Reunion, Stench, and a Taste of Home
A female greatsword knight is the ultimate romance and dream. A mercenary's prime is short. It's a profession that always walks hand in hand with death, so naturally their peak years don't last long. Therefore, if you ever face an elderly mercenary as an enemy, run away. The fact that they've survived to that age is proof of their strength.
"You look like you've aged a decade since the last time I saw you, Marco."
"Is that seriously the first thing out of your mouth? Why does everyone say the exact same thing?"
"For starters, maybe do something about those dark circles under your eyes? They say proper sleep keeps the stress away, you know? You might even go bald at this rate."
"You might as well just curse me outright."
"So even Marco fears baldness, huh?"
As expected, baldness truly is every man's mortal enemy.
"Mercenaries who have accepted the request, please gather here! We will be departing shortly!"
The mercenaries grabbed their weapons and converged on the line of carriages.
"By the way, Marco, where are the others? I was hoping to see the old crew after so long."
I thought I'd get to reunite with the family I'd fought alongside for years, but unfortunately only Marco was here.
"We can't always match requests to the exact headcount. You know that as well as I do."
"I wondered if there might be another reason. Don't tell me you're still running requests with the White Tower mages?"
"...Unfortunately, you're wrong. That request ended in failure."
What? The Night Mercenary Group actually failed?
"What do you mean? Don't tell me my absence made everyone's skills rust over?"
"Say something that makes sense. It simply exceeded our capabilities. Especially those White Tower mages—with their pathetic stamina, it was twice as exhausting."
I didn't get the full details, but I caught the general picture.
"The poisonous miasma in the swamp was far worse than we expected. Even the White Tower mages struggled. Their purification spells reached their limit."
In short, the swamp's toxin was so vicious it punched straight through the purification magic. The mercenaries were sturdy enough to endure it somewhat, but the mages clearly weren't.
"I really missed having combat mages. The ones from the magic tower are just too frail."
"They're researchers first and foremost, so weak constitutions come with the territory."
"True. That's exactly why the request fell through."
"So what happens to the swamp now? Will they send reinforcements?"
The White Tower's massive pride had taken a scratch. They'd probably dispatch extra forces just to save face.
"Headcount confirmed. Please present your mercenary badges."
While we talked, the formalities wrapped up and they called for the badges.
"Silver-rank badge, name Nix. Confirmed."
My current rank—silver. It was the Mercenary Guild's official guarantee that I possessed the minimum required combat ability.
"Next, gold-rank badge, name Marco. Confirmed."
All the checks finished quickly after that, and we were finally able to set out.
The trip from Dorua to Belkan normally took two days. That was assuming you rode hard at full gallop. Given the slow pace of a merchant caravan, it would take at least four days minimum.
"Looks like I'll be staring at that exhausted face for four whole days."
"The feeling is mutual."
I walked alongside the carriage line and strapped on my weapon.
"How many orcs do you think we'll run into this time?"
"Kill them all you want and they still swarm endlessly. Their reproductive rate is in a league of its own."
An orc's breeding power was legendary. Spot one, and you could bet there was a camp nearby. Nine times out of ten, a whole tribe would show up.
Why a whole tribe all of a sudden? Because their multiplication speed was just that insane. So if you encountered orcs, you either prepared thoroughly or got the hell out of there—unless you wanted to fight an entire orc army.
"Orcs are such a pain in the ass."
Individual orcs weren't that strong, but their sheer numbers were the problem. One battle could drag on for hours and drain your stamina in no time. Some knight orders even made solo orc-tribe subjugation a requirement for entry.
"Ugh, the smell."
"Endure it."
A truly horrific stench wafted from the lead carriage. How to describe it... like a durian left to rot at room temperature for an entire year. It was living proof that a bad odor could torture people.
"That's the scent of dark laplasia extract. Orcs hate it more than anything."
Orcs were basically pigs, after all, so their sense of smell was extremely sensitive. A pig's nose outperformed a dog's—they could detect food buried a full meter underground. This smell strategy was actually pretty effective.
Thank goodness the Black Shadow Armor has an auto-cleaning effect.
If I had to fight in an emergency and ended up stinking like that afterward, I might actually cry.
By the way, Black Shadow Armor was the name I gave it. I poured so much affection into the thing that I polished it myself whenever I had free time.
"My nose feels numb."
"Same here. If it weren't for the pay, I never would've taken this request."
"Shouldn't we demand compensation for olfactory damage later? This smell is legitimately lethal."
Protect my nose's right to exist! Guarantee my right to breathe fresh air!
The stench is so bad it's turning me into a rambling idiot.
I fell into despair at the thought of smelling this for the next four days straight.
"Here, take this."
"Huh? What's this?"
Marco handed me something. It was a cloth mask.
"There's herbs inside. It should help once you put it on."
"Marco!"
As expected of Marco!
"Ha, I feel like I can live again."
The fragrant herbal scent rising from the cloth was safeguarding my nose's survival.
"It smells really nice. What scent is this?"
"I'm not entirely sure. Lavender, I think they called it?"
Lavender, huh. From today onward, lavender is my favorite flower. Wait, was lavender technically an herb? I don't know much about flowers.
Doesn't matter. I'm just grateful it saved my nose.
We traveled for several hours while I enjoyed the fragrant lavender, eventually reaching a suitable campsite. To be exact, it was a regularly used camping ground. It even had simple wooden barricades, which would be useful for defense in an emergency.
"Everyone, unload your gear and let's eat lunch."
The group began moving busily to prepare the meal. I simply sat on a tree stump and pulled a lunchbox from my backpack. I pretended to take it from the bag to hide the fact that I'd actually retrieved it from my inventory.
"Hmm? Did you find a heating pack somewhere? There's steam coming from that lunchbox."
"Here, Marco. You eat too."
I took out another lunchbox from the backpack. My inventory currently held thirty of them, plus a huge assortment of foods, spices, ingredients, camping supplies, and daily necessities. Long live the inventory that ignored both space and weight.
"Thanks. Giving you that mask was worth it after all."
The lunchbox was still warm, with fragrant steam rising from it. I'd woken up at dawn to buy ingredients at the market, then used every scrap of knowledge from my previous life—enduring countless trials and errors—to make this spicy pork stir-fry lunchbox.
"The smell is unusual. The color's red too."
"Just try it. It's seriously delicious."
"I-it's good!"
"Right?"
Since Marco was a man too, it seemed he could properly appreciate the taste of spicy pork stir-fry.
"Where did you get this lunchbox? Is there a tavern in Dorua that serves food like this?"
"I made it myself."
"W-what?! What did you just say?!"
Marco jumped like he'd been shocked. Understandable—he knew exactly how terrible my cooking used to be. Before I regained memories of my past life, I was a culinary disaster. Everything I touched in the kitchen ended up ruined.
"Y-you... made this dish?"
"That's right. I know. I used to be an absolute disaster in the kitchen."
Marco, who used to force himself to eat my cooking. To him, this moment must feel like a genuine miracle.
"There really are miracles in this world. I just witnessed one."
Why does that make me feel a little insulted?
"Making this took more work than I expected. Salt, sugar, and garlic were easy to find, but tracking down gochujang, chili powder, and soy sauce was a real pain."
"Gochujang? Chili powder? Soy sauce? What are those?"
"They exist. Magical seasonings that make food taste amazing."
It seemed reproducing the flavors of home wouldn't be easy in this medieval fantasy world. There wasn't even soy sauce here, let alone gochujang, so of course recreating those tastes came with plenty of hardship.
"Ah, that was satisfying."
"Thanks to you, I enjoyed a great meal too."
Marco's praise made me puff up with pride. Hell yeah! This is K-food!
I'm getting drowsy.
After finishing the meal and taking a break, a pleasant languor settled over me. This was also the most vulnerable time for mercenaries.
"Anyone up for dice?"
"Oh, I'm in. One round? We're betting money, right?"
"Obviously. Get those stakes up right now!"
"Let's play cards instead."
"I don't know how."
"What? You don't know how to play cards? Did you grow up in some mountain village? Or are you a spy from a faraway country?"
"I'm the illegitimate son of a noble, so I never had the chance to learn."
"I'm sorry! Please just let it go this once!"
Even a bastard son was still nobility. One wrong word could easily result in your head and body parting ways permanently.
"Don't be too hard on him. Just teach him how to play cards."
"P-please spare me."
"Come on, buddy. You have to teach him cards, right? So smile. I said smile."
It looked like a terrifying scene was unfolding, but I decided to ignore it. No good ever came from getting involved in that kind of thing.
"Ah, how peaceful. Don't you agree, Marco?"
"What? Did you eat something bad? Where's all this nonsense coming from?"
Anyway, that's how it went. Yep.