of Mahbana, arrived at the study in response to the count’s summons.
“Are the preparations all finished now?”
“Yes. Everything’s done. We can head out anytime.”
“Good.”
The count rose from his chair with a faint sigh and walked over to the tall arched window. Beyond it, the Romeln Mountains loomed into view, their peaks eternally crowned with snow.
The conflict with Wirgang House—
The war had begun as a spat between the heirs of the two houses. Over ownership of the plateau nestled beneath the Romeln Mountains... In truth, it was land that held no value beyond the shepherds who grazed there, but whose territory it was remained a deeply sensitive matter for both sides.
It was the sort of topic inevitably bound to raise voices, an unwritten rule that neither side mentioned it. But by sheer coincidence, the words had slipped out that day.
Naturally, neither backed down an inch in their claims of ownership, leading to an all-out brawl. And so, the two houses—originally unconnected to the war erupting in the eastern provinces—had been dragged into this tangled mess almost by force.
The Herrera Count watched his domain’s funds dwindle and his city stagnate, endlessly tormented by the question of whether this was truly the right path. But the fight was already underway; there was no escaping it now. This was a matter of the houses’ pride. And for the nobles of the east, pride was everything—without it, they were little more than corpses.
Elena quietly watched her father’s broad back, her thoughts drifting to the man she had passed in the corridor just moments ago. A handsome face, rare even in these parts.
But setting aside his appearance, she had sensed something peculiar about him. An inexplicable feeling, something insidious bubbling up from some deep, hidden place.
“Father, may I ask who that man from earlier was?”
“...Earlier? Ah. The mercenary leader. Doesn’t look it, but the guy’s got real guts. I figured the southern cities were packed with nothing but cowards.”
“Mercenary... leader?”
It was highly unexpected. She had pegged him for someone from a merchant house. Elena didn’t judge by appearances, but she never would have imagined that line of work.
“He’s even from the same class as you, no less. ...Hilarious, isn’t it? Who’d have thought a southern noble house would come all the way out here to play mercenary. You live long enough, you see all kinds of strange shit. ...Guess it’s about time, huh.”
“Time to go? Father, that’s a bit much.”
The count let out a low chuckle, then turned from the window to fix his gaze on his daughter. The mirth evaporated in an instant, replaced by the roar of Mahbana’s aged lion.
“The moment has come. March out. Show those who dare question the Herrera House the consequences—!”
“I have awaited that command.”
The mage Elena bowed deeply. When she straightened, her expression mirrored her father’s fierce resolve—a likeness so striking it could only belong to father and daughter.
“I’ll bring back victory, Father.”
...And with that, Mahbana at last began to stir.
Mahbana’s mercenary corps numbered a full twenty-four, their total ranks nearing three hundred strong. Three hundred ordinary peasant levies wouldn’t amount to much, but three hundred seasoned fighters were another story entirely.
To exaggerate a bit, three hundred mercenaries could turn a small city defended only by peasants into a smoldering ruin. Sure, tales like Romance of the Three Kingdoms threw around numbers in the thousands or tens of thousands, but in reality, even forces numbering in the hundreds were no small threat.
Allen hadn’t anticipated Mahbana hiring quite so many. Even if the count’s house had cut costs to the bone, that many would have drained at least ten thousand gold coins in fees. It wouldn’t bankrupt the lord of a mid-sized city, of course, but it was no trivial loss.
From what he’d gathered, this territory dispute between the two houses had nothing to do with the broader eastern war. It was purely a clash of pride among the eastern nobility. Admittedly, with land ownership on the line, it wasn’t just pride one could dismiss—but that patch of earth was worthless anyway...
Honestly, for Allen—son of a southern merchant lord—it was a war utterly beyond comprehension. Still, thanks to that pointless noble pride, his mercenary corps’ coffers were filling nicely.
“Fuck me, look at those tits. Absolute knockers.”
“Sooopal, one grope and I’d die a happy man.”
The Herrera Count’s third daughter, Mahbana’s mage, and temporary leader of the Roakin Mercenary Corps, Elena drew far more leers for her massive breasts than for being the count’s little girl. Amid a horde of hulking brutes, a slender, ethereal beauty standing proud like a lone flower on a sheer cliff—it’d take a freak not to feel something.
But she was noble blood to boot, and a mage rarer than some endangered beast. Which meant the lowly merc scum could do nothing but ogle from a distance.
“Say whatever the hell you want. Just don’t drop your guard. The battle started the second we left the territory.”
Allen addressed his men during the break. Mercs had a notorious rep for groping whoever caught their eye, rank and gender be damned. He didn’t bother reining in their fun. Instead, he just kept them from getting sloppy.
The short rest ended, and the Mahbana contingent resumed their mountain climb.
Their destination: the Marlen Plateau. The very land at the heart of this war. They marched to claim it, in keeping with the traditional rules of such territorial disputes between houses.
Whoever held the plateau for ten straight days would own it—
A simple, clean, and decisive method. That was how eastern wars typically went. Grudges aplenty, but true blood feuds were rare.
The path to the plateau wound through steep, towering mountains. Allen found himself oddly awed by the shepherds scaling the brutal trails like it was a leisurely stroll. Even the non-eastern mercs struggled; mountain treks weren’t exactly common experience.
“Gonna fucking die...”
Still, with Elena as overall commander showing some mercy to the greenhorns, they took frequent short breaks.
Allen played it cool, but inside he was dying. A leader couldn’t show weakness in front of the men, though.
Even if he dropped dead, he’d do it on his feet—!
Such was the inner fire of Allen, mad for the mercenary life. ...If he weren’t half-insane, he never would’ve jumped into someone else’s territory war to begin with.
After a solid half-day march, they finally reached the Marlen Plateau. The ascent had been hell, but the plateau itself was fairly level. Snow-clad peaks rose majestically behind it like a folding screen, instantly captivating the mercenaries’ eyes.
The plateau blended warm sunlight with crisp snow gusts—like dipping between a hot bath and a cold plunge.
But when the sun suddenly dipped behind the ridge, the temperature plunged. Their sweat-drenched clothes turned to ice in the brutal cold.
“Fuckin’ hell, what kinda cold is this...!”
Darkness fell swiftly, so the group opted to camp. They hurriedly built campfires and huddled close. Only after scarfing down steaming bowls of soup did their chilled bodies begin to thaw. But the flesh-cutting winds quickly refroze them.
Each corps handled their own night watches. For Allen’s group, they’d switch when the sandglass ran out.
They crammed into a single large tent they’d brought. Tight fit for everyone, but tolerable if they lay stiff as boards.
Trouble started right away with wet farts and belches turning the tent into pandemonium. Add the rancid sweat and foot stench oozing from their bodies, and it was hell on earth.
“Who the fuck farted?!”
“Smells like absolute shit.”
“Kkhihi.”
“Laughing bastard, show yourself. I’ll fucking end you.”
“Just shut up and sleep, assholes.”
“Ow, fuck, quit grabbing my dick, you prick.”
“Oh, shit, guy dick. Lame. Whatever.”
“Knew it, swapped spots on ya, boongshina.”
The chatter died down soon enough, morphing into obnoxious snores.
The wind howled whiiing whiiing, rattling the tent. Despite two layers of clothes, Allen pulled his thin blanket up to his chin against the cold burrowing into his bones.
But the crushing fatigue soon drowned out even the chill. The snores faded into the distance, and his mind plunged headlong into sleep.
Allen dreamed.
Ridiculously, he was playing a game even in the dream.
Then he felt something snag at his toe and glanced down.
Agh—!
A corpse.
Skull cracked open with brains oozing out, belly ripped with guts spilling, flesh and bone mashed with blood streaming—utterly gruesome.
...No, not just one. The room was carpeted in countless bodies.
Jihoo flailed with a bloodcurdling scream.
“Eup—!”
Allen bolted awake, gasping.
Outside was still deep night.
...Or perhaps.
Maybe it still was a dream.